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

either saw us make the top or else he decided enough was enough.
    I get to my feet to have a good look around. It’s hard to see clearly without sunglasses to protect my eyes, but I force myself to turn and peer. Everything’s blurred to begin with, but things start to swim into focus (well, as much as they’re ever going to) as my eyes slowly adjust.
    Rage stands up beside me. He doesn’t bother with the sights, just rolls his arms around, working out the kinks and stretching his muscles.
    ‘I bet we’ll ache like hell later,’ I note. ‘We might even have to go back into the Groove Tubes.’
    ‘Dr Oystein won’t let us,’ Rage says. ‘He’ll make us endure the pain. The Groove Tubes are for Angels who really need them, who get injured in the line of duty, not for thrill-seekers like us.’
    ‘Oh well,’ I smile, ‘I don’t care. It was worth it. I never thought I could have done something this amazing. You’re still a murderous git, but you made a good call.’
    ‘That’s what I’m all about,’ Rage says smugly. ‘Making good calls and helping people realise their ambitions. The Good Samaritan had nothing on me.’
    ‘He was bit more modest though.’
    ‘Screw modesty,’ Rage sniffs, then takes a step closer to me. ‘Now, speaking of making good calls, here’s another. B?’
    I was looking off in the direction of Vauxhall, trying to see if there were any signs of life over there. When Rage calls my name, I turn to face him. My back’s to the river.

    ‘Enjoy your flight,’ Rage says.
    And he pushes me off.
    My arms flail. I open my mouth to scream. Gravity grabs hold. I fall from the pod and plummet towards the river like a stone.

TEN
    I hit the water hard. It feels like slamming into concrete. The lights temporarily blink out inside my head and everything goes dark.
    When consciousness flickers on again, I think for a few seconds that I’m properly dead, adrift in a realm of ghosts. There are sinuous shadows all around, encircling and breaking over me. I assume that my brain was terminally damaged in the fall. I turn slowly, at peace, glad in a way to be done with life and all semblance of it. I spot a glimmering zone overhead — the legendary ball of light which summons the spirits of the departed?
    No, of course not. After a brief moment of awe, I realise the truth. I’m still in the land of the living and the living dead. The shadows are nothing more than the eddies in the water. And the light is coming from the sun shining on the Thames.
    I howl mutely, water rushing down my throat, cursing Rage and this world which refuses to relinquish its hold on me. Then, with disgust, I kick for the surface.
    I haven’t drifted far from the London Eye. I can still see it gleaming above me, turning smoothly. No sign of Rage but I hurl a watery insult his way regardless. Then I swim towards the bank and pull myself ashore close to a bridge. I lie on the pebbly, rubbish-strewn bank, next to the remains of a bloated corpse, and make myself throw up. Then I get to my legs – understandably shaky – and stagger to a set of steps, then up to the South Bank.
    I slump to the ground in front of what used to be the Royal Festival Hall. There are some restaurants and shops at this level, all closed for business now. There’s also an open, ramped section where teenagersused to practise on their rollerblades and skateboards. To my surprise and bewilderment, judging by the rumble of small, hard wheels, people are still using it.
    I look up, wondering where the teenagers have come from, and how they dare take to the outdoors like this, when the area must be riddled with zombies. Then I realise they have nothing to fear from the zombies because they’re undead too.
    There are at least five or six of them, maybe a few more. They have the blank expressions common to all reviveds, but some spark of instinct is urging them to act as they did when they were alive, and they trundle around the gloomy space on their