Zom-B Clans

  “I was getting to like you,” I snarl, “but I’ve gone right off you today.”

  “That’s a shame,” he sniffs.

  A few more spine-tingling minutes pass. The hairs can’t stand up on the back of my neck since I died, but even so it feels as if every one of them has stiffened to attention. I want to make a bolt for freedom. The tension is killing me, or would be if I hadn’t already been killed.

  Then the gate nearest us starts to swing open. They don’t have a fast-release system like they had in New Kirkham, but I suppose they don’t need one, given the effectiveness of the sirens.

  I’m expecting the Ku Klux Klan, and quite a few Klanners do spill out, but there are also a lot of soldiers mixed in with them, which surprises me. I didn’t think the army would grant its support to a pack of white supremacists. I suppose these might be rogue agents, but in that case why have they kept their uniforms?

  The Klanners and soldiers spread out and train their rifles on us. They keep their distance, hugging the wall. I can’t see the faces of the hooded creeps, but the soldiers look as nervous as I feel. They don’t like being out here in the open.

  “Hi, guys,” Dan-Dan booms. “I’m home.”

  Nobody responds. A few seconds later Owl Man appears, striding through the open entrance, Sakarias by his side. He’s washed the dog since I last saw them. Its fur gleams, not a single bloodstain that I can see. It’s panting softly and looks like a normal, huggable sheepdog.

  Owl Man advances ahead of his troops, but stops well clear of us. He casts his gaze around and smiles. “What an odd-looking posse,” he says, taking in our array of strange hats and heavy clothing.

  “You’re no fashion model yourself,” Pearse throws back.

  Owl Man turns his attention to our hostage. “Daniel,” he nods. “I’m pleased to see you again.”

  “Likewise,” Dan-Dan says. “I’ll be even more pleased when you give them the boy, so that we can be rid of them. I hope you’re not planning any nasty surprises. I don’t care about their friend. I just want to get to my room, so that I can relax, summon my darlings and forget all about this ordeal.”

  “No need to worry,” Owl Man assures him. “We have everything in hand.”

  “Vinyl’s okay?” I shout.

  “We have taken excellent care of him,” Owl Man says.

  “And the others? I want you to set them free too. You said you’d try. You gave me your word.”

  “I remember,” Owl Man murmurs. “I have already broached the subject with my colleagues and they are open to negotiation. This will be a stress-free procedure. First we need to agree on a format for the swap. I’m sure you have some suggestions. I have a few ideas too. We’ll discuss them out here until we’re happy, then Vinyl will be fetched by our good friend Coley–maybe the rest of the New Kirkham gang too, depending on how things go–and the trade can be made.”

  I squint at him from behind my sunglasses. I’m always suspicious when things sound too good to be true. But Owl Man looks like he’s telling the truth. Nobody’s trying to sneak up behind us, and he hasn’t sought to use me against the others.

  “I must admit, I’m surprised to see you, Becky,” he says. “After what happened in New Kirkham, I thought Dr. Oystein would urge you to stay away from me.”

  “He did. I ignored him.”

  “Ever the rebel,” he chuckles. “That’s what I like about you. It doesn’t even bother you that your comrades are wary of the threat you pose, that they have insisted on a gap between you.”

  “That was my idea,” I lie. “I won’t let you set me against them.”

  “You don’t need to worry,” he says. “There will be no treachery here today.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Rage says softly. Then, shocking everyone, both the living and the undead, he releases Dan-Dan, turns swiftly, makes a blade of his right hand and drives his bone-tipped fingers through the side of Conall’s skull.

  Conall falls without a word. I doubt he even saw the death blow coming.

  Pearse screams and reaches out towards his collapsing friend. As he moves to catch Conall, Rage wraps an arm round Pearse’s throat, then smashes a fist through the mesh of his beekeeping hat. Four or five quick blows, one after another, until he’s punched through to the soft brain behind Pearse’s face.

  Pearse spasms. Rage releases him and steps away, shielding Dan-Dan from the revitalized’s thrashing limbs and spurting blood.

  “Careful, my lord,” he says.

  No more than a few seconds have passed, but it feels like the whole world has turned on its head. Nobody has had a chance to react. We’re all gaping at Rage, mouths open, heads spinning.

  “See?” Rage says with gloomy satisfaction, turning his gaze in my direction. “I told you you’d regret it if you came with us.” Then he smiles twistedly. “Go ahead, boys,” he roars at the soldiers and Klanners. “Blow the bitch away!”

  TWENTY

  “Ignore that order!” Owl Man screeches before anyone can start shooting. He stares at Rage, bewildered, eyes even rounder than normal. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I’m switching sides,” Rage says smugly. “Dan-Dan made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested in my riches,” Dan-Dan gasps.

  “Everyone has their price,” Rage says. “I got interested when you started talking about a villa on a private island. I can see myself enjoying a long retirement somewhere hot and sandy, with a bevy of servants to wait on me.”

  “Oh, you bold, brilliant beast of a boy!” Dan-Dan whoops, clapping with delight. “If you weren’t so toxic, I’d kiss you.”

  “You bastard,” I croak, staring with horror at the corpses of Pearse and Conall. The blood has soaked into the mesh of Pearse’s hat. Conall has a surprised look on his face, as if he’d just been kicked in the balls by a bull.

  “How long have you been planning it?” Dan-Dan asks, beaming at Rage with awe, as if he was a movie star.

  “I began thinking about it on the way back from New Kirkham,” Rage says. “I couldn’t do anything to help you then–there were too many Angels around–so I bided my time.”

  “They were our friends!” I scream.

  A troubled look flickers across Rage’s face. Then he shrugs. “I didn’t want to kill them. I tried convincing them to let me advance by myself. If they’d heeded my advice, I could have simply set Dan-Dan free and gone in with him, no need for any aggravation. But they wanted to be heroes. You did too.”

  “I’ll kill you,” I vow hoarsely, taking a stride towards him.

  “Stop right there,” Dan-Dan snaps.

  “Make me, fat man.”

  “If you insist,” he giggles, and lifts a finger in the air. “When I give the signal, start shooting, boys.”

  “Wait, Becky,” Owl Man pleads. “I was not expecting this. I had planned to return Vinyl to you, the others too, if possible. I’m as sickened as you are by this act of wanton betrayal.”

  “Easy, Owly,” Rage mutters. “You’ll hurt my feelings.”

  “But this is where we find ourselves,” Owl Man continues as if Rage hadn’t spoken. “One wrong move now and I will not be able to help you. Daniel, will you object if I set her free?”

  “Too damn right I will,” he smirks. “She’s going nowhere.”

  Owl Man sighs. “In that case, we will take you into custody. I must ask you not to move.”

  I feel my arms and legs stiffen. “Don’t do this,” I moan. “Please. I came to kill Dan-Dan. I knew I’d be killed too. I don’t mind that. I’ve accepted my fate. But let me have a shot at him. Please.”

  It’s a ridiculous argument, but for some reason Owl Man hesitates.

  “I’ve chosen my stand,” I say softly. “I probably won’t get to that child-killing demon in time, but let me die knowing I did my best to make a difference.”

  “Oh, Becky,” Owl Man whispers. “You have made such a difference already. You don’
t give yourself enough credit. And there is so much still that you could do. Change your mind, I implore you. This is not the time or place for you to fall.”

  “You’re wrong,” I tell him. “This is the perfect spot. I picked it. Let me have it. I hate having to beg, but I’m doing it anyway.”

  Owl Man looks down at Sakarias, as if the dog has all the answers. But his pet only wags its tail and barks hopefully, looking for a treat.

  “Very well,” Owl Man decides. “Your limbs are your own again. Do what you wish. I will not interfere. Have your moment of brave madness if you must.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Dan-Dan howls.

  Owl Man shrugs. “You will kill her anyway if I spare her.”

  “Yes,” the Child Catcher thunders. “In my time, on my terms.”

  “No,” Owl Man snaps. “I will not have her tortured at your hands. Let your men kill her cleanly and quickly, before she can rip into you. Otherwise I will demand her release and you and I will clash.”

  Dan-Dan mutters something beneath his breath, then makes a face. “Very well. Let her race against the bullets. See if I care.” He stands straight and sticks out his tongue. “Come then, little girl. Come to Dan-Dan. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

  “You’d better hope they don’t miss, big boy,” I sneer, taking off my sunglasses and hat, setting them by my feet, leaving them behind to serve as a memorial until the wind blows them away. I square up to Dan-Dan and flex my fingers. I’m grinning. I’m about to die, but I don’t care. At least I’m going in style.

  “On the count of three, fellas,” I call to the marksmen lined up against the wall. “No cheating. One. Two. Thr—”

  “Wait!” someone bellows, and one of the hooded creeps breaks rank and lurches towards me.

  “What now?” Dan-Dan groans, rolling his eyes.

  I don’t know what the Klanner is playing at, but this is a sweet, unexpected distraction. I ready myself to make use of it.

  “No, Becky!” the man roars.

  I don’t recognize his voice, which is muffled by the material of his hood, but I pause, disturbed by the fact that he knows my name. Is this one of Dr. Oystein’s spies? Mr. Burke was working for him secretly in the underground bunker. Maybe this guy is part of our team and thinks he can get me off the hook. I’m sure he can’t, but figure I might as well give him a few seconds to make his pitch. He’s put his life on the line, blowing his cover like this, so he deserves a chance to have his say.

  The Klanner comes to a halt a few steps short of me and stares, eyes wide behind the slits in his hood. He’s panting hard.

  “What’s up, wacko?” I snicker.

  “Ignore this lunatic,” Dan-Dan shouts. “Shoot the pair of them.”

  “No,” the man yells. “You can’t do this. Lower your weapons.”

  Nobody obeys his order. Quite a few people laugh at him. But nobody fires either. They’re all as curious as I am. Also, Dan-Dan still has his finger in the air. He doesn’t really want them to shoot. He’s only winding me up.

  The Klanner curses, then says, “All right, don’t lower them, you sons of bitches, but don’t shoot either.”

  “Why?” Owl Man asks, but by the way he smiles, I know he’s one step ahead of the rest of us. He’s sussed what’s going on, even if everybody else is in the dark.

  “I can make her come quietly,” the guy in the hood promises.

  “Dream on, racist,” I snort.

  “I can,” he swears to Dan-Dan. “Just give me a moment. She’ll do what I tell her.”

  “Not in a million years,” I huff, but I’m not as sure as I was. If this is one of Dr. Oystein’s spies, maybe he has a plan to get me out of here. I’m ready to die today, but it’ll be hard to ignore the temptation of rescue if it’s dangled in front of me.

  “Daniel?” Owl Man asks pleasantly, teasingly.

  “Oh, go on then,” Dan-Dan scowls. “But if he fails, I’ll have him flogged and rolled in vinegar.”

  “Becky,” Hood Guy mutters, turning back to face me. “You need to stop, calm down and listen to me.”

  “Why the hell should I?” I growl.

  “Don’t argue,” the man snaps. “Just do what I bloody tell you.”

  “Why?” I hiss, taking a step closer to him, shooting evil looks.

  “Because…” He groans, then fiddles with his hood and pulls it off. “Because of this,” he says with a thin, worried smile as my eyes widen with shock.

  I stare at him in silence, everybody else looking on uncertainly, wondering what the big deal is.

  “Well?” the man says, laughing shakily. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  I can only think of one response to that question. One word echoes through my brain, which has become a furious whirlwind of images, memories and emotions. So, in a small, scared voice, I whisper it, hesitantly, as if it’s the first word I’ve ever spoken. Which, many years ago, when I was a baby, it probably was.

  TWENTY-ONE

  “Dad?”

  To be continued…

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  ALSO BY

  DARREN SHAN

  THE THIN EXECUTIONER

  ZOM-B SERIES

  ZOM-B

  ZOM-B UNDERGROUND

  ZOM-B CITY

  ZOM-B ANGELS

  ZOM-B BABY

  ZOM-B GLADIATOR

  ZOM-B MISSION

  THE SAGA OF LARTEN CREPSLEY

  BIRTH OF A KILLER

  OCEAN OF BLOOD

  PALACE OF THE DAMNED

  BROTHERS TO THE DEATH

  THE DEMONATA SERIES

  LORD LOSS

  DEMON THIEF

  SLAWTER

  BEC

  BLOOD BEAST

  DEMON APOCALYPSE

  DEATH’S SHADOW

  WOLF ISLAND

  DARK CALLING

  HELL’S HEROES

  THE CIRQUE DU FREAK SERIES

  A LIVING NIGHTMARE

  THE VAMPIRE’S ASSISTANT

  TUNNELS OF BLOOD

  VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN

  TRIALS OF DEATH

  THE VAMPIRE PRINCE

  HUNTERS OF THE DUSK

  ALLIES OF THE NIGHT

  KILLERS OF THE DAWN

  THE LAKE OF SOULS

  LORD OF THE SHADOWS

  SONS OF DESTINY

  Ready to sink your teeth into more of Darren Shan’s chilling Zom-B series? Turn the page for a peek at Zom-B Family.

  Available October 2014 however books are sold

  ONE

  The guy who handcuffs me is wearing gloves so thick that you could safely handle radioactive material with them. Even so, he sweats buckets until the cuffs snap shut and he’s able to withdraw. He knows I’m undead and one tiny scratch from me is all it would take to end his life.

  Meek as a lamb, I let myself be led inside the converted Power Station. I’m in total shock. I’ve thought about Dad and Mum often since I recovered my senses, wondered what happened to them, if they got out of London, if they were alive or dead. For Mum’s sake, I’d hoped they’d made it to a compound or one of the zombie-free islands. But secretly I thought they were both goners.

  Now Dad has popped up out of nowhere, in the middle of my enemies, to save me from what would have otherwise been certain death. I don’t know how to react, whether to feel grateful or hateful.

  Things were always weird between us. I loved him so much. He was clever and funny, thoughtful and protective, in some ways a perfect father. He provided for me and Mum, fought for us when he had to, gave us all that he could. When he heard about the zombies, his first instinct was to rescue me. He risked his life for mine.

  At the same time he was a racist bully. He beat Mum and me regularly, usually for no good reason. He told me to hate anyone of
a different color or creed. He tried to turn me into a mirror image of him, a creature of bigotry and loathing.

  I didn’t want to grow up like my dad, but I never stood up to him. I chuckled at his insulting jokes. I read the hate lit that he stacked our bookshelves with. I pretended to share his twisted beliefs. Over time, the act became reality and, to my shame and horror, I began behaving like him. I think, given a few more years, I might have turned into a daughter he could have been truly proud of.

  Vinyl used to warn me about the dangers of putting on an act. He was my best mate, but we had to keep our friendship secret or my dad would have hit the roof. Vinyl often urged me to take a stand. But I couldn’t. I was too afraid.

  I look around for the first time as I’m hustled through a series of rooms in the massive building. Most are loaded with supplies—food, drink, weapons. No beds. I guess the sleeping quarters are located on the upper levels.

  All of the external windows are bricked up. Through the internal windows I can see into a courtyard. Glimpses of cages and hundreds of blacks, Arabs and Asians huddled together miserably, soldiers and hooded Klanners keeping watch over their prisoners.

  My dad’s marching beside me. He looks at me every so often and smiles. His fingers twitch and I know he wants to reach out and hug me, or at least stroke my hair. But then he clocks the hole in my chest where my heart should be, green moss growing thickly around it, and he reminds himself that he can never touch me again.

  Dan-Dan is on my other side. He’s beaming like a child at Christmas. He keeps shaking his head and giggling. He wanted to bring me in, torture me, experiment on me and treat me to a long, slow, drawn-out death. Owl Man wouldn’t play ball. When I begged him to let me die with dignity rather than be taken into custody, he insisted on a swift execution.

  Dad’s unexpected appearance changed all that. I surrendered instead of fighting to the death. I think Owl Man saw that as a chance to save me. For some bizarre reason, he doesn’t want me dead. But Dan-Dan does and, as far as that filthy child-killer is concerned, he has me where he wants me, under his wing, at his mercy, ripe for the plucking.