Zom-B #12

by Darren Shan

  “You have to stop it,” Josh thunders, striding up next to Vicky. His face is black with rage. “There must be some way to counteract the virus. A cure. Don’t make us force you to tell us.”

  “There is no cure,” Dr. Oystein says. “Nothing can change what has been done. The virus is unleashed. It cannot be halted.”

  “What if we cage ourselves in?” Josh shouts. “Lock ourselves down and stop it from spreading?”

  “Sacrifice yourselves to save the rest of the world?” Dr. Oystein shakes his head. “I admire your commitment, but this is a virus unlike any other that has ever wormed its way through our system. You can’t contain it.”

  My mind is whirring, but one thought has pushed its way to the forefront. I know that fear will paralyze me if I don’t act swiftly. So, trying not to think it through too much, I turn away from Dr. Oystein and bend over. My body heaves as if I’m vomiting, and I clasp my hands to my chest as if in prayer.

  “Poor girl,” Dr. Oystein says. “Nobody should have to go through what she has.”

  “Forget about her,” Vicky Wedge screeches. “Tell us how we stop this thing or I’ll put a bullet through your head.”

  “You would be doing me a great service if you did,” Dr. Oystein answers icily. “As I said, the virus cannot be stopped. Humanity is finished. A new age is upon us. There is nothing anybody can do to stop that now.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, doc,” I say, turning calmly.

  While my back was turned, I slipped the vial of zombie-felling Schlesinger-10 out of its resting place in my bandages. While I was pretending to vomit and pray, I removed the cork on the first vial, turned it over, slid out the second vial, removed the cork on that and let the ordinary glass slip into my hands.

  I hold the tube of white liquid over my head so that everyone can see. As Dr. Oystein’s eyes fill with terror… as Owl Man tries to bark an order, but only produces a thick torrent of blood and shredded bits of tongue… as Master Zhang hurls himself at me, bellowing with a mixture of rage and fear… as everyone in the room focuses on me and the object in my hands…

  I hurl the tube of Schlesinger-10 at the floor and watch with grim satisfaction as it fractures into hundreds of pieces and sends its deadly contents flying.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “What have you done?” Dr. Oystein screams, mentally disintegrating in front of me, as I expected him to when I smashed open the first tube.

  “Leveled the playing field,” I say evenly.

  The doc gapes at me, jaw opening and shutting wordlessly.

  Master Zhang bellows a curse in Chinese and propels himself towards me, chopping through the air in a blur, hell-bent on cracking my skull open. I stand firm, not only resigned but looking forward to the end.

  Before Zhang can strike, Rage wrestles Vicky Wedge’s gun from her, aims and fires. Our mentor’s skull splinters and he collapses with a startled cry. He tries to rise, but Rage steps forward and fires three more bullets into his brain. Master Zhang is tough, but nobody is that tough. It’s the end of the line for Dr. Oystein’s longtime friend and ally.

  I nod at Rage, expecting him to finish me off next, but he only glares at me.

  “This is insanity,” Dr. Oystein whimpers. He’s started to rock backwards and forwards. “You’ve condemned us all.”

  “Had to, doc,” I sniff. “If people are truly evil, as you claim, then we’re all in it together, the living, the undead and everyone between. It’s not just one branch of humanity that deserves to be pruned—the whole bloody tree needs to come down.”

  “But we were going to build anew!” Dr. Oystein roars. “We were going to put right what had gone wrong!”

  “How?” I retort. “By mimicking the Nazis and creating a super-race?”

  The doc’s face crumples. “Is that how you see me?” he croaks.

  “It’s what you are,” I say quietly. “You said you feel sorry for me. Well, I feel sorry for you too, because you became the thing you most hated. The Nazis broke and corrupted you, and turned you into one of their own in the process. It doesn’t matter that your new race was a group of mutant babies instead of blond Aryans. You slaughtered billions of people in your quest to get rid of anyone who didn’t fit in with your twisted vision.”

  I turn slowly and point to Josh, Vicky Wedge and random other humans. “Who are you, doc, to say they aren’t worthy of life? Yeah, some are rotten to the core, but others are true and brave. It’s not for the likes of you to pass sentence on them.”

  “But they ruined this planet,” he whispers.

  “Maybe,” I grimace. “But they might have fixed it too. They messed up countless times, sure, but maybe they would have come good in the end.”

  “No,” Dr. Oystein says obstinately. “My way was the only way forward.”

  I shrug and point at the damp stains on the floor. “Well, it’s a pity if you’re right, because that ain’t gonna happen now.”

  I lower my arm and address all of the people who are staring at me, their faces a mix of conflicting emotions. “We’re finished. You can bitch about it if you like, go on fighting, look for someone to blame. But there’s no point. My advice is to seek out your loved ones and spend these last few days with them. If there’s anything you ever dreamed of doing, this is the time to do it. You might want to spread the word, let other people know that we’re doomed. Or maybe you’ll decide they’re better off not knowing. I’ll leave that call to you.”

  “My beloved,” Mr. Dowling whispers inside my head. “I am injured. I do not know if I will recover. Will you stay by my side and nurse me?”

  “No,” I tell him. “I can’t do that and, if you truly love me, you won’t ask again. You have your babies for company.”

  “Our babies,” he corrects me with a giggle.

  “Yes—our babies.” I smile. “Are they enough for you?”

  He considers it, then makes a gurgly noise and whines aloud, “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll leave you in their care,” I mutter, blowing him a kiss. “With one exception, if you don’t mind. Holy Moly?” The baby looks at me expectantly. It doesn’t seem to have absorbed the consequences of the unfolding drama. I don’t think any of the babies understand what has happened. “Will you guide me to the surface?”

  “of course mummy,” Holy Moly says happily. “i love you mummy.”

  “we love you mummy,” the other babies echo.

  “I love you guys too, creepy and lethal as you are,” I chuckle.

  Then I turn away from everyone, Dr. Oystein, Mr. Dowling, the last of the Angels, the mutants, the humans, Owl Man, my enemies and friends. I’m sure we could bat this back and forth all night, leveling accusations and dishing out blame, but, really, what’s left that’s worth saying?

  Picking up the baby with the hole in its skull, I head for the world above. And despite those who call out to me, who ask me to stop and tell them more about the viruses, and what led us to this point, and if there’s any way to reset the clocks and avert the catastrophe, I never pause or look back. There’s no reason why I should. I mean, why waste precious time on a load of walking dead folk?

  TWENTY-SIX

  A couple of minutes later, as I’m shuffling through the tunnels, someone rushes up behind me. I stop and wait, staring ahead at nothing, hoping it’s a furious soldier or mutant come to cut me down.

  No such luck.

  “You really screwed us all back there,” Rage chuckles.

  “What do you want?” I ask wearily.

  “Thought I’d tag along,” he says cheerfully. “The war room’s like a funeral parlor. I don’t know how long it’s gonna take that lot to recover. Maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll just stand around moping until they drop.”

  I turn slowly. There are no lights in this stretch of corridor, but I can make out Rage by the glow from Holy Moly’s eyes, which switched to red when it sensed a possible threat. “You seem to be taking this in stride,” I note archly.

  Rage
shrugs. “Nothing I can do about it now. If I’d known what you were up to, I’d have stopped you, but it’s too late, so I might as well go with the flow.” He hesitates. “In fact, I’m not sure I would have stopped you, even if I could.”

  “Yeah, right,” I snort.

  “I’m serious,” he says. “This is a rotten world. I used to think that didn’t bother me. I dealt with it by being rotten myself. But the doc made me believe that we could be more than scum. I let myself hope. When I realized I’d been an idiot, that the world was as viciously ridiculous as I’d always thought, it hurt. I tried behaving the way I did before. Hell, I tried to be even nastier. But I don’t know if I could have gone on that way. It’s hard to revel in the dark when you’ve caught a glimpse of the light.”

  I cock my head curiously. “Imminent death has brought out the poet in you.”

  Rage laughs. “Yeah. Isn’t that a tragic joke?”

  I turn and limp on through the darkness, Rage just behind. We don’t say anything else as we creep through the tunnels, avoiding the battle between the soldiers, mutants and zombies that is still raging in the cavern. Holy Moly senses my glum mood and is silent too.

  I’m not sure how long we wind through the subterranean corridors, but eventually we hit railway tracks and make our way to the Tube station at Tower Hill, farther west than I imagined. We join the reviveds who are thronging towards the surface. It must be night up top. They’re setting off in search of prey, no idea that last call is just a couple of weeks away.

  Emerging out of the gloom, we cross the road and sit looking down on the famous old Tower of London. I think about the Beefeater who was guarding the entrance the last time I went in. I smile as I wonder if he’s still at his post. Even if he is, he won’t be manning it now—he’ll have set off on the prowl with the rest of his kind, in search of brains. But, if I’m still here in the morning, I’ll have a look before I move on. For old times’ sake.

  “I wonder what Dr. Oystein and the others are doing down there now?” Rage muses aloud. “They might turn on each other and finish off the job, rather than wait for the virus to take them. I bet the doc’s gone loopy. Maybe he’s bashed his head open on the floor, all that hard work and planning undone in a couple of seconds by a brutish, ignorant girl. No offense intended.”

  “Get stuffed,” I sniff.

  Rage laughs and I smile. I don’t mind his teasing. In a way it’s reassuring. It’s nice to know that at least some things haven’t changed.

  Rage pretends to yawn. Then he hops to his feet and punches the air a few times, like a boxer warming up. “Right,” he says brightly. “I’m off.”

  “Where?” I ask.

  “Don’t know. I’ll see where the night leads me. Going to squeeze in a few adventures before the end, live the high life as much as I can. This could be an interesting fortnight.”

  “Want me to come with you?”

  “Hardly,” he growls. “I don’t want to be seen with the girl who ended life on Earth as we know it. What would that do for my reputation?”

  “Drop dead,” I snap.

  “Thanks to your little trick with the vial, that’s the one thing you can be sure of,” he grimaces.

  And then, without a word of good-bye or a wave, he sets off, whistling jauntily, to round a corner and slip out of sight, never to be seen or heard from again.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I sit where I am for a long time, bouncing Holy Moly on my knee, too weary to push on. I won’t stay here forever. I’ll get my arse in gear sooner or later. Just not yet.

  I don’t have much time left to play with, so I give careful consideration to what I want to do with it. I’ll go to the Bow Quarter first, tell Ciara what Reilly said, let the twins know that the writing’s on the wall.

  After that, I’ll drop by County Hall and free Mr. Burke if he’s still there. He’s only a brain-dead zombie, I know, but I don’t like the thought of him being caged up for these last few days, perishing alone and hungry in a prison cell. I’ll rest easier if I let the poor bugger roam free.

  When I’ve seen to those obligations, I’ll head for New Kirkham. I’m in bad shape so I don’t know if I can make it that far. But, if I can, I’ll share the news with Jakob and his crew, give them a chance to prepare for the end and say their farewells. I liked it there. The town was a symbol of hope. It will be nice to see Biddy Barry and her people again, though I’m not sure how they’ll react when I tell them what I did underground. Maybe they’ll string me up and chuck spears at my head, finish me off before the virus can.

  Assuming the residents of New Kirkham don’t kill me, I’ll try to crawl back to County Hall and head for the Groove Tubes. Fill one of them if they’re not already topped up, slip in and bliss out. That way, when the world ends, I won’t even know. Fade away with a sleepy smile on my face, without having to suffer through the human race’s death throes.

  I make a sad moaning sound and Holy Moly looks at me, concerned. “are you all right mummy?” the baby asks.

  “Not really,” I sigh. “But I’ll be okay as long as you stick with me. You won’t leave me, will you?”

  “no,” the baby beams. “i love you mummy. i’ll never leave you alone.”

  I hug Holy Moly and kiss the top of its head. The baby giggles, delighted with itself, and snuggles up to me, safe, warm, happy. It doesn’t care that the world is ending. It’s with its mummy and that’s all that matters.

  I think about all that has happened, the fighting, the lies, the deaths, the Apocalypse we’ve brought upon ourselves.

  I don’t regret uncorking the zombie-destroying virus. I wasn’t about to hand control of this world to Dr. Oystein. You can never let the bad guys win, even if they’ve taken all the other options away.

  Maybe there was another way. By eliminating the zombies and mutants, I removed any hope our race had of getting back on its feet. Maybe the Angels wouldn’t have harvested the human babies as Dr. Oystein planned. Maybe they’d have hatched the embryos when it was safe and set free a new generation of living kids.

  But, even if some of them had bucked the doc’s wishes, others would have tried to push ahead with his blueprint. The war would have continued. The same old story, people–alive or undead–taking sides, battling on, killing and destroying.

  This isn’t the end of the world, merely the end of our part in it. Life on Earth will continue. Animals will thrive. Maybe a new intelligent species will emerge, inspired by God or simple evolutionary forces, to plug the gap we’ve left behind.

  Or maybe nature won’t tinker with the curse of intelligence again. Maybe one set of destructive overlords was enough. The forces that control these things didn’t bring back the dinosaurs when their reign ended. There’s no reason to think they’ll bring back humanity either.

  Whatever happens, in many ways I truly believe that the planet is well rid of us. Dr. Oystein was mad, but a lot of what he said made sense. We’ve done so much damage to ourselves and this poor world. Some of us stood up for what was right, but most of us kept our heads low and let things go down the pan, happy to wash our hands of the mess as long as we weren’t directly involved.

  Like the way I put up with Dad’s racism and bullying. I should have challenged him every day, every time he said something cruel or raised a hand to Mum or me. Every one of us with a conscience needed to stand up and shout out, not just at occasional rallies, not just by casting our votes in elections, but all the time.

  We moaned about crooked politicians, but how many of us stood up to the backstabbing bastards? We complained about bankers, property developers and soulless huge companies, but we gave them our money, didn’t we?

  We were happy with our TVs, computers and smartphones, our designer gear, fast food and cheap travel. We tutted when we heard that a species was on the verge of extinction, rolled our eyes when our leaders exploited poor sods in other countries. But, as long as things were sweet on the home front, most of us were content to go along for the ride.<
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  We didn’t look to the future. We lived for the moment, squeezing the planet dry, selfish sons (and daughters—I’m far from blameless) of bitches, not worrying about what we were leaving behind for the next generations. We…

  Oh, to hell with it. I don’t want to sit here whining. There’s no point trying to list all the ways we went wrong, all the things we could and should have done. It’s easy to be wise after the fact. We screwed up royally and got what we had coming—it’s as simple as that.

  I’ll dawdle here a while longer, gather what little strength I have left, then move on with Holy Moly to try to complete my list of errands before I hit my expiration date. The time for speeches has come and gone. Besides, I’m a pariah, not a prophet. It’s a bit much, the girl who brought down the world, trying to figure out how it could have been saved.

  With a shaky groan, I struggle to my feet and let Holy Moly slip to the ground. I run a hand over the nails sticking out of my head and chuckle. Enough of the meek and mild crap. If I have to go–and I have to–I’m going in style. No more sitting around and moping. When I bow out, it will be with fire in my belly and a lip-twisting grin.

  “I’m B Smith!” I yell at the sky, making a fist and shaking it above my head to show my defiance. “Within a couple of weeks, every man, woman, child, zombie and mutant on the face of this planet will be dead and gone. And good bloody riddance to the lot of us!”

  Then I pick up Holy Moly, laugh with savage delight and shuffle off into the darkness of the everlasting night.

  A

  LATER…

  The fabled white light. So many people spoke of it over the years. The light at the end of the tunnel, beckoning on the dead, guiding souls towards their final resting place. I thought it was a myth, but it’s ahead of me now, warm and bright, welcoming me home. I smile and reach towards it.

  “No,” someone says, pushing my arms down. “Stay still a while longer, please. I haven’t finished mopping up the liquid.”