by Darren Shan
He sighs and glances up at the London Eye, turning as smoothly as ever, the pods shining brightly against the backdrop of the cloudy sky.
‘So why are all of your Angels teenagers?’ I ask, to draw him back to what he was talking about earlier. ‘Why didn’t you vaccinate adults too?’
‘I felt that children would be more appropriate,’ Dr Oystein says. ‘They are, generally speaking, more innocent and pure of heart than adults.’
‘You wouldn’t think like that if you’d gone to my school,’ I mutter, and share a grin with Mr Burke.
Dr Oystein smiles ruefully. ‘That was not the only factor. There were practical reasons too. Children were easier to vaccinate than adults — they received so many jabs that nobody took notice of one more. And since their bodies were undergoing natural changes during growth, they were better equipped to contain the vaccine — children generally held out a few years longer than grown-ups before succumbing to the side effects.
‘Also, I distrusted adults. They were set in their ways, less open to fresh ideas and change. I needed soldiers who would think nothing of their own lives, who would dedicate themselves entirely to the cause. I decided that children were more likely to answer such a demanding call.
‘Every year my team vaccinated a selection from newborns to teenagers in cities, towns and villages across the world. Every time I looked at the files – and I made a point of acknowledging each and every subject – I suffered a conflict of interests. I found myself hoping that the plague would strike soon, to spare the vaccinated children the painful death they would have to endure if it did not, yet also wishing that it wouldn’t, because that would mean so many more people dying.’
Dr Oystein falls silent again, remembering some of the faces of the damned.
‘How many did you vaccinate each year?’ I ask.
‘Several thousand,’ he says. ‘Always in a different area, with a fresh team under a different guise, to avert people’s suspicions.’
‘What do you mean?’ Rage frowns.
‘One year we offered a cure for the flu,’ Dr Oystein explains. ‘The next year we promoted a measles vaccine. The year after something to help prevent AIDS. Each time we hid behind a fake company or charity.’
‘So if you’ve been doing this for decades . . .’ I try to do the maths.
‘Hundreds of thousands,’ Dr Oystein says softly.
‘How the hell do you cover up that many deaths?’ I explode. ‘Especially if they melted down into muck. I never read about anything like that in the Sunday papers.’
‘As I already explained, I had contacts in high places,’ Dr Oystein says. ‘They clamped down on any talk that might have compromised our position.’
‘Still,’ I mutter, ‘somebody must have leaked word of what was going on.’
‘They did,’ Burke says. ‘It was all over the place, in self-published books and on the internet. I remember coming across articles back when I knew nothing about Dr Oystein or his work. Like any sane person, I dismissed them. Who could believe stories of a drug that made people melt?’
‘Truth is stranger than fiction,’ Rage says smugly, as if he’s just come out with an incredibly original, witty line.
‘All right,’ I mutter. ‘I’m getting it. You vaccinated thousands of kids every year to create an army of revitaliseds when the Apocalypse hit. So there must be, what, a few hundred thousand of us, ranging in age from adults down to babies?’
‘Less,’ Dr Oystein says. ‘Many failed to revitalise, particularly those who had matured. Others were slaughtered during the assaults and their brains were eaten. Young children who revitalised either failed to follow the signs to my safe houses or reverted due to not being able to feed.
‘We cannot be sure, but we think there are maybe a couple of thousand Angels worldwide, possibly less.’
‘You didn’t get a great return for all those sacrifices, did you, doc?’ Rage asks quietly.
‘No,’ the doctor says, even quieter.
‘And are there centres like this in different countries, full of Angels?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ Dr Oystein says hesitantly.
‘Something wrong with the others?’ I press.
‘No. But they are not as important as the Angels in London.’
I laugh shortly. ‘I bet your people say that to all the Angels.’
He shakes his head. ‘We are in a unique position. Several of the revitaliseds who came to us here asked to be relocated once I revealed what I am about to reveal to you.’
‘That sounds ominous,’ Rage growls but his face is alight with curiosity. I bet mine is too. I haven’t a clue what’s coming next or how it can be any worse than what he’s told us already.
‘This is a universe of good and evil,’ Dr Oystein says. ‘I am sure you know from your lessons in school that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.’
‘Quit with the dramatic build-up, doc,’ Rage huffs. ‘Give it to us straight.’
‘Very well,’ the doctor says as a rare angry spark flashes across his eyes. ‘Just as there is an ultimate force of good in this universe, there is also one of evil. To put it into the terms I find easiest to understand, God is real but so is Satan.’
Rage’s smirk fades. I get a sick feeling in my stomach. Burke looks away.
‘When God revitalised me, it was an act of love,’ Dr Oystein says. ‘He did it because He wished to hand mankind a lifeline. He was obliged to punish us, but He wanted to give us a fighting chance in the war to come.
‘If God had left me to my own devices, I would have remained a mindless revived. Other scientists would have continued their experiments and the airborne strain of the disease would have been developed. When the ferocious undead arose, humanity would have lacked champions. The living need us. We can go where they can’t, fight in ways they cannot.
‘But there are laws which even God abides by. They are laws of His making, but if He ignores them, what use are they? A law which does not apply to all is no real sort of law.
‘The forces of good and evil do not engage one another directly,’ Dr Oystein continues. ‘Their followers clash all the time, humanity forever swaying between the extremes of right and wrong, taking a positive step forward here, a negative step backward there. But God told me that if He or Satan ever takes a direct role in the affairs of man – if they interfere in any way – then the other has the right to counteract that.’
‘Tit for tat,’ I whisper and Dr Oystein nods sombrely.
‘That is why God so rarely reaches out to us. He might often wish to, when He looks down and sees us in pain, but He does not dare, because if He extends a hand of love, Satan can stretch forth a claw of hate.’
‘This is bullshit,’ I croak. ‘It’s madness.’ I seek out Burke’s gaze. ‘Isn’t it?’ I shout.
Burke only shrugs uncomfortably.
‘When God restored my consciousness,’ Dr Oystein says, raising his voice ever so slightly, ‘it allowed Satan to create his own mockery of the human form, a being of pure viciousness and spite who could wreak as much damage as I had the power to repair.
‘I have sought long and hard for my demonic counterpart over the decades, but our paths never crossed. There were many occasions when I came close – and when he came close to tracking me down and striking at me, for he loathes me as much as I fear him – but something always kept us apart. Until now.’
Dr Oystein crosses his arms and trains his sights on me. ‘You know evil’s true name, don’t you, B?’
‘Get stuffed,’ I whimper.
‘Don’t deny the truth. I can see the awareness in your eyes. Say it and spare me the unpleasant task. Please.’
‘What the hell is he –’ Rage starts to ask, but I blurt out the answer before he can finish.
‘Mr Dowling!’ I shout.
‘Yes,’ Dr Oystein says, shuddering. ‘The clown with the smile of death. The creator of mutants and executioner of innocents. A creature of immense power
and darkness, who relishes chaos and devastation, just like his grim master.
‘Mr Dowling is the earthly representative of the force of ultimate evil. With the sinister clown’s malevolent help, the Devil, as I call him, hopes to lead the zombies to victory and plunge our world into eternal, tormented night.
‘The war between the living and the dead rages across the globe, but this is where it will be decided. London has been chosen as the key battleground. I set up base here for reasons I cannot define, and Mr Dowling has done likewise. The war we wage in this city of the damned will be the most instrumental of the conflict.
‘We must take the fight to Mr Dowling,’ Dr Oystein says, and his face betrays the terror he feels. ‘He is our most direct and deadly nemesis. We will engage in a brutal, bloody battle to the death. If we triumph, peace and justice will reign and mankind can resume its quest to win heavenly favour.
‘If we lose,’ he concludes, and he doesn’t need to drop his voice to make his sickening, dizzying point, ‘every single one of us is damned and this world will become an outpost of Hell.’
To be continued . . .
