ZOM-B 11 by Darren Shan Read Free Book Online

fists, howl at the sky and demand justice from God. But I’ve endured so many terrible things in recent
times that I can’t work up to a hysterical high. I’ve lost my family and everyone I cared about, been tortured by one homicidal maniac, and married to another. Ever since I was turned
into a zombie, it seems that all the world has wanted to do is pummel me, cast me aside and leave me to wander on my own through the urban wilderness.
    In the past I had hope to keep me going. The hope that I might be able to help the living, that there was a place for me in this savage new society, that I could be of worth.
    That hope has been cut away from me. This was one blow too many. It’s not the physical pain that has left me feeling hollow inside, or the loss of my friends, or the fact that I’m
all on my own.
    No, the reason I feel like I’m all washed up is that this has happened to me over and over again. The forces of destiny or luck are not on my side. Everything in nature seems to be lined
up against me.
    Why push on and fight for a world that clearly doesn’t want me, that has punished me at every well-meaning turn? I’m not dumb. I get the message. I tried to play
the part of a hero, even though it wasn’t in my genes, but some higher power has decided I’m not fit for that role. It wants the glory to go to someone else. I understand. In truth, that’s the way it should be. A hero should be someone proud and noble, not a loud-mouthed girl who was too afraid to stand up to a racist, who threw
an innocent boy to a pack of zombies because she didn’t have the guts to disobey her bullying father.
    Heh. It always comes back to Tyler Bayor. I suppose it always should. That’s when I cast my humanity aside. Everything since then has been an attempt to make up for that foul deed, to
redeem myself. But some creeps aren’t worthy of redemption. Time for me to find a hole where I can curl up and die.
    Except I won’t truly die, will I? I can lie there, starve and wait for my senses to crumble, but that’s not the same thing. I’ll carry on as a mindless zombie in that case and
maybe kill again one day.
    I want out. I
need
to get out. If I could rely on the mutants and babies to kill me, I’d throw myself into the battle at County Hall and perish with my friends and allies, but
there’s a good chance that they’d take me captive and deliver me to their master instead, and who knows where things would go from there. No, if I want this job done properly, I have to do it myself. I’ll find a drill or a chainsaw and bore into my skull. Hell, even a
good, sharp knife will suffice.
    Having made up my mind, all that remains is to choose my spot. Most people aren’t that fortunate when it’s their time to pass on from this realm. They simply drop wherever fate
decrees. But, whether I deserve it or not, I have a choice. I can do it somewhere random or I can pick a place that means something to me.
    I think about it as I shuffle along. Both options have their appeal. A random location would allow me to do it sooner rather than later, and I think it would be fitting if I died in a lonely,
unmarked place. After all, isn’t that where all failures should wind up?
    But at the same time, if there
is
a higher power, one that’s been stacking the deck of cards against me, I wouldn’t mind sticking a couple of fingers up at it before I check
out. B Smith — rebel to the end!
    I decide on my old flat in the East End. I’ve had several bases since then, but that’s the spot I always think of as home. I didn’t realise it at the time, but that’s
where I was at my happiest. I had plenty of lousy experiences there too, when Dad terrorised Mum and me, but that’s where I was loved (and bullied), where I was safe (most of the time),
where I was free to grow and learn and live (under the thumb of an outright racist).
    Yeah, the flat will be a good finishing point. A neat way to draw a line under my existence. Pick