Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga

by Michael Cairns

  'You know how difficult it actually is to stab someone to death? There are guys in America in those prisons got stabbed like fifty times and din't die.'

  'Yeah, but he'll be sleeping and I'll put it in his heart.'

  'Even so.' She sighed. What the hell was she thinking? 'What do you need me for then?'

  'I need you to vouch for me, to say I was with you all night.'

  'Ooh yeah, you and me cosying up, I can see it now. Bollocks, they won't go for that.'

  'He's just one of us. Why would they believe a dead person and not both of us?'

  He was right. She could say the right words and probably, maybe, it would work.

  'Where's the knife?'

  'I don't know. I have to find one. But that's easy. As long as the blade's long enough.'

  She hissed through her teeth and stared at the unwrapped sandwich in her hand. Her appetite was gone but she still stuffed it into her mouth and took a bite. It was bloody delicious and her appetite came flooding back. She crammed the best part of it into her mouth and, without thinking, offered the other one to Ed.

  He looked from it to her and, with that labrador face, took it in shaking hands. She was skinny, but he was scary thin, like he'd fall over in a strong wind.

  'You ain't got the strength to put it through his skin.' Why was she even contemplating this?

  'I have. It won't take much, not with a sharp knife.'

  'He'll wake up, you know? Moment the point goes in 'im, he'll wake up and go for you.'

  'Yeah, I know. I'll line it up and do it in one big shove. I've thought about it.'

  'Yeah, I can tell. So I help you, what's in it for me?'

  'My undying gratitude.'

  She burst out laughing, sides aching from the unfamiliar. 'Right, so you'll remember me when you're driving around in your Ferrari, that right?'

  He chuckled as well. 'I don't have anything else.'

  'You know what you got? You've got your freedom and the chance something might be different tomorrow.'

  'Do you really believe that?'

  She sneered and hissed at him. She'd keep her bloody sandwiches next time. She was only angry 'cause he was right. She didn't believe it, not for a second. She was counting the winters till they got a bad one and she couldn't get in the hostel and they found her next morning looking like Frosty the bloody snowman. Just counting the days.

  Was prison such a bad option compared to that? She sniffed and got off the bench. Maybe doing something different was the change she needed. 'Alright, I can do that. Where are we gonna say we were?' His eyes opened a little wider and she realised he hadn't planned this far ahead. 'Surprised you, did I?'

  He looked slightly sick as he nodded. 'Yeah. Um, so, I suppose one of the hostels that he's not at.'

  'So we start together at one of them and you can go off and find him and then come back and I'll say you never left.'

  'Yeah, yeah, that sounds perfect.'

  He stood and bounced from foot to foot. 'I better be off, need to find a knife.'

  'Yeah. Same place as last night?' She thought about offering to help, but that was a step too far. One thing at a time. He nodded and walked off, head not quite so bowed. He slipped between the normals in their suits and was gone. She blinked and looked down at the rose in her hand. Why had he given her this?

  It was a slow day, but she got enough cash for the hostel. She trudged back to Black Street where she'd started the day, and rang the bell. It would be Mrs Ely again tonight. She stood on the step, twisting the rose between her fingers and caught the scent again.

  She was transported. She stood in a graveyard, rain pelting her. Her clothes stuck to her body and she shivered. The rose was still in her hand and she placed it on a mound of freshly dug earth. The headstone just said Ed and she shivered again.

  The sound of a door opening intruded and she blinked. The graveyard was gone, replaced by the opening door of the hostel. The rose looked sort of ordinary, the petals curled and pale from a day in her hand. She sniffed and headed inside.

  He arrived out of breath, kitchen knife stuffed in his belt. They didn't say much, just ate more of the sandwiches and stared at the walls. They hadn't talked about what they'd do if Dawid turned up here. Probably stay until it was done, she guessed, but the words kept sticking in her throat.

  It was actually happening. She only believed it when he got up and leaned down, mouth close to her ear.

  'You're going to do this, right?' His voice shook.

  She nodded. 'Yeah, I am.'

  He went to the door and was about to go when she jumped up. 'Here, it's weird, but d'you want the rose?'

  She shoved it at him and he took it before he realised what it was. He blinked as he looked at it and back at her. 'Thanks.'

  'Yeah, whatever.'

  The door closed and she stared into her cup. The tea swirled gently round and round and she watched it. Circles, never ending circles. Every time she thought they'd stop, she put her spoon back in and stirred a little more. That was all it took, a spoon in the right place, a knife in the right back and the circles began.

  She smashed her hand through the cup and the contents flew across the room to strike the wall. The other two in there gasped and stared but she ignored them. Who put their fist through her life? She wasn't sure if it was Dad, or Mum, or social, or all three. But there had been circles and circles and then the fist came and she was showered all over the wall.

  Krystal swore and jumped from her seat. She ignored Mrs Ely's cries of dismay as she headed out the front door and dashed down Black Street towards Shaftesbury Avenue. Three hostels and the streets were dark and already quietening. She kept up a steady stream of invective as she raced towards Soho.

  She'd seen him there more often than not. It was the biggest, above the YMCA and always packed. Easy place for him to find his next victim. She sniffed as she ran, catching scent of the rain that threatened to wash London out by the morning. That would be fitting. But she'd seen blood in rain, after an accident. It didn't wash away, it just thinned out until the street turned pink.

  She reached the hostel and bent double, hands on her knees. Her chest heaved and spots appeared before her eyes. She had to get inside, she couldn't be too late. She rang the bell then thumped the door until it was pulled open by an angry looking Mr Jensen. He frowned, lined face growing deep crevices.

  'Yeah, sorry, I know it's late, please?'

  The creases didn't go away, but he stood back and made room for her. With a grateful smile she slipped past him and surveyed the main room. It was busy tonight but she saw him instantly. He was in a crowd, sat on the arm of a chair, leaning over a boy no older than Ed and saying something that made them all laugh.

  Her skin crawled and she stopped by the door. Did he deserve to live? He would do it tonight, same as most nights and another boy would be scarred. Ed would stop that. Speaking of which...

  She checked them, one at a time. He wasn't here. Unless he'd already gone to bed. She weaved through the common room, waving at the people she recognised. If she was Ed, she'd call them friends, but that was stupid. No one was friends here.

  She headed for the dorms. They were separated here so she waited until the coast was clear before she sneaked into the boys'. Ed was there, with his back to her. He knelt in the centre of the room, head bowed and she paused, watching him. What was he doing? Was he praying? She snickered and he jumped and spun round. Tears ran down his snot-covered face and he clutched the knife in both hands.

  'What are you doing here?' His voice shook.

  'I'm not doing it.'

  His control shattered and he howled, falling on his face and spreading his arms wide. He looked like he'd fallen from high up and splattered across the dormitory floor. She took a step closer and his fists clenched. She took a deep breath as he suddenly sat up, bringing the knife in towards himself.

  It all happened horribly fast. The knife twisted until it was aimed at his body and she shouted something
. She didn't know what, she was too busy diving at him. The knife moved, flashing beneath the fluorescent strip and she saw it slip through the ragged material of his t-shirt. Then her hand caught his arm and the knife and both of them went flying.

  He was pinned to the floor beneath her. It would never have happened with anyone else, but he was so slight. The knife slid away from them and bumped into the far wall. She panted. He shook beneath her and she rolled off, thumping onto the floor and looking across at him. His forehead pressed against the cold tiles, snot and tears smearing across them.

  'I can't do it. I want my mum.'

  She let out a long breath and sat up. He came willingly enough, falling onto her lap and heaving great sobs. The sound broke something inside her and her own tears ran hot down her cheeks, tears she hadn't shed in all the time she'd been on the streets. Something slipped and tore free and a great weight fell away, leaving her floating despite the sobbing boy in her lap.

  Interlude

  Two for the price of one. And for only one rose. He hadn't expected the change in her as well. The boy wasn't saved, not how the Office would like, but he was away from the edge, so his job was done.

  He couldn't count it as two officially. But using her had been a master stroke and he couldn't wait to tell Seph about it. For a week that had started so badly, he was feeling pretty good. He already knew who he was having tomorrow.

  This one was tricky. He almost always felt sympathy for his subjects. There were always extraneous circumstances of some sort. No one counted love as an excuse, which was the most stupid thing he'd ever heard. If love didn't make you do stupid things, then what did?

  But tomorrow's subject was nothing to do with love. Nothing to do with anything except greed. If he hadn't been made of pure energy, he might have considered not bothering. If.

  Jackson Part One

  Jackson woke and slid from his bed. Bitch was still sleeping. She could stay there. Better to not hear her bitching voice this early in the morning. Breakfast, comb through the beard thirty times, wax on the scalp and out to the van. He squeezed in, head brushing the roof and huge hands gripping the wheel.

  Busy day. He checked himself in the rear view. Beard looked good, eyes not so much. He'd been drinking too much. Anything to block out the bitch moaning and whining at him every night. He had red bits around his dark irises, blood vessels that burst and spilled into the whites. He sniffed, hawked and spat out the window. It struck the dust of the yard and rolled into a tiny dirt-covered ball.

  Shit game last night. Not one good player on the pitch. They fired the managers but it was the players getting the money to be shit every week. He spat again and pulled out of the yard to the road, yellow dust following in the van's wake.

  He prodded his nose as he waited to pull out at the lights. Bitch had hit him a few weeks back and he was beginning to think she'd broken it. Not the first time, which was why it was so difficult to be sure. But it moved differently and felt even more spread out than usual.

  He pulled out, giving the finger to the guy beeping him, and headed into town. He'd park up at Pavan's and the guy could like it. Too much to do to worry about the wardens. Far too bloody much to do. They were coming in tonight.

  He bit his lip, the only sign he'd ever give he was worried. Worried was too strong a word for it. He wasn't worried about shit, 'cept maybe bitch sleeping around. She was too, no doubt. But still, it bore thinking about. Two years and seven months and now they were coming to visit. Why?

  He'd ask them when they got here and if they couldn't give him an answer, he'd find someone else to sell to. There were plenty who wanted 'em. Hell, they were queuing up at the door. He stopped at the lights and checked the back. Ropes all present and correct.

  He reached Pavan's without any of the wankers on the road driving into him. Always a bloody miracle, considering how many there were these days. He parked up and went for a walk. He strolled down to Embankment, checking out the tourists, watching for the weak spots.

  There were a couple of girls, young, bag straps over both shoulders. He approached them with a warm smile but they hurried away. Too old anyway. He kept moving, watching, waiting. He headed for the South Bank. There were school trips there sometimes, but today it was empty. He did spot a couple of homeless kids, familiar territory. One was a young boy, long lanky black hair. The other was a girl, older than the boy and pretty in a skinny sort of way. Bob haircut and thin lips. He headed over but they spotted him and moved on quick enough.

  It was fine. This was window shopping. He stomped over the Millennium Bridge and strolled back towards Embankment. Most of the way there when he smelled them. They took him back and he stopped dead, eyes watering. For a moment he was in Mam's garden, surrounded by rose bushes, watching her bustle about. She looked down and smiled at him and he opened his mouth. His breath came in short gasps and he placed one hand against his heart. Why did it hurt so bad? The smell faded and some semblance of reality returned. He stared at Mam until the rot appeared and she faded away.

  He sneered and wandered over to the flower seller. The flowers were impressive. Mam would have loved them. He resisted the urge to buy them all and toss 'em in the river.

  'Nice stall.'

  'Thank you, sir, perhaps I can interest you in something?'

  He was taking the piss. What was it with that stupid voice? 'I ain't buying no flowers.'

  'Perhaps for a lady friend? Ladies always love to be given flowers.'

  'Don't know no ladies.'

  'I see.'

  The flower seller looked down at his feet. He was a weird one, skin all messed up like he'd been burned or something. Jackson blinked and the skin was back to normal.

  'How about one red rose then? The bitches love a red rose.'

  He balled his hands into fists and leaned over the table between the flowers. 'You taking the piss?'

  'Not at all, sir, merely meeting you in a place I thought you'd be comfortable.'

  'I ain't never gonna be comfortable round a poofter like you, get it?'

  'Absolutely, sir. I can offer you a sample. Here, take the rose for free, please.'

  Jackson looked at the flower held out to him and the scent caught his nose and trapped it. He could see Mam, he could almost hear her. With a growl he lashed out and smashed the head of the rose, sending the petals flying. He stomped away, not wanting to look the flower seller in the eye, and not sure why.

  He got a few paces before he stopped and checked himself. He always looked people in the eye. He turned, hands shaking from being clenched so hard and approached the man. He stood where he'd left him, the empty rose stem still clutched in his hand. As Jackson approached, he raised his head and their eyes met.

  'That was unnecessary.'

  'Screw you, offering me a rose.'

  'What is so bad about offering you a rose?'

  'What the heck? You think I'm a poofter or summink?'

  'I merely thought you might like something to give your woman when you got home. I'm sure you have one, you carry yourself like a man used to getting what he wants.'

  'Damn right. Why would I want to give her anything?'

  'Not to put too fine a point on it, to keep her sweet. Sometimes it's easier to stroke than keep clear of the claws.'

  What the hell was he talking about? He was right though, she wouldn't... he glanced at his watch and swore. They would be here in a few minutes and he was too far away. What the hell had he been thinking? And where had the bloody time gone?

  He dashed down Embankment, leaving the roses on the stall.

  Interlude

  The flower seller watched him go, satisfied with the smear of water and rose petal on the back of Jackson's hand. It didn't count as receiving, not strictly, but it would do.

  That was lazy. But if these were the only tools they gave him, what did they expect? He could probably have tried harder, but he'd tried and that's what counted. He turned back to the stall and started to pack up. There was work still
to be done.

  He tried to keep the smile from his face, but he couldn't help cracking a grin. What a singularly unpleasant man. His list entry had made it quite clear how nasty a piece of work he was, but he was all that and more in the flesh.

  He felt it, his old life, at times like this. It had been centuries, but he couldn't help remembering the old thrill when an opportunity arose. It was, he thought, the creative part of himself, stifled from his time in the Flights. They didn't appreciate creativity in the Dome. They appreciated numbers and results.

  Well, he could have both. He opened his jacket and one by one placed the bunches of flowers inside, where they vanished. He whistled quietly to himself as he worked.

  Jackson Part Two

  How had he lost so much time? Bloody tourists. He shoved his way through the traffic, growling under his breath. They were meeting in the park. Him and the two of them on a bench, all cosy and out the way.

  He was sweating, a thick sheen of it all over his dome. Bloody, sodding bollocks. He ran over the road and into the park. They wouldn't want to wait. And they wouldn't be impressed. He hadn't thought he cared that much but turns out he did.

  He slowed as he neared the centre of the park and followed the instructions. He spotted them before they spotted him and took a moment to examine. They were wearing suits. Should he have worn a suit? He spat, drawing stares from the people around him. Why did he care? Bloody Chinese bastards, he was better than them.

  Jackson stomped over and stopped before the bench, arms folded. They looked up at him and for a brief moment his blood ran cold. Bitch had dead eyes, but they were nothing on these two.

  'Hi, you Li and Han?'

  They still stared at him. One of them, who knew which, lifted an arm and carefully examined his watch.

  'Yeah, I know, bloody tourists in the way.' He stopped himself before he could say anything else stupid. Their eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth again, then shut it. He shifted from foot to foot.