ZOM-B Baby by Darren Shan

Author:Darren Shan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2013-10-11T16:00:00+00:00

The zombie in the wheelchair has no problem keeping up with the others. Like the skateboarding teenagers, she remembers on some deep, subconscious level how she operated when alive.

They don’t seem to be moving in any specific direction though, taking corners without pausing to think, circling back on themselves without realising it, covering the same ground again. Their heads are constantly twitching as they stare into the shadows, sniff the air and listen for shuffling sounds which might signify life.

Rats are all over the place, foraging for food. They clearly don’t consider the zombies much of a threat. And from what I see, they’re right not to. One member of the pack catches a couple of rodents which were rooting around inside the carcass of a dog. He bites the head off each and chews them with relish. But those are the only successes of the night. The other zombies spend a lot of time stumbling after rats – the disabled woman launches herself from her wheelchair when she senses a kill, then sullenly drags herself back into it afterwards – but the fanged little beasts are too swift for them.

I know from chatting with the Angels that some zombies hole up in a particular place and stay there. Jakob did that when he was a revived, made his base in the crypt of St Martin-in-the-Fields. But these guys don’t have that inclination, and rather than head back to the market when dawn breaks, they nudge into a house just off the New Kent Road and make a nest for the day.

The disabled woman struggles to mount the step into the house. She moans softly but the others don’t help her. Finally she throws herself forward, leaving the chair to rest outside until she re-emerges when it’s night again.

I stand by the wheelchair, scratching my head and scowling. I’d hoped to make a connection with the zombies of Borough Market, slot in with them, find a place to call my own. As deranged as they are, many still function as they did in the past, driven by instinct and habit to behave as they did when they were alive. I thought the locals of the market might grow used to me, nod at me when they saw me, invite me to hunt and eat with them.

Doesn’t look like that’s the case, not if this pack is anything to go by. They hunt together for some unknown reason, but they have no real sense of kinship. It’s every zombie for him or herself.

I could go back and try again, follow another group when night falls and see if they prove any brighter or more welcoming. But what’s the point? I’m not the same as these poor, lost souls, and there’s nothing to be gained by pretending that I am. Why the hell would they bother about an outsider like me when they don’t even truly care about their own?

‘You’re a mug, B,’ I mutter. ‘And getting muggier every day.’

With a sigh, I turn my back on the house of zombies and head off on my own again.

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