Free ZOM-B 11 by Darren Shan Page A

half-concerned, not sure where I’m going with this.
    ‘Let’s call it the Rumpelstiltskin game.’ I grin humourlessly. ‘That was one of my favourite stories when I was a kid, especially the bit where the girl has three chances
to guess his name.’
    ‘We do not have time for this, B,’ he mutters, and I can tell by the way his expression changes that he knows I’ve rumbled him. The dark, spiteful look that flashes across his
face is all the confirmation I need that the folders are telling the terrible truth. But I carry on anyway, not wanting to believe the worst until I hear him admit it.
    ‘Oh, there’s always time for a good game,’ I say grimly. ‘Let me think . . . is your name . . . Oystein Smith?’
    When Dr Oystein is silent, I pull a long face and answer for him. ‘No. So is it . . . Oystein Jones?’
    Again he’s silent, and again I answer on his behalf. ‘No. Last chance. Could it possibly be Oystein . . .’ I start to make a drawn-out D sound, but he cuts me short.
    ‘. . .
Dowling
,’ he says quietly. ‘Yes, B, you are correct. I am Oystein Dowling, and Albrecht is my estranged brother.’
    I moan wretchedly. I didn’t think it would be this easy, that he’d admit his guilt so swiftly. In a way I wish it had been harder. If he’d tried to deny the accusation, I could
have gone on believing for a while that it might not be true.
    Dr Oystein lowers his gaze. I expect him to attack me or to start offering up excuses, but he only looks around sadly at the folders, taking note of them for the first time.
    ‘I assume you found out through these,’ he says with a sigh. ‘Nobody was meant to keep a record of what we were doing. I often stressed the need to leave no paper trail. But
people cannot escape their nature. I guessed that some would disobey my orders, in case they needed the documents to blackmail me or point the finger of blame solely in my direction. Humans are so
predictable.’
    He picks up one of the folders and studies the pages, tutting softly. ‘I suppose Billy Burke tracked these down. That explains why he tried to kill me. I couldn’t be sure, the day he
came after me. I hoped that my brother had put him up to it, but Billy didn’t strike me as a madman when he stormed into County Hall, just somebody who was very angry. I should have retraced
his steps and destroyed the incriminating evidence, but I would have had to investigate by myself — it was not a task I could have set one of my Angels. If I was wrong, and he
had
fallen foul of Albrecht, I didn’t want to walk into a trap and end up in my brother’s clutches. So I turned a blind eye to the event and hoped it would not come back to haunt me. That was a foolish mistake. I have not made many of those over
the decades.’
    ‘Is it true?’ I hiss. ‘Did you do . . .
this
?’ I wave a hand at the folders.
    Dr Oystein nods slowly. ‘Yes.’
    I want to hit him with my most barbed insult, but there isn’t a curse strong enough to convey what I’m feeling. And if I scream, the Angels outside will rush to his rescue. So I
don’t bother with words. Instead I hurl myself at the century-old zombie and haul him to the ground.
    We roll across the floor and I scrape his face. A couple of fingerbones dig deeply into his left cheek, scarring him.
    He doesn’t react.
    I land on top of the doc and punch wildly, pummelling his stomach, his chest, his face.
    He doesn’t react.
    I grab his head and bang it down hard on the floor. If I had all my strength, I’d smash his skull open and end this clash immediately, but, as things stand, I can only hope to scramble his brains inside their protective covering.
    He doesn’t react.
    I wrap my hands round his throat and throttle him, knowing I can’t kill him that way, but wanting to hurt him, to make him cry out, to see pain and fear in his eyes.
    He only stares at me miserably.
    ‘Say something, you bastard,’ I groan, shaking his shoulders.
    He spits blood from his