“Will you bite us?” This from a girl no more than twelve.
“No, none of us will bite you. Never again, I promise.”
“What good are your promises?” The teen boy wobbled as the lorry gained speed.
I rolled over to him and grabbed his torso just before he fell off the side. He fought my touch, but I kept hold. Sometimes words are simply not enough. I’d never convince them I was different by arguing, only through actions. I steadied him then let go. He huffed under his breath and gave me a stink eye dirtier than the zombie monkeys.
The mist that had started to gather was now full-on fog. The lorry slowed right down as it banged against parked cars and the odd shuffling flesh-muncher. I jumped off the top onto the hood so I could help direct Pete and Laura. But even my enhanced eyesight didn’t see Ichabod in time.
Chapter Seven
As the remains of Blackpool pier came into view, its lights made an eerie glow through the fog. Out-of-tune attractions sang their presence, beckoning any and every zombie able to shuffle toward it. It had to be him. He’d announced our arrival by ringing a dinner bell. And there I was riding a lorry covered in edible wards, transporting an undead menagerie. How did these situations keep happening? Why was nothing simple? Surely I’d gone through enough? All I wanted to do was get to Ireland, get home.
His laughter carried over the insane tinkle of the arcades. The lorry lurched to a stop. I stood up and scanned the coastline. There was one light in the distance. It flashed and I knew that Tate had come through for us, that safety was making its way toward us.
The zombies crowded the lorry, pushing and groping to get at its tasty passengers. I motioned for them all to hang on. I leapt from the hood into the gaggle of grabby undead hands. I took out my axe and swung it round and round as fast as I could. I was a living chainsaw cutting them down, making enough room for the lorry to creep toward the beach. As soon as I felt sand under my boots, I cleaved the head of the nearest zombie and climbed back over the lorry’s cab and onto its roof. I was covered in blackened crusty blood; it had stained my hair, which had fallen from my ponytail and was now spread across my shoulders and back like an icky set of bloody wings. I kicked off a few of the more determined and agile zombies that were reaching for my roof wards. As I worked my way to the back, I ushered people toward the cab end: the nearer they were to the sea, the better their chances.
Hundreds of zombies were now flooding over the pier and onto the beach toward us. I lay on the lorry roof and leant down. I took one of those incredibly pointless breaths then had a long look around us. I opened the doors.
The smell was what hit me first. It was like I’d kept month old road-kill in a sauna. I gagged and threw up. Valuable blood spewed forth and I rolled over to lie away from the stench as animals tumbled out onto the sand, got their bearings, saw the zombie horde heading their way, and thankfully ran straight at them. I watched as the wolf from earlier stopped, sniffed the misty air then looked my way. I saw it considering its revenge then think better of it. Could the infected animals be more intelligent than the infected human? No, just my imagination.
My wards stared at me in horror. I flipped myself upright and bowed; it was silly gesture that reminded me of Philippe.
“Go!” I yelled and pointed to the sea beyond. I wasn’t sure how much time the animals would buy us, or what Ichabod had planned. They scrambled onto and over the cab and everyone started splashing into the sea toward the blinking light. I saw the shipwrecked boat through the fog. The zombies that had been attacking it were now being eaten by an undead tiger. The people inside edged out and joined the others, who pointed them to the flashing light of the ferry.
I looked back over to the lit attractions. I could almost feel Ichabod watching me, his beady eyes evaluating me like he had done before, but so much time had passed between our first fateful meet all those years ago. I could take him now. I could end my centuries-old mission and rid the world of every other child of Nicholas’s. Although, that seemed somewhat redundant now, so much had happened in the past few days. I’d changed. Nicholas had changed. Damn it, I wasn’t even looking forward to slapping his face for his departing remark to me anymore.
“Brit, come on!” Laura yelled at me as she clung to Ryan and his dad.
I turned and was going to follow my wards into the sea, when the attractions suddenly went silent. And I heard a baby crying.
Chapter Eight
I took a breath and scrambled back over the roof of the lorry. I leapt over the fighting zombies. Strangely the animals looked as if they were winning. Their teeth, naturally sharper, were tearing and pulling apart the more malleable human undead. Neither side even bothered to look my way, as I pushed past them and started to sprint toward the pier.
The fog was now almost a suffocating entity in its own right. Thick, like grubby cotton wool, it clung to the arcade lights which lit up the pier. A figure stood by one arcade. Ichabod. He waved at me, like I was an old friend come for a chat.
I shook my head then approached.
“Hello sister, how’s the zombie apocalypse treating you?”
I stopped when I could see the whites of his eyes, my hand hovering over my axe handle.
“It’s kind of denting my social schedule.” I narrowed my eyes at him. I felt like a gunslinger who knew their opponent was faster, but needed to gamble their life on a ‘what if’.
“What social schedule? You’ve killed all our other brothers. It’s just me and Father left now.”
“I wish you’d stop calling me sister.”
“I don’t do wishes, that’s the Djinn.”
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered beneath another annoyed breath.
“I’m not him either, although I did know the chap.” Ichabod smiled.
How old is he, and a better question, how old is Nicholas? If Ichabod was telling the truth, it would make both him and Nicholas Elders. A vampire had to be over a century before they could even make a child…
“Are you going to stare at me all night, or are you going to save the baby?”
“What have you done?” I couldn’t hear any cries now, for all I knew it was a trick, but I just couldn’t take the chance. My conscience was too delicate to not check at least.
“Eggs and omelets,” Ichabod muttered.
“What?”
“This whole situation, eggs and omelets, don’t you agree?”
“What the hell are you trying to say? Do you know something about the infection?”
“The revenants? Of course, you would know it too if you stopped and had a real good think.” He pointed at his head for emphasis. Man, I wanted to kill this guy.
“What do you know?” I prompted.
“I know Philippe isn’t your friend anymore.” A wide smile cracked his pale face.
“What do you know about Philippe?”
“Who do you think it was, who opened his doors to the zombies? Poor Frenchman never stood a chance after he’d fallen asleep; dreaming of you, no doubt.”
I felt a sharp pain through my chest. It ran up my bones and struck my brain. Red crept into my vision, making what was before it cleaner, crisper; it eliminated the fog. I had to kill him. Whether he knew anything or not, he had to die. My vengeance would be complete and…
“Why are you staring at me so?” Ichabod moved closer. “I did you a favor. That useless fop would have gotten you killed. He let me go when he should have murdered me, or at least tried to. But as you know, Philippe was never much of a fighter, more of a diplomat. He did get me over to the Americas though, me and my protégé.”
I stopped listening to him. I couldn’t stand there any longer and let his inane drivel wind me up, to psyche me out. He’d already flipped my anger switch. I gripped the axe handle, and pulled it free from my back. Its heaviness felt good against the palm of my cold hand.
“…I must say though that I like your retro make-under. You always did look better as a blond.”
I lifted the ax
e to my hip and was poised to take a run at him, when, almost on cue, the baby cried again. I paused mid-murderous thought.
“Interesting. You really are a pill, Brit.” He laughed; it was one of those fake belly laughs that made you want to slap away his grin with a baseball bat.
The baby was in the arcade, I could smell it now. A combination of hunger and horror mingled in the pit of stomach. I shook my head and ran into the flashing lights.
“Be careful Brit, remember not everything is as it seems.”
I barely had time to consider his crazy advice before I’d reached the inside of the arcade and my senses were overcome with a hundred different cartoon tunes and blinking lights. The bastard had turned everything on.
The baby’s cries were coming from the back office, so I sprinted across to it, kicked down the door and scanned the room. There were bodies thrown over the furniture, not zombie kills, vampire ones. Each one had a neat set of puncture marks on their necks and wrist. Each had a matching look of terror. The baby was in a crib on the desk. I picked it up and it squirmed. It smelt of everything it shouldn’t, but it was still alive. I clutched it to my chest and made a decision; I had to keep this baby safe and I couldn’t do that and still defeat Ichabod. In fact, it was probably what he was counting on.
I’d get out of this colorful migraine of an arcade then head straight for Tate’s ferry. Ichabod was a dead vampire anyway, he’d either get infected or starve.
A slight wash of calm flowed over me then. Vengeance was a good calling, but there were better out there. My father’s words came to me, ‘Don’t be sorry be better.’ I had been sorry for centuries; it was high time I was better. The role of protector had suited me better. I accepted that now. In a way, it was what I had been doing all along, apart from the whole attacking some people for their blood thing, but hey, I never claimed to be a saint.
With the baby securely cradled in my left arm, I opened the office door and made my way past the annoying games. I noticed several were zombie based and had brightly colored toy shotguns attached to the machines. I almost laughed at the irony, until I saw the massive horde that had gathered and were working their way into the arcade.
There was nowhere to run. The arcade’s ceiling was too low to jump. I turned to go back to the room, but suddenly the door was slammed shut and I heard Ichabod laughing again. He’d trapped me.
The baby wriggled in my arms and cried out. I hadn’t the first clue as to how to comfort a child, but its wailing was attracting the zombies. I had two choices. I could throw the baby to the undead then run out while they fought over it. Or I could I could try and push past them all, shielding the child as best I could. I looked down at the baby.
“You’ve really brought this on yourself,” I said.
Chapter Nine
I tucked the baby as far under my arm as it could go and began to push through. But there were too many, I couldn’t completely shield the child from their snapping jaws and grabby hands, so I lifted it above my head. It still cried and squirmed, but at least it was safe. Every zombie that had ambled into the arcade was now bearing down on me. I tried to kick them out of the way, but with my arms thrust into the air to hold the baby from danger, it left my torso unprotected. A rain of bites lashed over me. My t shirt was torn and pulled and I felt the scathing sting of their teeth in my flesh. I pushed through, though. I edged toward the exit. As I neared the doors, I kicked out at a few of the flashing machines. All the electronics inside combusted and set fire to a few of the zombies’ tattered clothes. They shrieked and stumbled into their friends, spreading the flames.
I used the fire to spur one last push through them and found myself outside. I lowered the baby back into my arms, and kicked the double doors of the entrance shut, trapping the zombie horde in their flaming final rest.
A surge of pain floored me, and I fell to all fours, gently placing the baby on the ground. It cooed at me. Now it was happy! I counted the bites on me. I got to twenty and stopped. I was definitely infected.
My vision collapsed in on itself and began to change from red to shadowed shades of grey. The lights of the arcade started to be almost painful in their pulsing. I felt a stiff malaise begin to creep through my bones; like I’d been still for centuries. My skin crawled with a foreign warm tingle.
“Britannia!”
I squinted to see Nicholas looming above me.
“What has happened?”
I tried to respond but only a groan escaped my lips.
He knelt down to me and cradled my head. “Who did this to you?”
I coughed and wriggled from his arms, Blood sprayed from my mouth and I pulled my hand through it, to write, ‘Take baby.’
Nicholas smelled strange to me now, like cake or fresh bread. He looked over at the infant on its back.
“Okay, but I’m coming back for you. Just stay here. Don’t move.” He swept the baby into his arms and disappeared into the fog laden night.
I turned over onto my back, the pain now almost unbearable as it ripped me apart from the inside out. I started to crawl toward the fiery arcade. I couldn’t take the chance that Nicholas’s sentimentality would endanger the others. If he took me back infected, I’d turn into Philippe, or worse, probably.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Ichabod’s feet were suddenly in front of me. “I think I’ll kill you now, then go say hello to our father. I’m sure I can find some interesting things to do with your friends.”
With a swift lunge, Ichabod stole the axe from my back. He lifted it slowly. As much as I wanted to die, if I let him live, he’d send my people right along after me. I couldn’t allow that.
“Nothing to say Brianna? Well, maybe we should take Father’s advice.” He lifted the axe and let it come crashing down. I rolled out of the way of its blade, just in time. “Be strong,” he yelled and tried to behead me again. I rolled the other way. “Be fast.” He tried again, “Be deadly!” he screamed again lifting the axe over his head.
I used the pain. I harnessed it like a wild horse. I strapped it together with my need to protect those I loved. I saddled it with my desire to end Ichabod. I shifted to my knees, caught the axe head between my palms mid-swing and got up.
I stood in front of him and smiled. The insulting quips were not getting past my lips, but I still enjoyed the look of surprise on his face. I pulled on the axe and it slipped through his fingers. Odd, it didn’t even seem that heavy anymore. I twirled it round so the handle sat comfortably in my palm then swung it out and into his chest. It made a satisfying squishy sound as it cut through his rib cage. He crumpled to the ground, his hands scrambling to hold in his internal organs before they spewed out.
I lifted the axe again to take his head, but he let his bowels drop so he could grab out at my feet. He toppled me over. I felt like a stack of fine china, and I fell back awkwardly. Ichabod loomed above me. He took back the axe.
“You ruined my shirt!” He yelled at me, one hand pulling up his insides and wrapping them round his neck like a really gross scarf. The other hand was now brandishing the axe aloft over me.
I was too weak to push him off. Even my anger wasn’t enough. I closed my eyes and silently prayed that Nicholas would at least come back in time to see my murder, that he would end Ichabod and keep everyone safe. That at least would be the right end to my vengeful ‘all children of Nicholas must die’ campaign. After all, I was one of them too.
I opened my eyes to see Ichabod staring in horror. I tilted my head to see what was behind me. The zombie wolf, now covered in undead blood, stood growling at him. I felt a slight tug in my thoughts. Philippe had declared his infected self, king of the zombies so he could control them. Surely, now I was infected I could do that too? I tugged the thought back and immediately felt a rush of warmth. I sensed every undead creature within a fifty mile radius. Each was like a pulsing warm string of energy. I untangled the wolf’s presence and sent it out an order.
Without hesitation it sprang forward a
nd floored Ichabod. The axe tumbled from his hand and he screamed as it tore and pulled at his exposed innards, pulling at them like the Lady and the Tramp’s plate of spaghetti.
I carefully pulled my torso up so I could watch. I sent my new zombie pet a quick update on the original message. It looked round to me and I swear it smiled. The wolf ripped out Ichabod’s throat, its bite so deep it instantly decapitated him.
I closed my eyes and felt all the undead animals; I sent them clear instructions that they were to kill all zombies and to protect humans. The wolf cocked its head at me then lumbered off into the fog. I was hoping that the order would at least stick for a little while.
The fire in the arcade was still raging, the heat had begun to tickle my face, so I started that last crawl into it.
“Brit!”
Oh man, can’t I just die on my own?
Arms were suddenly around me, cradling me gently. It was Nicholas again. True to his word he had come back for me.
I tried to smile at him. I lifted the tattered remnants of my t-shirt to show him my bites.
“No, oh, it can’t be. You’re strong, it’ll be okay. I just need to get you somewhere safe.”
I couldn’t let that happen. I stroked his cheek, catching a tear. I summoned up every ounce of my former self and pushed out.
“Infected. Must. Kill.”
Nicholas shook his head.
“Must.” I repeated.
He threw his head back and howled like a wolf. I half expected my new zombie lupine friend to return the call.
I pointed to the axe next to Ichabod’s twitching body.
“No, you’ll be okay. You’re always okay,” Nicholas whispered.
“Kill,” I whispered back, “For. Me.”
I wished I could have said a better goodbye, made him promise to look after Jack and Satan. To tell Lyle I was sad I didn’t get to see my new home that he’d built. To tell Tate I was sorry we didn’t get that last cup of tea. To tell Josh that I would have loved him so, so much. But I couldn’t, so I pushed all my requests through my eyes to my arch enemy. He simply nodded.
Bad Timing Page 4
