2 - The Zombies of DeathThe ping roused Simms from confused nightmares. He lay slumped on the couch of his London stackroom, neck ricked at a painful angle. He sat up blearily. Very few people knew the private address the message had come in on. But Mac, the barman over at the Double Helix, was one. Too useful a contact to exclude. Still, Simms had to be careful. You never knew for sure what you were dealing with. You couldn't just trust people these days.
“Yeah?”
“Simms. Someone trying to reach you.”
“Someone I know?”
“Someone you know.”
The agreed code phrase. No one pointing a blaster at Mac's head. Simms sat up, interested. His first call since the Tom Jacks job. It was about time. Waiting around was the worst part of being a genehunter. Despite the wonderful opportunities for hed
