Dead Days Zombie Apocalypse Series (Season 5)

by Ryan Casey

  It was the right thing to do.

  The only thing to do.

  He held his breath.

  Tensed every muscle in his body and got ready to fight back.

  Stared up through blurry, tearful eyes.

  But the Orion didn’t budge.

  It kept on staring down at him, a yellow glow to its pupils.

  Scanning and sniffing his body like it was trying to figure him out, trying to work out who he was. What he was.

  And then it clicked.

  It clicked, right at that moment.

  It didn’t know.

  It thought he was an Orion.

  It thought he was one of them.

  In that flicker of realisation, he understood his advantage. His advantage of time. His advantage of knowing who his enemy was. Of being able to figure out what the fuck to do with it.

  And there was only one thing he could think of.

  He opened his mouth.

  Searing pain split through his jaw.

  Burned right through to the back of his skull.

  He lifted his head.

  Wrapped his teeth around the Orion’s neck.

  And he bit.

  Bit down as hard as he could on its throat.

  At first, the Orion didn’t react. It didn’t react as cold, thick, gooey blood seeped out of its pulpy flesh. It didn’t even flinch.

  But Ivan held on.

  He held on and bit down even harder so more of the rotting taste filled his mouth, more of the dead-fish smell entrapped his senses.

  It was only after clamping down on the Orion for a good few seconds that it started to scream.

  It thrashed around. Struggled. Yanked itself from side to side. But every time it moved, Ivan’s teeth pulled more flesh away from its neck. Stripped more skin from its throat. Sent more black blood pooling over himself.

  He kept on holding on.

  Bit down harder.

  Through the pain.

  Through the agony.

  And then he felt the stabbing in his shoulder.

  He felt it and he understood. Right away, he understood.

  The sharp stabbing pain.

  The Orion’s teeth sticking into his flesh.

  Like a million hot knives slicing into him.

  But still, he held his grip on the Orion’s neck.

  Kept on biting on his throat, chewed on it to mash it up some more, to cover himself in more Orion blood.

  The Orion just kept on flapping and gasping and then screaming, screaming for its life as it tugged away, as it stopped biting Ivan’s shoulder.

  Ivan saw the look in its eyes. Saw the glow disappear.

  A look that was decidedly human.

  A pitiful look.

  A begging look.

  And then the Orion pulled back and this time, its trachea split in two.

  More blood pooled out of it.

  More gasps and screams, although this time there was gargling too, gargling and wheezing and crying.

  And as it dragged itself away from Ivan, he couldn’t help but feel pity for this shaking monster as it lay there in the grass, bleeding out from its neck. Because this wasn’t like killing a zombie. This was different. This was one of Mr Fletch’s experiments.

  This was what he would’ve become if he’d been in Fletch’s labs any longer.

  Human.

  He stood up. Grabbed the bleeding wound on his shoulder and backed away to the rest of the group, head spinning, heart pounding.

  Tamara seized his arm. “Ivan, you—we need to get away. We need to get that wound seen to and we need to get away.”

  And Ivan knew Tamara was right. He knew they were all right.

  The Orion writhed around on the floor.

  Arms and legs convulsing like a sprayed fly.

  Fighting for its life.

  Against the odds.

  Against all odds.

  It stared up at Ivan with its glistening eyes and it was at that moment Ivan realised what it was doing.

  It was crying.

  It was in pain and it was crying.

  It knew what was happening.

  “We need to go,” James said. “For fuckin’ real.”

  Ivan stared the Orion in its beautiful human eyes a few seconds longer.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Then he turned around. Turned to the woods with the rest of the group. Started to walk.

  He didn’t make it far.

  None of them did.

  An Orion was standing opposite them, blocking their escape.

  Beside it, a second Orion.

  And beside that, a third.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Preston, August 2005

  Ivan watched the bus depart from the station and he knew right then he was fucked.

  He put his hands on his knees. Rainwater dripped down from his soaked fringe. The heavens had opened earlier that day and hadn’t stopped since. Just typical that summer had been perfect up to now. That he and Mary were constantly going on about how nice it’d be to have summer babies. How it’d be more relaxing—some weird truth Mary convinced herself of anyway. How they could celebrate their babies’ birthdays on a beach down south somewhere every year.

  But as thunder rumbled overhead, sending another bout of rain all over his already soaked white shirt and black trousers, Ivan knew he was an idiot for ever believing life could be that simple.

  He looked up at row after row of buses. He’d just needed the twenty-three. Just needed to hop on it and get down to the frigging hospital while he still had the chance. But no. Course he couldn’t. Course his car would have to be in for servicing today. Course the only fucking twenty-three bus would have to leave right before he reached it.

  Course luck had to go and shit all over him again.

  He turned around and walked back inside Preston Bus Station. Huge place that constantly reeked of piss. He looked at the timetable as an old woman with rollers in her hair peered at him like he wasn’t all there. He tried his best not to pay any attention to her. To be fair to her, he’d probably stare at somebody as drenched as him. Just had to hope another twenty-three was due. Soon, preferably.

  Or he’d be fucked.

  He’d be in royal, royal shit.

  Not just with Mary and her family but with himself.

  He’d never forgive himself for missing the birth of his children.

  He scanned the timetable. Next bus was due at … fuck. Two-thirty. Two-thirty, then a half hour journey there. He didn’t have an hour. And he didn’t have enough taxi fare. He needed to get there now. He needed to get there fast.

  But he wasn’t going to manage it.

  Course he wasn’t going to manage it.

  He turned around, water dripping from the tip of his nose, and he saw a bus driver looking at him. He had thinning blond hair, wearing the usual blue shirt. Ivan walked past him. Just about through with people staring at him. Felt like telling them all he’d fought for this pissing country in Iraq. See if they stare then. See if they—

  “You in a hurry?”

  Ivan stopped. Turned.

  The bus driver in the blue shirt was looking at him. Half-smiling.

  “Yeah,” Ivan said, scratching his soaking head. “Just … just guess I’m gonna have to wait in line like everyone else.”

  The bus driver flattened out his shirt. Stood up from the uncomfortable-looking wooden stool he’d been sat on. “Y’know, I’m gonna make a wild guess here. Only two reasons you’d look so damned pissy to miss one of our buses. Either you’re off to an interview, a wedding or the birth of a kid. And judging by the state of you, I’d say the third’un’s more likely.”

  Ivan smiled. Couldn’t help but admire the guy’s intuition. “Yeah. Yeah you got that right.”

  “Boy? Girl?”

  “Um, not sure. Twins. So maybe both.”

  “Twins!” the driver said. He chuckled. But a redness filled his eyes. “I … We just had a kid. My wife and I. Beautiful l
ittle girl. She was s’posed to be a twin but … sorry you probably don’t wanna hear that right now.”

  “No, it’s … it’s fine. Really.”

  The bus driver looked around the station. Thunder roared overhead. More rain powered down on the metal roof above them.

  “Tell you what, you can do me a favour.”

  “What kind of favour?”

  “You can walk over to that bus out there and get on it. I’ll … I’ll take you to Preston Hospital. If you promise to stay shtum about it.”

  Ivan frowned. “But what if someone—”

  “Leavin’ this place soon anyway. Need a new job. Got one at Warburtons lined up. Summat to provide a bit more income, y’know. Wife’s talkin’ about another kid already. So you gonna get on that bus or what?”

  Ivan didn’t know how to react. He looked around. Saw people queueing for the bus currently parked in the space. “What about the others?”

  “Screw the others,” the driver said, holding a hand out for Ivan to lead the way. “Unless they’re late for their kids’ birth too. And even so, think I’ve been generous enough for one day, don’t you?”

  Ivan smiled. Still wasn’t certain about this guy. Didn’t understand his generosity. Found it hard to comprehend after all his time in Iraq, after seeing what people could do to one another.

  But he got on the bus anyway.

  Sat right in the front.

  The driver started the engine and got the bus rolling.

  “Preston Hospital, here we come!”

  Ivan didn’t say much to the driver as they drove direct to the hospital. Wasn’t sure what to say. Only that he was thankful and appreciative and would never forget it, that sort of thing.

  To which the bus driver just kept on dismissing him.

  Kept on waving it off like it was nothing.

  Ten minutes later, they pulled into the hospital car park.

  “Bloody phone hasn’t stopped since I left,” the driver said. He lifted his phone out. Cancelled the call. It was then that Ivan saw the photograph on his screen. The little baby, cute in pink.

  “She’s sweet,” Ivan said.

  The driver chuckled. “Chloë? She might look an angel in 2D. Meet her in person and you’ll know damned well she’s the Devil in disguise. Especially when you’ve smelled one of her nappies!”

  Ivan smiled. Chloë. Nice name. One to consider.

  “I appreciate all your help. Really.”

  The driver waved it off once more. “It’s nothing. Really nothing. I know how Claudia was when I was running late. She’d’ve bitten my balls off if I’d been ten minutes later. Probably wouldn’t be drivin’ a bus right now that’s for sure. But hey, might’ve been a good thing.”

  The driver opened the door. Outside, the rain had eased. Ivan had just about dried out. Just about.

  “Good luck with the new job,” Ivan said.

  “Good luck with no peace and quiet for the rest of your bloody life,” the driver said.

  He smiled at Ivan as he stepped onto the pavement.

  He closed the doors.

  And then he drove off and he was gone.

  Nothing but his generosity remaining.

  Generosity that Ivan would never forget.

  Never.

  From that point on, Ivan often wondered how the bus driver was getting on. How that generous man had coped with the fall of society. Whether he was still helping people, still doing the right thing for his wife, for his daughter.

  But at that moment, all Ivan cared about was his wife.

  His children.

  And making it for the birth.

  He walked into the hospital. Rushed down the corridors towards the section Mary was staying. Battled upstairs, past old people dragging their feet, around wheelchairs.

  When he got to Mary’s room, as he pushed open the door, his entire body went numb.

  There were two children in her arms.

  Two beautiful, perfect little boys.

  And at that moment, it didn't matter that he’d missed the birth.

  It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been there to hold Mary’s hand, to put her at ease.

  All that mattered was those two children.

  Those two children and his beautiful wife.

  He’d protect them forever.

  Stand by them forever.

  He kept that moment fresh in his mind when he found Alex and Jack dead in their mother’s bed.

  When he found Mary and the boys at rest. The bottle of sleeping pills beside Mary.

  When he kissed Alex’s forehead, closed his rigid little eyes.

  “Night night, my soldier … Sleep tight.”

  The moment hadn’t left his mind since.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ivan didn’t feel fear as he stared into the eyes of the three approaching Orions.

  Of course, there was a hint of apprehension there. Always was when death quite literally stared you in the face. But as the bitter tang of the fallen Orion’s blood stung his palette, as the rotting smell of its tar-like blood filled his nostrils, he felt a sense of confidence. Of self-assurance.

  He had the advantage on the Orions because they thought he was one of them.

  Because they thought he was a monster.

  And they were right.

  “We—we need to go back in the house,” Jordanna said.

  James shook his head, backing away. “We need to fuckin’ leg it. Only damned option we have.”

  “And if we leg it they’ll just—they’ll just chase us. Catch us. They’ll …”

  Jordanna stopped talking when the Orion in the middle pushed past its companions.

  When it quickened its pace.

  Made that guttural clicking noise that all of them made. The noise of nightmares.

  “We need to do something,” Tamara said. “Don’t care what it is, just—”

  “Go in the house,” Ivan said.

  It hurt to talk. He’d grown semi-comfortable with that right now. With the pain merely existing inflicted on his body. With the agony each and every step of his quasi-existence condemned him to.

  “Ivan?” Riley said.

  “Just go in the house,” Ivan shouted. He wanted to turn and look at his companions but he couldn’t. Not just because of the approaching Orions, but because he couldn’t face looking them in the eye. He couldn’t face them seeing him in this form anymore, long-toothed and monstrous.

  He just needed them to get inside the house.

  To wait for him to fight.

  Because fighting was all he could do now.

  He had the advantage.

  He could do this.

  He could save them.

  Save them where he’d failed to save so many others.

  “Ivan you need to—” Riley started.

  “Won’t say it again,” Ivan said. “Get in … get in the house. And hide. All of you. Please.”

  The taste of blood built up in his mouth from moving his jaw way too much.

  Butterflies crippled his stomach.

  The Orions got closer and closer.

  Snatching their heads from side to side as the breeze worked through the trees.

  On the ground just to Ivan’s left, the dead remains of the Orion he’d killed.

  He didn’t look back, not once. But he heard the murmur of conversation. The footsteps moving backwards. The creaking of the kitchen door.

  He heard the group stepping inside the cottage.

  One by one.

  Leaving him out here, all alone.

  Out here to do what he had to do.

  Out here with the Orions.

  The Orions who were getting closer to him.

  The Orions who he had to defeat.

  And if he couldn’t, he …

  No. He had to. He had to and he would.

  He had the advantage of time. Of knowledge.

  He just needed to play his cards right.

  He heard the kitchen door click shut and felt a weig
ht lift from his shoulders. A weight of responsibility. For it was just him now. Just him and the Orions. No distractions. No bait for these monsters. Just him.

  He looked them in the eye, sweat rolling down his face. The bite wound on his shoulder stung and burned, but it was irrelevant right now. He’d deal with it. He’d find a way.

  In time.

  Just not now.

  He watched as the Orions stepped closer to him. Breathed steadily. From above, a few cold specks of rain dripped down, but not nearly enough to wash away the blood, the dirt, the guilt.

  And as he walked backwards to the right ever so slightly, diverting their approach from the cottage, Ivan couldn’t help but marvel at these beasts. Their tall frame. The jet black skin. The dagger-like teeth.

  But those eyes. Those human eyes.

  Evolved humans. That’s what they were. All they were.

  The next natural step in evolution in a world where the current human form wasn’t strong enough to survive.

  They just had to understand who their enemy was.

  “I … I’m not so different,” Ivan said. “From—from you.”

  The Orions snapped their heads up. All looked at Ivan. Their lungs rattled as they inhaled, exhaled, so animalistic and threatening, yet so perfect.

  “I was—I was in Mr Fletch’s labs too. I …” He swallowed some of the blood clotting at the back of his mouth. Felt a bit ridiculous for attempting this. “I would’ve—would’ve been just like you—just like you are now.”

  They watched him.

  Approached slowly.

  Never diverting their gaze.

  Ivan saw the cottage on his left. He had to find a weapon. Something he could use to knock one of them down if they attacked him. Kept on forgetting he had his teeth. But against three, teeth wouldn’t be enough. He needed a way to deal with them one by one.

  Unless he could … reach them somehow.

  Connect with them.

  Make them understand.

  “We aren’t the enemy. Us people. We … we aren’t your enemies. The enemies are—are the dead. The dead who walk. Not us.”

  The Orion on the right grunted. Looked at its friend in the middle of the trio. Then the one on the left growled something. Something sharp, sudden and high-pitched.

  Something like speech.

  “You just have to let us go,” Ivan said. “Let us walk away. Then … then you can go your own ways. We can—we can co-exist. All of us can co-exist. Just not together. Not yet.”