ZOM-B 11 by Darren Shan Read Free Book Online Page B

I’m picking at the nails and mumbling to myself like a madwoman, I catch sight of a familiar vessel and draw bitterly to a halt. HMS
Belfast
, where I first met Dan-Dan and the
other accursed members of the Board. The cruiser was a popular tourist draw in the old days, but for me it’s a place of painful memories.
    I glare at the deserted ship as if it was responsible for the foul crew it played host to, recalling the duels, the zombies I was forced to kill, the torment the humans put me through. I didn’t know it at the time, but worse was to come. That being said, this was where my problems with the Board began, so I hate this place even more than
Battersea Power Station.
    The memories make me wonder about Justin Bazini and Vicky Wedge, last seen fleeing from Mr Dowling’s army in Battersea, presumed dead but unconfirmed. And Barnes, the American soldier of
fortune who took me captive, but later turned hero. When he bid me farewell, he was setting off to try and save his son. I hope he made it, that they were reunited and are lounging on the beach of
an island free from zombies. But this world being what it is, I suspect that isn’t the case, that Barnes came a cropper, while Bazini and Wedge are living the high life in Buckingham Palace
or some other suitably stylish spot.
    As I’m considering the fates of my old enemies, I spot movement on the deck of the
Belfast
. A couple of people are playing with a ball, throwing it to one another.
    I’m instantly wary. Backing up from the edge of the path, I resume my shuffle east. I’m bent over almost double with pain, which is good. That makes me less of a conspicuous target.
I don’t want to be spotted by whoever is on board what should be a ghost ship.
    But to my utter lack of surprise, Dame Fortune deserts me yet again. As I’m glancing backwards, one of the people on the deck misses the ball. It bounces over their head and they turn to
chase it. Even though I’m almost clear of the cruiser, he or she spies me on the path and stops to check me out.
    I carry on towards Tower Bridge, draping my left arm over my head — it looks as if I’m doing it to protect my face from the sun, but it also allows me to twist my head around and
slyly keep an eye on the
Belfast
. I’m hoping the pair with the ball have mistaken me for an ordinary zombie. There’s no reason why they shouldn’t. In my rough state I look
even worse than most reviveds. I’d be hard to peg as a revitalised up close, never mind from a distance.
    The person who failed to catch the ball shields their eyes and stares. I know the watcher can’t see me in detail, given how far away I am and the fact that my back is to them. I
don’t have anything to worry about.
    But then the bugger raises a pair of binoculars and I groan. I can predict what’s coming next and, sure enough, a moment later the person shouts and gestures. He or she is joined by their
companion, and that one has binoculars too. They study me for a few seconds, then cast the binoculars aside and race across the deck, no doubt heading for the gangplank.
    I think about making a dash for it. There are lots of small streets and buildings on the far side of Tower Bridge where I could hide. But I don’t have the energy for a chase. Better to
make a stand and face whatever manner of foe the universe has chosen to pit against me this time.
    I limp along a bit further and draw to a halt outside the weirdly shaped glass structure of City Hall, the mayor’s old stomping ground. This seems as fitting a spot to fight as any. A good place to fall if it’s my time.
    I turn stiffly and watch the pair from the
Belfast
hurrying towards me. I try to crack my knuckles, but they only make a soft, soggy sound when I stretch them. I laugh softly and let my
hands fall by my sides. I let my head hang too, not concerned about the identity of my assailants, figuring they can announce themselves if they want to. I won’t do them the courtesy of being