‘The Shnax would never have done this to us, since they are creatures of love, but there are other forces at work in the universe, agents of destruction. The Shnax protected us from them in the past, but this time, for our own good, they let their foes wreak havoc. But they shielded the believers and kept us safe, so that we can guide the others who survived.’
I gawp at Sister Clare and the lunatics who follow her.
‘You think that you know better than us,’ Sister Clare smirks. ‘I see it in your eyes, as lifeless as they are.’
‘Come on,’ I chuckle uneasily. ‘You can’t really believe that aliens did this or that they’re guarding you.’
‘If not the Shnax, then who?’ she asks.
‘The government . . . scientists . . . terrorists . . . take your pick.’
She shakes her head. ‘This apocalypse was not the work of humans. No mortal could have subjected the world to terrors on such a diabolic scale. Mankind has been culled. The weak have been cut down and set against the strong. It is the result of a godly hand, but there are no gods meddling in our affairs, only the Shnax.’
‘Who told you about these aliens? Did you read about them in a magazine? See a show on TV?’
‘They contacted me directly,’ she sniffs. ‘They spoke to me in dreams to begin with. Later I learnt to put myself into a trance and speak with them that way.’
‘So you hear voices,’ I murmur.
‘Go ahead,’ she snaps, her smile vanishing. ‘Laugh at me. You won’t be the first. But I told people this would happen. Nobody believed me until it was too late. Now that the worst has come to pass, people are starting to see that I was right. These are the first of my disciples, but they will not be the last. When we emerge from these haunted streets, alive and untouched, more will flock to our side. The survivors will see that I am the mouthpiece of the Shnax, and the world will finally offer us the respect which we are due.’
Sister Clare turns to the others and cries, ‘Out of the darkness of the skies came the Shnax!’
‘Out of the darkness!’ they respond, heads bobbing, fingers twitching.
The fanatics carry on, wandering aimlessly. I think about abandoning them – I should be heading west, not wasting my time on these maniacs – but I’ll feel bad if I leave them without at least trying to make them see sense.
‘You can’t really believe that aliens will save you from the zombies,’ I challenge them.
‘How else are we protected?’ Sister Clare retorts smugly, waving a hand at the buildings around us. ‘These are the homes of the damned, populated by the lost and vicious hordes, yet no monster comes out to attack us.’
‘You’ve been lucky,’ I argue. ‘Sunlight hurts zombies. They rest up in the daytime. If you’re still here when night falls . . .’ I draw a finger across my throat.
Sister Clare scowls at me. ‘You know nothing of these matters, child of the lost. Leave us be.’
‘I know that you’re mad,’ I snap. ‘And I know you don’t truly believe what you’re preaching. You’d put your lives fully on the line if you did.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Sister Clare asks, drawing to a halt.
‘It’s brave of you to come here,’ I drawl, smiling tightly at the men and women in the robes. ‘But you’d have come when it was dark if you wanted to prove beyond doubt that you were under heavenly protection. Or you’d go into one of these buildings, packed with the living dead, stand in the middle of them and chant away to your heart’s content. But you don’t because you know deep down that you’d be eaten alive.’
I flash my sharp teeth at them. Sister Clare’s face reddens and she opens her mouth to have a go at me. But then one of the men says, ‘The girl speaks the truth.’
Sister Clare’s eyes fill with rage. ‘You doubt me, Sean?’ she shrieks.
‘No,’ the man called Sean says without lowering his gaze. ‘I believe. But we must face our enemy. If the Shnax are looking down on us kindly, as I’m sure they are, we can walk through the ranks of the undead and the whole world will know that what we say is true. Otherwise people will sneer at us, as she has, and claim it was merely good fortune that we passed through these streets unharmed.’
Sister Clare licks her lips nervously. I catch a glimpse of uncertainty in her expression. Part of her knows this is madness.
‘I can lead you back to your boat,’ I say softly. ‘You can return to wherever you were hiding before. You’ll die if you go on.’
She stares at me for a long moment. Then she spits in my face. As I pull back, shocked, she faces her followers. ‘The demon wants to lure us back to our boat and send us on our way. She is afraid of us, afraid of the Shnax.’
The other men and women start jeering and spitting at me. My temper flares and I flex my fingers, ready to rip them to pieces. I take a step forward, snarling. I think, if Sister Clare stepped away, I’d go for her. But she doesn’t retreat. Instead she takes a step towards me, tilting her head back, offering her throat.
‘Go ahead, servant of the darkness,’ she hisses. ‘Kill me if that is what your foul masters demand. I will die happily in the service of the Shnax.’
The others fall to their knees and offer their throats too. I shake my head and lower my hand, remembering Tyler Bayor, recalling my vow to be a better person.
Sister Clare tuts. Then her features soften. ‘No, it is wrong of me to blame you for what you have become. You were weak, as so many were, but it is not for us to condemn you. You are suffering enough.’
Her gaze settles on something behind me. She starts to smile again. ‘But the imp is right about one thing, brothers and sisters. We do need to confront the forces of darkness directly, to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that we are blessed. Let us face our destiny and show the world that ours is the one true way. Follow me!’
Sister Clare sets off at a jog. The others rise and hurry after her, chanting even faster than before, buzzing now, ready to follow their leader into the jaws of Hell if she demands it of them.
Turning to see where they’re going, I realise she’s leading them to a place even deadlier than the fabled gates of the underworld. We’ve come to the threshold of Liverpool Street Station. There are probably scores of zombies down there on the concourse, sheltering from the sun. Sister Clare is at the top of the steps which descend into that murky den of the dead.
‘No!’ I yell. ‘Don’t do it. I didn’t mean to dare you. I believe. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Come back.’
But Sister Clare only flashes me a smile of twisted triumph. Then she heads down, followed by the others, into the zombie-friendly gloom.
EIGHTEEN
I can’t bear to let them go off by themselves, so I race after them, down the steps into the stomach of what was once commuter heaven.
It’s not as dark down here as I thought. The station lets in quite a lot of light, so most of the zombies in residence have avoided the concourse. Still, there must be a hundred or more of the beasts who were resting in the shade around the main ring of the station. And every single one of them is now pushing forward, closing in on the nine robed, doomed humans.
Sister Clare acts as if she’s unaware of the threat and marches to the centre of the concourse. Her chant turns into a song and the others take it up, a dull tune about stars and aliens and how the chosen will be spared the wrath of the skies.
The deluded humans come to a halt in the middle of the station and form a circle, hands linked, feet planted firmly, singing joyously. The zombies push in closer . . . closer . . .
Then stop about a metre away.
I stare with disbelief at the white-haired men and women singing loudly, the zombies massed around them but not moving in for the kill, swaying softly as if held in place by the sound of the song. Or by something else?
It’s crazy, but I find myself starting to wonder. As I slip through the ranks of the living dead, into the empty space around Sister Clare and her followers, I’m ready to believe. Why n
ot? Their story makes as much sense as anything else in these bewildering times.
‘You see?’ Sister Clare whispers ecstatically. ‘They’re held in place by the power of the Shnax. They cannot raise a hand against those who are true.’
‘This is incredible,’ I croak.
‘Yes,’ Sister Clare says with justified satisfaction. Then she frees her hands and holds them over her head. ‘We can break the circle now. Let us move among them. Show no fear. The Shnax will protect us as long as we continue to trust.’
Not all of the others look so sure about that, but they separate as ordered and edge forward.
The zombies don’t budge.
‘Part, sons and daughters of the darkness!’ Sister Clare shrieks, swinging her right arm around like a scythe.
Not a single zombie gives ground.
One of the women loses her nerve and tries to push through, muttering sharply, ‘Get out of my way!’
A zombie pulls her to the ground. He sinks his teeth into her exposed arm and tears loose a chunk of flesh. The woman screams.
‘No!’ Sister Clare shouts. ‘Don’t be afraid! Show no fear! We must be strong!’
But it’s as if the scream acts as a starting pistol for the rest of the living dead. They surge forward, fingers extended, teeth bared, and throw themselves upon the stunned, defenceless children of the Shnax.
NINETEEN
The tortured death cries of the humans ring out loud. More zombies come running from within the Tube station attached to the railway concourse, not wanting to miss out on the feast.
I throw myself into the middle of the carnage and punch zombies aside, creating a narrow gap. ‘This way!’ I bellow.
I’m closest to Sister Clare, and she hasn’t been attacked yet, so she’s first past. She reels away from me and pushes through the divide, her face a mask of shock and fear. She starts to pause, but I shove her hard, careful not to pierce her flesh with my finger bones, aware that I’m as much of a threat as any revived.
‘Run!’ I roar at her, then try to pull some of the others free of the chaos.
Sean, the man who spoke up earlier when I was challenging Sister Clare, is the only one to get close to me. His eyes are bulging. His teeth are bared like the fangs of the monsters around us, but with terror, not hunger.
Then the finger bones of one of the zombies tear into Sean’s chest, ripping through his robes, slicing into the flesh beneath. He stops and looks down at the wound. His fingers rise to touch it. All of the tension slips out of him. He smiles wearily at me, resigned to his fate. As I stare at him with horror, he spreads his arms and starts singing again. He carries on singing even when the zombies drag him down and chew through the bone of his skull, although towards the end it becomes more of a gurgling noise and the words are lost, along with the tune.
I don’t stay to watch him die. As soon as I realise that the others are beyond help, I race after Sister Clare, determined to do all I can to save at least one of the nine, even though she probably deserves salvation the least of any of them.
Sister Clare was headed towards the stairs, but the zombies pouring through from the Tube station have blocked that route. As she hesitates, I call to her, ‘I can see another exit at the far end. Follow me.’
We set off across the concourse. The way ahead is clear and I think we stand a chance. But then the zombies who couldn’t get their hands on the other humans set their sights on Sister Clare and me — in the chaos, they won’t be able to tell me apart from one of the living, so they’ll tear into me too if they catch us.
A couple of seconds later it’s clear we can’t make it. Zombies stream into the path ahead of us, blocking the way. I draw to a halt and Sister Clare runs into my back. She tries to break past but I stop her.
‘We’re trapped.’
‘No!’ she screams. ‘You’ve got to save me! Don’t let me die!’
‘I thought you were happy to die,’ I grunt, but bitterness won’t do either of us any good. I look around desperately as the zombies close in. There’s a row of shops to our right. The doors of most are wide open and the shops are totally indefensible. But a security grille has been pulled down over the front of one shop. It doesn’t hang all the way to the ground, which means it isn’t locked.
‘There!’ I yell, darting towards the shop. Sister Clare scurries along behind me. The zombies aren’t much further back.
No time to mess about. I throw myself to the floor and push up the grille. As Sister Clare ducks and skids forward, I roll, slam down the grille and leap to my feet.
‘I need something to hold this in place!’ I shout, but Sister Clare is moaning, lying in a huddle on the floor, hands clamped over her ears. With a curse, I look around and spot a broom with a wooden handle. Grabbing it, I stick it through one of the slots in the grille, then jam it against the wall. It wouldn’t hold back any thinking person for more than a few seconds, but the living dead aren’t as sharp as they once were. Ignorant of the broom, they tug on the grille, trying to force it up, unable to figure out why it isn’t moving.
I back away from the grille and sink to the floor beside Sister Clare. I stare at the zombies glumly. The broom won’t hold for long. They’ll push through in a minute or two and that will be the end of the human. Probably the end of me as well. The zombies are in a feeding frenzy. I’m guessing they won’t pause to assess me, just dig straight into my skull and tear my brain out.
Sister Clare seems to realise she’s still alive and lowers her hands, looking up with startled, fearful eyes. When she sees the zombies struggling with the grille, she smiles hopefully. ‘You’ve stopped them.’
‘Only for a while. If you want to pray to your aliens, you’d better be quick.’
‘There must be a lock for the grille somewhere,’ she pants, looking around frantically.
I snort. ‘Even if we could find it and lock ourselves in, what’s the point? They won’t leave as long as they can hear your heartbeat and smell your brain. Better to die quickly and get it over with, rather than sit here and starve.’
‘But there might be a way out the back.’
‘We’re underground,’ I remind her. ‘My finger bones are tough, but they can’t burrow through walls.’
Sister Clare makes a low moaning noise, then grabs my arm and glares at me with some of her old determination. ‘Then you have to convert me.’
‘What?’ I frown.
‘Make me like you.’ She points at the hole in my chest and the bones jutting out of my fingers. ‘You’re different. You can think and speak. If I end up like you, I can continue with my work.’
‘Continue? ’ I splutter.
‘We were weak,’ she says. ‘They attacked because they sensed our fear. If I was like you, I need not fear them. I could bring others here and they’d feed on my strength and certainty. We would triumph.’
‘Are you even crazier than I thought?’ I shout. ‘You’ve already led eight people to their death. How many more do you want to sacrifice?’
‘As many as the Shnax demand,’ she snaps. ‘They wish to save us, but they can only do that if we’re strong. Please, help me, don’t let me be eaten, give me the power to continue with my mission.’
‘Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I don’t know how –’
‘Please!’ she screams, not wanting to hear the truth, clasping her hands over her ears again.
I stare at the deranged woman, lost for words. Then a cruel part of me whispers, Why not? She’s doomed anyway. She lured her followers to their death and made fools of them. It’s only fitting that you should do the same to her.
‘All right,’ I tell her, pulling her hands away from her ears. ‘We’ll do it if you’re sure. Are you?’
‘Yes,’ she gasps.
‘Then on your own head be it,’ I snarl, and pull her in close, as if to kiss her. But instead I bite into her lower lip, drawing blood and infecting her with my undead germs.
‘Vile girl!’ Sister Clare snaps, pushin
g me away and wiping blood from her lip. ‘How dare you press your mouth to mine! I should . . .’
She raises a hand to slap me. Then she realises what I’ve done and backs away, whimpering softly, staring at the blood on her fingers.
‘You bit me,’ she whispers.
‘Yeah,’ I say, feeling rotten now that the moment has passed.
‘Will I retain my senses?’ she cries. ‘Will I become like you, not like them?’ She points at the zombies pulling at the grille.
‘Of course,’ I lie, not knowing if it’s true or not, wanting to give her some comfort in her final moments.
‘Wonderful,’ she sighs, leaning against the wall, waiting for the change, probably privately plotting her undead takeover of the world.
Sister Clare shudders. She bends over, gasps, collapses, then screams as her body starts to shut down. I turn away, not wanting to see her teeth lengthen, the bones break through her fingertips, the light fade from her eyes.
The handle of the broom snaps. The grille clatters upwards. Zombies spill into the shop and swarm around us.
But they don’t attack, because they can see the human turning. That makes them pause and they sniff me rather than strike. When they realise I’m one of them, they leave us be and return to the concourse, disappointed and hungry.
After about a minute, I look around guiltily. Sister Clare is staring at me numbly, no hint of life in her expression, green moss already sprouting from the bite mark on her lip.
‘Sorry,’ I murmur. ‘But you did ask for it.’
Making a sighing sound, I blow a regretful kiss to the shadowy remains of Sister Clare, then push through the undead crowd outside the shop, patiently easing my way clear of the crush, past the bodies of the humans who were killed, up the stairs and back into the light of a world which seems even more lost and disturbing than it did an hour or two before.
TWENTY
I make my way west, then hole up in an abandoned coffee shop on Fleet Street when night falls. Every time I think about Sister Clare and her pack of nutjobs – and I think about them lots over the course of the night – I wince sadly. What a waste of life.