The Zom-B Chronicles III by Darren Shan

Author:Darren Shan [Darren Shan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781471143533
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

NOW .

ONE

There’s a tunnel beneath Waterloo Station that used to be a haven for graffiti artists. Anyone was allowed to paint whatever they wanted on the walls, floor or ceiling.

The zombies put a stop to the artists with their stencils and spray paint, but the art remains, bright, bold and colourful. It covers every inch of the tunnel. If humans ever eliminate the undead and take control of the world again, I bet a lot of people will come to this place to admire the paintings.

But I’m not here today for the graffiti.

I’m here for the zombies.

We usually keep this tunnel clear of the living dead. It’s easily done. Zombies have sensitive ears. High-pitched noises cut through our skulls and make our teeth shake. When Dr Oystein moved into County Hall, he placed speakers in hidden places around the area and played a loop of sharp noises through them, guaranteed to send any zombie within range running for cover. It keeps the drooling, brain-hungry riff-raff from our door.

But we haven’t been playing the loop in the tunnel for the last few nights. We wanted company and figured the dark, quiet space would draw a crowd once we cut the power to the speakers.

We figured right. There are twenty-five or thirty zombies in residence, a mix of men, women and kids, some in suits or nice dresses, others in more casual wear, a few naked or as good as. Blank expressions, long, sharp teeth, bones sticking out of their fingers and toes, wisps of green moss wherever they were bitten or cut when they were alive.

I study the zombies with a touch of nerves, but no disgust, revulsion or pity. They’re my own kind. Except for the fact that my brain works, I’m no different to them.

I’m part of a group of six. The others are the same as me, revitalised Angels, soldiers in Dr Oystein’s undead army. Carl Clay stands to my left, looking impeccable in his top-of-the-range, designer gear. Ashtat Kiarostami is to my right, dressed in a blue, loose-fitting suit, with a white headscarf. The bulky Rage is on the other side of Carl, wearing the leathers that he’s favoured since his time as a zom head. Shane Fitz and Jakob Pegg are next to Ashtat, Shane looking as yobbish as ever in a tracksuit and with a gold chain dangling from his neck, Jakob pale and sickly in a pair of jeans and a shirt that sags on his bony frame.

We’re all unarmed.

‘Do you think there are enough of them?’ Carl asks, frowning as he counts the zombies.

‘Five to one,’ Shane sniffs. ‘Those are long enough odds for me. How many more do you want to face?’

‘There aren’t many men among them,’ Carl notes.

‘Are you suggesting that women are inferior?’ Ashtat asks coldly.

Carl winces. ‘No. But generally speaking they’re not as strong as men. It’s the way of the world. You can’t argue with that.’

‘In life, no,’ Ashtat says. ‘But death levels the playing field. I have noticed no real difference between the sexes in our battles so far.

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