Free ZOM-B 11 by Darren Shan Page B

lips and croaks, ‘I cannot.’
    ‘Tell me why you did it.’
    ‘Not here,’ he says. ‘Not now.’
    ‘I’ll kill you,’ I growl.
    ‘No one will blame you if you do,’ he replies calmly. ‘Not once you show them the evidence against me. They will probably hail you as a hero.’
    ‘You destroyed the world,’ I cry.
    ‘Yes,’ he says and his face crumples. I don’t see any of the things in his expression that I expected, such as joy, pride, malice. Only misery and grief.
    I let go of the defenceless doctor and push myself away.
    ‘B . . .’ he says, sitting up.
    Before he can say anything else, I put all of my returning energy into my right foot and kick the side of his head as hard as I can. He slumps sideways, not unconscious, but stunned. It will
take him a few minutes to recover.
    I bend over the gasping doctor and rifle through his pockets. I find the pair of syringes that he mentioned and relieve him of them. I think about stabbing them through his eyes, one for
each eyeball. If I stuck them through the sockets and deep into his brain, I could finish him off.
    But how can I kill this man who has done so much for me? He rescued me when I was at my lowest. He took me in and showered me with love. He was like my father, only better. I owe so much to Dr
Oystein, more than I ever owed to anyone. He guided me, taught me how to put my darker ways behind me, helped me become who I am. If I’m furious and contemptuous now, it’s only
because he told me to expect more of people. I hate him so savagely only because I love him so dearly.

    It’s not for the likes of me to pass judgement on a man like Oystein Dowling. So I take the only option open to a desperate creature in my bewildering predicament. I leave the doc moaning
and writhing on the floor. I hurry to the stairs, clutching the syringes tightly. And I run.

FOURTEEN
    I wouldn’t have made it to the top of the first set of stairs several minutes ago, but juiced up with Dr Oystein’s concoction, the steps no longer present a major problem. I lurch up
them, growing in strength all the time. I’m still in bad shape, and I sting and ache all over, but coming off the back of my recent lows, I feel like I’ve been given bionic
implants.
    I make it to the roof and pause to assess my options. I can hear the Angels out front, murmuring softly, calmly, with no idea yet what has happened inside.
    I race along the roof and climb down a drainpipe into the yard at the rear of the building. I hurry across, let myself out of the yard and jog down a long road, then start zigzagging my way
south-east, hoping to lose myself in the maze of streets.
    I didn’t think I’d be fleeing for my life again this soon, or that I’d be running from Dr Oystein and his Angels. Amazing how the world can turn on its head so suddenly.
    I silently curse myself as I run, for not killing Dr Oystein. It was crazy, letting him live. But I know I’d do the same thing if the chance presented itself again. I love him too much to
take his life, even after hearing his most heinous confession.
    There’s also the crazy hope that there was a good reason for what he did. If I’d heard him out, maybe he could have explained it in a way that made sense.
    At the same time, that possibility was why I ran. I was afraid he’d convince me that the slaughter of billions could be justified. I know in my (missing) heart of hearts that there
can be no excuse for unleashing the zombie virus, but I think he could have provided one regardless. If he had, and I’d bought his story, I might have forgiven him and carried on working with him.
    That would have made me as guilty as he is, and I don’t want such a stain on my conscience. Some things in this world should be unacceptable no matter what. Sometimes
you shouldn’t allow people to grey your vision, to make you stop seeing an atrocity in simple black and white terms.
    I remember discussing the Holocaust once with Vinyl and a few of my other