Dead Days Zombie Apocalypse Series (Season 5)

by Ryan Casey

  “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, honey,” her mum said. And Chloë thought she sounded a bit sad, but she was smiling. Smiling like she was so happy to see Chloë. Like she was so happy to be back with her.

  “But I’m not,” Chloë said, although she didn’t speak the words. They just drifted out of her. Out through her chest, through her mind and into her mum’s head, and she knew from the smile on her mum’s face that she’d understood, she’d heard her.

  “You’ve always been strong,” Mum said. “Right ever since you were a little girl in first year. You remember what happened when that kid Harriet Westley pulled your hair?”

  And the memory flooded Chloë’s mind. Every little detail. The smell of crayons in the art and crafts area. The noise of the boys excitedly gathered around the Scalextric cars. The taste of the apple crumble she’d had with custard for her school dinner, then Harriet Westley stepping around the corner with her freckled bitch-face and pulling Chloë’s hair.

  Then Chloë pushing her down to the floor.

  Sticking her hands in Harriet’s bitch-mouth and prodding the tooth filling she’d boasted so much about—about how brave she was.

  Scratching it and making her bitch-scream.

  And then the memory was gone and her mum was back above her as they moved through the darkness, moved together.

  “But it’s not school anymore,” Chloë said. “I … I can’t keep pretending to be strong anymore.”

  “You are strong, angel,” Mum said. “And I’m so proud of you.”

  She kissed her daughter’s head and Chloë was filled with warmth again.

  “I—I want to be with you. With—with Elizabeth and Dad and—”

  “You’re not ready yet,” Mum said, smiling from ear to ear. The heart-shaped locket swung above Chloë, so close that she could reach out for it if she had the strength; if she had the energy.

  “But I … I want to be ready.”

  Not a glimmer of an emotional change on her mum’s face. That same smile. “You aren’t ready. Not yet. I’m sorry, baby.”

  Chloë felt tears roll down her cheeks as her mum grew more blurry, more distant.

  “When can I—can I be with you?”

  Her mum grew blurrier. The light behind her intensified. Her face dropped. The smile was replaced by a blank look. A blank expression.

  Fear.

  The fear she’d had when she’d been shot.

  And then it happened.

  Happened again.

  The blast.

  The blood spurting out of her skull.

  Chloë screamed and her mum was gone.

  But she was still floating.

  Floating along through the night.

  Floating into the unknown.

  And although her mum was gone, although Chloë was alone again, she still saw the heart-shaped locket dangling above her.

  And it made her feel good.

  Made her feel safe.

  Made her feel secure.

  “You hold on,” Riley said, and his voice didn’t scare Chloë anymore. Didn’t upset her. “Please, Chlo. I’m so sorry. Please hold on.”

  She wanted to hold on but the warmth was too strong.

  The silence was too comforting.

  So she let the images of the world drift from her mind and disappear into the softness.

  Let the light surround her.

  She didn’t care what happened. Not anymore.

  Only that the buzzing had stopped.

  She wasn’t afraid.

  And her mum’s locket was right beside her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RILEY

  “You better thank whatever god you pray to I didn’t crush your skull,” Jordanna said.

  James chuckled. “Charmin’ as ever.”

  Riley held onto Chloë and ran through the woods, ran through the darkness. Truth was, he didn’t know where the hell he was—where the hell any of them were. He’d lost all sense of direction. All sense of where the camp was. All sense of everything.

  The only positives were that Chloë was still alive.

  And that it was his fellow group members who’d stepped out from behind the trees, not a mass of creatures, not an Orion.

  But now they had to get to safety.

  “We—we really need to get her somewhere where I can take a look at her,” Doctor Ottoman said. “If—if she is indeed still alive after hanging—which is unlikely depending on how long she was up there—there’s a strong chance she’ll be comatose. Oxygen starvation. That kind of … of thing—”

  “She’s gonna make it,” Riley said. He kept hold of Chloë. Held her warm body in his arms. Held on damned tight and ran into the darkness, through the trees, through the silence. The rest of the group followed.

  Doctor Ottoman sighed and panted. “I just don’t want to get any of your hopes—”

  “She’s gonna fucking make it, okay?” Jordanna barked.

  Doctor Ottoman didn’t respond this time. Clearly Jordanna’s words had done the trick.

  But Riley couldn’t deny the facts.

  He’d read about death by hanging when he was researching methods into his own suicide. A sick fascination of his before he had the balls to crash a car into a wall. Read all kinds of horror stories about failed hanging victims spending the rest of their lives trapped in their own bodies, someone to feed them, someone to wipe their asses, unable to do a fucking thing for themselves, paralysed. So fucking useless they weren’t even able to grab a gun and put it to their head, or tie a rope around their neck and give it another try.

  “People … people survive these things.”

  The voice was unfamiliar. It took Riley turning round to realise it was Ivan speaking. Still struggling. Still in pain what with the state of his mouth.

  But speaking nonetheless.

  “They … they survive. And they … they go on to—to live. She can pull—pull through.”

  The look in Ivan’s eyes told Riley everything he needed to know.

  Ivan had tried to take his own life.

  Just like Chloë.

  Just like Riley.

  It was a look. Like a membership card to an exclusive club no one else knew about. A look that said, “I couldn’t fucking cope with this world, I tried to end it all.”

  A look you couldn’t shake no matter what the hell you tried.

  Riley kept on running. The moonlight was bright now, shining a path through the woods. Riley knew they were screwed out here. That they’d ran way too far off the beaten track. That the tents, the camp, all of it was gone.

  But fuck. It’d been compromised by creatures earlier anyway. Was it really such a bad loss?

  “Swear we’ve passed this fucking tree twice already,” Kelly said.

  “Better than passing an infected,” Andy replied.

  “I dunno. Starting to wonder whether I wouldn’t rather pass one of ’em. I get tetchy when I’m not killin’.”

  It was at that exact moment that Riley saw it.

  The light.

  The light up ahead between the trees.

  He slowed down. Held onto Chloë’s cold body. Imagined his heartbeat was helping her, rattling through her body, keeping her alive. “You guys see that?”

  Jordanna and James stopped right beside Riley. “Is that—”

  “A cottage,” Andy said.

  The group all stood still and stared through the trees. Stared at the remote cottage right in the middle of the forest. The orange lamplight flickering, cutting through the darkness.

  “We can’t risk it,” Kelly said.

  Andy tutted. “We’ve gotta risk something.”

  “Then go ahead. Feel fucking free. I’ll stick to the road. Seen enough ominous fucking lights in the middle of ominous-fucking-nowhere for a lifetime or two to know they’re always bad news.”

  “What other choice d’we have?” Andy said. “Stay out here and wait for Chloë to die?”

  “I didn’t say that. I sai
d you’re all fucking free to go ahead. But I ain’t—”

  “We’re going inside,” Riley said.

  The rest of the group went completely quiet. He saw their heads all turn to him.

  “You—you sure?” Jordanna whispered.

  Riley looked at Chloë as she lay there in his arms. Smile still on her face, making her look more innocent than she had in weeks, months, even.

  “We need water. We need somewhere safe to stay. And we need light.”

  “You’ve seen what it’s like,” Kelly said. “Unless I’ve gone completely fucking mad, there ain’t anywhere safe. Not anymore.”

  “Maybe that’s not true,” Riley said.

  “And maybe it is. Maybe everyone’s got their own fucking agenda. Their own ways of doin’ things. Maybe that’s the way it is. The way it’s gonna be from now on.”

  Riley felt Kelly’s concern. He understood her fears.

  But he couldn’t accept that everyone was bad. There had to be others out there. Others willing to help. Others willing to do good.

  This wasn’t a horror story. This was life. And in life, good people existed. People who wanted to do the right thing.

  He turned and looked at Kelly. Looked into her eyes. “I understand. Why you’re frightened. We’re all frightened. But we can’t give up on people. We can’t just … just give up on morals and faith. We can’t lose that.”

  Kelly scratched her arms. Her eyelids twitched. “I’ve—I’ve seen things. Fucking awful things. We … We can’t just go in there. We can’t just—”

  “And we’ve seen things too,” Riley said. “We’ve suffered. At the hands of other people. All of us. Everyone has. But that doesn’t mean people aren’t worth taking a risk on. That doesn’t—doesn’t mean everyone’s lost their humanity.”

  He swallowed a lump in his throat. Looked down at Chloë’s rigid body, then back at Kelly.

  “Please,” Riley said. “Please just … just take a chance. We took a chance on you. We could’ve—we could’ve killed you. Could’ve cuffed you up—”

  “Don’t get any fucking ideas.”

  “But we haven’t,” Riley continued. “We haven’t. So please. We need to do this. All of us. Right now. Take a chance. For Chloë. For the others who died taking a chance on us.”

  Everyone was still, just for a second.

  Kelly’s scratching moved from her arms to her knotted red hair.

  Then she looked Riley in his eyes and she nodded. Half-smiled. “I … I guess I’ve gotta try trusting someone—”

  Something stepped behind her and sunk its teeth into her neck.

  Blood spurted out of her throat.

  Painted her pale skin red.

  A creature.

  A creature pushing Kelly to the ground, ripping away her skin, her flesh, piercing her windpipe and making her squeal like an oxygen-deprived pig.

  Riley stood there and watched in horror as Kelly writhed on the ground. He listened to her gargle as the decaying monster pushed her down. As she scratched at its decaying face, bits of loose, rotten skin sticking under her nails.

  All the time, blood pooling out of her pale neck.

  Bathing the forest floor.

  The last thing Riley remembered about Kelly—the last thing he’d always remember about Kelly— was the look in her eyes as she wriggled on the ground.

  The look of fear.

  Pure fear.

  Just like she’d first looked at him.

  Fear of other people.

  Distrust of other people.

  Hatred of other people.

  She still had that look on her face when Tamara pressed the gun to her head.

  When she pulled the trigger.

  When Riley squeezed his eyes shut and the echo of another life wasted sounded through these barren woods.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JAMES

  “You sure you’re okay with this?” Riley asked.

  James stood in front of the cottage door and felt like shit. They’d checked the windows. Peeked inside. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. The place seemed quiet. Empty, even.

  “Don’t think we have much of a choice,” James said.

  He tightened his grip around the door handle with his left hand.

  Held onto the knife with his right.

  And he pushed the door open.

  The door creaked with the pressure. Dust kicked up and got on his chest right away, made him want to sneeze like mad. Real musty smell about the hallway. Damp smell. Cat piss. Took him back to his childhood when Dad was clearing out their old garage back at Winkley Road. Cat got in there, he said. Got trapped in there and started living off the scraps of food he used to leave lying around when he was working on cars, things like that.

  James always remembered the smell of piss. The eye-wateringly bad smell of a cat’s presence.

  Just like right now.

  He stepped onto the spongy old carpet. Tried to look right down the corridor but couldn’t see much. Some shitty brown substance dripping down the narrow walls. A door on the right towards the end of the corridor. Stairs on the left. Then another one at the very end. Partly ajar. Darkness behind it.

  “We’ll get set up downstairs,” Riley said. “Check it all out so we can see to Chlo. You take a look upstairs. If … if that’s okay.”

  James’ gut churned. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was fucking okay anymore.

  But it’d have to do. He’d have to play his part.

  After all, this was about the survival of the group over the survival of one or two. The survival of the group as a whole.

  But after seeing Kelly drop to the ground, blood spurting out of her neck, gargling away on her own fluids … shit. That image wasn’t gonna leave his mind fast.

  The realisation that they were all in danger.

  That in a split second, out of nowhere, any one of their lives could be snuffed out.

  Snuffed out without even preparing for it.

  But shit. When had it ever been different?

  James led the way down the corridor. The floorboards creaked under his feet, every sound like the groan of a zombie, the gasp of one of those fuckers waiting to sink their teeth into him, just like they had so many people he knew, just like they had …

  A lump grew in his throat.

  No. Forget them.

  ’Cause remembering them brings back the truth.

  Brings back the reality.

  And the reality wasn’t good for no one.

  He kept on creeping down the corridor. Felt like it was getting chillier with every step. There was a light peeking under the door to the right. The lounge area they’d seen through the window. It cast a dim glow down the corridor, through the rest of the house.

  A glow that would fade as soon as he climbed those stairs.

  As soon as he—

  “You okay?”

  The voice made him jump. He turned. Saw Tamara looking at him. Half-smiling. Behind her, Ivan towered. He too was looking at James, sticking with him as Riley, Chloë and the others made their way into the lounge.

  “We’ve … we’ve got this,” Ivan said in that pained voice he always had. Hell, he was a scary fucker. But it felt reassuring to have a scary fucker on his side.

  James nodded. “Yes we do.”

  Then he turned. Looked up the staircase. Looked up into the darkness at the steps as they veered off to the right. Anything could be behind them. Anything could be waiting.

  Waiting to jump out.

  Waiting to end their lives.

  Waiting to put James where he belonged.

  He climbed the first few steps and was amazed how damned relieved it made him feel. Just taking those steps took a giant burden off his shoulders. Getting closer to the turn in the staircase, he held his breath. Listened for a sound. Footsteps. Creaking floorboards. Moaning like the zombies always did. Anything like that.

  Nothing but silence.

  He turned back and looked at Tamara and Ivan, who both waited for hi
m to progress. From the lounge, James heard the gentle hum of conversation as the rest of the group saw to Chloë.

  He hoped like hell she’d be okay.

  That they’d all be okay.

  He turned back. Looked at the turn in the stairs. He’d have to take a look around. Wasn’t any two ways about it.

  Had to keep his cool.

  Keep hold of his knife.

  Take a look.

  He made the turn in a swift and sudden movement that got the job done with in as little damned time as possible.

  First thing that struck him was how pitch black it was. Even blacker than the outside, and that was saying something.

  The next thing that struck him was the noise.

  The creaking of the floorboards.

  The movement in the darkness.

  “I … I think someone’s up here,” James said.

  “What d’you mean there’s—” Tamara started.

  “I heard footsteps. Just … just ahead. And …”

  He stopped.

  He stopped because he heard the screams.

  Except they weren’t coming from the house. They couldn’t be because they were so familiar. Just like the screams he’d heard when it happened.

  Louder and louder and louder.

  “James?”

  Tamara’s voice snapped through James’ trance. He turned to her, then back ahead, back into the darkness. Sweat dripped down his forehead even though it was cold-as-shit in here.

  All because of the screams.

  The screams that were coming back for him.

  Coming back for him like they always did.

  “We need to … to push ahead,” Ivan said.

  “Yeah. Yeah I know we do,” James said.

  He took a deep breath.

  Lifted his foot.

  Told himself the screams were in his head, all in his head because they had to be. That’s how they’d always been.

  He put his foot on the next step.

  In his head like they’d—

  He heard the zombie on his right before he saw it.

  Heard its growl as it threw itself at James.

  Knocked him off his feet.

  Pressed him down into the dusty, woodlice-covered floor.

  And as that zombie held him down, invisible in the darkness but for its fucking hanging smell, he heard the screams again.

  Heard them scratching the sides of his skull.