Bovicide, Zombie Diaries, and the Legend of the Brothers Brown

  * * *

  James ran.

  He’d been running for twenty minutes and the city just sped by. The wind swept through his thick fur and his long tongue lolled out the side of his maw. The few times he saw other people, he didn’t break stride and they didn’t approach him. They were probably as keen to avoid the metre-tall wolf as he was to avoid their pitchforks.

  He rounded another corner, enjoying the effortless motion of his legs. Running as a wolf was so much more natural than as a human. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to stop, but he was sure he didn’t want to. Ever. He consumed the road, pulling himself along it, a streak of furry lightni—

  There were two young women in the street ahead. And, oh Three-God, he knew them! Denise was dating Quentin. And Rose had been in his year at school! And was, also, dating Quentin.

  Four legs skidded to a stop and James looked for a place to hide. Alley! He darted in, but his terror was mounting and as his exhilaration faded, it took the wolf with it.

  The two women stopped at the alley’s entrance. “Hand me that torch.”

  James’s limbs stretched, his nose receded, his fur withdrew. In seconds it was the human, Paddington, that sat completely naked in the alleyway.

  “Who’s that?” one of the women asked.

  The torch beam found him, so Paddington waved a hand. “Just me,” he said, then ran his tongue against his teeth a couple of times. It felt wrong: too fat and short. Weird.

  “Where’re your clothes, Jim?” Rose asked.

  Something was still wrong with his vision. What was it? Didn’t matter right now; their sight was fine, and if it was following the beam of their torch…

  Paddington sat against the wall as modestly as he could. “Oh, you know how it is,” he said. “I was just taking a midnight stroll. Bit warm, thought I’d lose a few layers…”

  Paddington realised what was wrong with his vision: colours were vibrant again and everything was darker: skin was pink, not yellow, and he couldn’t see the buildings across the street any more.

  “We’ll, uh, let you get back to your stroll,” Rose said, pulling at Denise’s arm.

  “I like the new look, by the way.”

  “Denise!”

  “I was talking about the hair.”

  “Oh.”

  As the women disappeared, giggling to themselves, Paddington rested his head against the stone. All sorts of rumours would start about him now, assuming the world existed after tomorrow night.

  Paddington gave himself another minute to gather courage, then peered out of the alley. It was empty, so he dashed into the street, keeping a very careful lookout and staying close to the walls.

  It just wasn’t the same. He missed the scents of the plants and the ocean. He still caught a few odours, but the world was so much duller.

  And his skin was completely unsuited to this temperature.

  Paddington slipped around the back of Quentin’s house, on guard for wolves or signs of a struggle. There were none. He reached the back yard and spotted Lisa in the living room, sitting on the sofa in a pair of worn jeans and an olive woollen jumper, staring forlornly at the book in her hands. She was safe! There was no sign of Conall. It must have been a bluff: the wolves didn’t know where she was.

  Unless they’d followed him… No, he’d have known if anyone was behind him. She was okay! Paddington threw open the back door and ran in, wanting to hug her and shout for joy.

  Lisa dropped her book. “Jim! Where are your clothes?” She jumped out of her chair and stepped away from him. “And what happened to your chest?”

  Paddington looked down, expecting fur, but there was just his normal body – well, his human body – with a large purple bruise in the centre. He was still too full of adrenaline to really feel it. “Oh, that’s from the torture,” he said.

  “The torture?”

  Paddington’s legs carried him back and forth across the room. “The wolves found me and one of them beat me and I became a wolf and you should have told me how it feels!”

  It wasn’t until Lisa leaned away from him that Paddington considered his presence might be a bit overpowering. But he couldn’t help it; the rush of being the wolf zinged around inside him, mixed with the terror of running the streets naked and the joy of finding her safe.

  “The wind, the sounds, the smells!” He sighed. “I miss the smells…”

  “Stop, stop!” Lisa closed the space between them and held his arms to stop him moving. “Jim, you’re gibbering like an idiot and completely naked.”

  “So? You’ve seen me naked before.”

  “James!” She waited until he was looking right at her. “Put on a bathrobe. Sit down. And then – and only then – tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Paddington nodded and drew deep breaths. She was right, of course. This was a lot at once. One step at a time. Absolutely. He found a clean bathrobe in the bathroom, spotted his reflection in the mirror, and shouted. Lisa was at the doorway in a second. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Why didn’t you tell me I’d grown a beard?” he asked.

  The lower half of his face, usually smooth and official was covered in a fortnight’s growth of beard.

  Lisa blinked, shocked. “It’s your face,” she said. “I thought you knew.”

  “I guess I just didn’t notice that my chin wasn’t cold.”

  Lisa left. Paddington leaned away from his reflection and washed his grubby hands. A couple of pebbles were stuck in them, but he got them out after a minute and wandered back to the living room, where Lisa was staring into space, a glass of whiskey in her hand. He sat on the other end of the couch so he wouldn’t crowd her.

  “Start at the beginning,” she said. Paddington had the feeling she was building up to slapping him. “How did you become a werewolf?”

  “I… stole your bandage earlier today.”

  Half-lidded blue orbs stared into him.

  “Wolves sire by blood,” he said. “Somehow, you must have come into contact with Dominic’s. Anyway, I took your bandage and… sired myself.”

  Lisa took a long drink of whiskey. Paddington let the silence continue; did she feel angry? Betrayed? Used? Did she feel nothing for him?

  “I thought you hated what I am,” she said.

  Paddington found that his mouth had just been waiting for the right question. “Not enough.”

  Lisa finished her whiskey and got up for another. “What about Adonis’s grand cure?”

  “You didn’t want it.”

  “So you infected yourself?”

  “I want to be with you.” And Paddington realised it was that simple.

  “Are you really that naïve?” Lisa faced him. “Jim, you don’t get the girl by doing something idiotic, even if it is romantic as hell.” She drained the glass and refilled it. “You get the girl when the girl lets you get her, when you’ve built a trusting relationship, when you act like a sensible adult.” Lisa sat back on the couch. “So, the torture?”

  Paddington recounted the attack on the station, his abduction, Curt’s attack, and his escape from Conall’s house. “And then…” Paddington said, “I was a wolf, had his instincts, but I was still me. I was human and wolf, all together, like they were the same thing.”

  Lisa was reading him, searching for any untruth, deceit, malice, her face tight. “The first time I was a wolf,” she said, “I was trapped inside my house. I couldn’t open the cupboard to get to my food. By the second day, I got so desperate that I climbed onto the kitchen counter, opened the window-latch with my teeth, and tumbled out onto the side path. I was terrified and confused and suddenly I saw a cow with my nose; the wolf that you love so much took over.”

  Paddington knew that feeling – of running so fast you were only barely connected with the ground; of chasing a smell; of hearing the night clear and strong.

  “I was too hungry to care about anything other than meat,” Lisa said. “Once the wolf had feasted, I realised what I
’d done… could remember tearing out her throat. Feeling her flesh come off in my teeth. Being a wolf filled me with horror, Jim, not pride. But it’s nice that you’ve found the silver lining on the cloud that’s pissing on the rest of us.”

  Through everything, Paddington realised he’d never considered her position. He’d thought of the wolf and how to catch it, he’d thought of Lisa keeping secrets from him, but he’d never thought of the two together. Of what human morality made of a wolf’s instincts.

  Lisa drained her drink again. “First thing I did after a long shower was head down to the Heck and try to drink it away.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think.”

  Lisa laid a callused hand on his bruised chest. “No, you often don’t. But at least your heart’s in the right place for once.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “with you.”

  She removed her hand and Paddington saw doubt flicker across her face. She wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, but at least there was a “yet”.

  “Aren’t you scared?” she asked.

  “Of what?”

  “I spent a month terrified that you’d wake up in bed next to a monster.”

  Paddington took her hand. She didn’t pull it away. “I’d bet my life you’d have recognised me.”

  “You might get the opportunity,” she said.

  “Only if the pack doesn’t find us first, or the— What do you know about the zombies?”

  Lisa smiled sweetly. “Yes… Did you not feel the need to mention them, dear?”

  “Slipped my mind?” he tried, wincing. He’d meant to warn her, but then they’d starting talking about wolves.

  Lisa’s stare made him very uncomfortable, which he suspected was the intention. “When our lives aren’t in danger,” she said, “you and I are going to have a long conversation about communication.” She waited until he nodded, then said, “The radio’s updating their progress, but there’s no organised defence. Everyone’s waiting for the authorities to fix it. Word is the undead are as far as the Heck.”

  “Right,” Paddington said, thinking furiously. Quentin’s house lay only a touch north of there, but a fair way east. “When they reach the Church of Tipote, get out of here.”

  “Why not go now?”

  “You’re safe here. Adonis, Conall, Mitchell; none of them know where you a—”

  “Jim!” Lisa snapped. “I’m sick of being a prisoner! According to you, the duke’s too busy with his prophecy to bother with me and no one’s going to turn me over to Mitchell except you.”

  Yesterday, that might have devastated him. Tonight he could shrug it off. “Just… let me talk to Mitchell,” he said. “Maybe he has a plan. Well, a better plan than his usual ‘Kill everything’.”

  “And how will you explain your escape?”

  “With… lies.” Paddington stood to go. Honestly, he shouldn’t have spent this long with Lisa: the city was overrun with the undead, his mother was out of radio contact, and who knew what was happening with the prophecy?

  “Wait,” Lisa said. “You said the others controlled their change… Can you?”

  Closing his eyes, Paddington sought the all-black space inside him, but now there was something in there with the wolf: a basket, a place the wolf chose to dwell until Paddington wanted him or… what had happened last time? He’d lost his temper and the wolf had taken charge. Adrenaline, testosterone, fury. Rage had called the wolf.

  And yet, he didn’t think he needed the rage any more.

  Paddington opened his eyes. “Yes.”

  “You could be it right now?” she asked, with hints of worry.

  “I’m not an ‘it’,” Paddington said. “And yes.”

  “Change.”

  “What if I’m an uncontrollable monster?”

  “Hold on.” Lisa ran to Quentin’s bedroom and emerged with a shotgun. “Okay.”

  “Is that necessary?” he asked.

  “I have trust issues,” she said flatly.

  Paddington rubbed a hand along his beard. What did he have to lose? Well, apart from his life.

  Lisa watched, judging him moment by moment, trying to trust him.

  Paddington undid the robe, uncomfortable stripping in front of someone holding a gun. Was this how it had felt when McGregor had examined Lisa? Feeling the cold stares? Squirming.

  Paddington closed his eyes and whistled in that internal place. The wolf, lying on his bed, cocked his head to the side and Paddington shook the idea away. You didn’t call the wolf.

  You just were the wolf.

  Paddington’s eyes snapped open. Red and green drained from the room. He smelled vanilla, tea in Lisa’s discarded cup, whiskey, and the stale odours of Quentin’s cheap aftershave and greasy food. His muzzle stretched out in front of his eyes. The room felt warmer, held in that thick furry hug.

  James’s ears zeroed in on Lisa’s sharp intake of breath. One hand covered her mouth. The other slowly placed the gun on the ground. Then, as if frightened she might scare him off, Lisa slowly knelt and extended her hand.

  Lisa’s eyes looked the same: still that clear, crisp blue, widened in amazement. James walked forward until her palm was against his cheek. Her fingers touched gently at first, then more confidently, running down his body.

  “Jim?”

  He pressed closer, stretching his neck forward, and flicked his tongue out. She tasted like sweet tea and cheap whiskey and bad lasagne.

  “Agh!” Lisa wiped her mouth then tried to mock-glare at him through the tears in her eyes. “I take it that’s a ‘yes’?”