Dead Days Zombie Apocalypse Series (Season 5)

by Ryan Casey

  But she was awake.

  She was wide awake, and they were dragging her to the room where the Orion waited.

  She pictured Mr Fletch staring through the glass, getting hard as it tore her apart. All men were fucks. Some men were just different fucks than others.

  “You—you need to think about what you’re doing,” Jordanna said, trying desperately to shake free of the two men beside her. But their hands were so tight, their grip so intense and strong. “I’m just like you. I’m a—a human just like you—”

  “Please don’t talk to us, Miss,” the man on the left said. “We’re just following orders. Doing our job.”

  “Fuck your job,” Jordanna said, a speck of spit rolling down her chin. The metal door was just metres away now. Six, five, four. She felt it watching her from behind the metal with its beaming blue eyes. Drooling that pungent saliva. “I don’t want to die here. I don’t want to die. Please.”

  And as the men kept on edging Jordanna towards the door, she realised something. She was begging. She’d never been one to beg, not in her entire life. She didn’t like the sound of her voice when she begged. It didn’t add up; wasn’t in her nature. Mum had always brought her up, raised her not to beg for anything, not a single thing. And that’s something she’d promised her mum as she’d passed away with cancer four years ago. Something she’d promised never to do. “Never take summat for nothin’, Jor,” she’d said, cigarette still dangling from her dry lips as her body shrivelled to nothing. “Never take a thing for nothin’.”

  She hadn’t.

  She’d never asked anyone for anything.

  She’d never begged anyone.

  Until now.

  So she held her breath and she dug her feet even further into the floor.

  She looked at the man on the left—the one who was holding her more loosely, who seemed the likeliest to let her go.

  Two metres from the door.

  One metre.

  “Hey. Look at me at least. Look at me before you kill me.”

  The man on the left didn’t.

  “Hey,” she shouted. “Look me in my eyes before you …”

  He turned.

  Looked at her with his brown eyes. Green mask covering his mouth. White hood over his head.

  She pulled her head back and nutted him as hard as she could between his eyes.

  One thing she had learned in her time on the streets was self-defence. Ways to deal with pushy men. Men who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  So despite mini-explosions erupting in her head after the contact, she swung her boot at the man on the right, smacked him right between his legs.

  Hard.

  The two men fell away at the same time. So emphatically that Jordanna thought something had to be wrong. It was just too easy. They were too weak. And nothing was that easy, nobody that weak in these days.

  But she was free.

  The man on the left had let her hand go.

  The man on the right had …

  She felt him grab her wrist again, and before he dug his nails in she spun around, lunged for the back of his hand, mouth open.

  She sunk her teeth into his bony skin.

  Grabbed muscle and tendon and squeezed as he screamed, held on but screamed.

  She kept on biting as hot, coppery blood oozed into her mouth.

  Left hand still free. Man on the left still holding his head, still floored.

  Man on the right had to let go soon.

  Had to give in soon.

  Had to …

  With an emphatic scream, the man pulled his hand away from Jordanna’s arm.

  Almost immediately, Jordanna yanked her teeth away from the man’s hand. She spun around. Looked left, looked right, looked back down the way she’d come. But there were only white-tiled corridors. White-tiled corridors and silver doors. Doors that horrors would be hiding behind. Things she couldn’t see. Things she couldn’t risk seeing.

  She took a chance and lunged over the top of the man she’d head-butted, who was bleeding heavily from his nose.

  She ran down the corridor beyond him. Ran down it fast. As quickly as she could towards the silver door at the end. As fast as she could to—

  “Don’t move another muscle.”

  The voice was unfamiliar. That of a third man. Jordanna chanced a look over her shoulder as she hit the door, started to turn the wheel.

  A man dressed in black was standing at the opposite end of the corridor. He was black, had a buzzcut. His face wasn’t covered like the others. He was pointing a gun at her.

  Jordanna spun back around. Put all her weight into opening the door. She thought she felt it moving. Thought she felt the handle turning.

  “I’m not going to ask you again, love. Stop what you’re doing right now or I’ll have to stop you myself.”

  She struggled with the door.

  Tried turning it some more.

  Stuck. Completely stuck.

  But she couldn’t give up. And she certainly couldn’t beg. Not for anyone.

  So she turned around. Looked to her left—another stretch of corridor. She could make it down there before this guy shot her. She could make it before he—

  She hadn’t even started to run when she felt the pain split through her neck.

  Then falling to the floor.

  Then darkness.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHLOË

  Chloë wasn’t sure how long she’d been crouched beside the metal slab, tears rolling down her face.

  “She isn’t suffering, dear, if that’s what you’re wondering. She’s completely oblivious to … to any pain.”

  The words just drifted through Chloë’s mind. She couldn’t make sense of them. Couldn’t understand what the Chinese-looking doctor was getting at.

  Because all that mattered to her was on that metal slab in front of her.

  All that mattered to her was gone.

  She heard footsteps approaching her. And although she had cuffs on her wrists, the people in the BLZ were letting her walk around the room. She didn’t know why they’d do that. Especially after what she’d done to the lady doctor in the other room. She could still taste blood from where she’d bitten her.

  “Of course, it’s not ideal,” the Chinese-looking doctor said. Chloë heard him stop beside her. Sigh as he stared at the metal slab. “None of this is ideal. But it’s part of the rebuild. It’s the start of a new world. A better world. I know how hard it is for you to believe that but—”

  “Shut up,” Chloë said.

  And the Chinese-looking doctor did.

  Chloë’s head felt lightweight, dizzy. She still couldn’t believe what she’d seen on the table. She wanted to look. She wanted to lift her head and look at what was in front of her. But then she didn’t. She didn’t want to see her like that.

  She didn’t want to see Tiffany lying flat on that table, blood rolling down her chin, holes in her mouth where they’d yanked her teeth away.

  She heard the doctor crouch at her side. Felt the warmth of his body. A body she wanted to rip apart. A body she wanted to destroy for the things he’d done. “You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot—”

  “Shut up. Please.”

  But this time, the doctor didn’t shut up. “Mr Fletch, he’s … he can be imaginative at times. With his introduction methods. And I … I think it was wrong. Him bringing you in here while your friend’s in the middle of—”

  “I loved her,” Chloë said. And this time, as she spoke, she felt sadness building in the place of her anger. She turned. Looked at the doctor through blurred eyes. “I … I loved her and you took her away. You—you took them all away.”

  She tucked her head back into her knees and sobbed and wished she had her mum’s necklace with her to hold onto, to make her feel better.

  But she didn’t.

  The necklace was gone.

  She was alone.

  The doctor was silent for a while. The only noise was muffled voi
ces outside the room, the beeping of a machine like in all hospitals. The buzzing of the bright lights that Chloë just wanted to get away from. And she thought of the last time she’d seen Jordanna, Riley, the others. She thought about what Riley said to her. About this all being her fault. About Pedro’s death, Anna’s death—about everything being all her fault.

  And he was right.

  “You know, she isn’t gone,” the doctor said. “Not completely.”

  Chloë wiped her eyes. Chanced a look at the doctor. “What do … what d’you mean she’s not—”

  “We’re building something here. Something special. Something that could change everything. Make it so little girls like you and your friend here can go on living normal lives forever. Make it so there’s no worry. No panic. Make it so the world can get back to how it was.”

  Chloë looked around at Tiffany and instantly regretted it. Her body was so lifeless. And her eyes were like glass, or like the eyes of teddy bears, so empty, so still. She couldn’t work out how the monster Mr Fletch showed her could help anyone. How Ivan having long, sharp teeth could be good at all.

  “How?”

  The doctor shuffled a little closer to her. He lifted a hand to place on her back, but must’ve seen the apprehension in her eyes so pulled it away. “I should probably introduce myself properly first. I’m Sam. You don’t have to call me ‘Doctor’ anything. But Chloë, I have to ask you something. A frank and serious question. The life you’ve been living since the start of the virus. Are you happy with that life?”

  Flashes of the first days. To running away from the monsters and being so afraid. To killing Stan’s wife. To Elizabeth dying, to Ivan and the barracks and to the narrowboat. To Mike. To losing her mum. To killing Anna. To walking all alone in the cold to Manchester, Moustache Man and all the horrible things he did. Cameron and the knife to her face, taking her looks away forever. And then to the MLZ. The bullies. Killing Annabelle because it was the only thing she could do. Being taken by the bikers. The … the things the bikers did to her. And then Pedro’s death and …

  “I lost so much I can’t even remember it all anymore,” she said.

  Sam smiled sympathetically. “It’s not a world for children—”

  “I’m not just a kid. I’m tough.”

  “And I don’t doubt that for a second. Because you’re alive. And to be alive in this world as it is is, well … that’s an honour. And it’s a show of strength. And that’s why we really need you here.”

  He stood up. Looked down at Tiffany’s body with such care in his eyes, care like her mum used to have when she was looking after Chloë when she was ill.

  And then he looked over at the other bodies in the room, looked at them like they were alive; like he loved them.

  “This world needs strong people to get it back on its feet. That’s why we brought you here. Not to hurt you. Not to punish you. But to help you realise your full potential. To help you save the lives of others. So many others. You just have to give your word.”

  Sam’s words made more sense than any Chloë had heard in a long time, and still she didn’t know why. “What … what do I have to do?”

  Sam walked over to a metal counter. Looked over his shoulder. “Do you want to be with your friend again, Chloë? In eternal bliss? Do you want to live in peace and goodness for the rest of your days?”

  All these big words, these big beautiful words. “I’m—I don’t want to die.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to die, Chloë. Quite the opposite. You’re going to live a more fulfilling life than anyone before you. Think of it as a chance. An opportunity. Do you want that? Do you want to join your friend in this beautiful opportunity?”

  Chloë stared up at Sam. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust him. But so many people had let her down. And everyone she’d trusted who’d turned out good had gone away. Left her all alone.

  But what kind of life was that anyway?

  She looked at Tiffany. So peaceful on that bed. So relaxed.

  And then she looked back at Sam. Swallowed a lump in her throat. Rubbed her stinging eyes.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Sam smiled.

  “Good,” he said.

  He pulled out a syringe.

  “Then let’s get started.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RILEY

  It was only when Riley stepped through the grey door that he realised it was actually daytime.

  He’d lost all sense of time and space while he’d been trapped inside that room. Still had no idea what day it was, how long he’d been unconscious, things like that. For all he knew, it could be years. But looking at the classically grey British sky, looking at the sun peeking through the clouds and feeling the drizzle of spring, Riley felt more at one with the world. Less like a prisoner.

  But the sharpness of the gun that the guard held to his back and the tightness of the rope around his tender wrists reminded him otherwise.

  “Welcome to the Birmingham Living Zone,” Mr Fletch said, as he led Riley out of the grey, metal building he’d been stuck inside for however long, eased him down some echoing steel steps. Riley was amazed to see the BLZ in its current form. It was much like the MLZ—high streets lined with shops, red-brick houses with windows overlooking a market stall. A fountain bang in the middle of a main road surrounded by wooden picnic benches and cafes.

  The only thing different to the MLZ was the silence.

  The lack of people.

  The lack of life.

  “Of course, it won’t be too unfamiliar if you’re used to our Manchester cousin,” Mr Fletch said as he led the way, two guards pushing him further down the metal steps and towards the road below.

  “Just a few big differences,” Riley said.

  Mr Fletch laughed. “Might’ve guessed with Jim Hall in charge. Always was rather … let’s say he was laid back.”

  Riley stared down at the empty streets, the boarded up windows. In the place of coffee and food, he smelled in the MLZ, and the jovial chatter of people outside pubs and restaurants, of kids playing, he experienced nothing but a dull medicinal smell. The sound of generators and engines whirring. Of the drizzle sprinkling against the untouched ground. “See where you’re coming from.”

  They descended even further. And still it was so quiet, so empty. “Jim Hall and I are different. I mean, Jim Hall is an excellent man, don’t misquote me on that. But we just have different attitudes. Different … values. Approaches.”

  “You’re Mr Hyde and he’s Dr Jekyll?”

  Mr Fletch turned. Smiled. “I’d argue you’ve got us the wrong way round.”

  “Still to be convinced on that.”

  Mr Fletch kept that same narrow smile as he turned and continued the walk. “Come on. We don’t have all afternoon. I’m sure you’re as eager to get this done with as I am.”

  Riley wished he had a choice. But when he felt the barrel of the gun press further into the base of his back, when he felt the sharp metal push so far into him it cracked against his bony spine, he knew the idea of a choice was bullshit.

  They walked out of the bottom of the stairs. The silence of the place started to get to Riley. If this was a living zone, then where were all the living? He thought back to the monster locked inside the building he’d been imprisoned—the “Orion,” as Mr Fletch called them. And he wondered. Wondered if that’s what had become of the people of the BLZ. If that’s what their lives amounted to. If medical research overshadowed the will to live, the will to survive.

  If clinging to the ideals of the past hindered movement into the future.

  Riley walked down the centre of an empty street, his footsteps echoing against the gravel. He thought he saw movement in the windows either side, but nothing. His heart pounded at full pelt now. He tasted the acidic tang of vomit at the back of his throat as Mr Fletch led the way towards another silver door at the foot of the large metallic building. All around the BLZ, towering walls, just like back at the MLZ.
r />   The best form of defence.

  Or the best form of imprisonment.

  “I know you hardly have the best opinion of me,” Mr Fletch said, stopping beside the door and pulling a keycard out from his pocket.

  “Well. You do have two men pushing me into a room with guns to my back.”

  That smile returned. “I agree our recruitment process leaves something to be desired. But how else would we convince anyone to join us? To be a part of what’s going on here?”

  “You got that much right.”

  “Be cynical all you like. But I’m giving you a chance to fulfil your life purpose. Very few individuals get an opportunity to actually make real change. Even governments themselves often struggle to cause the slightest ripples in a pond.”

  “But this isn’t really about me, is it?”

  Mr Fletch frowned. He turned the key. “What?”

  “This—this opportunity you’re harking on about. This ‘purpose.’ It’s not about me. It’s about you. Your ideals. Your vision for the future. Not mine.”

  “We have shared interests—”

  “Wake the fuck up and take a step outside those walls,” Riley said. The gun jabbed harder in his back, almost winding him. But he wasn’t stopping. Not for anyone. “I’ve lived out there. I’ve seen what it’s actually like. I’ve seen awful things, but I’ve also seen people surviving just fine.”

  “You class merely ‘surviving’ as a victory?”

  “A bigger victory than genetically fucking people up. Than pulling them off the streets and—and turning them into monsters. Monsters that you can’t pretend to understand or have under control.”

  “We have the Orions perfectly—”

  “Bullshit,” Riley said. “One of them came at me. One of them sunk its teeth into me—”

  “Because you have this ‘cure’ inside you.”

  “A cure that’s regressing. A cure that’s losing its effect. But yes. A cure. Something I came here to help you discover. But not like this. Not by—by modifying people. Not by weaponising the cure.”