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gulp – old habits die hard – and try to think of something to say, but I can’t.
    ‘All this honesty,’ Rage says, grinning again. ‘I never knew how invigorating it would make me feel to tell the truth all the time. You should try it, Becky. A bit of honesty’s good for the soul.’
    ‘I can be as honest as anyone,’ I shout. ‘I hate your guts and always will, no matter what you say or do. How honest is that?’
    ‘Good enough for me,’ Rage laughs, cocking hishead swiftly to the side, the closest any of us living dead can get to a wink.
    I stomp to my bed, throw myself down and glare at the ceiling. A few minutes later, Carl comes and sits beside me. He’s changed his clothes again, choosing an old-fashioned suit that looks plain wrong on a guy his age. He’s brushed his dark hair back too, gelling it flat the way businessmen used to in old movies that I sometimes watched with my dad on a lazy Sunday. All he needs is a bowler hat and a fancy umbrella and he could be a fresh-faced banker from fifty or sixty years ago.
    ‘How are you feeling?’ he asks softly.
    ‘Sick to my back teeth at having to share a room with
him
,’ I snap.
    ‘I meant about the rest of it, what Dr Oystein told you.’
    I prop myself on one elbow and squint at Carl, who looks a bit sheepish.
    ‘It can be hard to take it all in when he first tells you,’ Carl continues. ‘I was in shock for a few days. There’s so much to think about and process.’
    ‘You don’t believe either,’ I whisper. ‘You think he’s mad.’
    ‘Who’s that?’ Rage pipes up. ‘The doc? You can bet your sorry excuse for a life that he is. Mad as a hatter.’
    ‘You shouldn’t say things like that,’ Shane barks.
    ‘Why not?’ Rage shrugs. ‘It’s what I think, how I feel. The doc won’t mind. He has bigger things to worry about than whether or not the likes of us think he’s the Messiah or a howling maniac.’ He looks around at everyone. ‘Come on, how many of you really believe that he speaks with God?’
    Ashtat and Shane stick up their hands immediately. Jakob starts to raise his, wincing at the pain as he lifts his thin, skeletal arm, but then he stops and shakes his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he croaks.
    Carl keeps his hands on his knees. He looks troubled.
    ‘Three against three,’ Rage beams. ‘Sounds about right to me. This world has always split down the middle when it comes to gurus. One man’s prophet is another man’s crackpot.’
    ‘The difference here,’ I mutter, ‘is that those who doubt don’t usually throw themselves behind the lunatics.’

    ‘Of course they do,’ Rage says. ‘People pick their religion for all sorts of selfish, unspiritual reasons. We don’t choose our holy men just because we think they’ll sort us out when we die and our souls move on — we like to get some benefit from them in this life too.’
    ‘I can see now why B doesn’t like you,’ Carl sniffs. ‘You’re a real cynic.’
    ‘It’s my best quality,’ Rage smirks. ‘But you’re the same. Why are you trailing around after the doc if you don’t believe he speaks with God? No need to answer. I know already. He’s good for you. He set you up in this swanky spot, provides you with brains, trains you to fight. You’d have to be crazy to walk away from a cushy number like this. If the only downside of that is having to swallow his
I am the Right Hand of God
rubbish, well, that’s an easy enough sacrifice to make. Am I right or am I right?’
    ‘You think you’re clever, don’t you?’ Carl growls.
    ‘I do, actually, yeah,’ Rage chuckles, then gets upand walks over to the foot of my bed. He stares down at me as I glare up at him. ‘What’s your problem?’ Rage asks and he sounds genuinely curious. ‘You’ve a face like a slapped arse. Why can’t you just take the doc’s out-there beliefs with a pinch of salt and go along for the ride like everyone else?’
    ‘It’s not that simple,’ I mumble.
    ‘Of course