unhealthiest-looking people
I’ve ever seen, even by zombie standards. If I didn’t know he was already dead, I’d swear he was at death’s door.
And then there’s Ashtat, dressed as she was when I saw her earlier. She spots me and says something to the others. They look at me curiously. I feel nervous, like I did on my first day of
school.
‘Sod it,’ I mutter. ‘They’ve got more reason to be scared of me than I have to be scared of them. I’m badass B Smith, and don’t you forget it!’
With a scowl and a disinterested sniff, I cross the great expanse of the dining room, walking big, trying to act as if I belong.
‘All right?’ I grunt as I take a seat at the table.
Everyone nods but nobody says anything.
‘I’m B.’
‘We know,’ Carl says, checking out my clothes. He nods again. I think I have his approval on the fashion front.
‘Have the twins been taking care of you?’ Shane asks.
‘Yeah.’
‘They’re good at that.’
‘Yeah.’ There’s an uncomfortable silence. Then I decide to wade straight in. ‘Look, I don’t like being told who my friends are. If it was up to me, I’d mix
with the others, chat with different people, make up my own mind who I like and who I don’t. I’ve already met Ingrid and her team, and I’d be happy to hang out with them. But
I’ve been stuck with you lot for the time being, so we’re just going to have to live with it.’
Carl laughs. ‘You were never taught how to make a good first impression, were you?’
I shrug. ‘This is me. I won’t pretend to be something I’m not.’
‘And what are you exactly?’ Ashtat asks quietly.
‘That’s for you to work out,’ I tell her, meeting her gaze and not looking away.
‘We’ve got a live one here,’ Shane chuckles.
‘So to speak,’ Carl adds, then sticks out a hand. ‘Carl Clay. Kensington born and bred.’
‘I was wondering about the posh accent,’ I say as we shake hands.
‘You should hear it when I’m trying to impress,’ he grins.
I haven’t had much contact with people like Carl. Kids from Kensington didn’t wander over east too much in my day, unless to see some grungy art gallery or to go shopping in Canary
Wharf. I don’t like his accent, and I don’t want to like him either, but his smile seems genuine. I’ll give him a chance — just not much of one.
‘Shane Fitz,’ the ginger introduces himself. Shane doesn’t offer to shake hands, just nods at me. I nod back. The chain-wearing Shane’s the sort of bloke I’d have
kicked the crap out of if our paths had crossed in the past. But times have changed. We’re in the same boat now. As with Carl, I’ll wait to pass judgement, see what he’s made
of.
‘Ashtat Kiarostami,’ the girl says softly, tilting her head. ‘I would like to apologise if I was rude to you earlier. I don’t like to be disturbed when I’m working
on my models and sometimes I react more sharply than intended.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I sniff and look to the last of the four, the thin, bald kid with dark circles under his eyes.
‘Jakob Pegg,’ he wheezes and that’s all I get out of him.
‘So what’s your story?’ Carl asks, settling back in his chair. ‘Where are you from? How were you killed? When did you revitalise?’
I tell them a bit about myself, the East End, the attack on my school, regaining consciousness in the underground complex. They’re intrigued by that and pump me for more information. They
haven’t heard of anything like it before.
‘I bet Dr Oystein was furious when you told him about that place,’ Shane remarks.
‘He knew about it already,’ I reply. ‘He said he had contacts there.’
Shane frowns. ‘It can’t have been anything to do with Dr Oystein. He wouldn’t approve of revitaliseds being imprisoned and experimented on.’
‘Dr Oystein’s approval doesn’t mean much to the army,’ Carl snorts. ‘They do what they like. He has to keep them onside or they’ll target
I’ve ever seen, even by zombie standards. If I didn’t know he was already dead, I’d swear he was at death’s door.
And then there’s Ashtat, dressed as she was when I saw her earlier. She spots me and says something to the others. They look at me curiously. I feel nervous, like I did on my first day of
school.
‘Sod it,’ I mutter. ‘They’ve got more reason to be scared of me than I have to be scared of them. I’m badass B Smith, and don’t you forget it!’
With a scowl and a disinterested sniff, I cross the great expanse of the dining room, walking big, trying to act as if I belong.
‘All right?’ I grunt as I take a seat at the table.
Everyone nods but nobody says anything.
‘I’m B.’
‘We know,’ Carl says, checking out my clothes. He nods again. I think I have his approval on the fashion front.
‘Have the twins been taking care of you?’ Shane asks.
‘Yeah.’
‘They’re good at that.’
‘Yeah.’ There’s an uncomfortable silence. Then I decide to wade straight in. ‘Look, I don’t like being told who my friends are. If it was up to me, I’d mix
with the others, chat with different people, make up my own mind who I like and who I don’t. I’ve already met Ingrid and her team, and I’d be happy to hang out with them. But
I’ve been stuck with you lot for the time being, so we’re just going to have to live with it.’
Carl laughs. ‘You were never taught how to make a good first impression, were you?’
I shrug. ‘This is me. I won’t pretend to be something I’m not.’
‘And what are you exactly?’ Ashtat asks quietly.
‘That’s for you to work out,’ I tell her, meeting her gaze and not looking away.
‘We’ve got a live one here,’ Shane chuckles.
‘So to speak,’ Carl adds, then sticks out a hand. ‘Carl Clay. Kensington born and bred.’
‘I was wondering about the posh accent,’ I say as we shake hands.
‘You should hear it when I’m trying to impress,’ he grins.
I haven’t had much contact with people like Carl. Kids from Kensington didn’t wander over east too much in my day, unless to see some grungy art gallery or to go shopping in Canary
Wharf. I don’t like his accent, and I don’t want to like him either, but his smile seems genuine. I’ll give him a chance — just not much of one.
‘Shane Fitz,’ the ginger introduces himself. Shane doesn’t offer to shake hands, just nods at me. I nod back. The chain-wearing Shane’s the sort of bloke I’d have
kicked the crap out of if our paths had crossed in the past. But times have changed. We’re in the same boat now. As with Carl, I’ll wait to pass judgement, see what he’s made
of.
‘Ashtat Kiarostami,’ the girl says softly, tilting her head. ‘I would like to apologise if I was rude to you earlier. I don’t like to be disturbed when I’m working
on my models and sometimes I react more sharply than intended.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I sniff and look to the last of the four, the thin, bald kid with dark circles under his eyes.
‘Jakob Pegg,’ he wheezes and that’s all I get out of him.
‘So what’s your story?’ Carl asks, settling back in his chair. ‘Where are you from? How were you killed? When did you revitalise?’
I tell them a bit about myself, the East End, the attack on my school, regaining consciousness in the underground complex. They’re intrigued by that and pump me for more information. They
haven’t heard of anything like it before.
‘I bet Dr Oystein was furious when you told him about that place,’ Shane remarks.
‘He knew about it already,’ I reply. ‘He said he had contacts there.’
Shane frowns. ‘It can’t have been anything to do with Dr Oystein. He wouldn’t approve of revitaliseds being imprisoned and experimented on.’
‘Dr Oystein’s approval doesn’t mean much to the army,’ Carl snorts. ‘They do what they like. He has to keep them onside or they’ll target
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