Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga

by Michael Cairns

  Alex - Thursday: 6 Days to Plague Day

  Who was this guy? The world was shifting beneath his feet. It had shifted last week when he'd seen the future, but he'd explained that away as a hallucination, something he imagined to help him understand his need to have a child.

  But that wasn't so easy now. Not when the man who created the hallucination had, only a few hours ago, been pouring water over his face and burning him with cigarettes. He hadn't imagined that. But who was he? There were no such things as ghosts and werewolves and vampires and demons, and all the other stuff he'd enjoyed so much until he discovered science.

  Science had changed so much in his life. It had given him direction and ambition. But the truth was no longer clear cut. He had to admit there were things beyond science, things he couldn't explain, things no one could explain. And that made the hairs on his arms stand up and his mouth go dry. Because it meant he had to admit the man sitting across from him in the train seat wasn't human.

  'Who are you?'

  The man shifted his face away from looking out the window and made eye contact. His eyes were weird, shifting and changing, just like his skin. Alex had barely looked at him when he'd sold him the flowers, and only a little more in the horrendous future he'd taken him to. But it was obvious he was odd. How had he not noticed it before?

  Why would he? Why would he have suspected a flower seller of being some strange being capable of torture and making him see the future?

  'My name is Luke.'

  'I mean, what are you?' The words felt like dead weights dropping from his lips. How could he be asking someone that?

  'That's a better question. I'm an angel.'

  'I'm sorry?'

  Luke cracked a smile, the same one he'd had when he began torturing him. It was the sort of smile worn by people who know more than you and think they always will. Alex wasn't convinced that in this case it wasn't entirely justified.

  'There are plenty of other explanations of course. I'm a figment of your deranged mind. I'm a side product of that foul shit you cooked up and sold to the government. I'm you, your alter ego, making you take control of your life and right the things you've done wrong.'

  Alex was already shaking his head. 'You aren't though. You aren't any of those things.' He paused, head still rocking from side to side. 'If you're an angel, how come you tortured me? Aren't angels supposed to be loving, caring beings?'

  'Ahh, well, that's an excellent question. I tortured you because I needed information. And because it was fun. As far as us being loving, caring beings, try a comparison. Your doctor. He or she has the job of keeping you well. Would you describe them as loving and caring? Do they give you a hug when you arrive at the surgery? How about the police. They care for your wellbeing and ensure you're safe. How about them? Many hugs recently?'

  'That's different, th--'

  'Why? Why should we be any different?'

  'You aren't human.'

  'Exactly. So what possible reason could there be for us to act like we care about you?'

  Alex opened his mouth and closed it again. His entire knowledge of the Bible extended as far as knowing there were two testaments, possibly, and that it featured God and Moses and a bunch of other guys and not many women. What was in there about angels? Without knowing, he couldn't really argue either way.

  'So why are you doing this? Why are you trying to stop us getting poisoned if you don't care?'

  'I didn't say I didn't care. Only that my caring isn't the fluffy kind. It's the practical kind, which is far more useful than the former.'

  Alex leaned back in his seat, forehead creased. 'You're an angel.'

  'You catch on quick, most impressive.'

  'Angels aren't real.'

  'Neither are zombies, but you know what, you've just made them a reality.'

  Alex's chest tightened and he gripped his trousers as his hands shook. 'They aren't zombies as such, not entirely. They merely operate through instinct using a simpler system, it's not--'

  'Will they eat brains?'

  Alex stared at his hands. 'They'll eat anything that will sustain them. Protein's best, meat. Doesn't matter if it's raw or cooked. At a push, they'll eat vegetables, but they'd have to eat a huge amount to stay alive.'

  Luke chortled, shaking his head. 'You've created vegetarian zombies. Not just made a myth, but a genre-busting myth. Most impressive. Some of my old colleagues will be most jealous.'

  'They aren't vegetarians, not by a long shot. But I haven't created anything. I've made a weapon that will, conceivably, create them. But it's safe, that's why I gave it to them. They'll make it safe.'

  Luke stared at him, incredulous smile on his face. 'You really believe the government can be trusted with anything? I've been a human for all of a week and I already know that. Admittedly, I've watched them dance from screw up to screw up for the last few millennia, but still...'

  Alex got to his feet. 'I need a pee, back in a moment.'

  He set off down the carriage until he reached the tiny toilet and crammed himself into it. He sat on the closed seat, staring at the wall while his hands shook. Luke was right. He'd created something terrible and his self-control lasted all of a few days before he cashed in. He had to get away. He had to get Lisa and get out the country, as quick as possible.

  They could run far enough to escape whatever came of the plague. They could go to some remote island surrounded by sea. Maybe in the Pacific, Tonga or Fiji. But he had to get away from that crazy bastard first. He thought he was an angel. For a minute, Alex had believed it. Now though, he just thought the man was crazy.

  He unlocked the door and peered out. Luke was just visible through the coats and elbows sticking out into the walkway. Alex crouched down and crept out of the toilet, heading the other way down the train. He reached the last carriage and squeezed himself into a corner seat. The next station was in the arse end of nowhere, but he could still get a cab or something from there.

  His fingers drummed against his leg, eyes fixed on the door between the two carriages. Luke would be wondering where he was by now. How long before he decided to search? The train announcer told him the next stop was approaching and he shifted side to side. He was in a group of four seats and the other two occupants were staring at him like he had two heads.

  He opened the window and tried not to fidget. The train slowed and the station signs flashed past. He got up and headed for the door. Waiting in the space between the carriages, he heard something and turned. A voice, soft and calm, cut through the noise of the stopping train.

  'Tell me, Alex, what's your greatest fear?'

  The train rattled to a halt and he reached out to keep himself steady. A burst of pain shot up his wrist and he glanced down to see a stump where his hand should be. Blood dripped lazily from it, as though it had better things to do but couldn't be bothered.

  He screamed and grabbed at it with his other hand. Only that one was absent as well and his stumps banged together. The pain made every cigarette burn irrelevant and he dropped to his knees, vision closing in. He came to moments later to see eyes staring at him, an entire carriage-full of people watching this crazy man rolling on the floor.

  His hands were whole and very much present. Luke came bustling up the carriage and helped him up. Alex was vaguely aware of Luke offering an apology to the others on the train.

  'I'm so sorry, change of medication. Don't worry, he's fine.'

  He allowed Luke to steer him back to their seats and settle him down. His hands were still there and he poked and prodded at them, biting on a finger to make sure. What had happened? Luke's voice drifted over the tiny table between them.

  'Tell me, Alex, what's your greatest fear? The last five minutes would suggest you're rather partial to your hands, but I question whether it isn't the loss of the world you live in that doesn't cause more hardship. The baby and now your unwillingness to believe in me. Don't like change much, do you?'

  Alex narrowed his eyes and said nothing. He
rubbed his hands together and felt the grating pain of a few minutes ago. It had been real, as real as the airships of his future vision. 'What are you?'

  'I'm your saviour.' The grin was back. 'Sounds good, doesn't it?'

  Krystal - Thursday: Plague Day

  Nothing moved. The city was swimming in a dirty fog that covered every street and everybody, and made the tops of the crashed cars look like hundreds of tiny islands. The fog stretched from Shepherds Bush to Limehouse, and got closer every second. And everywhere it went, those stupid enough to hang around dropped like drunks on a heavy night out.

  Ed had stopped watching. He was sitting with some of the others in a circle, talking about stuff. She'd tuned in a moment ago and it sounded like they were talking about their lives. What made them happy, what they liked doing at the weekends, all the sorts of things people spoke about when the ship they were on started sinking.

  Part of her longed to join in, but she thought sharing her best begging stories and 'escaping being sexually harassed by overweight businessmen' stories probably wasn't the escapism they were looking for. So she stayed by the window and watched.

  On a whim, she wandered across the tower and peered out the other side. The M25, the colossal circular motorway that surrounded London, was deadlocked, covered in stationary cars. The roads leading out of London were quiet now, though they'd been heaving earlier. For everyone who'd died in the centre, many more had escaped.

  They should escape. Why were they sitting up here, waiting to die? She knew the answer to that. They were scared. It wasn't something she'd admitted to much before, despite the last three years of her life being pretty much one big scary movie. A dull one, but scary nonetheless. But she'd spent the last hour or so trying hard not to wet herself, and the tops of her jeans were darkened from where she was wiping the sweat off her hands.

  The fog was getting closer, and maybe if they'd gone the moment it happened, they might have felt safe, but now there was no chance. Why had they stayed? She'd seen this before. Some terrible disaster happened, the first thing was people panicking and running and screaming. But they'd all just watched, eyes wide and hands gripping the railing as half of London was killed by some mysterious attack. Would it come up here?

  A man came from behind the counter and handed her a cup of tea, leaning against the railing and staring out. 'Bad traffic, huh?'

  'Oh yeah, they're gonna be pissed about that.'

  He gave her a weak look and she thought for a moment he was going to cry.

  'Thanks for the tea?'

  'Hey, why not? Why are we still here?'

  She laughed and blew on her tea. 'Yeah, I was wondering that. My excuse is I don't have a TV, so this is the first chance I've had to watch anything like this. What's yours?'

  'I had tea to serve.'

  'Oh yeah, it's all about the job. What do you really want to do?'

  'Live through this?'

  Why had she asked him? What was she going to say if he asked her the same thing? At least he'd given her an out.

  'How about you?'

  'Yeah the same. You know, stay alive, get back to my cardboard box in one piece.'

  'What?'

  'Oh yeah, I'm homeless. This is the longest I've been in a building in, like, years.'

  'God, that's terrible. Why?'

  'Why haven't I been in any buildi--'

  'No, I mean, why are you homeless?'

  She looked at him a little more closely. He was young. Not as young as her but not as old as she'd thought. Maybe eighteen. He looked really young, but the eighteen year olds she hung around with all looked forty, so maybe he was older than he looked.

  'You really wanna know?'

  He nodded earnestly and for a moment she felt sorry for him. He hadn't seen anything of the real world. This place up here, far above it all was like a model for his life. What did he do? Student maybe? Learning shit that made no real difference to anyone. Had he ever even met a homeless person before?

  But he had soft eyes and looked genuinely interested.

  'My dad started touching me. Nothing much at first, then he wanted to share baths and stuff and I was twelve and just had my first period and I knew it was creepy. So I told Mum and she laughed at me and told me not to be ridiculous. Told her again and she got angry and sent me to my room. Told the school counsellor and somehow Mum got blamed so I was living with Dad. He left me alone for a bit, then started with it again so I ran away.'

  His face changed. He had these smooth cheeks that were hollowed slightly, and flushed with little red sunbursts beneath soft eyes that wanted to ignore what she was saying. He wanted to pretend it wasn't true, only he couldn't. So instead he stared at her like he could heal with just a look. Krystal kept herself from sneering and stared right back.

  'Why didn't your mum believe you?'

  'She already knew. She just wasn't willing to change her life. She thought Dad was this golden person and even when she had the chance to shop him, she took the blame and went away. She's just as messed up as he is. Was. I don't know them anymore.'

  The man nodded again and sipped his tea. His hand shook and she wondered if it was to do with what she'd said or the fact that far below them, the ponds that surrounded the building were filling slowly with fog. The circle was still going, filling the room with the soft murmurs of misplaced hope. She didn't know why she was so sure it wouldn't help.

  The idea of dying being not so bad if you were with someone, or believing in something made her want to vomit. Dying was dying, same as cold was cold and hungry was hungry. Who cared if you told other people about it before you went?

  The guy with the tea stared down at the ground as the fog sent exploratory tendrils around the base of the building. She nudged him.

  'It won't reach us up here, will it?'

  He shrugged. 'Don't see why it should. Doesn't seem to be coming up at all. I suppose there's always the air con--'

  His face went white. She'd always thought that was a bad description, like, no one's face went white. But he looked like someone had shoved a vacuum cleaner somewhere and sucked the blood out of him. His tea hit the floor and he raced across the room.

  The people in the circle barely noticed, so Krystal ran after him, dumping her own tea on a table. He rushed into the corridor and down to the lift where he hammered at the button, swearing under his breath.

  'Hey, hold on, what's up?'

  'The air con, the bloody air con. It'll circulate air all round the building. If the fog gets in down there, the air con'll bring it up here.'

  'Oh.' She realised just then she'd been somehow thinking they were safe. She'd imagined them sitting it out, far above the Earth and emerging unscathed into a new world, where things like homelessness didn't matter anymore. How the hell had she done that? She had, though, and now it was crumbling in her mind.

  'What do we do?'

  'Try and switch the air con off.'

  'Do you know how to do that?'

  He shrugged and let out a breath as the lift arrived. As they descended, he kept thumping his hand against the wall. 'Why didn't I think of it earlier, bloody sodding dammit.'

  'Well, you did have tea to serve.'

  It brought him up short and he looked at her. He was on the verge of tears again, but at the earnest look on her face, he burst out laughing instead. It was an uncomfortable sound, like he was trying to convince himself something was funny, but it was better than the crying or the thumping.

  The doors slid open and she followed him down the corridor. The place was deserted. Why had no one come up and got them? Maybe down here it was the more normal disaster scenario; everyone for themselves. He ran straight behind the reception desk and into the room beyond.

  She glanced around before following, expecting someone to jump out and demand to know what she was doing. There was no one, though. The glass doors at the front showed a scene like something from a Frank Herbert book. The fog was dense, and carried tiny black particles so it loo
ked almost like smoke. And it was coming closer every second.

  Swearing emerged from behind her and she ran into the room. The guy stood beside a huge grey box mounted on the wall. He had it open and within were hundreds of switches. There was a diagram on the back of the door but it made no sense to her, and from the look on his face, none to him, either.

  They stood side by side staring at the switches.

  'You sure one of these is the air con?'

  'Pretty certain. Not completely, but pretty.'

  'Shall we just switch all of them then?'

  He looked at her, eyebrows trying to escape into his hair. 'This is the lights and all the power. No more tea.'

  'I can live without tea.'

  She reached out, not giving him a chance to argue and flicked the bottom right switch. Nothing happened so she started on the rest. After a moment's pause, he joined her, starting from the top. They had nearly met in the middle before the lights went out.

  There were no windows in the room and it was utter darkness. Feeling really stupid, she asked, 'You still there?'

  'Yeah. I can't hear the air con anymore.'

  'So we did it?'

  'I think so. We should go into the lobby, there'll be some light there. Oh hey, I'm James.'

  'Krystal. Blame my parents.'

  He chuckled and they started to cross the room. She put her hand out as her foot caught on something, and it landed on his arm. She clutched it and he moved until their hands met. Without another word, they took baby steps across the room, accompanied by the thumps and thuds as they walked into desks or chairs, or a hundred other things she paid no attention to on the way in.

  She sniffed. There was the weirdest smell, like mould. She'd slept on enough cardboard boxes to recognise the scent of something rotting. It smelt damp as well, like her hair after a frost. James's hand tightened in hers and she squeezed back. It got tighter still and cold and when she tried to pull free, he clung on, hand fixed in place.