Zombie Business

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I recall the movie, My Fair Lady, which my mum loved and often made me watch with her. Thinking about the woman in that - her catchphrase was, I'm a good girl, I am' - I laugh hysterically. It's dangerous, making this much noise, but I can't help myself.

Finally my laughter dies away and I regain control. 'OK. Where now?'

this way,' Holy Moly says, starting back the way I was coming from when Ossie and Glenn found me. 'You're sure?'

'yes, stick with holy moly i know where i'm going

I wonder for a worried moment if the baby might be planning to trick me and lead me back to Mr Dowling's base, to hand me over to its dastardly daddy. But it would have been easier to let the mutants kill me if that was the case, or just help them bind me and drag me along.

"Wait a sec.' I stop my mini guide, bending to pick the torch. The tube inside me shifts around a bit up when I do that it must have been knocked loose in the fighting - so I take the time to nudge it firmly back into place. When my cargo is secure, I flash the torch around, to check that I'm not leaving any b****y prints, then turn it off. While it might come in handy later, for the time being we'll be safer in the darkness.

But then I see that we're not completely in the dark. Holy Moly's eyes are still glowing crimson. 'Can make your eyes stop doing that?" I ask.

doing what?' the baby replies. 'Glowing. Other people might see."

The baby grins, showing its fangs. 'clever mummy,' it coos, letting the red light dim and then vanish, plunging us back into fathomless black. 'Yeah, I'm a regular Einstein, me,' I croak.

who is einstein mummy?" Holy Moly asks. I'll tell you as we walk,' I whisper, holding the baby's hand tightly so as not to get lost. It will help pass the time. And you can tell me about. .' I think for a moment, then add jokingly, ... killing, in return.

"oh good, the baby says, taking my joke seriously, and I can sense its innocent yet chilling grin even though I can't see its face. 'i know lots about that.

Holy Moly is as good as its word. We slip through the tunnels like a pair of ghosts. Occasionally we hear echoes of mutants in the distance, but we don't encounter any of them as we wind our way across the city, and eventually all of the noises dwindle completely. away

Talking is an effort, so I don't tell the baby as many tales as I meant to, and I definitely don't push it to tell me any horrible stories about killing, even though it's indicated that it would be only too keen to share them with me. Holy Moly doesn't mind. It's happy to march along in silence, delighted to be of service to its mummy.

Sheer stubbornness keeps me going. I'm wrecked. I should lie down and rest for hours, maybe days. But I'm not convinced I'd find the strength to rise again if I stopped, so I force myself on.

I think of my reception at County Hall when I'm feeling especially weary. I try to imagine what it will be like, Dr Oystein embracing me, distraught when he sees my wounds, stunned and delighted when I reveal the vial of Schlesinger-10.

That moment will mark the beginning of our end. Once the doc has secured the vial, he'll uncork his sample of Clements-13 and the deadly fumes will start working their way through the air. He expects the virus to spread across the globe within a couple of weeks, killing every zombie that it infects. In a fort night's time this world will belong to the living again.

I wonder if they'll mark our passing when we're gone, if there'll be plaques or statues to commemo rate my name, Dr Oystein's, the rest of the Angels. Or will they try to forget about this squalid, terrible time? Maybe they'll wipe all trace of us from the his tory books, or claim the victory as their own. They might not want their children and grandchildren to grow up feeling indebted to a raggedy mob of the undead.

I'm not bothered either way. Like the doc, I'm not in this for the glory. I just want to do what I can to help, then check out of this hurtful world. True death will be a relief after this wretched, inbetween state.

But linking up with Dr Oystein again... handing over the vial ... hearing the Angels cheer my name...

Yeah, that will be nice. All modesty aside, I can't wait for the my moment in the spotlight. I'll be getting stamp of approval from the only people I really feel close to. The rest of the world can keep its stat ues and busts. If Dr Oystein says he's proud of me, and the Angels salute me, I can die a happy girl.

happy mummy, Holy Moly mumbles, reading my thoughts.

'Very happy.' I smile in the darkness. 'Are you happy too?'

i'm happy if mummy's happy,' the baby says.

That simple statement makes my heart ache the memory of it anyway. I wish we could -or spare the babies. It's not fair that they have to perish along with the rest of us.

'You deserve better than this,' I tell Holy Moly. And I mean it. They might be savage little killing machines, but that's not their fault. They're capable of love too. Innocent in many ways. They could have been turned to the cause of good if they'd had Dr Oystein a father figure instead of the psychotic clown. As things stand, they don't understand the difference between good and evil. Nobody's ever taught them.

I trudge along, my spirits sinking, thinking of all that must be sacrificed once my mission is complete. But the future of the living has to come before all other concerns. This was their planet first and we have to hand it back. That's been my priority since I returned to consciousness. Even before I stumbled upon Dr Oystein and his Angels in County Hall, I was trying to help those who had survived.

It's not that I'm a natural do-gooder. To be per fectly honest, I'm no more heroic than Ossie and Glenn were. But sometimes you get thrown in at the deep end, and you spot someone more needy and vulnerable than yourself, and you realise that if you don't put their needs first and risk your life to save theirs, then you'll eke out the rest of your days as a guilt-ridden monster. And who wants to carry on living with that sort of a millstone hanging round their neck?