Free ZOM-B 11 by Darren Shan

Mr Dowling?’ Dr Oystein thunders. ‘I know that Daniel Wood is dead, so there is nothing I can do about that foul specimen, but if the clown did
this to you, I will make him pay. Who hurt you, B?’
    I stare at him blankly and say nothing.
    Dr Oystein waits for me to respond. When I don’t, he licks his lips and glances at the zombies in the room with us, making sure they don’t pose a threat. Then he croaks, ‘The vial . . . Mr Dowling’s sample of Schlesinger-10 . . . is it too much to hope that you might have . . .
?’
    I stare at him blankly and say nothing.
    Dr Oystein grimaces. ‘I’m sorry. That can wait. It was insensitive of me to ask. Maybe the thought never even crossed your mind. We must tend to your injuries. I brought many of your
fellow Angels with me. They are waiting outside. We will transport you to our new base as carefully as we can. You’ll need to rest in a Groove Tube for a long time. Then I will stitch you
together and find replacements for the pieces that have been cut away. I won’t lie — you’ll never be quite the same again. But I can do more for you than you might
imagine.’
    I stare at him blankly and say nothing.
    ‘But first . . .’ the doc says brightly and produces a syringe. ‘This is a concentrated solution of the liquid that we use in the Groove Tubes. It will act like a shot of
adrenalin, restore some of your strength and ease the worst of the pain.’
    As numb as I am, I know I need that pick-me-up, so I break my silence and mumble, ‘That sounds good.’
    Dr Oystein crouches next to me and takes my right arm. I observe mutely as he tenderly sticks the tip of the needle into a vein and softly pushes down on the plunger. After pumping maybe a fifth
of the liquid into my arm, he removes the needle and inserts it into my left arm, then my legs, one after the other.
    ‘Our blood does not flow swiftly,’ he says as he works. ‘With others, I would inject it into their heart, and it would be slowly pumped around the body, but obviously that is
not an option in your case.’ He smiles briefly, then injects the last of the mixture into my neck. ‘You should start to notice the effects in a matter of minutes, as your body begins to
absorb the solution. You will enjoy only a few hours of relief before your energy ebbs again, but that should be more than enough time for our purposes. I have brought another couple of syringes,
just in case, but I do not think we will need them.’
    Dr Oystein takes hold of my hand with both of his and squeezes gingerly. ‘I’ve been so worried about you, B. I was distraught when I learnt that you had sneaked out, that Rage had
betrayed us, that you had been taken prisoner. If I could have done anything to rescue you, believe me, I would have. But my hands were tied. I had to simply wait and hope and pray.’
    I stare at the
good doctor
and fight the urge to curl my upper lip. I tell myself again that I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, that there could be more to this than what the folders
imply. I have to give him a chance to defend himself. I don’t want to accuse him, only to look like an ungrateful fool when he blows the accusations out of the water.
    As my flesh tingles and vitality returns to my limbs, I try to think of a subtle way to broach the taboo topic. I don’t find one, but I do recall my initial meeting with the doc, and
that provides me with my opening line.
    ‘You said that Oystein was your first name.’
    His eyes crinkle. ‘Pardon?’
    ‘That first day we met, when you were showing me round County Hall, you jokingly said that you’d almost forgotten what your surname was.’
    Dr Oystein chuckles. ‘You have a good memory. ’
    ‘You never did tell me,’ I press.
    ‘It’s not important,’ he says lightly.
    ‘I think it is,’ I contradict him. ‘Let’s play a game.’
    ‘What sort of a game?’ he asks, letting go of my hand and staring at me with a quizzical expression, half-smiling,