The Restless Dead: A Zombie Novel by Jenny Thomson Page A

the life out of him. “Where is Azra now, Dad?”
    His dad's eyes were wary. “I locked her in her room. She won’t be getting out until she stops behaving like a bloody animal.”
    Kenny glanced at Mustafa and spoke to him in a low voice. “That’s not good news, mate. She’s infected.”
    He doesn’t want to believe it, but the energy’s draining out of his old man, right before their eyes. He falls back in his chair. Mustafa had always thought of his dad as being this fearless giant, but slouched back in that chair, he looked sickly and broken.
    “Dad.” Mustafa sat on the arm of the couch, and reaching across the small gap, took his father’s hand. It’s cold and clammy. “Is she sick?”
    His dad’s jaw slackened. “Who?”
    “Azra.”
    “Who’s Azra?”
    “My sister. Your daughter.”
    He scowls. “Don't get impudent with me, boy. Now go and fetch your brothers.”
    Mustafa’s eyes narrowed. How could he fetch his brother when he was miles away in Pakistan? And why did his dad say brothers when he only had the one?
    Kenny’s stood in the doorway again, fiddling with those bloody specs. “His mind is turning to mush.”
    Mustafa examined his father closer. His face was as grey as ash from the coal fire. “Dad, you’re not well.”
    “Are you going to fetch your brothers or not?”
    The tone of his father’s voice would usually have him scurrying off to comply with his wishes, but on this occasion, he can’t.
    “You only have two sons, Dad.”
    “How can you say that, Amir, after all your mother and I have done for you?”
    “I'm not Amir, I'm Mustafa.”
    There's no recognition in his father’s eyes, just a vacant stare.
    Mustafa doesn’t want to think about the bite. But he knows he has to ask.
    “Why did Azra bite you, dad? Is she sick?”
    His dad’s jaw slackened. “Who?”
    Mustafa turned to Kenny. “I need to get my mother down here.” He knew his dad had the dementia they mentioned on the news that Scott was telling him about. It came after the bite and at the onset of the fever before people ‘died’ only to rise again Voodoo style, driven to feast on the living.
    Kenny said, “You know there's nothing we can do, man.”
    Murder him? Is that what he’s suggesting?
    Mustafa wants to punch Kenny so hard that the frames of those ridiculous National Health specs would start birling round his trophy-sized ears.
    Kenny must have seen the rage in Mustafa’s eyes because he took a few steps back. “I’m sorry, Muzz, but we have to do this. He’s no your dad any more. At least, he won’t be for much longer.”
    Mustafa glances over at his old man who’s babbling away to someone only he can see. From the moment Mustafa saw the bite mark, he knew his father was a goner. “First I have to go upstairs to find my mother. She’ll want to say goodbye to him.”
    He headed for the stairs.
    “Wait,” Kenny called him back. “You need a weapon.” He offered him the screwdriver from his back pocket.
    “No thanks.” Mustafa felt queasy at the thought of needing a weapon to use on his mother, to stab her in the eye like Kenny did to the undead corpse outside. He could never do that, not to his mother.
    “What if she's a dead bastard? You have to protect yourself.”
    “Aye, I do, but not a screwdriver.” His eyes come to rest on the ornamental Samurai sword on the wall. He hoped it was as sharp as it looked.
    He lifted it off the nails it was resting on whilst Kenny peered over his shoulder. The weight of the sword felt comfortable in his hands. Running a finger down the blade, he gauged the quality of the sharp edge.
    A thump from behind him makes him jump and he nicked his fingertip. He whipped round. The armchair was on its side, and his father lay motionless on the floor.
    “Dad?” Mustafa got down on his knees and listened to his father’s chest. He wasn't breathing.
    “Dad!” He wanted to wail with grief, but he knew what would happen next. His own dad would get up