Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga Read online

  'Mornin' Bay, you're late today?'

  The question was almost buried beneath his normal jovial tone. Almost, but not quite. She blushed, knowing full well why he asked. 'Bed was comfy this morning.'

  'Don't know how a big bed like that can be comfortable. You must get cold.'

  If he hadn't shared that bed a few times in the last month, it would be harassment. As it was, the butterflies in her stomach grew wings and learnt to dance, as her cheeks grew even hotter. 'I get hot when I sleep, normally throw the covers off altogether.'

  She turned as he thumped the first crate down on the counter. He strolled down the shop. The sides of his hands were still covered in flour and he smelled like his bread. She took a deep breath, the smell of roses replaced with the scent of fantasies made real.

  'We can make it hotter, if you like.'

  She giggled and walked past him, brushing against him just enough for her to shiver and slow. He would grab her and spin her around, his flour leaving marks on her arms. He'd push her back against the glass cabinets and force his tongue into her mouth. He didn't, though.

  Which was a good thing because the door binged again and Layla walked in, giving them both a cheery 'morning' before disappearing into the back. Somehow, Bayleigh's cheeks grew hotter still and she rushed behind the counter, putting a safe distance between them.

  'Well, you know, offer's there. Let me get the rest.'

  Ali strolled from the shop and Layla appeared from the back, apron on and hair tied up. 'You two still shagging then?'

  Bayleigh gasped and frowned at her. Layla, completely oblivious, opened the till and began to sort the money from the safe. 'Not that I'm prying or nothing, just think you could do a lot worse. And, you know, he knows about Jeff and everything.'

  He did and that was worth more than his kindness or his strong arms and soft hands. He didn't know about the bank account though. No one knew about that and no one would, not until it was too late.

  Layla was staring at her, waiting for an answer. Had she asked a question? Not really, but she'd still want an answer. Bayleigh blinked, then twined her finger in her hair and blushed, shrugging. 'Yeah, maybe. I dunno. He's nice and all, but…'

  'But what? What you waiting for? Bay, you know I love you, but you ain't gonna do much better, not with… well, yeah, you know.'

  Bayleigh nodded. It was all true. She set about opening the shop and Layla took the hint. The lights went on and soon the place was filled with people. The coffee machine set up the symphony, accompanied by the sounds of workers and the steady thumps of the fridge door and the clink of the knife. Lunches were made and sold and eaten or taken away, and the day went on. Before she'd taken a breath, it was lunch time.

  The rush ended and she slipped out of the apron and headed for some fresh air. She strolled down Embankment, mind drifting. There'd been a couple in this morning, tourists choosing the independent sandwich shop instead of McDonald's. They'd been arguing over whether to go to the Planetarium or Madame Tussauds and, as always, Bayleigh had been dragged back.

  Dad had taken her to the Planetarium, not long after Mum died. They'd sat and stared up at the lights and he'd reached out and taken her hand. It had been quiet in there, but even so, it had taken a few moments to work out he was crying. She'd never heard him cry before and it still haunted her.

  He sounded broken, like he was supposed to be crying properly, but every time he sobbed something clicked and he stopped for a second and started again. They sat in the darkness for ages and all she was aware of was the sound of her father falling apart. When they left he apologised and said he'd take her again, and the thought of ever going back in there made her burst into tears.

  Funny how something so simple could be so vivid after twenty years. He cried a lot now. She preferred it to the screaming. And the laughter. The laughter was the worst. Twenty years ago he'd only sounded broken. Now he was. Layla was right. Ali had met Dad and knew what she lived with, and was all right with it. He was better than all right. He'd even read to him once or twice.

  She smiled, blinking away the tears. He couldn't read for toffee, but Dad didn't mind. It was the sound of a voice, she thought, more than what it was saying.

  She stopped, put her hands on the black iron railings, and took a few deeps breaths. Nothing like fresh Thames air to clean the mind. She smiled again and shook her head.

  A different smell caught her nostrils and she was dragged from the railing. She ambled over, pretending she had some say in the matter and found herself standing before the flowers. They were beautiful, so beautiful, and she unfocused her eyes until all she could see was colour.

  A throat being cleared made her jump.

  'Good morning, madam, can I interest you in anything particular?'

  She jumped and put a hand to her throat, self-conscious. He sounded like a politician. His eyes were dark and seemed to smile at her. In fact, all of him smiled at her and it felt real.

  'Thanks, no, just looking. You always have such beautiful flowers.'

  'Well, thank you, that's very kind of you to say so. You have to get there first, that's all.'

  'Sorry?'

  'The wholesaler. You have to get to the wholesaler before anyone else and you get the best bunches. Are you sure you won't buy something, they'd be lovely in your shop.'

  'My shop? How do you know...'

  She trailed off as he pointed one neatly manicured finger at her t-shirt. 'The Sandwich Bay' was surrounded by smiling faces. She'd designed them herself and was as proud now as she'd been five years ago. She blushed and smiled weakly.

  'I like the design. It fits very well in London, doesn't it, so inclusive.'

  She blushed again and examined her feet.

  'Tell you what. Let me see if I can't find you a bargain--'

  'Oh no, I can't, really, I don't have the money.'

  'I'm sure I can find something in your budget. How about the roses?'

  Bayleigh Part Two

  What just happened? She stuck her nose in the bunch of roses and took a deep sniff. Who cared? It was like carrying all her fantasies in her hand, a million and one romantic holidays on the French Riviera. How did he make them smell so nice?

  The shop would smell amazing. Shame they were only open for another hour or so, but it was better than nothing. And then she could take them home. Dad might like them. Well, she wouldn't take them all home. Layla could have a few and there were thirteen, which was never a good number, so she'd do what the flower seller suggested and give one away.

  Bayleigh kept her eyes open all the way back to the shop, but spotted no one who looked needy. Maybe it was because of the roses, but everyone looked happier today. There were none of the usual long faces. Tuesday was the worst day in town, when the week stretched away into the distance and everyone was tired from Monday.

  She strolled into the shop and Layla gasped. 'What happened to you?'

  'Oh, um, I bought them.'

  Layla's face dropped. 'So some handsome Italian in a sports car din't give them to you?'

  Bayleigh shook her head sadly and grinned. 'Sorry.'

  Layla bustled away into the back and emerged with two vases. They split the flowers in half and soon the shop came alive with the red.

  The afternoon was always dead. When she first opened, Bayleigh had closed up straight after lunch. But in this part of town there were always people who wanted food. The afternoon slot was a good way to get rid of the bits they used to throw. She'd always rather someone ate them than put perfectly good sandwiches in the bin.

  As she made up the remainder of the sandwiches and stuck the little 'sale' flags in, her mind drifted. She went from thinking about Ali to the bank account. She'd checked it last week, for the first time in months. There was almost thirty grand in there. That would keep her for a year, which was more than enough time to set up again.

  The magazines were under her bed, stashed safely away. Not that Dad ever went in her bedroom, but she couldn't help fe
eling paranoid. What would he do if he found them?

  She shuddered and shook her head. He wouldn't know what they meant anyway. He barely knew her name most days. They'd look after him. The services. They would. She sniffed. The same pointless argument had been going round and round her brain for the last three years. They would look after him, she didn't doubt that.

  But it wasn't that she was arguing over. She was leaving him, without a goodbye, after thirty six years. And leaving him to the institution, to the same cream rooms and long corridors he'd begged her to rescue him from when it happened. It had been easier then.

  She'd had a job that paid five times what she earned now and she'd been younger and… stop it. That was rubbish. It wasn't any easier then. But her heart had got harder and she'd got tired. That was the truth of it. Three years ago she'd been ready to collapse. All that kept her going now was a folder full of bank statements and a bunch of glossy travel magazines and estate agent brochures.

  She blinked. Between her hands was a sandwich bearing eleven sale signs. With a sigh she yanked them out and threw it in the bin. She looked straight ahead at the roses and sniffed. Maybe the thirteenth rose was for Dad. Between the gorgeous petals she watched the door open and a woman come in.

  Her eyes were red and her pretty dark hair was all over the shop. Bayleigh took a few seconds to decide whether it was deliberate, but the absence of make-up and the lack of jacket made her think not. She had lovely lips, red and full and enough to stir just the tiniest spark of jealousy in her.

  The woman stomped up to the counter, stared blankly at the sandwiches and snuffled. She was about to burst into tears! Bayleigh dashed around the counter and put an arm around her shoulders. The woman gave her a pathetically grateful look and sniffed again, eyes swimming. She took a few deep breaths and gently shook the arm off.

  Bayleigh gave her a smile and went back around the counter.

  'Thanks. Sorry.'

  'It's fine, really. What can I get you?'

  'Oh god, I don't know. A new life?'

  Bayleigh blushed and shifted from foot to foot. This was unusual conversation for the afternoon crowd. This was, in fact, unusual conversation for the shop in general. What was she supposed to say? I've heard coronation chicken can help with that?

  'Sorry. Again. Um, can I get the mozzarella and basil one please. And do you have any...' she trailed off and burst into tears. This was even tougher. Bayleigh had already offered the embrace. Should she do so again? She froze and watched this complete stranger break down on the other side of the counter.

  'Um, do you want to talk about it?'

  The sobs subsided. 'What's there to talk about? There's a guy,' - Ahh, that made sense, - 'and he's amazing, but I've always wondered and when he came over yesterday I got something from his pockets and I found his wedding ring.'

  The tears came again, accompanied by huge sobs and now Bayleigh did head around the counter. She wrapped her in plastic-gloved hands and hugged until the crying slowed. The last pieces of the story came between choked sobs.

  'And now I'm calling and texting but there's no answer. There's not even a tone, it's like he's disconnected his phone.'

  There were a thousand things she could say, but none of them were the right thing, so she kept her mouth shut. Timing the release would be tricky. Fortunately, Layla came back in from getting her lunch and gave her the opening. She stepped back behind the counter as Layla did the same and they shared a glance.

  Layla put her lunch to one side and set about making coffee. Twenty minutes later the woman left, looking considerably calmer and bearing food. She also took with her one red rose. She'd looked at it as though Bayleigh was offering her a snake and shaken her head.

  'Please. It's a spare and I think you need it more than anyone.'

  The woman still hesitated, but finally took it and managed a smile before she left. Now the door was locked, the till was counted and Layla stood by the door.

  'Here, you want some roses?'

  Layla's face lit up and she rushed over. 'Thought you'd never ask. So, you seeing Ali tonight?'

  'No, no. Dad's movie night tonight.'

  'Ooh, what you watching?'

  Bayleigh laughed, though it came from her head not her heart. 'Same as always, first hour of Jungle Book.'

  Layla started to laugh and stopped herself. She turned away, clearing her throat. She was amazing about Dad, talked about him like a normal person. Bayleigh thought every now and then she probably forgot he wasn't. Easy when you didn't look after him, twenty-four-seven.

  'So, I'll see you tomorrow then, yeah?'

  Bayleigh shook herself and forced a smile. 'Yeah. Thanks for today, see you.'

  The door banged shut and Bayleigh was alone in the shop. She stared at the six roses in her hand and took a deep breath. They were beautiful. She pressed the alarm code and headed for the door. She pulled it shut and locked it and turned to the Thames. She had to get home.

  But her feet led her down past the offices and shops to the river where she paused. The flower seller was gone and where his stall stood there was a space, like an absence that stole her breath. She walked around the space and leaned against the railings. The water taxis were in full swing, charging up and down the Thames, lights beginning to show against the darkening sky.

  Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out. It was the nurse's number and she groaned. She was heading for the station before she answered it.

  'Yes?'

  'Bayleigh?'

  'Yes, how is he?'

  'Bayleigh, I'm sorry, are you alone?'

  'I'm walking to the tube station. Why?'

  'You might want to find a bench to sit on.'

  Her scalp went cold before sweat sprung up on it. She resisted the urge to scrub her hand through it and stopped walking.

  'What is it?'

  'Bayleigh, I'm sorry, but your father passed away about five minutes ago.'

  'He... what?'

  'Your father passed away. He had a heart attack. Very sudden and very strong and he went before I could even begin procedures.'

  'Procedures?'

  'Resuscitation. I would have tried resuscitation.'

  'Why?'

  'I'm sorry?'

  'Why would you try that? He's spent twenty years in misery, why the hell would you try to bring him back?'

  'Bayleigh, I understand that you're upset.'

  The nurse went on, explaining that Dad would be taken away before she got home and that she'd have to contact the local crematorium to see the body and arrange the funeral. The voice went on and on and at some point she must have said thanks and hung up because when she came to she was back at the river.

  He was dead. Twenty years and he was finally dead. She tried to find some grief, tried to pretend that the tears rolling down her face were for him and not her. Her left hand was clutched tight around the roses and she had to prise it apart with her right. The thorns had dug deep and little welts of blood appeared on her palm as she lifted the roses out.

  She pushed her nose into them. They smelled amazing and they covered the smile that broke through the tears. One by one, she tossed them into the Thames and watched them drift away. She turned and walked back to the station.

  Interlude

  Finally. That had been easier than he'd expected. Funny how so many of the subjects didn't want to be on the edge. All it took was a nudge and maybe a bit of mercy killing and they were saved. He actually had a lump in his throat, watching her stride back to the station.

  She wouldn't notice herself, but her shoulders had fallen from their place up around her ears. The muscles would ache tomorrow and she wouldn't know why.

  One from two so far this week. Not bad and certainly better than he'd expected after yesterday. The flower seller sat at his desk, pulled the window closed and focused on the list that lay before him. He had to pick tomorrow's subject.

  The first he glanced at entranced him and he read it three times, smile getting bigg
er. He could do this one. This was made for him. He just had to find the right trigger. He read further and thumped the desk with his spare hand. Beer time. With a satisfied sigh, he flicked the lamp off, walked to the edge and jumped.

  Krystal Part One

  They were talking again. She rolled over to face the wall and stuffed her jumper over her ears, but it didn't cut out the noise. She lay still, every muscle in her body tight as a guitar string. She could scream. Any moment she'd lose it and scream.

  She rolled over and peered through the darkness. 'Please, shut up. Please.'

  The voices ceased and the silence was sudden and complete. Others in the room shifted and turned over. No one spoke. She heard covers flicked back and the pad of feet on the floor. Krystal pushed herself back against the wall as far from the edge of her bunk as possible. It didn't help.

  A hand came in, grasping and groping and it grabbed her arm and yanked hard. She whimpered but bit her lip. She wouldn't say anything, she couldn't. They wouldn't let her back if she made trouble.

  She tumbled onto the floor and thanked whatever crappy excuse there was for a god that she'd gotten the bottom bunk. He pulled her up and hissed in her ear.

  'I'll speak when I fucking well want to.' The 'want' was accompanied by a fist in her gut and she dropped to her knees, gasping, tears streaming. She'd expected him to go for the face. She'd seen him before, with others, and it had always been the face. She hadn't been ready for the stomach.

  He padded away and she crawled onto her bunk. As she stifled the low sounds of her crying, the silence grew deeper. They all knew. They'd all give her sympathetic looks in the morning, but none of them would say anything. None of them would stand up for her. Just like she'd never stood up for them.

  She pulled her jumper back over her head and sobbed into the thin mattress until sleep came.

  He was gone when she woke up. He normally was. On the bunk below his, last night's conquest lay curled in a ball. His hair was long, around his shoulders and covering his face, but his bare shoulder showed the marks from his fingers.