Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga Read Free Page A

me?'
    'Why do they always assume I want something?'
    The flower seller tutted and strode past David to the black railing above the Thames. David twisted his body so he could watch him. The man, or whatever he was, stared down into the water. David was about to speak when the flower seller nodded, turned to him and smiled.
    'Normally at this point, I'm tempted to say goodbye and leave you to it. But alas that's not the gig. I'll never fill the quota beginning the week like that and you're a good bet. Still, I've been wrong before. Perhaps a little time to think...'
    He waved a hand and strolled back to his stall. David watched him all the way, but somewhere between the river and the flowers, he seemed to fade. One moment he was there, the next David could see the bridge through him, and then he was gone.  
    The silence closed in like the arms of a particularly greedy aunt yearning for a goodbye kiss.  
    The bench was cold against his trousers and his legs were stiffening up, so he climbed to his feet. He felt about a hundred, every bone in his neck cracking as he moved his head. He took slow steps towards his office but got only a few yards down the road before a coughing fit overtook him and he doubled up, one hand pressed to his mouth and the other resting on the road.  
    His eyes were watering when he straightened up and resumed walking. A movement to one side caught his eye, but when he turned he saw nothing. The sharp movement made the world spin and he stopped, setting his feet and holding his arms up. When it steadied, he walked on.  
    The office was empty, every desk just as it had been when he left for lunch. A few bore evidence of other people's lunch, open foil and empty lunch boxes beside half-empty cups of coffee. They'd all just gone. Everyone had gone.  
    It hit him, properly, and he sank to his knees. His face pressed against the carpet and he sobbed. His shoulders heaved and he hated every second, but he couldn't stop. He was alone, completely and utterly. He was dying too, but that seemed somehow far less important than the silence.  
    A thought struck him and he lunged towards the nearest desk and grabbed the phone. He lifted it to his ear and listened to silence. There was no dial tone, nothing. He typed the number for home, knowing it wouldn't ring, but it did.  
    His heart leapt, sweat springing up on his forehead. What would he say? He listened, intent, eyes focused on nothing as he waited. And waited. She wasn't home. Was she gone, too? But the phone was ringing, surely that meant something? The line clicked and went dead. He slammed it into the cradle, picked it up and dialled again.  
    It rang and rang and he smashed it against the desk, again and again until the plastic shattered and fragments flew across the office. Once he'd killed it, he dropped to his knees and wailed.  

    The evening sun disappeared behind the Houses of Parliament. David stood on Waterloo Bridge, staring down into the murky brown waters of the Thames. His hands gripped the railing, knuckles white and shaking. He was dying. He was alone. He'd spent the last three hours creeping around the city.  
    He shouted for a time, screaming the name of everyone he'd ever known, just to fill the silence. But it made it worse. When he stopped, it closed in again, choking and blinding him. The silence was the worst part. He'd found a TV in a shop and turned it on, but the screen had resolutely refused to spring to life and he ended up putting his foot through it. Even the sound of the glass breaking had been muted and dull.  
    There was no way out of this. He didn't know where he was, or what he'd done, but he would die here. So why not choose the way he went? He couldn't die choking on his own innards, curled up in a corner somewhere. But the Thames was flowing fast and it would take him out to sea. With winter coming, it was cold enough to stun him when he hit and he'd barely know he was drowning.  
    He put a foot on the bottom