Zom-B Clans

Book 8: Zom-B

by Darren Shan

Genres: YA Horror; YA Zombies

Synopsis

B's first mission with the Angels --sentient, do-gooder zombies-- went horribly wrong when vicious members of the Ku Klux Klan attacked New Kirkham, a stronghold of precious human survivors. B is not about to let the racist thugs persecute innocent people, but while saving the town, one of B's oldest friends is kidnapped by the Klan. The Angels are prepared to do what it takes to save him, but B will have to make some very hard decisions about loyalties--to old friends, to the Angels, and to new families and old.

Release date: July 8, 2014

Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 174

Sample

Ignoring Owl Man, we tear into the startled members of the Ku Klux Klan and the men and women of New Kirkham who have been helping them.

Ashtat’s hands and feet are a blur as she unleashes one perfectly orchestrated karate chop after another. She was worried that she might not be able to bring herself to kill a living human, no matter how evil they might be. She needn’t have been concerned. She’s like a biblical warrior angel, raining down hellfire on anyone who gets in her way.

Pearse and Conall flank her, picking off anyone she misses. The ginger-haired pair have more firsthand experience in battle than the rest of us, but I’m sure they’ve never had to deal with a situation like this before.

Carl leaps around like a crazy killer frog and strikes swiftly every time he lands. The speedy Jakob races after Carl, backing him up, targeting those who scatter ahead of the acrobatic teenager.

Shane and I wade into those standing close to the trucks, throwing one jab after another, ripping open throats, breaking bones, crushing skulls.

That last bit is crucial. All hell is breaking loose, but each one of us takes the time to crack open the skull of every person we kill, destroying the brain inside. Otherwise the corpses would revive and attack the humans, causing even more problems than the Klanners.

The humans in hoods fly into a panic. They weren’t expecting an attack of this nature. Most of them have guns. If they closed ranks and worked as a team, they could pick us off easily. But they’re all over the place. They wheel away from one another, firing crazily, screaming, jumping at shadows. It’s utter chaos, which suits us perfectly.

The dog became alert as soon as it heard my challenging roar. Looking up from its meal, it glanced around, took in everything that was happening, identified the various threats, then hurled itself at Carl, who was its nearest target.

Sakarias chases after the springing Carl. It snaps at his heels and just misses as he soars overhead. As it turns to follow him, Jakob grabs it by the scruff of its neck and tries to wrestle it to the ground. The dog shrugs him off–it must be a lot stronger than it looks–then locks its jaws around his left arm. Jakob screams as it chews through his flesh and bone, shaking its head, trying to rip the arm free of its socket.

“Sakarias!” Owl Man calls, then whistles sharply. The dog instantly releases Jakob and bounds back to its master, leaving a relieved Jakob to grit his teeth against the pain–we don’t feel it as much as the living, but serious wounds definitely hurt–and rejoin the action.

I grab a Klanner–a short, thin, wiry woman–and smash her head open against the side of a truck. Turning from her corpse, I fix on Owl Man and start towards him. The dog spots me and draws to a halt ahead of the jeep where its master is standing. It squares up to me, snarling, blood dripping from its fangs, the fur around its face soaked with the red stuff and covered in scraps of gut, sharp bones jutting out of the tips of all its paws.

“Easy, Sakarias,” Owl Man purrs, studying me with an amused look.

I size the dog up and decide I don’t fancy the fight. I spot a discarded gun and pick it up. Dr. Oystein and Master Zhang abhor guns. They’ve trained us to fight without them, told us never to resort to using such foul weapons. But in my book there’s a time and a place for everything. Steadying my arm, I aim at the mutant dog’s face.

“No,” Owl Man barks, his smile vanishing. “Drop it.”

I sneer and start to hurl an insult at him. Then I stare with astonishment as my fingers open and the gun falls. Confused, I bend to retrieve it.

“Leave it alone, Becky,” Owl Man mutters, and for some sickening reason I stop short of picking it up. “Kneel,” Owl Man whispers, and I find myself obeying his soft command.

As I stare at Owl Man with shock and terror, he climbs down from the jeep and strolls towards me, clicking his tongue for the dog to follow. The pair stop in front of me and Owl Man sears me with his unnatural gaze.

“Little girls should not play with guns,” he growls. “You have betrayed the wishes of your superiors. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“How… are you… doing this?” I snarl, willing myself to attack him, but unable to get my limbs to respond.

“Oh, I’m a man of many subtle talents,” Owl Man says with a wicked chuckle. He walks around me, then whistles again at the dog and makes a gesture with his left hand. Sakarias opens its mouth wide and fastens its fangs round my throat. I moan and stare at the sky, expecting it to be the last thing I see before the dog severs my head and digs into my brain.

“If you ever threaten Sakarias again, I will tell him to finish you off,” Owl Man says. “He is a sweet animal who only kills when ordered or if we are threatened. Those of us with a choice must be kind to the dumb creatures of the world. Otherwise we are no better than the reviveds, who tear their heads open for the sweet brains within.”

Owl Man clicks his fingers and Sakarias withdraws. The dog gives me an evil look, then follows its master back to the jeep, where the pair hop onboard.

“Your body is your own again,” Owl Man says with a mocking smile. To my relief, I find myself in control once more. Flexing my fingers, I get to my feet and shake my arms and legs. I feel like my heart is beating fast, but that was ripped from my chest when I was turned into a zombie, so I know it’s my imagination.

“What the hell happened?” Shane shouts, pulling up beside me.

“I don’t know,” I croak, then cock my head at him. “Where were you?”

“Back there,” he says.

“Why didn’t you help me?”

He looks sheepish. “I couldn’t move.”

“Owl Man was controlling you too?” I ask sympathetically.

He grins shakily. “Not exactly. I was just too stunned to do anything.”

I roll my eyes and curse him, then look around to see how the battle is going. It seems to be favoring us. About a hundred of the white citizens of New Kirkham took a stand against the Klan when they invaded. They were led by the mayor, Biddy Barry. The Klan had the rebels clustered against a wall when we attacked, but now they’ve overthrown their captors and massed behind us. With Biddy’s roaring encouragement, the men and women grab weapons and throw themselves into combat with their racist foes.

Some of the prisoners have broken free from their cages and holding pens, but many are still under lock and key. A few of the sharper drivers see that they’re fighting a lost cause. Showing little concern for their colleagues, three of them start their trucks and roar towards the main road out of the square. Owl Man bangs on the side of his jeep and his driver fires up the engine and tears after them.

I don’t want to let Owl Man escape. I’m still furious about the way he turned me into a puppet. I want to pay him back, catch up with the jeep, take him by surprise and strike before he can say a word. But I can’t abandon the people of New Kirkham. They need our help. I decide to stand my ground.

Then, just as I’ve made up my mind to stay, I spot cages in one of the trucks, filled with humans. The prisoners are screaming, weeping, tugging at the bars. If I was right about Owl Man coming here for Vinyl, it’s a sure bet that he was one of the first they caged and loaded up, that he’s almost certainly among those in one of the three fleeing trucks.

I glance around again. Biddy Barry and her troops seem to have things in hand. It won’t be easy, but with the aid of the Angels they should triumph. But nobody is thinking about the people on the trucks. If I don’t try to do something now, the Klanners will escape with dozens–if not more–of the townsfolk.

“Stay here and oversee things,” I bark at Shane. “I’m guessing that lots of the Klan are scattered around the town, still searching for victims. Organize a hunt for them once you’re done with this lot.”

“Are you going after the trucks?” Shane asks.

“Yeah. And the guy with the eyes. I want him too.”

He shudders. “Better you than me.”

“That’s why I’m a badass and you’re a wuss,” I laugh. Then I sprint after the jeep and trucks, murder most horrid on my mind.

I hurry through the town, chasing the sounds of the trucks and jeep. I won’t be able to keep up with them if they make it out of New Kirkham and into the open, but on these streets, being able to take shortcuts up alleys while they have to follow the road and go slow round corners, I start to catch up.

I pass a few stray Klanners. S. . .