Dead Days Zombie Apocalypse Series (Season 5)

by Ryan Casey

  He listened to the dying cries of people he’d spoken to. People he’d shared dinner with. People he’d cooked for, who’d lived in his company. People who’d trusted him.

  He watched the smoke billow out over the wall. Smelled burning. Burning metal. Burning rubber. Burning bodies.

  The image of his world falling apart.

  Falling before him.

  He stepped away from the window. His face stung, his forehead on fire. Riley had given him quite a beating when he’d returned. And hell, he deserved it. He deserved it because he’d sent Riley away from this place. He’d sent Riley and his friends on a death mission. A mission of hope, sure, but a mission he had no place to send them on.

  Because nobody deserved to be lied to.

  Not in this world. Not anymore.

  He looked back out of his window. Looked down onto the streets below. Saw blood on the pavements. Body parts right in front of a spot where kids used to queue for ice-cream. And in the distance, he could hear Mr Fletch calling for him. Commanding him to come to the wall. To hand himself over.

  But he couldn’t.

  He couldn’t because he was afraid.

  He knew Fletch, and that was enough to make him afraid.

  He started to turn, to head back to his bedroom when he saw someone moving outside the window, down on the road. Just in the corner of his eye.

  Tamara. Tamara Rutherford. One of Riley’s people.

  Except she was alone.

  She was …

  She was carrying grenades.

  And behind her, in the shadows, Orions followed.

  Mr Fletch crouched down. Peeked out past his curtain. He couldn’t understand what he was looking at. Tamara wasn’t lost. She certainly looked like a woman who knew where she was going.

  And the Orions …

  They weren’t attacking her.

  They were just following.

  Keeping their distance.

  Not like animals stalking their prey. Not like that at all.

  But like children following a parent.

  Cubs following a lioness.

  It was at that moment that it clicked. Tamara. There was something about her. Something about her that made her immune to the attacks of the Orions. No, stronger than that—something that lured the Orions to her. Like a magnet.

  Yes.

  That was it.

  A mother.

  She was a mother.

  Mr Fletch’s experiments. They’d worked. They’d …

  An Orion looked right up through the window at Jim Hall.

  He crouched down even further. Banged his tender head on the wooden floorboards. Ground his teeth. Held his breath. All he could do. Just had to hope they hadn’t seen him. Or it’d be game over. The worst death imaginable. Way worse than death by Apocálypsis. Way worse than death by human hand. Way worse than anything.

  But he didn’t hear movement or gasps or growls or anything of the sort.

  He kept still. Held his breath some more.

  Still, not a sound.

  Nothing.

  He let go of his breath. Lifted himself up a little.

  And outside, he saw the remarkable scene once more.

  The line of Orions following Tamara.

  Eight of them.

  Nine of them.

  Ten of them.

  Jim Hall’s heart picked up as he watched Tamara walk through the street, walk towards Doctor Wellingborough’s old office. He knew what Tamara was doing now. Knew exactly what she was doing. What those grenades were for.

  And the moment he understood, he couldn’t help but cry.

  The ultimate sacrifice.

  The noblest act.

  An act to save his city.

  To save his people.

  He wiped away his tears and he stood back up.

  Turned away from the window; looked at his reflection in the mirror.

  His face purple, swollen, covered with bruises.

  Hardly recognisable.

  He inhaled a deep breath. Heard more gunshots. More shouts.

  The cries of his people.

  The agony. The agony that would continue until Tamara did what she had to do. Until she committed the act that saved his city.

  Or at least, helped save his city. For there was still Mr Fletch and his men to deal with.

  He wiped his tears away again. His face stung with just the slightest touch.

  Then he pulled back his shoulders.

  Cleared his throat.

  Lifted his chin upright.

  “Do what you have to do,” he said. And he barely recognised his voice. Was terrified to hear his own mouth uttering those words.

  But they were the right words.

  “Do what you have to do.”

  He saluted.

  Turned away from the mirror.

  Then he walked over to his oak chest of drawers and pulled out the suitcase.

  Do what you have to do.

  He closed the drawers.

  Walked over to the apartment door.

  Opened it up.

  Do what you have to do.

  He almost stopped. Almost turned around, went back inside the apartment. Hid until this entire situation fixed itself. Until the crisis resolved, one way or another.

  Do what you have to do.

  But no.

  There was only one thing for him to do now.

  Only one act left.

  He gripped the suitcase tightly.

  Took a deep breath.

  Walked.

  He wasn’t letting any more of his people fall before him.

  Not a single one.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  RILEY

  Being back outside the walls had a distinctly alien feel.

  Riley stepped through the smoky hole in the wall that Mr Fletch’s missiles had torn apart. He could hear gunshots up ahead. Feel them whooshing by him as he walked out of the MLZ, back out into the wild, into the unknown. He knew any one of those bullets could hit him at any moment. He knew they could put his life to an end right here, in an instant.

  But he was prepared for that eventuality.

  Just like Tamara was prepared to sacrifice herself to save the MLZ. To keep what little was left of it standing.

  He was willing to be a martyr.

  And so too were Jordanna and James, who walked closely behind.

  He just had to look Mr Fletch in the eye while Tamara destroyed his Orions.

  He had to save Chloë.

  Or he had to die trying.

  He walked through the smoke, its smell making him cough and heave. More bullets whooshed by. More of them missed him by inches.

  He raised his hands. Wasn’t totally sure about what he was doing, but fuck, he’d been winging it for months now and it’d got him this far.

  “Stop,” he shouted.

  The bullets continued to whizz by, echoing as they clipped the metal wall.

  He kept his hands in the air. Looked around, saw Jordanna and James behind him, hands also raised.

  “It’s—it’s Riley. Riley, Jordanna, James. We’re walking out of here. We need to talk.”

  Another few bullets passed by.

  And then they stopped.

  Just like that, they stopped.

  There was nothing but silence as Riley and the others stood there in the smoke. Nothing but silence. And still, he felt eyes on him. Felt them watching him. Weighing him up.

  Then, “Mr Jameson. Nice of you to finally join us.”

  He saw the silhouette in the smoke.

  About six foot in height. Glasses perched on the end of his nose.

  And …

  Shit.

  He had a blade to someone’s neck.

  A skinny girl’s neck.

  Chloë’s neck.

  “You don’t have to involve Chloë in this,” Riley said. “She’s innocent in—”

  “She’s not innocent,” Mr Fletch said. “Nobody’s innocent. Not even I’m innocent.”

/>   “You’re tellin’ me,” James muttered.

  Some of the smoke cleared. Drifted away. Inside the MLZ, Riley could still hear the cries of its citizens. He hadn’t heard any explosions.

  Hadn’t heard Tamara pull the pin on those grenades.

  Wasn’t sure he wanted to. But at the same time, he knew he had to. Because hearing that explosion meant she’d won. Meant all of them had won.

  “We’re here,” Riley said, walking closer to Mr Fletch, to his armoured vehicle, to the troops gathered around him. All pointing their guns at Riley, James, Tamara. But all looking scared. Terrified. Like they didn’t really want to be here. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? This is what you wanted all along, right? Us?”

  Mr Fletch smiled. Kept on smiling like he always did. “You killed my people. You tore the BLZ apart—”

  “Then it obviously wasn’t a very fucking secure place to be if a few of us managed to turn it upside down, was it?” Jordanna shouted.

  Mr Fletch didn’t even divert his stare to look at Jordanna.

  He just kept on looking into Riley’s eyes.

  Kept on holding the blade to Chloë’s neck.

  Kept on smiling.

  “You need to understand that what’s happening right now isn’t personal,” Mr Fletch said.

  “Bullshit,” Riley said. “Absolute bullshit. It’s completely personal. We upturned the apple cart. You didn’t fucking like it.”

  “There’s far more at stake for me than petty grudges.”

  “Really? And that’s why you sent your army of ‘latest model’ Orions after my people? That’s why you followed us here? That’s why you fucking customised them so they’d attack anyone who wasn’t you? Where the fuck’s the impersonality in that?”

  Mr Fletch’s smile twitched.

  Just a little, but enough.

  Riley’s heart raced. Adrenaline swirled through his body. He walked closer to Mr Fletch. But he didn’t look at Mr Fletch. Not anymore. Instead, he looked at Mr Fletch’s people. The people who stood with him.

  “You need to look in the mirror and ask yourselves what the fuck you’re doing here,” Riley said.

  “Don’t address my people without—”

  “Is this a man who really gives a shit about the future of humanity? The future of civilisation? Would a man like that really send out his ‘creations’ to massacre a whole community? Or is it just a man who’s been waiting to play with his new toys for far too long.”

  Some of the guns lowered. A few of the guards looked at one another. Some of them had tears in their eyes. Others stood tall, unaffected by Riley’s words.

  Mr Fletch pressed the knife a little further into Chloë’s neck. “If you want to reach a peaceful resolution then I suggest you bring the rest of your surviving people, including Jim Hall, and you kneel on the ground. Accept your punishment.”

  Riley looked back at Mr Fletch’s people. “Is this really the kind of world you want to live in? The kind of person you want to serve?”

  Some of the guns that lowered earlier lifted.

  Some of them that stayed raised lowered.

  Murmuring and whispering built up within Mr Fletch’s crowd of people.

  Discontent.

  Questioning.

  Just what Riley needed.

  “You can talk all you want,” Mr Fletch said. “Quite frankly, the longer you talk, the longer you subject those people you care so dearly about to the pain and misery they’re suffering right now.”

  Riley took a step closer to Mr Fletch.

  Watched him push the blade further into Chloë’s bruised neck.

  Saw a little blood.

  “I’m not subjecting anyone to anything,” Riley said. “And you can hold that knife to Chloë’s neck as long as you want. Because it just shows you for the monster you are.”

  Riley addressed Mr Fletch’s people. “Chloë, that’s what her name is. She’s in her teens. She had a sister before all this shit went down. A sister, a mother, a dad. Just like the rest of you. She didn’t ask for any of this. She just wanted to carry on at school. And she’s done so well to make it this far. Just like all of us. So what a fucking waste it’d be for humanity to let people fall all because of this psychopath.”

  More muttering.

  More heads turning.

  More guns lowering.

  Mr Fletch’s smile twitching some more.

  “So go ahead,” Riley said, getting onto his knees, putting his hands behind his head. “Go ahead and execute us. But just remember what you’re executing us in the name of. A man who murders people, not for survival, but because he can. A man who holds grudges against people who didn’t want to be a part of his experimentation. His torture.”

  Riley tightened his fists as he kneeled on the broken concrete.

  Stared at everyone, as many of them as he could, right in their eyes.

  “The Orions. Those things he created. They aren’t the future. Are they? They aren’t how you want to grow up. How you want your wives and children to grow. They’re just creatures. They’re just zombies. They’re abominations, and they’re made in this man’s image.”

  Riley pointed at Mr Fletch.

  And as the chatter picked up amongst his people, as the discontent exploded, the smile fell from Fletch’s face completely.

  “He’s right,” Mr Fletch shouted, as Jordanna and James got on their knees beside Riley, waited for their fate.

  Mr Fletch lowered the knife.

  Let go of Chloë.

  Pushed her away.

  A silence returned to the crowd. A puzzled silence. Again, the sounds of chaos in the MLZ was all there was to hear.

  Mr Fletch stepped up to Riley.

  Crouched down opposite him.

  Put a hand on his shoulder.

  “About Chloë. You’re right. She is innocent. She doesn’t deserve to be caught up in any of this.”

  He looked into Riley’s eyes.

  Smiled.

  And then Riley felt a pain he didn’t understand.

  Right in the middle of his chest.

  Burning.

  Sharp burning.

  More painful than a bite. More painful than the car crash, even.

  He looked down and he saw blood trickling out of his chest.

  Saw Mr Fletch’s hand pressed under his ribcage.

  Saw the knife stuck into his sternum.

  He looked back at Fletch, head spinning, nausea and weakness filling his body.

  Mr Fletch just smiled.

  “Chloë’s innocent, but you aren’t.”

  And then he yanked the knife away.

  Ripped it out of Riley’s chest.

  And as much as Riley wanted to fight, as much as he wanted to act, he fell face down on the hard concrete, coldness creeping through his arms, a puddle of blood spreading out around him.

  Life seeping out of his body.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TAMARA

  Tamara Rutherford didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know the Orions were following her.

  She could feel them. Feel their presence as she climbed the steps of Doctor Wellingborough’s old surgery. She could hear the clicking sound emerging from the back of their throats—not a strong, abrasive sound like they made when they were stepping in to attack, but slow. Composed. Soothing, almost.

  A lullaby for her final moments.

  For her child’s final moments.

  She reached the top of the doctor’s surgery steps. Looked at the smashed glass from the sliding doors that stretched out all over the tiles of the entrance. Saw her reflection in their fragments. She didn’t look afraid. Didn’t even look sad.

  Just content.

  Content with what she had to do.

  Content with the way things had to go—the only way they could go.

  She gripped the green sack of hand grenades. Pulled them close.

  She knew she had to keep hold of them no matter what.

  Right to the bitt
er end.

  She took a deep breath of the smoky air of the MLZ. She wanted to turn. Look back at the place she’d called home for a number of months. The place where she’d had some happy times, even in spite of all her loss. The loss of her son, Josh. The way it tore her apart.

  The way Pedro picked her back up again.

  But she didn’t turn around because she heard the footsteps get closer.

  Plodding against the ground.

  Following her, transfixed, curious.

  She didn’t turn around because she didn’t want to die afraid.

  She wanted to die strong.

  So she put one foot in front of the other and she stepped into the cool emptiness of Doctor Wellingborough’s surgery.

  She walked over the cracked glass. The sound of flies buzzing around was in vast contrast to the impeccably disinfected place Tamara remembered when she came to the doctor for a pregnancy test. So too was the rotting stench. The stench of death that followed her, followed everyone everywhere. The taste of damp decay. Of pure waste.

  She walked further inside the reception towards the brown wooden door of Doctor Wellingborough’s office. And as she got closer, the reality of her situation weighed up. This was it. This was her life, this was how it ended. Not in her eighties with friends and family beside her. Not peacefully in her sleep.

  But as a young woman. A young mother.

  Taking her own life to save the ones she loved.

  Taking her own life because she was the only one who the Orions would follow.

  Drawing them close with cruel magnetism.

  She walked towards the door. Put her hand on it, started to push it. The emblem that Doctor Wellingborough’s name once proudly sat on was gone. Cracked. Dust.

  She saw shadows move against the door. Heard footsteps echoing behind her. The gentle soothing clicking of the Orions’ throats. She breathed deeply. Tried to move slowly, calmly. Collected. In a way that didn’t alarm them. In a way that didn’t end her life prematurely. Because she had to draw them all into Doctor Wellingborough’s fireproof research room. The room Chloë had let the infected free from what felt like forever ago.