Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga by Michael Cairns Page A

of some sort. No one counted love as an excuse, which was the most stupid thing he'd ever heard. If love didn't make you do stupid things, then what did?
    But tomorrow's subject was nothing to do with love. Nothing to do with anything except greed. If he hadn't been made of pure energy, he might have considered not bothering. If.  

Jackson Part One

    Jackson woke and slid from his bed. Bitch was still sleeping. She could stay there. Better to not hear her bitching voice this early in the morning. Breakfast, comb through the beard thirty times, wax on the scalp and out to the van. He squeezed in, head brushing the roof and huge hands gripping the wheel.
    Busy day. He checked himself in the rear view. Beard looked good, eyes not so much. He'd been drinking too much. Anything to block out the bitch moaning and whining at him every night. He had red bits around his dark irises, blood vessels that burst and spilled into the whites. He sniffed, hawked and spat out the window. It struck the dust of the yard and rolled into a tiny dirt-covered ball.
    Shit game last night. Not one good player on the pitch. They fired the managers but it was the players getting the money to be shit every week. He spat again and pulled out of the yard to the road, yellow dust following in the van's wake.  
    He prodded his nose as he waited to pull out at the lights. Bitch had hit him a few weeks back and he was beginning to think she'd broken it. Not the first time, which was why it was so difficult to be sure. But it moved differently and felt even more spread out than usual.  
    He pulled out, giving the finger to the guy beeping him, and headed into town. He'd park up at Pavan's and the guy could like it. Too much to do to worry about the wardens. Far too bloody much to do. They were coming in tonight.  
    He bit his lip, the only sign he'd ever give he was worried. Worried was too strong a word for it. He wasn't worried about shit, 'cept maybe bitch sleeping around. She was too, no doubt. But still, it bore thinking about. Two years and seven months and now they were coming to visit. Why?
    He'd ask them when they got here and if they couldn't give him an answer, he'd find someone else to sell to. There were plenty who wanted 'em. Hell, they were queuing up at the door. He stopped at the lights and checked the back. Ropes all present and correct.  
    He reached Pavan's without any of the wankers on the road driving into him. Always a bloody miracle, considering how many there were these days. He parked up and went for a walk. He strolled down to Embankment, checking out the tourists, watching for the weak spots.  
    There were a couple of girls, young, bag straps over both shoulders. He approached them with a warm smile but they hurried away. Too old anyway. He kept moving, watching, waiting. He headed for the South Bank. There were school trips there sometimes, but today it was empty. He did spot a couple of homeless kids, familiar territory. One was a young boy, long lanky black hair. The other was a girl, older than the boy and pretty in a skinny sort of way. Bob haircut and thin lips. He headed over but they spotted him and moved on quick enough.  
    It was fine. This was window shopping. He stomped over the Millennium Bridge and strolled back towards Embankment. Most of the way there when he smelled them. They took him back and he stopped dead, eyes watering. For a moment he was in Mam's garden, surrounded by rose bushes, watching her bustle about. She looked down and smiled at him and he opened his mouth. His breath came in short gasps and he placed one hand against his heart. Why did it hurt so bad? The smell faded and some semblance of reality returned. He stared at Mam until the rot appeared and she faded away.  
    He sneered and wandered over to the flower seller. The flowers were impressive. Mam would have loved them. He resisted the urge to buy them all and toss 'em in the river.
    'Nice stall.'
    'Thank you, sir, perhaps I can interest