ZOM-B 11 Read Online Free PDF

had survived.
    It’s not that I’m a natural do-gooder. To be perfectly honest, I’m no more heroic than Ossie and Glenn were. But sometimes you get thrown in at the deep end, and you spot
someone more needy and vulnerable than yourself, and you realise that if you don’t put their needs first and risk your life to save theirs, then you’ll eke out the rest of your days as
a guilt-ridden monster. And who wants to carry on living with that sort of a millstone hanging round their neck?
    As my thoughts turn more maudlin, Holy Moly helps me squeeze through a hole and we strike the tracks of a Tube line. The going is easier here. There’s even the occasional light to see by.
I worry that we might run into mutants – I thought Mr Dowling would have dispatched patrols in both directions along the track, figuring I’d have to connect with it at some point
– but there’s no sign of them.
    We pass through Mansion House Station, dotted with zombies who pay us little heed. Strange to think that they’ll all be stiff, harmless corpses within a few weeks, decomposing sacks of
flesh and bone. Will humans come through here again one day, clean the cadavers away and restore the train service? Or will they shut these places down and leave them as mausoleums, bearers of the dark, grisly
secrets of the past?
    I hobble along stubbornly without pause, through the stations at Blackfriars and Temple, only stopping when I come to Embankment. This is where I’ll leave the underworld behind, taking the
station exit like commuters did in the old days.
    ‘You can leave me here if you like,’ I tell Holy Moly.
    The baby shakes its head. ‘
not until we get to the city. i promised to take you to the city mummy.
’
    ‘You’d have made a great bodyguard,’ I chuckle, then lift Holy Moly up on to the platform. I didn’t really need to do that – the baby can look after itself –
but I wanted to feel useful.
    I groan and wheeze, trying to pull myself up too. Holy Moly could help, maybe find a rope or some bags that I could use as steps, but it can see that I want to do this by myself, so it stands
there quietly, leaving me to my own devices.
    There are lots of zombies filling the platform, which means it must be daytime up in the world above. The living dead hordes study me with disinterest, not caring where I’ve come from
or why I’m dressed so strangely. They have no interest in anyone that they can’t eat.
    Finally I clear the tracks and haul myself to my feet. I feel like I’ve climbed a mountain. I clasp my hands over my head and cheer jokingly at the zombies on the platform. But then I
spot a figure standing close by the spot where I crawled up, and I stop in mild amazement.
    It’s a woman. She’s dressed in white robes, and her hair is white too. I’ve seen her before in a station like this, when her robes and hair were a lot cleaner than they are
now, but that was in Liverpool Street. She was alive when she entered the place, but she never came out. I turned her into a zombie, at her request, to prevent her brain being eaten when we were
cornered by a pack of reviveds.
    ‘
Sister Clare?
’ I wheeze with disbelief.
    The former leader of the Order of the Shnax doesn’t respond. She’s staring off into space, like most of the zombies on the platform.
    ‘How did you get here?’ I groan, shuffling across to stand in front of her, wanting her to recognise me and respond.
    The zombie says nothing. She doesn’t even look at me.
    I study the once barmy Sister Clare. She looks much the same as I remember. The months have been good to her. Dirtier than when she was alive, her face stained with dried blood from where
she’s eaten, robes filthy and ripped in several places. But otherwise there’s not much difference.
    ‘Poor cow,’ I whisper, reaching up to touch her cheek. She doesn’t flinch. ‘You hoped you’d revitalise, but that was never an option. I didn’t know it then,
but I suppose it wouldn’t