Zom-B Angels Read Free

hope that it will come to feel like home for you over time, as it has for us.’
    ‘So who lives here with you?’ I ask. ‘You haven’t told me about the set-up yet, how you came to be here, who your Angels are, how you plan to save the world.’
    ‘Those questions will all be answered,’ he assures me. ‘We do not keep secrets from one another. We are open in all that we do. But there is no need to rush. As you adjust and
settle in, we will reveal more of our work and background to you, until you know as much about us as I do.’
    I don’t like being told to wait, but this is his gig. Besides, I’m exhausted and my brain hurts, so I don’t think I could take in much more anyway. There’s one thing that
does disturb me though, and I want to bring it up before pushing on any further.
    ‘How come there are no regular zombies here? Every other big, dark building that I’ve seen has been packed with them.’
    ‘I had already recruited a small team of Angels before I established a permanent base,’ he says. ‘We drove out the reviveds before we moved in.’
    ‘That must have been messy.’
    ‘It was actually the easiest thing in the world,’ he replies. ‘With their sharp sense of hearing, reviveds – like revitaliseds – are vulnerable to high-pitched
noises. So we simply installed a few speakers and played a string of high notes through them, which proved unbearable for those who had taken up residence. They moved out without any protest, then
we slid in after them and shored up the entrances.’
    ‘I got in without any hassle,’ I remind him.
    ‘We saw you coming on our security cameras,’ he says. ‘We switched off the speakers – we repositioned them around the building once we had moved in, and normally play the
noises on a constant loop, to keep stray reviveds at bay – and made sure a door was open when you arrived.’
    We come to a huge room and I catch my first glimpse of what I assume are some of Dr Oystein’s Angels. There’s a small group of them at the centre of the room, in a boxing ring,
sparring. They’re my sort of age, no more than a year or two older or younger than me.
    ‘They spend most of their days training,’ Dr Oystein says.
    ‘For what?’
    ‘War.’
    I swivel to look at him, but he doesn’t return my gaze.
    ‘The years ahead will be hard,’ he says quietly. ‘We will be tested severely, and I am sure at times we will be found wanting. We face many battles, some of which we are
certain to lose. But if we prepare as best we can, and have faith in ourselves and the justness of our cause, we will triumph in the end.’
    I snort. ‘I hate to burst your bubble, doc, but if those Angels are like me, you’d better tell them to get their arses in gear. In another year or two we’ll be pushing up
daisies. You can’t win a war if all your troops are rotting in the grave.’

    Dr Oystein frowns. ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘Our limited lifespan. We’ve only got a year and a half, two years max. Then our senses will dissolve, our brains will melt and we’ll be dead meat. If you’ve got a war
you want to win, you’d better crack on and –’
    ‘You were told many things when you were a prisoner,’ Dr Oystein interrupts. ‘Some were true. Some, you must surely know, were not. Your captors wanted to bend you to their
will. They told you lies to dampen your spirit, to break it, to make you theirs.’
    I stare at him, hardly daring to believe what he’s telling me. ‘You mean it was bullshit about me only having a year or two to live?’
    ‘Of the highest grade,’ he smiles.
    ‘I’m not going to die soon?’ I cry.
    ‘You are already dead,’ he says.
    ‘You know what I mean,’ I groan. ‘My brain’s not going to pop and leave me truly dead?’
    ‘Far from it.’
    I clench my fingers tight and give the air a victory punch. ‘Bloody
YES
, mate! You’ve made my day, doc. I was ready to accept an early end, but as crap as my excuse for a