us.’
‘Bring ’em on,’ Shane growls.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Ashtat chides him. ‘They could level this place from the air. We would not even see who killed us.’
‘So how’d you get out of there?’ Carl asks as Shane seethes at the injustice of the world.
‘Ever hear of a guy called Mr Dowling?’
Carl’s eyes widen and Ashtat shivers. Shane pulls back from me, while Jakob leans forward, looking interested for the first time.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ I say drily.
‘We have heard rumours,’ Ashtat murmurs, shivering again. ‘Terrible rumours. If we could sleep, we would all have nightmares about him.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Shane snorts, but he looks uneasy.
I tell them how the crazed clown and his mutants invaded the complex and slaughtered many of the staff. But they didn’t harm me or any of the other zom heads. Mr Dowling freaked me out
– I wince as I recount how he opened his mouth and spat a stream of live spiders into my face – but he set me free once he’d made me tremble and shriek.
‘I don’t get it,’ Shane frowns. ‘Why did he free you? I thought Mr Dowling was our enemy.’
‘He is,’ Ashtat says. ‘But he must have use for the living dead too. His mutants are clearly not enough for him. He wishes to recruit our kind also.’
‘He should be so lucky,’ Shane says witheringly. ‘If he ever tries to sign me up for
Team Dowling
, I’ll shove those spiders where the sun don’t
shine.’
‘I’m sure that will make him quake in his boots,’ Carl sneers.
‘Do you know anything about Mr Dowling?’ I ask before a fight breaks out between the snob and the chav.
‘Not much,’ Ashtat answers. ‘And it is not our place to tell you what we know. Dr Oystein will do that when he returns.’
‘You’re all in love with that bloody doctor, aren’t you?’
‘He has given us a home,’ Ashtat says. ‘He has given our lives meaning. He has rescued us from an unliving hell and made us feel almost human. Of course we love him. You will
too when you realise how fortunate you are to have been taken in by someone as accepting and forgiving as Dr Oystein.’
‘I don’t need his forgiveness,’ I snort.
‘No?’ Ashtat asks quietly, eyeing me seriously.
I think about Tyler Bayor. Sister Clare of the Shnax. How I wasn’t able to save Mark.
I go quiet.
‘Grub’s up!’ someone calls out brightly. Looking up, I spot a smiling lady in a flowery apron entering the room, pushing a trolley loaded with bowls. It’s the woman I
noticed when Dr Oystein was first showing me around, the one who was scooping brains out of heads.
The Angels around me cheer loudly, as do all the others. The elegantly dressed dinner lady beams and takes a bow, then starts handing out the bowls.
‘This is Ciara,’ Ashtat says as she approaches our table. ‘Ciara, this is Becky Smith, but she likes to be called B.’
‘Pleasure to meet you, B,’ Ciara says cheerfully. She looks more like a model than any dinner lady I ever met, with high cheekbones, carefully maintained hair, and clothes
you’d only find in exclusive boutiques. Even the apron, white cap and green plastic gloves look more suited to a catwalk than a kitchen. But there’s one thing about her that’s far
more extraordinary than her glamorous appearance.
She has a heartbeat.
‘You’re alive!’ I gasp, the beat of her heart like a drum to my sensitive ears.
‘Just about,’ Ciara grins. ‘But don’t go thinking that means you can eat my brain. There should be more than enough for you there.’
She hands me a bowl filled with a familiar grey, gloopy substance. It’s what the zom heads were fed in the underground complex, human brains mixed up in a semi-appetising way.
‘For afters,’ Ciara says, slamming a bucket down in the middle of the table. She winks at me. ‘Don’t be offended if I don’t stick around, but I can’t stand
all the vomiting. Come and have a chat with me later if you want. I
‘Bring ’em on,’ Shane growls.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Ashtat chides him. ‘They could level this place from the air. We would not even see who killed us.’
‘So how’d you get out of there?’ Carl asks as Shane seethes at the injustice of the world.
‘Ever hear of a guy called Mr Dowling?’
Carl’s eyes widen and Ashtat shivers. Shane pulls back from me, while Jakob leans forward, looking interested for the first time.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ I say drily.
‘We have heard rumours,’ Ashtat murmurs, shivering again. ‘Terrible rumours. If we could sleep, we would all have nightmares about him.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Shane snorts, but he looks uneasy.
I tell them how the crazed clown and his mutants invaded the complex and slaughtered many of the staff. But they didn’t harm me or any of the other zom heads. Mr Dowling freaked me out
– I wince as I recount how he opened his mouth and spat a stream of live spiders into my face – but he set me free once he’d made me tremble and shriek.
‘I don’t get it,’ Shane frowns. ‘Why did he free you? I thought Mr Dowling was our enemy.’
‘He is,’ Ashtat says. ‘But he must have use for the living dead too. His mutants are clearly not enough for him. He wishes to recruit our kind also.’
‘He should be so lucky,’ Shane says witheringly. ‘If he ever tries to sign me up for
Team Dowling
, I’ll shove those spiders where the sun don’t
shine.’
‘I’m sure that will make him quake in his boots,’ Carl sneers.
‘Do you know anything about Mr Dowling?’ I ask before a fight breaks out between the snob and the chav.
‘Not much,’ Ashtat answers. ‘And it is not our place to tell you what we know. Dr Oystein will do that when he returns.’
‘You’re all in love with that bloody doctor, aren’t you?’
‘He has given us a home,’ Ashtat says. ‘He has given our lives meaning. He has rescued us from an unliving hell and made us feel almost human. Of course we love him. You will
too when you realise how fortunate you are to have been taken in by someone as accepting and forgiving as Dr Oystein.’
‘I don’t need his forgiveness,’ I snort.
‘No?’ Ashtat asks quietly, eyeing me seriously.
I think about Tyler Bayor. Sister Clare of the Shnax. How I wasn’t able to save Mark.
I go quiet.
‘Grub’s up!’ someone calls out brightly. Looking up, I spot a smiling lady in a flowery apron entering the room, pushing a trolley loaded with bowls. It’s the woman I
noticed when Dr Oystein was first showing me around, the one who was scooping brains out of heads.
The Angels around me cheer loudly, as do all the others. The elegantly dressed dinner lady beams and takes a bow, then starts handing out the bowls.
‘This is Ciara,’ Ashtat says as she approaches our table. ‘Ciara, this is Becky Smith, but she likes to be called B.’
‘Pleasure to meet you, B,’ Ciara says cheerfully. She looks more like a model than any dinner lady I ever met, with high cheekbones, carefully maintained hair, and clothes
you’d only find in exclusive boutiques. Even the apron, white cap and green plastic gloves look more suited to a catwalk than a kitchen. But there’s one thing about her that’s far
more extraordinary than her glamorous appearance.
She has a heartbeat.
‘You’re alive!’ I gasp, the beat of her heart like a drum to my sensitive ears.
‘Just about,’ Ciara grins. ‘But don’t go thinking that means you can eat my brain. There should be more than enough for you there.’
She hands me a bowl filled with a familiar grey, gloopy substance. It’s what the zom heads were fed in the underground complex, human brains mixed up in a semi-appetising way.
‘For afters,’ Ciara says, slamming a bucket down in the middle of the table. She winks at me. ‘Don’t be offended if I don’t stick around, but I can’t stand
all the vomiting. Come and have a chat with me later if you want. I
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