by Ryan Casey
Threatening to burst out.
To bring all the memories back.
No no no.
He struggled with the zombie. Tried to angle his knife so he could stab it through its head.
“You’re not strong enough to deal with anything you weak, pathetic shit …”
It was her voice he heard.
Her voice from the mouth of the zombie.
And then her laughter.
The look on her face.
The way it made him feel inside.
The thing it made him—
“James? James? I think he’s having a fucking seizure.”
Then all of a sudden he was in the corridor again. Tamara was there. So too was Ivan. Only it seemed … lighter now. Yeah, lighter. There was a light coming from his left. Coming from the room he’d heard the creaking noise. The footsteps.
“Found what’s making a racket,” Ivan said, standing in the orange glow of candlelight, staring into the middle of the room.
James pushed Tamara away and stood up. He was eager for her not to see the look on his face. Determined for her not to ask questions.
’Cause questions were where it always started.
Where the shit always kicked in.
He walked over to the bedroom. Stepped inside the room. Got a whiff of decay. Of rot. Of death.
When he walked around the door and saw what was on the bed, James almost jumped out of his damned skin.
There were zombies on there. Two zombies. Both lurching around in a sea of their own blood. Flaps of rotting skin lying beside them. Their faces gaunt, stripped of muscle, bereft of skin. Their eyes sunk deep into their skulls.
“Shit,” James said.
The zombies were tied down to the bed by their wrists and their ankles. A man and a woman. Judging by the gold-framed family photos around the room, husband and wife.
“Suicide, you think?” James said, stepping around the foot of the bed, over the blood-soaked carpet, pieces of flesh scattered all around the room.
“Their necks,” Ivan said.
“Their what?”
“Their … their necks. Look at … look at them.”
James wasn’t sure about getting too close to these biters.
But hell. He wanted to see what Ivan was cracking on about.
He leaned forward.
Squinted at the greying neck of the man, insects working their way through his flimsy skin.
“I don’t see ’owt.”
“Look closer.”
“But I can’t …”
And then he saw it.
Just three letters, but three letters that sent shivers through his body.
Three letters etched into his throat, and into his wife’s throat.
CoY
He didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t know the significance, who’d done it, anything like that.
“Guys, if a candle’s burning, doesn’t that mean someone’s been here recently?” Tamara said.
James went cold inside. He looked at the bodies. The decaying bodies of this couple. Old. Way too old to have been killed recently. Had to have happened some weeks ago.
But those letters.
The cuts etched in.
CoY.
They looked recent. Fresher than the rest.
James raised his head. Looked over at the partly curtained window.
In the distance, through the darkness and behind the thick silhouettes of the trees, he thought he saw a light.
Someone watching them.
Then, it was gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
RILEY
Riley held Jordanna’s hand and kept on telling her everything was going to be okay.
They sat beside Chloë. Doctor Ottoman was with them. Andy had gone to check out the kitchen area, make sure it was all clear. But as they sat there in the silence, lit up by the glow of the flickering battery powered light that had been in this cottage lounge when they got here, Riley couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. A sense of security.
Even if Chloë was fighting for her life.
Even if she never opened her eyes again.
“I keep telling myself I could’ve done more,” Jordanna said. Her voice was croaky, strained. It was clear that Chloë’s suicide attempt had cut her deep. Because she saw Chloë has her primary responsibility. She saw herself as a mother figure to her.
A traitor to her.
“You couldn’t have known she’d—”
“But I could have,” Jordanna said. “You … you keep saying I couldn’t have known. That none of us could’ve known. But how couldn’t we? With everything she’s been through, everything she’s done … how couldn’t we?”
Riley squeezed Jordanna’s cold, limp hand. The dampness of the cottage lingered in his chest. There was an air freshener over by the window, an orangey smell in the air, but all it did was remind Riley of how damned awful he smelled. How damned awful everything smelled.
Sometimes, the nice contrasted with the nasty made the nasty seem much, much worse.
“We did what we could for Chloë. We’ve always done what we could for—”
“When I was unconscious. I … I can’t stop thinking something happened. Something had to have happened. For her to be acting like this. I just … What happened to her, Riley? What happened to her?”
Riley’s insides turned to mush. His grip on Jordanna’s hand loosened. He hadn’t told Jordanna about banishing Chloë yet. About what Chloë had done back at the MLZ—started the outbreak inside the walls by letting the creatures out of Doctor Wellingborough’s research lab. Killing Annabelle.
The chain of events that led to this, their current predicament, their living hell.
“Something happened, didn’t it?”
Riley cleared his throat. He’d been planning on telling Jordanna the truth at some stage. Just not now. Not the way things were. Not with Jordanna’s attachment to Chloë. Not with Chloë on death’s door.
But honesty. Honesty was what counted now.
Honesty was all they had left.
“I sent her away,” Riley said.
He didn’t look in Jordanna’s eyes when he said the words. Just stared over at the red curtains. Peeked through at the mould-stained glass, into nothingness.
“You … you did what?”
He wiped his eyes. Looked at Jordanna this time. “I sent her away. We all did. Because she—”
“You sent her away? What—what d’you mean you sent her away?”
She pulled her hand away from Riley’s.
The anger built in her bloodshot eyes.
Paternal anger.
“She caused the outbreak back at the MLZ,” Riley said.
“What do you—”
“Annabelle. She killed Annabelle. Her and Tiffany broke into Doctor Wellingborough’s office and they—”
A smack knocked the words out of Riley’s mouth.
Stung his cheek, set his face on fire.
Jordanna lowered her hand. Her eyes were filled with tears. “You … you sent her away. You left her behind.”
“Pedro had just died and you were unconscious and—”
“You left her fucking behind,” she said, raising her voice enough that Doctor Ottoman turned his head. “Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? That’s what you fucking do to anyone who isn’t convenient.”
“Jordanna please,” Riley said. He tried to grab her arm but she pulled it away, cracked Riley across the face again.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare fucking lay a hand on me again.”
And Riley wanted to fight for her. As she stood up, walked across the lounge and made for the door, Riley wanted to go chase her.
But he couldn’t.
Because she was right.
He had left Chloë behind.
Just like he’d left Jordanna behind.
Left Stan behind.
Left Trevor behind.
“She’s—she’s awake,” Doctor Ottoman said
.
Riley didn’t understand him at first. He couldn’t comprehend what he was getting at. Not now. Not after the clash with Jordanna.
But when he turned around and saw Chloë’s eyes partly open, he understood.
Every inch of his body understood.
A smile clawed at his cheeks.
Tears rolled down his face.
“Jor—Jordanna!” he shouted.
All he got in response was a scream.
Jordanna’s scream.
And then a thud.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Riley didn’t even think about potential repercussions when he heard Jordanna’s scream.
He just ran.
Got up, ran out of the lounge, through the hallway. He heard Doctor Ottoman calling him back, telling him to return, but no. Nothing was stopping him. Not if Jordanna was in danger.
Not after the way they’d argued.
Especially not after the way they’d argued.
He ran down the darkened hall corridor. The smell of damp grew stronger. The floorboards creaked overhead. His heart pounded. She was close. She’d sounded close so she had to be nearby somewhere. She hadn’t left the room long ago. She had to be …
That’s when he saw the kitchen door.
It was ajar earlier, but now it was open. Wide open.
Pitch black inside.
Pitch black except for the little square of light that came from the moon.
He lifted his hammer and stepped further into the kitchen. Pushed the door open some more, squinted into the dark. It felt cooler in here than the rest of the house—and the rest of the house was hardly boiling. There was a breeze blowing through. Making the foundations of the house creak.
And then he saw it.
A back door.
An open back door.
He imagined all the horrors that could creep in through that back door. Remembered how Kelly had died. One second, alive. Willing to join Riley. Willing to frigging trust him.
Then, gone.
Snuffed out.
In the click of a finger.
Riley moved over to that back door. He had to check outside. Check for Jordanna. And … shit. Wasn’t Andy supposed to be around here?
He moved quicker to the door.
Held the hammer tightly in his palm.
The darkness growing even more intense with every single step.
And then he felt his right foot bang against something.
He thought at first maybe it was just a table leg. He was in a kitchen and that kitchen was dark, so it made sense he might walk into a thing or two.
But then the thing moved.
He looked down.
Lifted his hammer.
Stopped.
At his feet, Jordanna lay.
He lowered his hammer as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, as he took in his surroundings.
Jordanna was on her side. Her eyes were barely open. Her body was twitching, shaking. She was staring at something. Something over by the door.
Staring in fear.
“Jordanna, I …”
It was when Riley crouched down that he saw the pool of blood around Jordanna’s head.
Her bruised face.
The thud. The thud after her scream.
Someone had hit her.
Someone had put her on the floor.
Someone had—
A rustling behind him. Out in the corridor.
He turned. Looked down towards the front door. Nothing there. Not a thing. In the lounge, he could hear Doctor Ottoman speaking to Chloë. Upstairs, Tamara, James and Ivan creaking about. Exploring.
He turned back around to Jordanna and he saw it.
An oval shape blocking the bottom half of the window.
It was only when that oval shape moved that Riley realised it was someone’s head.
A man.
Silhouetted in the moonlight.
Riley’s body filled with hatred. He wanted to know who the man was, but at the same time he wanted to kick the shit out of him. For doing this to Jordanna. For putting her in this situation.
But he couldn’t do a thing.
All he could do was stare.
Stare at the silhouette as it looked through the door, watching him.
And as Riley’s eyes adjusted gradually to the dark, he thought he recognised the outline of this man.
The long, straggly hair.
The well-built physique.
The man from the woods yesterday. The man he’d found by the poor girl’s body just before Kelly’s group got to him.
The man who’d disappeared.
“Who are …”
No sooner had Riley muttered the words that the man disappeared again.
Out into the darkness.
Out into the night.
“Hey!” Riley shouted.
He rushed over to the door. Looked outside.
Nothing.
Nothing in the fields.
Nothing in the trees.
Just nothing.
Riley stepped back inside the cottage, closed the door. But all of a sudden this place didn’t feel safe anymore. Because someone was following them. Watching them. Hunting them.
“Ri … Riley …”
He heard Jordanna’s voice and he spun around. Ran over to her. Crouched beside her.
“It’s okay,” he said, as he held her in his arms. The cut on her head was bleeding, and they’d all have to keep an eye on her for concussion, but she was alive. And she was awake. That was something. “I’ve got you—”
“Andy,” Jordanna said. “He … I saw him. They took him.”
The words made Riley’s body turn cold. Shit. They’d taken Andy. Whoever the fuckers were, they’d taken Andy.
“We need to go after them,” Riley said. He stood up. Stepped away from Jordanna and walked over to the back door. “We—we can’t just leave Andy to die.”
“And you … you can’t just leave us behind either,” Jordanna said, her voice croaky and sore.
Riley stopped when he reached the door. He held the hammer so intently that his knuckles had gone cold. “I swore. Not to leave anyone.”
“Then don’t,” Jordanna said.
The reality dawned on Riley as he stared out the door, the door that Andy had been dragged out of. The reality that he couldn’t save everyone, not always. That it was the core of the group that mattered. That sometimes, he did have to make difficult decisions for the benefit of the many, even at the expense of the few.
Wandering into the night was suicide.
Leaving the rest of the group behind here … that was suicide too.
And although he was going to die, although he’d accepted his own fate, the fate that the fading cure had decided for him, he wasn’t going to give up on the lives of those he loved. Not anytime soon.
Which meant stepping away from the door.
He walked over to Jordanna. Crouched down; helped her to her feet.
“Something to show you,” he said.
He held her upright as specks of blood dripped from her head. Dripped from a wound that he knew they’d have to keep an eye on. That he knew they’d have to monitor.
But Jordanna walked with him, which meant she was alive.
And alive was just about the most they could be thankful for nowadays.
Everything else was a luxury.
He eased Jordanna out into the hallway. At the bottom of the stairs, James, Ivan and Tamara stood. They all looked at Riley and Jordanna. All nodded.
Then Riley led Jordanna to the lounge door.
Unable to shake his smile.
Unable to defeat the excitement inside.
“What’s—what the hell you looking so happy about?” Jordanna asked.
Riley pushed open the lounge door.
Stepped inside.
“Why don’t you see for yourself?”
Chloë was upright. She had a thick purple bruise around her neck, her face looked whiter than white,
but she was upright.
Looking at Riley, looking at Jordanna.
Alive.
Jordanna went limp in Riley’s arms. She covered her mouth. Tears rolled down her face.
Chloë’s lips quivered. Her eyes filled up too. “I’m—I’m sorr—”
“Don’t you dare say sorry,” Jordanna said.
She threw herself at Chloë.
Wrapped her arms around her.
And together, the rest of the group watched.
Smiled.
Basked in the power of the present moment. The moment of reunion. The moment of love.
They didn’t see them watching from outside the windows.
Outside every window.
Waiting for the perfect moment.
CHAPTER NINE
“I guess I should start with an apology,” Riley said.
He sat on the damp, dusty carpet of the cottage lounge. The rest of the group had moved upstairs, checking wardrobes, spare rooms, places like that. Making sure the cottage was safe. Or at least, safe enough.
The only person that was with Riley was Chloë.
She stared into the distance. Every rattle of the window made Riley flinch up, look over at the curtain, wondering if maybe the long-haired man who’d taken Andy was back; if the man who’d attacked Jordanna had returned.
But he hadn’t.
At least, not that he knew of.
Just him and Chloë.
Together.
Silent.
Riley leaned back against the brick wall beside the fireplace. Chloë hadn’t said a word to him. He could tell she was uncomfortable. Tell she wasn’t happy in his presence. Embarrassed, even.
But he knew that all he could do right now was be honest.
Be open and frank.
“I regret forcing you out,” Riley said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You should,” Chloë said.
Riley turned. She was still staring ahead. Blank look in her eyes. Slight croakiness to her voice. A bloodied bruise was wrapped around her neck. Another scar. A constant reminder of what she’d done to herself. Of how close she’d come.
“Y’know, I tried to kill myself once,” Riley said.
“I didn’t try … try killing myself.”
“Then what were you doing?”
She rubbed her hands together. Plucked at her jeans. Her pale cheeks flushed, but they were still bereft of colour. “I was—was just trying to stop the noises.”
“What noises?”
