The Zombie Saga (Book 3): Burn The Dead: Riot by Steven Jenkins Page B

kitchen. Knowing Harry, he’s thrown them in the dishwasher. Little shit .
    Rosy and Abbey, the twins sisters from Hell , are sitting at the table sharing the laptop. They’re probably on Facebook, cyber-bullying some poor girl, or pretending to be the same person to freak some boyfriend out. I gave up trying to figure out what goes through their heads years ago. As foster sisters go, they’re pretty vile, even for thirteen-year-olds. But at least they’re loyal— to each other . The rest of us aren’t so lucky.
    “Get the fuck out, Alfie,” Abbey barks at me, her eyes still on the screen. “No one wants you here.”
    “Fuck you too, Abs,” I retort, scanning the room for the trainers. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
    Rosy chuckles. “We will in four months. And then you’ll be out on your black ass.”
    Before I even get the chance to retaliate, Wendy comes storming into the kitchen, the whites of her eyes glowing with rage. “If I ever hear you speak to your brother like that again, then I swear to God I’ll ram my boot so far up both your asses, you’ll be tasting leather for a month.” She slams the laptop shut and leans over it, glaring at the two girls. “Do I make myself clear?”
    “Sorry, Wend,” Rosy says, her voice trembling.
    “Yeah, sorry, Wend,” Abbey says, too frightened even to look at her. I don’t blame her. Wendy can be a real hard ass when she wants to be. You’ve gotta love that fire . Shame that it doesn’t extend to Phil.
    “It’s not me you should be apologising to,” Wendy says. “It’s your brother.”
    “He’s not our brother,” Rosy points out. “Do we look related?”
    “He is while he’s living under my roof,” Wendy replies, firmly. “We’re all family here. No matter what. No exceptions. You got that?”
    The twins turn to me, struggling to make eye contact. It looks painful but serves the bitches right . “Sorry, Alf,” the twins say at the same time. “Won’t happen again.”
    It definitely will.
    “Don’t worry about it,” I reply, trying to hide the pleasure engraved across my face. “I’ll be out of your hair in four months, anyway.”
    Wendy shakes her head. “What? Why would you say that?”
    “Because I’ll be eighteen. I’ll be too old to be your foster kid. But it’s okay, though. I can take care of myself.”
    Wendy places her hand on my shoulder and smiles. “Alfie, I would never kick you out onto the street. I’m your mother. Just because you won’t officially be my foster son, don’t think for one second that I’ll stop being there for you.”
    “Really?”
    Wendy puts her hands on both of my cheeks and forces a kiss on my lips. “I love you to bits, Alf. But you need your head read if you think that I’d ever abandon one of my children. This is your home. For as long as you need it. Okay?”
    Beaming, I take hold of Wendy’s hand. She really is the best. All the mother anyone could ever wish for. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” I ask. “Ginge said I could crash over at his place—you know, until I get myself sorted.”
    Wendy snorts. “Over my dead body.”
    The weight of leaving, with no money, and no flat, suddenly begins to deflate. I can put up with these maniacs as long as I have Wendy. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
    She starts to walk towards the hallway, but then stops at the doorway. “And anyway, how can you stay at Ginge’s house?” she turns to me. “He’s dead.”
    “What?” I ask, unsure if I heard right.
    “Ginge is dead,” she repeats, a slow smirk forming on her lips. “Remember? You let all those dead people eat your best friend alive. They gutted him like a pig. Surely you haven’t forgotten already?”
    “Shut the fuck up, Wendy!”
    “Watch your language, boy,” Wendy replies, her eyes now grey, her olive skin fading, draining with every step towards me. “It’s not my fault you couldn’t save the only real friend you’ve ever had.”
    “ Shut up! ” I