Authors: Darren Shan
Zom-B Mission (14 page)
‘We could make a daisy chain,’ Ashtat says. ‘Pearse could hang from Carl’s hands, Conall could hang from Pearse’s . . .’
‘I’m not
that
strong,’ Carl protests.
‘And getting back up would be tricky,’ Pearse agrees.
I wait for
more ideas. When nobody proposes any, I tell Rage to throw Shane up to us. ‘You’ll have to sit this one out.’
‘Trying to get rid of me?’ Rage scowls.
‘For once, no,’ I say truthfully. ‘We could do with a bruiser like you in here. But our hands are tied.’
‘Damn it!’ Rage kicks the wall in anger. Then he sighs, locks his fingers together and gives Shane a boost up. ‘B,’ he calls before
I disappear from sight. ‘Kill a few of those bastards for me.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ I promise, then we swarm forward into the belly of New Kirkham to lock horns with the white-hooded members of the Ku Klux Klan.
TWENTY-THREE
We creep past the empty houses and along the silent streets. Most people have gathered in the large open square just inside the main gate, where the Klan crew have parked their jeeps and trucks. Some of the residents – mainly those with dark skin or foreign accents – are running from them, trying to hide. We hear their sobs and screams as they’re chased by cackling Klansmen.
A black boy no more than nine or ten years old races by us. He doesn’t see us since we’re keeping to shadows at the side of the street.
One of the white-clad ghouls comes jogging after the boy. He’s carrying a rifle. He fires off a shot which only just misses. He curses and mutters something about the gun being faulty. ‘I’ll just have to use my hands,’ he giggles, then starts clicking
his tongue and calling to the boy as if he was a dog.
I slip out of the shadows and up behind the vile hunter. My eyes are burning. My hands are bunched into fists. I’ve slaughtered more than a few reviveds since I revitalised, and turned a couple of people into zombies. But I’ve never deliberately killed a living, breathing person. I’m not sure that I can.
The boy trips and curls up
into a ball. He’s too scared to get up and push on. The man laughs and flexes his fingers. ‘I’m gonna make this slow,’ he drawls as he closes in. ‘It’s gonna be painful. By the end you’ll wish you’d never been –’
‘Hey,’ I call softly.
The man turns, surprised. Before he can react, I drive my right hand through the cloth of his hood, through the flesh of his forehead, through the skull
behind that, and into the soft, squishy brain beneath.
‘Guess that answers that question,’ I grunt as I pull my hand free and he drops into the dirt to die where he belongs.
‘On your feet,’ I tell the boy, who’s staring at me with wide eyes. ‘Go hide, and don’t come out until this is over.’
‘I saw you earlier,’ he whispers. ‘You’re one of the good zombies.’
I cock an eyebrow
at him. ‘I don’t know if I’d go that far. But yeah, I’m not here to eat your brain. Now go –’
‘They caught my mum,’ he interrupts. ‘They put her in a cage.’
‘I’ll free her,’ I promise. ‘She’ll come find you. Now go hide like I said.’
The boy nods, gets up and scampers away. I return to the shadows at the side of the street. Ashtat studies me gravely as I wipe my hand clean on my trousers.
‘Something to say?’ I snap, expecting a lecture.
She shakes her head, then nods. ‘I hope I can find your kind of strength when it is my time to kill,’ she murmurs. ‘If not, will you help me?’
I stare at her uncertainly. I wasn’t expecting a compliment. I look at the others and they’re gawping at me too, like I’m some kind of hero.
‘Look, it’s simple,’ I tell them. ‘These guys are
the enemy. He was going to kill that boy. They’re monsters, even worse than the reviveds. If there was a court we could take them to, I’d suggest we round them up and drag them there alive. But we’re all the law there is out here. If they surrender, fine, we’ll let the people of New Kirkham bind them nice and tightly and do what they like with the creeps. Otherwise we put them down like the
savage dogs they are. Don’t think of them as human. They’re not.’
The Angels nod hesitantly. I can tell they feel uneasy about this. But there’s no time to debate it. We have to act before it’s too late.
We edge forward again. I lead the way this time, the others ceding authority to me since I seem to be the most cold-blooded of us, best suited to the dirty business at hand. And I’ve got
to admit that the execution didn’t bother me. I know that it should, but he deserved death and I’m glad I was able to carry out the sentence.
We come to the corner of a building and are afforded a clear view of the main square. Several Klanners are stationed in the centre, on top of an open-backed jeep. Owl Man stands among them, stroking his dog and whispering to it as he surveys the
scene with no outward display of emotion.
Others, armed to the teeth with automatic rifles, are forcing blacks, Arabs and Asians into the backs of trucks. Some of the screaming victims have been thrown into cages as if they’re livestock being loaded and taken to market.
Not all of the tyrants are in robes and hoods. At least forty or fifty of those involved in the round-up are dressed
in normal clothes. I recognise a few of the faces from earlier. They’re people who lived in New Kirkham, who built the walls and tilled the fields and shared food and drink with those they’re now herding into mobile prisons to be taken away to God knows where. They fought together against the zombies, but now they’ve turned on their own. This explains how the Klanners got in and why they were
able to suppress any uprising so easily—they had inside help.
And the rest of the inhabitants? Most stand by neutrally, looking ashamed and uneasy. They let this happen and say nothing, maybe figuring that if they keep silent and don’t pitch in, then they’re not really guilty.
That’s humanity for you.
Only a hundred or so look like they put up real resistance. They’re standing
in a pack against the wall beside the gate, under heavily armed guard. Some are wounded and bleeding. All look enraged and defiant.
And that’s humanity as well. The worst and the best, in the same place at the same time, as they nearly always are.
‘You won’t get away with this,’ a woman roars, and I find the face of Biddy Barry in the crowd by the wall. ‘We’ll track you down and make
you pay. This is outrageous. Those people are our flesh and blood. This is a sanctuary, not a hunting range for cowardly, bullying white boys.’
‘Shut up!’ one of the Klansmen roars.
‘Make me,’ Biddy retorts.
He draws a pistol and takes aim.
‘Now, now,’ Owl Man purrs. ‘I don’t think we need take matters that far.’
The man curses. ‘Do you want some of this, freak?’
Owl
Man pulls a pained expression. ‘It’s such a pity when people reduce an argument to a personal, vindictive level.’ His lips twitch mischievously. ‘Attack, Sakarias,’ he says to his dog.
In a flash the sheepdog leaps from its master’s side and lands on the ground. It barrels forward at a furious speed. The guy in the hood has time to scream, but only once. Then the dog is on him. It opens
its jaws wide to reveal fangs far sharper than any I’ve seen before, and bones slide out of its claws as it jumps, like bloody Wolverine from
X-Men
.
With a jerk of its head Sakarias sinks its fangs into the man’s throat and rips it open. As he collapses, the dog leans into the spray of blood and starts gulping. Then it rips into his ribcage with its extended claws and roots among his guts.
Its tail wags happily as it works on him, while Owl Man claps and croons, ‘Good doggy. Good.’
‘Now
that’s
interesting,’ I murmur.
‘What the hell kind of a dog is it?’ Shane asks. He looks ill with shock.
‘We’ll ask questions later,’ I tell him. ‘If there’s anyone left to ask. You guys ready?’ They nod shakily. ‘Then my only bit of last-minute advice is—don’t piss off the puppy.’
With a wicked, reckless laugh I toss my hat and glasses aside, whirl round the corner,
clash my fingerbones together, scream a challenge at the world, and lead my troop of hellish Angels into battle.
To be continued
. . .
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