by Ryan Casey
He had to believe that.
He searched the kitchen cupboards as gunshots rattled on outside. Nothing.
Searched the lounge. Scanned every drawer, underneath every chair and under the cushions of the sofa as cries echoed through the streets below.
Nothing.
He rushed over to Alan’s bedroom door. Pushed it open.
White bedsheets made perfectly. Paintings of idyllic mountain vistas, of boats in the rich blue ocean. An ancient-looking clock perched on the oak bedside table—one of the hundred scattered around this apartment.
A photograph of a younger Alan and his wife, Amy, standing at the summit of a hill overlooking a gorgeous seaside town. Smiles on their faces. Happy.
Riley walked over to it. Lifted it up. He looked at Amy’s face. That infectious smile. Her beautiful dark hair. No wonder Alan fell in love with her. She was quite something. Something special.
It pained Riley to know what Amy had been through, not at the hands of creatures, but at the hands of fellow humans. The extremist group Alan had told him about. The ones who’d abducted her when she was working abroad, trying to help people. Who’d held her hostage. Then videoed her being tortured and killed. How fickle it all seemed.
Impossible to imagine in the old world.
Impossible to believe.
But really, the old world wasn’t so different to the new world.
And with what was happening outside, with the mass death one man and his army were inducing on a city of innocent people, maybe it wasn’t so impossible to believe at all.
Riley lowered the photo frame. Went to put it back on the dressing table, right where it was.
And then he saw the key.
It was on top of the dressing table. Just a small key, hiding right under the spot where the photograph had sat.
He put the frame down and grabbed the key. Examined it. Small. Rusty. Either a key for a drawer or a key for a wardrobe.
Another explosion outside.
More screams.
The smell of burning bodies.
He had to be quick.
He crouched down. Checked all the drawers. Fuck. Nothing.
Ran to the other side of the room. Checked the next drawer.
No luck with the top drawer.
No luck with the second drawer.
No luck with …
The third drawer clicked open.
“Yes!” he muttered.
He yanked the drawer open.
Prepared for a gun. A knife. Something.
There was nothing in the drawer.
Nothing but another key.
Riley reached inside. Lifted the key. A longer key. Probably for a cabinet of some kind.
He looked around the bedroom. A wardrobe, but that already had two keys in it. Drawers, but no. He’d checked all the drawers and they needed a smaller key.
He stood up. Rushed through to the lounge.
“Where the fuck’re you leading me, Alan?” he mumbled, scanning the lounge for anything this key might fit into. “Where the fuck’re you …”
Then he saw it.
The tall light wood cabinet at the opposite side of the room.
A globe sitting on top of it.
Riley’s heart raced. Adrenaline pumped through his body. His hands shook.
He ran over to the cabinet.
To the other side of the room.
So close to the end of the rabbit hole.
So close to—
Then he saw it.
A movement. To his left.
A movement in the corner of his eye.
He turned. Looked at Alan’s apartment door. He knew something was wrong right away. Felt his anticipation morphing into nervousness.
The door.
The door hadn’t been open. Not before.
He turned back to the cabinet.
Went to put the key inside it with his quivering hands.
Then, he heard the floorboards creak.
CHAPTER FOUR
CHLOË
Chloë heard the buzzing noises swarm her mind again when she looked down at the destruction below.
They weren’t the same loud bees she’d heard before she’d wrapped the string around her neck and jumped from the tree. Weren’t as loud or as strong, weren’t as nasty. But they were there. They were there, and Chloë had learned that whenever the noises were there, she should listen.
She should listen because they meant something.
They always meant something.
“You okay, Chlo?”
Chloë gripped Anna’s necklace. She turned and saw Jordanna crouched by the window to her left. Peeking through the blinds at the Orions below. The Orions that walked through the streets. That tore people apart. Ripped their insides out. Feasted on them while they were still alive.
On and on the cries echoed.
The buzzing got louder.
“Are you okay?” Chloë asked.
Jordanna looked at her. She looked at her and Chloë saw the sweat rolling down her forehead. Saw her lips shaking, the scar just above her top lip poking out more than it usually did, redder than it usually was.
Jordanna didn’t have to answer Chloë for her to know the truth.
She was scared. She was terrified.
Terrified that this was where everything was going to end.
Where their home was going to fall.
No. Chloë couldn’t let their home fall.
She’d made that mistake once already. She couldn’t let it happen again.
“You don’t have to worry,” Chloë said.
“About what?”
“About death.”
Jordanna didn’t respond. Her gaze just shifted from the Orions on the street outside to Chloë.
Looked at Chloë with a frown. A puzzled frown. A look Chloë was growing all too used to.
“I’m—I’m not—”
“In the woods,” Chloë said. “When I … you know.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t—”
“I felt better. Better than—better than I’ve ever felt. Since Mum and Elizabeth died. Since … since Tiff died. I felt better. Like nothing else mattered anymore. Comfy. Like I was tucked in. So I’m okay now. I’m not worried now.”
Jordanna kept on staring at her.
Kept on frowning.
Not even the sound of another explosion crashing against the wall disturbed her stare.
She put a hand on Chloë’s shoulder. Moved in closer towards her. “What happened. Back in the woods. It should never have happened.”
“But I don’t mind now.”
“But I fucking do,” Jordanna said. She put her hand on the back of Chloë’s head. Stroked her hair. “I fucking care about what happens to you. I give a shit about whether you’re okay. I … I know you might not want it but I feel like I’m responsible for you. Like—like I’m looking out for you. And that’s how it should be. You should have someone fighting your corner. We all need someone fighting our corner.”
“I’m strong,” Chloë said, as Jordanna pressed her forehead against hers. “Stronger than I thought I was.”
“I know you are,” Jordanna said. “Stronger than me. Believe it or not, it takes a strong person to … to try what you tried. Back in the woods.”
She lifted Chloë’s chin. Looked her right in the eyes.
“But that doesn’t make what you tried okay. Not by any stretch of the imagination. So please, Chlo. Please don’t talk about death like it’s okay. It’s not. Not for you. Not with a whole life ahead of you. It’s—”
A shout in the street.
A throaty growl.
A sound like a watermelon being crushed, of all its juices splattering over the road.
Neither of them had to look out of the window to know what the sound was.
“The people,” Chloë said, moving Jordanna’s hands away from her head. “The people out there. On the street. We—we need to do something.”
&nb
sp; “There’s nothing we can—”
“Don’t say there’s nothing we can do because there is,” Chloë shouted. “There is something we can do. We can try helping them. Like—like we’ve always helped people. Because if we don’t try helping them then … then who even are we anymore?”
Chloë saw Jordanna’s cheeks flush. “Things … things have changed,” she said.
“But we haven’t changed,” Chloë said. “We—we can’t change. We need to help them. Just—just fire at a few Orions or Mr Fletch’s men. Please.”
Chloë saw Jordanna swallow a lump in her throat. She rubbed a cold hand against Chloë’s left arm. “You really are tough, you know?”
Chloë smiled. “So are you.”
“Not nearly enough. Just … just stay there. Swear I left a gun lying around in the bedroom before we left. Just in case. Never know when a fucking Orion army’s gonna crash your party, right?”
Chloë smiled.
Forced her smile.
Held that smile.
She let it drop the second Jordanna stepped inside the bedroom.
She looked over her shoulder. Out of the window. Down on the street at the splattered remains of the MLZ people. At the man with his intestines in his hands still coughing up blood. At the woman with no legs dragging herself along the ground, leaving a trail of blood behind her like she was some kind of snail.
Chloë looked back across the room. Looked at the brown oak door.
Looked at it and heard the buzzing getting louder in her head.
But not the same buzzing she’d heard when she hung herself.
A different buzzing. A buzzing that reminded her of what she’d done. Killing Annabelle. Causing so much hell inside the MLZ in the first place.
She heard a buzzing calling her.
Telling her to make up for what she’d done.
To prove to everyone she was sorry.
To prove to herself she was a good person.
Because she was. She really was.
She really wanted to be.
She looked down at Anna’s necklace. Gripped it tight. Remembered the way her mum wore that very same necklace. The way it glistened on her neck when she laughed and smiled.
The way it made Chloë feel so much stronger.
Except Chloë didn’t need it anymore. She didn’t need it because she was stronger.
She was her own person.
She couldn’t let the reminder that she was a frightened little girl hold her back forever.
She couldn’t let the past keep on tormenting her.
She put the necklace down on the floor by the window.
Took a deep breath, stood up.
And she walked across the room.
Walked past the bedroom door where Jordanna searched under the bed for her gun.
The weight of that very gun weighing down Chloë’s loose jeans.
She wanted to say goodbye to Jordanna but she knew it’d just make her too sad.
And she couldn’t be sad.
Not anymore.
She was strong.
She wasn’t her mummy’s girl.
She wasn’t anyone’s girl.
She was Chloë.
She walked over to the door.
Grabbed the handle in one, lowered it.
Grabbed the pistol in the other.
And then she walked down the corridor, away from the apartment, towards the staircase, towards the exit.
She was Chloë.
* * *
Jordanna stepped back inside the apartment room. Fucking sure she’d left a gun lying around.
She rubbed her fingers through her greasy hair. “We’re just gonna have to …”
She stopped.
The room was silent. Empty.
Chloë wasn’t by the window.
Jordanna stepped further into the room. “Chlo? Now’s not the time to play games.”
But Chloë wasn’t playing games.
She wasn’t anywhere.
She was gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
RILEY
Riley’s stomach dropped when he heard the floorboards creak over by the door.
He stood opposite the cabinet in Alan’s apartment lounge. The cabinet with the globe on top. The cabinet that the key had to lead to. The key he’d found in Alan’s bedroom. The rabbit hole of keys that led to somewhere.
Weapons. They had to lead to weapons. Some kind of weapons.
But the floorboards creaking.
The footsteps.
The open door.
Riley didn’t want to turn around. A part of him wanted to ignore the floorboards, pretend he hadn’t heard anything and just search this cabinet right away. That way, at least he might stand a chance of finding a weapon, finding something to defend himself with.
But it wasn’t just the creaking floorboards that captured his attention.
It was the smell.
The smell of shit.
The unmistakable stench of death.
He looked back at the door. Readied himself. Readied himself for a creature. For a creature to hurtle towards him. Or worse, an Orion. An Orion that’d got inside this apartment block. That’d found its way to Alan’s flat.
That was ready to tear him apart, limb by limb.
It took Riley a few moments to work out exactly what he was facing as he stared at the door.
The door was now closed.
Nothing stood in front of it.
A part of him felt relief. He wanted to think he’d imagined things. That he hadn’t heard anything or smelled anything. That the door had always been closed.
But his heart picked up when he saw what was on the cream carpet just outside the door.
Footprints.
Bloody footprints.
Bloody footprints leading to the partly open door of Alan’s bedroom.
A door which creaked the moment Riley looked at it.
Riley swallowed the lump in his throat. He felt a cold shiver rush through his body, partly from the balcony breeze, mostly from that feeling of not being alone. Of being watched.
He stared at the door. And in his stare he saw colours. Colours, like when you got dizzy or lightheaded. Colours that distorted his vision. That made it seem like something was standing in the bedroom.
Watching him.
Just waiting for him to turn his back.
He stayed completely still in the silence. The missiles outside had stopped. Gunshots seemed far, far away.
He had to check the cabinet.
He had to find a weapon.
He just had to.
He held his breath and spun around.
Stuck the key back inside the cabinet.
Looked over his shoulder as he turned it.
Still nothing there.
Nothing but the colours.
Nothing but the footsteps.
Nothing but the creaky bedroom door.
He turned back around. Pulled open the cabinet. Felt nerves and excitement pour through his body as he lowered the door, hoped to God he found something, anything, to help him fight whatever was in this apartment with him, whatever was outside.
There was something in the cabinet.
A note.
The words, “Under the Blue Sea,” written on it.
Under the blue sea.
The painting.
The painting in Alan’s bedroom.
Behind the fucking painting all along.
Riley turned. Stepped towards Alan’s room.
He stopped when he saw the creature standing right in front of him.
It flew at him.
Knocked him back against the cabinet, so hard that Riley’s head clattered with the wood, sent him tumbling to the floor.
It pinned Riley down with its frantic, frenzied strength. Bald. Gaunt. But muscular. Like it hadn’t been dead long; like decay hadn’t quite settled in.
A fresh open wound on its neck dripping lukewarm blood onto Riley’s face.
It
s hands around his neck.
Its sparkling white teeth eager for a bite.
A taste of blood.
The first taste of many.
Riley punched it in its right temple but it kept hold of him. He turned in his thumbs, tried to get to its eyes, but the creature just snatched its teeth at his hands, so close to biting away one of his fingers.
Riley saw it then. Saw the look in the creature’s eyes as it pushed its face inches away from his. A look he’d seen more frequently in the creatures he’d killed recently. A look of fear. Pitiful, almost.
If they weren’t trying to kill him, anyway.
He felt more blood ooze out of the creature’s mouth, dribble onto his face. The loud gasps of the creature deafened him as it got closer, closer to finishing him, closer to putting him to rest forever.
He punched the side of its head again.
And again.
And again.
All the time the creature getting closer.
Inch by inch.
Centimetre by centimetre.
Millimetre by—
And then its head split away from its shoulders.
It didn’t fall off. Not completely. The creature kept on pinning Riley down, kept on holding on like everything was normal, everything was okay.
But its head was upside down now. Dangling on by a few threads of muscle and tendon. The bitemark on its neck completely split, much deeper than it first appeared.
So Riley did the only thing he could do.
He stuffed his hands into the loose muscle, the slippery tendon, as the creature’s wobbling head continued to try and reach him.
He stuck his hands deeper inside the neck.
Squeezed the muscle.
Pulled.
He pulled as hard as he could as the creature’s hands got tighter around Riley’s neck.
Felt more warm blood spill over him.
Listened to the air splutter out of the creature’s torn windpipe, acidic brown vomit pooling out of an opening in its throat, landing on Riley’s lips and making him want to hurl too.
He held his breath.
Pulled even harder on the creature’s neck.
Watched the colours fill the room as the creature’s hands cut off his air supply completely.
