Zom-B Read Online Free PDF

for guinea pigs. Mum was worried but Dad said there was no way they’d test it on babies if there was any chance it would cause harm.
    He was right and it worked a treat. I’ve never even had a cold. I don’t know why it didn’t make it to the shops. Maybe there were side effects and I’m one of the lucky ones who didn’t suffer any. Or maybe they have to wait a certain amount of time before they can put it on the market.
    I scowl and stop picking the c scar. The things that go through your mind at–I check my watch–3:27 in the morning. I should be sleeping, not analyzing a dumb bloody scar. I grin at myself. “You’re a stupid…”
    I stop. In the mirror I spot a baby standing on the laundry basket, hands red with blood, eyes white, teeth glinting. It breathes out and a small cloud of red mist rises from its mouth.
    I shut my eyes and count to five, taking quick breaths, cursing myself for my weakness. When I look again, there’s nobody behind me.
    I stomp from the bathroom and back to bed. I grab a fresh T-shirt from my wardrobe and glare as I pull it on, mad at myself for letting the nightmare freak me out so much.
    “It was only a dream, B,” I whisper as I lie beneath the covers, eyes wide, knowing I won’t get a wink of sleep again tonight. “Only a dream. Only a dream. Only a…”

SEVEN
    School. Tired and grumpy. I hate the nightmare more than ever. I’m a teenager. I should be dreaming about getting hot and steamy with movie stars, not about killer babies. I was sure I’d leave the dream behind as I got older, but no such luck. I still have it two or three nights a week.
    I barely listen in class at the best of times. Today I tune out completely and scribble crude drawings over my books. I suck at art but I like to doodle when I’m bored.
    Most of my teachers ignore me. They know I’m a lost cause and they don’t try to reach out to me. They also know I’m not someone you mess with. One of them crossed me a couple of years ago. I’d been in a fight and had been sent to theprincipal’s office. The teacher saw me waiting outside and whispered something to one of his colleagues. Both men sniggered. Then he said out loud, “But what can you expect from someone with a father like that ?”
    Someone punctured the tires on that teacher’s car. Someone found out where he lived and threw a brick through his window. Someone stuck up pictures of him around the local area with his phone number and the message, Ring for a good time!
    I’m not saying who that someone was, but after he came creeping up to B Smith in school one day and meekly said, “Sorry for what I said about your dad,” he was left in peace.
    I fall asleep in history. Jonesenzio is duller than most of our teachers. I’m not the only one to snooze in his class.
    “Fire!” someone hisses in my ear and I jolt awake, almost falling off my chair.
    Meths and Kray laugh their faces off as Jonesenzio scowls at me.
    “Sods,” I spit at them, rubbing my elbow where I hit it on the desk.
    “If you’re quite finished…” Jonesenzio murmurs.
    “Sorry, Mr. Jones,” I simper. “I thought I saw a mouse.”
    He drones on. I don’t mind Jonesenzio. He’s given me a C on every essay we’ve been assigned for the last three years, even though I’ve never handed one in.
    Mum sometimes grouches about my lousy grades. “How come you don’t do as well in the other subjects as you do in history?” Dadtosses me a wink when she goes on like that. He had Jonesenzio when he was younger. He knows the score.
    “I bet you were dreaming about me,” Meths chuckles, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the teacher. Jonesenzio doesn’t complain if you talk loudly in his class, but he stops talking and stands there silently, looking at you politely, which is even worse. A couple of us tested him once and found that he’s happy to do that for an entire class. You’ll never out-patient the Jones.
    “Yeah,” I tell Meths. “It was a real