by Ryan Casey
All four fired.
Lit up the night.
Sent a deafening explosion cracking through the tent.
Riley blinked away his temporary blindness. Rushed over the fallen dead and out of the tent, being careful not to bump into any more fucking creatures on the way out.
He stepped outside, out into the frosty night.
Lifted his gun and readied for an onslaught.
But the camp was empty.
Silent.
Dead.
Not undead, just dead.
Riley lowered his gun. Looked over at the other tent.
His stomach dropped.
In the light of the moon and the stars, Riley could see blood pasted on the outside of the tent.
Or maybe it was the inside of the tent.
So silent.
So empty.
He lifted his gun, chest tightening and heart picking up. He didn’t want to have to do this. He didn’t want to have to put down his friends. His family. Because he was no different to them, not really. He’d been bitten and he was still here.
He didn’t want to put someone down.
Not someone close.
He’d already lost too much.
They’d all already—
“She’s gone.”
The voice came from Riley’s right. He swung, swung around and pointed his gun at the trees, at the source of the voice.
Tamara was standing there in the light of the moon. Beside her, Ivan. James. Doctor Ottoman.
But something wasn’t right.
Something was missing.
Someone …
“Chloë,” Riley said, lowering his gun and stepping towards them. “Where is she? Where is—”
“She’s gone,” Tamara said. And it was then that Riley saw tears glistening her cheeks.
Jordanna rushed forward. Riley heard her breathing growing heavier. “No. She’s—she’s just a kid. She’s just a fucking—”
“Where is she?” Riley asked, a lump building in his throat.
“That’s the thing,” Tamara said. She turned and looked at the vast expanse of trees behind. “She—she was gone before the creatures got here.”
Jordanna staggered closer to Tamara. “What … what d’you mean she was—”
“She’s just gone,” James said. “Just disappeared. Poof.”
He too turned around and stared into the woods.
Stared into the silence.
Into the unknown.
Into the heart of darkness.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHLOË
The bees weren’t buzzing around Chloë’s head anymore.
Not so loudly.
Not as she floated in the darkness.
Not as the warmth slipped through her body, from her neck and to her head and down her spine and legs right to the bottom of her toes.
She felt sad at first. She knew she felt sad because she could taste her salty tears. And her neck really hurt at first. She wondered why anyone would do something that hurt so much. Why anyone would cause themselves so much pain.
But she understood now.
The bees.
People caused themselves so much pain to stop the buzzing in their heads.
To make it all go away.
And when it did go away, it all sounded so quiet.
So peaceful.
Like it did when Mum was here with her.
When Mum and Dad and Elizabeth were all together, all happy, all smiling.
When she held Tiffany’s hand, Tiffany’s warm hand, and she told her everything was going to be fine.
Everything was going to be okay.
Yes. Yes it was going to be okay.
She was okay now the buzzing had stopped.
Now the warmth got even nicer as it coated her body.
As the darkness got softer, friendlier, more comfortable.
She couldn’t breathe but that was okay. She could taste sick but that was okay too.
Because in the dark, she could see the people she loved walking towards her.
Getting closer.
Surrounding her.
Saying things to her.
Her mum smiling with those bright white teeth and telling her how much she loved her.
Her dad, with his big hands and that dark curly hair.
Pulling a silly face.
A silly face that always made her happy.
Always made her laugh.
And Elizabeth and Tiffany were there too. Except they were together, holding hands like sisters. And Chloë thought how great that’d be. Her, Elizabeth and Tiffany all being sisters. All being friends forever. Friends for life.
She wanted to speak to Elizabeth, to Tiffany, to her mum and her dad. But she couldn’t say a word. She couldn’t open her mouth. And that scared her at first. That worried her, as she floated from side to side, as her neck got hot, as tears rolled down her face and covered her still lips.
She felt her mum’s fingertips touch the base of her foot.
“It’s okay now,” Mum said, smiling, stroking her foot. “It’s all okay now.”
Then Dad was there.
Stroking her other foot.
Elizabeth and Tiffany.
Stroking her feet.
She wanted to smile at the warmth, smile at how peaceful it all was, when she looked up at the sky and saw a light forming above, a gentle light that she wanted to move towards, that she wanted to surround her because it felt just like the warmth of her body only warmer, hotter, even nicer than anything she’d ever felt.
She closed her eyes.
The band swung from side to side.
She didn’t see the decaying monsters scraping at the base of her feet and snapping their jaws.
She didn’t see a thing.
She didn’t care.
As she swung from side to side in the breeze, the band from her jogging bottoms wrapped tightly around her neck, the other end around the high branch of the tree, Chloë didn’t care about anything.
Because the bees had stopped.
The buzzing had stopped.
So everything was just fine.
EPISODE TWENTY-EIGHT
BULLSHIT AND LIES
(FOURTH EPISODE OF SEASON FIVE)
Jim Hall couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked out at the Manchester Living Zone and felt the pride he felt in the early days.
The wall was still intact, still towering over the confines of the quasi-city. And that was a good thing. Course it was a good thing. Because people were still alive in here. Barely alive, but alive nonetheless. The population had been reduced, sure, but there was still a population down there in the red-bricked apartment blocks, in the market square, at the theatre and the pub—which admittedly had lost a lot in the way of attendance in recent days.
But people were alive.
People had survived.
That was a victory in itself.
As he stood on his balcony staring out at the late afternoon sky, the smell of burning filled his nostrils. It was a familiar smell recently. Got on his damned chest and made him cough, his asthma flaring up like it always did in shitty situations like these. There was a sour scent to the burning. The scent of death. The burned bodies of those who had been bitten. Those who hadn’t made it. Those who weren’t quite as lucky as others.
But there were others.
And that was a consolation.
That was something.
Right?
He kept on telling himself that.
He felt a little wobbly. The taste of fine whisky still lingering at the back of his throat. Sure, he’d spent the days of the biggest MLZ outbreak locked away up here drinking himself half to death, but there was nothing else he could do. Nothing he was physically capable of doing. Better to leave those in the know and with the physical expertise to deal with the problem of clearing the Apocálypsis-infected. He wasn’t as strong as he once was. Wasn’t as tough.
A lifetime of hell made s
ure of that.
He heard a creaking noise behind him. He didn’t look behind. He knew what it was right away. Or who it was, rather.
He just kept on staring out over the MLZ.
Over at the plumes of black smoke rising from the far side of town.
Of the empty streets peppered with broken glass, blood staining the gravel.
At the walls.
The walls that were supposed to bring safety.
Bring peace.
“Like a king in his tower looking down at the peasants beneath him.”
Jim Hall turned. Saw Alan Mixter in his wheelchair behind him. White hair. Big waistline. Smug as fuck smile on his face, as per usual. “You know that’s not how it is.”
“And yet here you are,” Alan said, rolling up beside him. “Standing on your balcony while the MLZ licks its stinging wounds.”
“Nothing stopping you getting on your knees and helping,” Jim Hall said.
“There is, actually,” Alan said. “Two bloody knackered legs and a back that’s rapidly failing me. You, on the other hand …”
“Do you want something?”
Alan wheeled closer to the edge of the balcony. Looked out at the MLZ. “I just wondered if you’d had any thoughts.”
“Thoughts about what?”
Alan looked Jim Hall right in his eyes. “You know what.”
And Jim Hall did know what. He knew exactly what Alan was referring to. “There’s … there’s nothing to discuss. What’s done is—”
“Is done, right,” Alan said.
“Do you have a problem with my decision?” Jim Hall asked.
Alan raised his hands. “No, no. Who am I to question you?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Alan lowered his hands. Rested them on his lap. He was silent for a few moments, silent as gunfire echoed down one of the narrow alleyways. The last of the infected. The ones hiding in the shadows. The ones the entire community would have to watch out for, for now, forever.
“I just hope you’re ready,” Alan said.
Jim Hall felt his cheeks growing clammy. “Ready for what?”
“When Riley Jameson gets back here; when all of them get back here. They’re going to want an explanation.”
Just hearing Riley’s name aloud made nerves stab through Jim Hall’s stomach, split through his chest.
The things he hadn’t told him.
Or rather, the things he had told him.
They were much, much worse.
“He isn’t going to get back here,” Jim Hall said. He turned away from the balcony, pushed open the glass patio windows and stepped onto the plush carpet of his top floor apartment.
“I hope for your case that’s true,” Alan Mixter said.
He wheeled in behind Jim Hall.
“Because if he does get back here, you’re the one he’ll come looking for. And nobody around here’s going to stop him.”
Jim Hall thought about replying. He thought about giving Alan a piece of his mind. Telling him to get the hell out of his apartment and get the hell down on the streets if he was so concerned with doing the right thing.
Instead, he took a deep breath and he smiled.
“He won’t get back here,” he said. “None of them will.”
He turned around and his smile dropped right away.
He hoped to God he was right.
CHAPTER ONE
RILEY
“We can’t just go into the woods at this hour,” Doctor Ottoman said. “It’s—it’s madness.”
Riley walked away from the camp towards the opening in the woods. It was pitch black in there. Pitch black and completely silent. In the distance, he thought he saw movement. Twitching silhouettes behind the branches. Floaters in his eyes masquerading as hungry creatures. Or hungry creatures masquerading as floaters. The smell of death was thick in the cool night air. The taste of dried blood etched into Riley’s chapped lips.
“The doc’s right,” Kelly said, looking moderately bemused by the entire situation. “I’ve been in them woods. Been in them for way too long. You don’t wanna go fucking killing yourselves by—”
“I’m finding Chloë,” Riley said.
He saw a few eyes glance at one another in the bright light of the moon. A few sideward glances of uncertainty. With not a glint of confidence behind any of them.
But Chloë was one of them. She was one of the family.
She was someone Riley had let down.
Someone he couldn’t let down again.
So he held the pistol in his right hand, bloodied hammer tucked into the top of his jeans, and he walked.
He felt someone grab his left arm. Turned around, saw Tamara looking into his eyes.
“She … Something happened. Earlier. Before she went to sleep.”
“What happened?” Jordanna butted in, squaring up to Tamara.
Tamara lowered her head. Wiped her eyes. “Chloë, she—she opened up. About how she was feeling. Kept saying something about … about noises in her head. And I told her I was here for her. That we all were. And she …” Tamara glanced from Jordanna to Riley to the others. Her cheeks were blushing.
“What happened?” Riley asked.
“She tried to kiss me,” Tamara said.
Jordanna stepped back. “What?”
“She tried to kiss me and I … I turned her away. But she—”
Jordanna stormed towards Tamara. “You’re saying you fucking did this—”
“Woah!” James said, getting between the two. Riley helped grab Jordanna, pulled her away, whispered in her ear that everything was going to be okay, that they were going to find Chloë and solve all this. He could feel her shaking. Her breathing rattling like she was about to burst. The girl she’d cared for, for so long, gone.
“Jordanna, I swear,” Tamara said, stepping towards her. “If I’d know it’d cause her to run away I’d have just let her kiss me. But—but something’s wrong with her. Something deep inside. With everything that’s happened. You know it and I know it and—”
“Get off me,” Jordanna said, smacking Riley away. She tried to push past, tried to get to the woods. “I need to find her.”
And now Riley found himself with his hand back on Jordanna’s chest. Holding her back. Because he wanted to go find Chloë. He wanted to bring her back safely. But the way Jordanna was acting, he didn’t trust her right now. She’d only go and get herself hurt. Get herself killed.
He couldn’t have that.
“Jordanna just wait here with—”
A slap in his face.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said. She was crying now. Crying but disguising her tears with anger, with frustration.
“I’m not trying to stop us finding Chloë. I’m just worried about you. We need to do this the right way.”
“There’s only one fucking way,” Jordanna said. She pushed against Riley’s hand, tried to sidestep him, but her efforts were waning now. The tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.
“Jordanna, please,” Riley said. He lowered his hand steadily. Looked Jordanna right in her eyes while the rest of the group stared on. “You … you need to calm down. Chloë’s tough. She’s—”
“She’s a kid,” Jordanna spat.
“No. No she’s not. And the longer you keep on pretending she is, the more it’s gonna hurt.”
Riley lifted Jordanna’s chin. Looked into her eyes.
“Chloë’s not exactly … ordinary. And out there, that’ll be working in her favour right now. So we go in there with a plan. We go in there with clear heads. We find her and we bring her back. Okay?”
Jordanna’s eyes sparkled with understanding—or just with tears, hard to say.
She swallowed, her neck bobbing.
Inhaled a shaky breath.
“Sorry,” she said.
Before Riley could ask what she was sorry about, his balls were on fire.
He was on his knees clutching his crotch, the searing pain from J
ordanna’s shin stretching from his bollocks to his stomach, like a football to the sack back in the P.E school days.
He heard the commotion around him. Turned and saw Jordanna running into the woods, disappearing into the darkness.
“Fuck,” James muttered. “Fuck.”
Riley eased back to his feet. Well, he didn’t “ease” exactly. Pain from his kicked nads hurt like hell.
“She’s signed her own fucking death warrant,” Kelly said, arms folded, smug smile still on her face. “Don’t look at me and expect me to go after her.”
James patted Riley’s back. “Don’t think any of us are … Hey!”
Riley ran.
He ran through the pain in his balls.
Ran through the aching in his stomach.
Ignored the shouts and the calls for him to return and he ran into the woods, gun in hand, after Jordanna.
Being in the woods wasn’t as dark as it seemed from outside. Sure, the trees added to the illusion of darkness, the claustrophobic wrap of their branches intensified the environment. But the moonlight still peeked through. Still formed a path through the crispy old leaves that would soon rot away as spring progressed to summer. The stars beamed down in their millions like microscopic spotlights on a bathroom ceiling.
And somewhere in these woods, Chloë.
Jordanna.
Riley wanted to shout for them but similarly, he didn’t want to give up his position. He’d seen the creatures that’d come out of the woods earlier. Seen how fucking many of them there was. He could still smell them right now. Smell death. Which meant there had to be some close by. Just waiting for their moment.
He slowed down. Stopped crunching through the leaves. Tried to get a sense of his surroundings, a sound of footsteps. Anything that would give away Jordanna’s location, Chloë’s location.
Nothing but the scraping of branches in the breeze.
He took a few steps forward. Branches scratched at his cheeks. More trees engulfed him, surrounded him. Jordanna had to be close. She hadn’t been running far. She hadn’t—
Movement.
A branch snapping up ahead.
Riley felt the hairs on his arms stand up. Sure, it could be Jordanna. It could be Chloë.
But it could also be a creature.
More than one creature.
Or worse than a creature.
