Bovicide, Zombie Diaries, and the Legend of the Brothers Brown

by Stephen Bills

  Chapter Sixteen: Who’s a Good Boy, Then?

  Fifteen minutes after leaving Lisa at Quentin’s, Paddington stood in the bathroom of his house, staring at a steak knife and the bloody bandage he’d stolen from the bin in Quentin’s bathroom.

  He’d been over it in his mind again and again and it made sense: seeded in the stories he’d been told as a child were the Three Births: sex, blood, and saliva. He knew Lisa would say it was absurd to find answers there, but it fit. Plenty of diseases were transmitted by blood or sex. Even saliva was genetic material.

  “Every story about zombies, werewolves, and vampires involves biting,” he told the knife. “But zombies definitely spread by bite.” He had proof of that, both from Winslow’s diary and his mother’s reports. Between rants about dismembering the Mainlander who’d shot at her, Andrea had mentioned bites turning people rabid.

  Paddington nodded and drew a breath. “That leaves blood and sex… and I’m not a werewolf already.” He raised his eyebrows, out of options. “I guess that’s that then.”

  Except it wasn’t, because Lisa wouldn’t have had contact with Dominic’s blood… would she?

  Not on purpose, certainly – Dominic knew what caused the change – but accidents happened. How much would it take? A single drop was enough for most diseases.

  Not that this was a disease.

  Still, Paddington hesitated before picking up the knife. This wasn’t exactly science. What if he was stuck as a wolf, with no cure and eight Mainlanders on the hunt? Even if it worked as it should, he didn’t know what triggered the change in males. If he became a wolf in front of Mitchell, the Mainlander would shoot him on sight and there would be no one to help Lisa.

  And even if all went perfectly, this was just as likely to scare Lisa off as bring him closer to her. More likely, really.

  There were a hundred good reasons not to do this.

  Then he remembered Lisa, huddled in the corner of the interview room.

  “Aah!”

  The knife jumped from his hand by reflex and clattered into the sink. Paddington checked his forearm, found an inch-long red line, and pressed Lisa’s bloodied bandage against it.

  Too late now.

  At first, the bandage was cold with old blood, but Paddington’s blood soon warmed it. His cut was only a nick, but hopefully it would be enough for what he… what he…

  Wuh…

  A wave of black silk devoured the white tiles and Paddington found himself standing in pitch blackness. Underneath, all around, above were black as far as the eye could see – and he could see fine, there was just nothing to see here.

  Wherever here was.

  Behind him boomed the clack of claws. Paddington turned, cautiously. A huge wolf regarded him, stalking slowly forward against the backdrop of infinity. It walked confidently on the nothingness. This was its domain and now it had prey. Sure gold eyes searched Paddington’s wide brown ones.

  The wolf charged.

  Paddington couldn’t run. He was too overawed to run. The wolf was glorious and he’d watch it run –the ripple of its dark brown and cream coat; the black ears pressed against its head; the white mouth open, tongue lolling out – even if it cost him his life.

  Which it was probably about to.

  The wolf leapt…

  …and hit him in the chest. Energy surged through Paddington. Heat exploded, hit his extremities, rebounded, bounced around in him until it consumed his whole being. His heart slammed against his ribs like thunderclaps.

  He landed on his back on the warm black ground and looked around for the wolf, but it was gone. He was alone in the dark, and the dark took him.

  When the world rolled back – the real world, with fluorescent light above and cold tiles beneath him – it was sideways. The world wasn’t usually sideways. What was going on? Had something happened to his house?

  Oh. Nope. He was lying on his side. He blinked hard and raised his head. It throbbed. A few seconds of feeling around uncovered a lump where his head had hit the floor.

  Did he have a concussion? Had it all been a hallucination?

  Colour and space seemed insubstantial, far less real than the wolf in the dark place. Paddington stared at the bandage beside him, then checked his left wrist. Dark red was smeared across his arm, though whether the blood was his or Lisa’s he wasn’t sure. A mix of both, probably.

  Dimly, Paddington suspected he was missing something important. He checked his watch then, since he didn’t believe it, the sky out the window. It was darker. His watch was right: he’d been unconscious for nine hours. They’d had less than two days to prevent the end of the world and he’d slept through half of one! Had the Team tried to contact him? Would they be looking for him? What had happened with the zombies? How many lives had been lost?

  No, these questions would have to wait. Mitchell had been unsupervised for most of the day; Paddington’s first priority was to check that Mitchell hadn’t killed anyone who hadn’t already been dead.

  Paddington stood and trudged to the kitchen to make lunch. Or, dinner.

  Deep inside him, the great wolf lay down to watch.