They’d turned on him, just like Luke and his cronies had. They all turned on him. It was jealousy, pure and simple. They couldn’t handle the thought that he was God’s chosen. They were racist. If he was some white boy with nice blond hair they’d be bowing before him. He hawked and spat, ignoring Ella’s glare from the far end of the corridor.
He reached the door long after she vanished through it, and shoved his way in. The noise made him squint as the screams and shouts wound their way into his head. The stairwell was bare concrete and the sounds of fighting bounced off the walls along with the voices.
He took the steps down carefully, one at a time and leaning with his elbow on the rail. He got to the midway flight and stopped. There were two zombies trying to get up the stairs, and five of the ladies opposing them. They were defending themselves with two fire extinguishers and a bunch of random kitchen utensils. They were, at best, not getting killed, which was about the kindest thing he could say.
He watched for a moment longer before resuming his descent. He’d taken a few steps before he stopped. What was he going to do? He stared at his wrecked hands and fought to keep his lip from wobbling. He was God’s chosen, but right now he was a cripple, a complete waste of space.
He gritted his teeth and climbed back up. He pushed into the hotel and headed for the kitchen. Every few steps he’d stop, sucking in breaths as the walls and floor shifted beneath him. He needed sleep. He didn’t need to make decisions, none of them did. If the stairs were the only way up they just needed to barricade the door and give him time to recover.
He barged into the kitchen and found a cooker. It was a huge, industrial thing with about twenty rings on the top. A couple of them were gas and he lit one by turning the knob with his elbows. It clicked and burst into life, the flames beckoning him.
He stared at it for a moment, waiting for the courage. It was a long time coming. Finally, he tore at the bandages with his teeth. She’d put them on tighter this time, but eventually they unwound and he stared once more at his wrecked left hand. The thumb looked like some weird mutation, sticking out the side while his stumps wriggled and stung.
The flames came into focus past his hand and he stared at them. The ends of his fingers were open wounds and would be for a long time. There was no sewing them up. He paused. He should get the weapon now, he wouldn’t want to go through the pain twice.
He searched the kitchen and finally settled on a knife blade that had a vicious point but was deeply serrated along the edge. It reminded him of a bone saw from a hospital. It was steel, shiny, and very sharp. He stamped on the handle until it broke apart, then wedged the blade into a drawer with the other end sticking out at waist height.
It was time. There was no avoiding it anymore. He hesitated, wondering what the chances were of one of the ladies coming in to stop him. He snorted. It would be the opposite. The moment one arrived, he’d do it, because what other option was there?
He scooped up the bandage with his other hand and shoved some clumsily into his mouth. He bit down as hard as he could and shoved his fingers into the flame. At first there was nothing, as the dead nerves went up in smoke. Then the flames caught the live skin and he screamed, the bandage dropping to the floor.
The smell made him want to vomit but he was screaming too hard to be sick. He yanked his hand away and stared at the stumps. They were blackened and crisp. Definitely not bleeding anymore. He stepped sideways until he reached the knife. The point of the handle rested nicely in the gap between his second and third knuckles. He’d need to put it back in the flame once it was in.
He pushed, just a little, so the blade cracked through the crispy surface. Then it pushed between the knuckles and he groaned and put his body weight behind it. The handle shoved his knuckles aside as it drove into his hand. He felt warmth running down his leg and realised he’d wet himself.
His face burned and the embarrassment almost blanked out the pain, but not quite. He pulled the knife out of the drawer and shoved his fingers back into the flames. A few seconds later he pulled them out again and held it up. The knife was embedded deep into his hand, the blade like an extension, rising straight up where his middle and ring finger would have been.
He made it to the cupboard and found a bottle of vodka. He smashed the top off on the work surface, emptied half over his hand, and downed as much of the rest as he could. Then he slumped to the floor and blacked out.
Luke
He gripped his seatbelt like his life depended on it. There was a good chance it did. Bayleigh weaved between the cars like they were trying to bite the truck, hauling the wheel back and forth without any warning or subtlety. He imagined it was like going on a fairground ride. He’d never been, but a subject a few years ago had spent an inordinate amount of time riding them while trying to decide whether to shoot someone.
He’d felt sick just watching them. Now his stomach heaved and his knuckles were white against the dashboard. The truck caught the bumper of a car and smashed it across the road. The truck went slightly off track before Bayleigh hauled it around and kept it moving.
Alex was squashed in beside him, staring at his phone. He shouted ‘RIGHT’ and Bayleigh spun the wheel. They cut through a tiny gap between two cars and hammered down a side street. Despite the rain beating against the window, Luke wished he was outside with Krystal. If he saw a bike, he’d say something.
They turned again and again, winding their way through the storm and north out of central London. They reached a far larger road and set out west. The going was no faster here, traffic clogging up the lanes. Bayleigh slowed as they neared a spot where cars were slewed across the road, sideways and backwards and all over the shop.
There was no way through and Luke muttered under his breath. Bayleigh had different ideas, putting her foot down and charging for where two cars sat bumper to bumper.
Luke winced and half covered his eyes. He would have argued, but it was happening far too quickly. The smashing of breaking glass and crumpling metal made him duck, but both cars slid across the wet concrete and the truck pushed through. With a sigh of relief, they cut through the mess and kept going.
There weren’t many zombies on the road, but now and then the head lights would pick out a face, peering from within a car.
After too long staring out into the endless rain, they went down a slip road to a roundabout. There was another crash here, cars and busses and lorries set at all sorts of angles. Some had mounted the middle of the roundabout and were hiding beneath the flyover.
Alex guided them through and onto another dual carriageway. This one was just as busy and they crawled up the hill, taking the truck off the road and onto the pavement to get past. Trees lined the narrow strip and Bayleigh was constantly driving into them and having to reverse. The tires were spinning in the soaking mud and Luke could feel his patience running thin.
The road at the top of the hill was a state, the scene of a huge pileup between two sets of traffic lights. There was no way through. Bayleigh slammed the brakes on, swearing and thumping the steering wheel. ‘Any ideas?’
‘If we can get over the central reservation we can get up.’ Luke said.
Alex leant over and all three of them peered through the downpour. It was a grass strip, maybe two metres wide, with a barrier running down the middle. Alex shrugged so Bayleigh reversed and paused, gunning the engine.
‘Should we warn the ladies?’ She asked.
Luke pushed open the door and peered through. He stared at legs and arses and not a lot else. Had it not been quite so stuffy it would have been a fabulous sight.
‘We need to get over a barrier. It could be tricky. Hold on to something.’
He pulled the door closed before they could start asking questions and gave Bayleigh a nod. She put her foot down and hammered straight for the barrier. She only had a truck length run up and they weren’t going nearly fast enough when they hit. Luke held his breath as the truck slammed into the verge and bounced into the a
ir.
The front smashed into the barrier and wrenched it from the soft ground. They kept moving and he let out the breath, still clinging to his seatbelt. The truck slowed as it climbed over the bump and even more so as the rear wheels left the road. The moment they did, the truck slid sideways and lost all momentum.
‘Shit.’ The truck came to a stop. Bayleigh had her foot flat on the floor but they were going nowhere. It revved like crazy and slid again.
‘Stop it, take your foot off, we’re wheel spinning.’
Bayleigh swore again and let off the gas, pulling the handbrake on. Luke decided not to point out the pointlessness of that. With a sigh, he nudged Alex and he opened the door, letting them both out into the rain.
It was far louder out here. The storm had settled in above London like a mother hen over her eggs, and the thunder and lightning had become almost constant. Within seconds of being outside, they were both soaked. Luke paced around the van. The front wheels were sitting a few inches above the grass while the back ones were buried deep in mud.
Luke swallowed, trying hard to suppress the urge to slam his fist into the side of the van. Alex stood with his hands on his hips, rain streaming from his nose, and shook his head. It wasn’t the most useful suggestion in the world so Luke redirected his frustration towards him.
‘What do we do now?’
‘No idea.’
‘What do you mean? Surely you’ve done something like this before?’
‘Nope. Never got stuck in mud, never had to call out a tractor to pull me—’
‘Genius, that’s it. We’ll call out a tractor, where do we find the number?’
Alex’s eyes widened as he backed away, hands held out before him. ‘Hey, sorry, I’ve only been driving for a few years and for most of them I haven’t had a car.’
Luke waved it away, wallowing in the part of himself that had no patience for this sort of thing. People should just know. Back in Hell, if a demon hadn’t done what he was asked, he’d rip his arm off and beat him to death with it. Back in Hell…
He sniffed and rubbed his face. He wasn’t back in hell now. He wished he was. There was no Sophie in Hell and no vision of her having her throat ripped out. There was no compassion and concern for someone else. And there wasn’t this piercing ache in his gut that he had no words for and no way of dealing with.
He wanted to punch Alex. He wanted to punch him until he was ragged and limp. Partially because he wasn’t Sophie, and partially because he thought hurting Alex would make him feel better. It had to, because nothing else was.
‘What do we do then?’ Luke asked again.
Alex was silent. Probably too scared to suggest anything now, and who could blame him? Luke stood behind the truck and set his shoulder against it. He pushed for just long enough to know how ridiculous an idea it was. Alex wandered off and Luke only realised he’d gone when a shout reached him through the rain.
Alex was crouched beside one of the cars, but he shouted again like he was in pain so Luke ran over. He wasn’t bending down so much as being dragged by a zombie lying on the floor in the gap between the cars. It had its hand tangled in Alex’s shirt and was hauling him towards its open jaws.
He couldn’t reach the zombie with Alex right there. He glanced around and saw immediately what he had to do. He opened the door of the car to his right, scrambled over the gear stick, and sat in the driver’s seat. Alex’s face, mouth stretched taut over his gritted teeth, was right outside the window.
Luke wound the window down and shoved the door open. It slammed against the zombie’s arm, snapping it. It also hit Alex in the shoulder and sent him sprawling into the road. Luke pushed the door open fully and looked down at the prone zombie.
He slammed his foot down on its face again and again until it stopped moving. Then he climbed out of the car and stepped over the corpse. Alex was back on his feet and rubbing his chest with his hands.
He nodded to Luke. ‘Thanks, I think.’
‘Sorry, he was tricky to get with you there. What were you doing over here?’
‘I thought we could push the truck with something.’ He pointed past the two cars, to the sort of truck cab that pulls an articulated lorry sat just beyond them. It was huge, with tires that came to Luke’s shoulders. It was also the perfect idea.
Luke climbed back into the car and turned the key. It spluttered and tried desperately to stay sleeping but he nursed it to life. He pulled it forwards and weaved through the cars until it was well out of the way. Alex did the same with the second and finished the route for the artic to come through.
They climbed into the cab, high above the rest of the traffic, and grinned at one another. It felt more like a ship than a car, and the engine sounded like a jet plane with lung disease when he started it up. He wasn’t convinced he was the best person for the job but Alex hadn’t offered so he put the truck in reverse and put his foot down.
It shot back and slammed into a car, driving it up and over another with a shriek of tortured metal. He gave Alex a guilty smile and put it in first. He needed to be gentler or he’d crush the truck and all the ladies.
He slowly lifted the clutch, trying to remember everything he’d ever seen about driving. The lorry juddered and stalled. He started it up and tried again. He covered half the distance to the rear of the truck before he stalled again. Third time out, he decided to be just a touch more aggressive.
The cab leapt across the space and he slammed his foot on the brake so hard it slid into the curb and bounced back. His hands clutched the steering wheel and he stared at them until his fingers obeyed his instructions and peeled loose. Try again. The subtleties of driving were going to take practice. He didn’t have time to practice.
He rolled it forwards, left foot clinging to the clutch as it threatened to break loose at any moment. The cab bounced up the kerb and the rear of the truck filled the front window. Then they struck.
It was gentle enough not to smash the front window, but the truck jumped forwards, crashed off the central reservation, and onto the road. Luke punched the steering wheel and exchanged a grin with Alex.
‘Not bad at all, for an angel.’
Luke lost the smile. He wasn’t an angel, not anymore. And even if he got back to the Flights, he still wasn’t sure he wanted that role back. Seph had made a mockery of something he himself had challenged. But he’d done it openly. He’d made no bones about his dispute with the Father. Seph had betrayed everything he was supposed to stand for, for three hundred years.
He was pissed about that, but it wasn’t the real reason.
He’d watched Sophie die and done nothing about it.
He screwed up his face and repeated the mantra that had been running through his head for the last couple of hours. He couldn’t have done anything about it.
Except he could. He could have been more aware of the devices and got them charged. He could have got them out of the city quicker instead of giving them a few days to recover. If they’d left the city straight away, Dave would still be with them as well, and no one would have been hurt.
He bit his tongue and turned to Alex. ‘I think I might take this. If we come up against any more roadblocks I can clear them out the way.’
Alex nodded and cracked open the door. ‘Let me go tell Bayleigh and…’ He frowned and looked around the back of the cab. When he reappeared, his face was white beneath the street lights.
‘What is it?’ Luke asked.
‘Where’s Krystal?’
The mantra spun off its wheels and went hurtling away.
Dave
Dave froze. Then the big man swayed and his eyes wandered. He set to hustling the ladies towards the lift, keeping his eyes on Jackson the entire time. Jackson raised his hand and muttered something incomprehensible. Was he drunk? His words slurred, he stumbled, and his hand struck the wall.
His face screwed up and Dave thought he was going to cry, but he doubled over, white-bandaged hands sticking out to either side.
He slumped against the wall as the lift descended. He’d done it. Somehow, he’d done it. He’d done it with charm and class, but that was because it wasn’t really him doing it. He felt horrible, raped and abused, but he couldn’t deny what had happened. Az had worked through him, the puppet master taking whatever he wanted.
The trouble was, Dave had loved it. He could still feel the smile on his face and how the ladies had responded. He remembered how amazing it made him feel. He thought that maybe, some time long ago, in another life, he’d been good with women. Not any more. But he liked the newly-made memory. Az could take control of him whenever he wanted.
The lift doors slid open and the reception area lay before them. The rain battered the glass doors and ran in rivers down the windows. The ladies hesitated, disturbed, perhaps, by the pile of bodies by the front door.
Some zombies still hovered around the corpses, shoving what meat they could find into their mouths. As they drew nearer the doors, one raised its head and stared straight at them. Blood ran from its jaw and mingled with the water, running in a red waterfall off its chin. The ladies gasped and backed away.
‘It’s okay, don’t worry. I’ll deal with them. Wait here.’
He stepped away, chest thrusting out. They were watching him and this was a good chance to ensure their trust. One of the ladies groaned and he spun back around. Her hands gripped her distended belly and she bent over. The others gathered around and Dave turned away. That was something he couldn’t help with.
Thirteen Roses Book Five: Home: A Paranormal Zombie Saga Page 7
