Dead Days Zombie Apocalypse Series (Season 5)

by Ryan Casey

  She had to draw them inside.

  And when all of them were in there with her, when she was absolutely sure of that, she had to close the door.

  And then she had to pull the pins.

  Fear trickled through her body as she stepped into Doctor Wellingborough’s cold, empty office. Not a fear of death, but a fear of her plan backfiring. A fear of it not working somehow. She thought back to her conversation with James. James insistent that Tamara should just lure the Orions towards her while he watched. While he waited with a gun.

  And while it was a good plan, it didn’t guarantee an end. Didn’t guarantee a resolution.

  Locking the Orions in the fireproof room, pulling the pin and blowing them up, that did guarantee an end.

  Even if something went wrong with the grenades, they’d still be locked in there.

  Tamara had to be the bait. The lure.

  But often in life, the bait doesn’t always get a chance to wriggle away.

  Tamara turned when she entered Doctor Ottoman’s office. Dimly lit. Glimmer of light creeping through the solitary open window up on her right. The window that Chloë must’ve crept in through. The window she’d crept through to see the infected, see the creatures for whatever reason.

  The window that got Abigail killed.

  That knocked down the first domino in a brutal chain.

  She could’ve hated Chloë. She should have hated Chloë. But she’d seen what Chloë had been through. The world she’d been forced to grow up in. So she didn’t feel anything but sympathy. Pity.

  She hoped to God Chloë was okay. Wherever she was, she hoped she’d make it.

  But a small part niggling inside her wondered if maybe, just maybe, it’d be better for her if she didn’t.

  Tamara’s thoughts were interrupted when she heard a growl.

  She hadn’t intended to turn around, no. But instinct kicked in. Grabbed her and made her turn, made her look, made her check the source of the noise—an instinct that started as a child with the fear of creaky floorboards and monsters under the bed, an instinct that the apocalypse had fine-tuned to perfection.

  She regretted turning around right away.

  There were nine Orions. Nine of them, all standing in the reception area of the doctors’, all of them staring at her with glowing yellow eyes.

  She didn’t want to look at them too long. Didn’t want to get drawn in, transfixed—terrified, to put it simply.

  But there was something about their eyes as she stood there and looked back at them.

  Something about them, as that clicking sound they made got even gentler, like the tuned-up purring of a cat.

  There was something human about them.

  Paternal.

  All of them stared at Tamara’s belly.

  All of them watched, focused, hypnotised.

  Tamara turned and walked around the corner of Doctor Wellingborough’s office. Walked up to the thick metal fire door. The door which sat ajar, the remains of a fallen infected wedging it open.

  She kicked it aside, splitting its rotten flesh away on impact.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she dragged open the metal door as hard as she could.

  As she stood and stared into the darkness, the cold invading her body instantly.

  The cold of her tomb.

  She walked into the darkness. Walked into the pitch black.

  Then she turned to the door.

  Put her hand onto it.

  Waited. Waited for the Orions to enter. Waited for a sign. For some sort of something to happen.

  And as she waited, as she watched the shadows creep into the doctor’s office, she tried not to think too much about her past. About Josh. The times they’d had together. The times they’d enjoyed together in his short life. The happiness he’d felt, right to the bitter end.

  The love he sparked inside her.

  More tears dripped down her face as the first of the Orions staggered into the pitch black room.

  As a second followed.

  And a third.

  And a fourth.

  All of them standing behind Tamara.

  Sniffing at her.

  Waiting for something.

  She closed her eyes and held the door handle tighter.

  Felt the weight of the grenades in the bag.

  Stood still, tried not to shake, tried not to cry. Tried to stand tall and die strong as more Orions flooded into the room, as all of them surrounded her, clicking so loudly, singing her death song. Her beautiful death song.

  She grabbed the cold exterior of a grenade in her left hand.

  Put her fingers on the pin.

  The image of Josh’s cute little face fixed in her mind.

  The image of her husband, Josh sitting on his shoulders.

  The image of her friends.

  James. Pedro. Jordanna. Chloë. Riley.

  Everyone she’d stood with.

  Everyone she’d lost.

  She kept that image in her mind as she pushed against the door.

  As the light from outside drifted away.

  As she lifted the pin of the grenade.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MR FLETCH

  Mr Fletch pulled the knife out of Riley Jameson’s chest and watched him fall to the ground.

  Riley spluttered up blood at first. Which couldn’t be a good sign for him. Immediate internal haemorrhaging. Arterial tear. Dead within minutes.

  Which was just what Mr Fletch needed.

  Not what he wanted, not exactly, but what he needed.

  He heard a scream. A cry from Jordanna.

  Jordanna, who hurtled towards him.

  And Mr Fletch waited for her to punch him. For her to lash out. It wasn’t a problem. He’d just finish her off too.

  But she didn’t reach him.

  She stopped. Right beside Riley.

  Crouched down.

  “It’s okay,” she mumbled, as she lifted Riley’s bleeding body. “It’s—It’s gonna be okay, Riley. It’s gonna be okay.”

  And in that moment, Mr Fletch’s smile dropped. Because he wanted Jordanna to be furious with him. He wanted to expose her animalism. He wanted to turn his people back against these moral imposters.

  But here she was, showing compassion instead of hate.

  It wasn’t long before James joined her. Before he wrapped Riley’s arm around his shoulder, started to lift him, together with Jordanna. Rush back towards the MLZ.

  And Mr Fletch didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  “Shoot them,” Mr Fletch said. “For what they did to our community.”

  But no gunshots fired.

  Jordanna and James kept on running.

  Mr Fletch felt anger building within. He turned. Faced his people. These people he’d propped up. These people he’d allowed to thrive within the walls of the BLZ. These people he’d stood by, no matter what. Who were part of a greater future for society, for humanity.

  He turned and he saw that every single one of his people had their guns lowered.

  Mr Fletch raised a finger. Pointed at the fleeing enemies. “Shoot them. Don’t make me go over there and stab them to death.”

  “No,” a voice said.

  It was from the back of the crowd. Took Mr Fletch a moment to realise who exactly it was, but then he saw him standing there, staring at him.

  Hassan.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  “I won’t shoot them,” Hassan said, his voice quivering. But a defiance about it. A defiance, more so than Mr Fletch had ever heard.

  “Haven’t you forgot what they did to our people?”

  “We kidnapped them,” Hassan said, stepping forward, standing ahead of the rest of the group. “We—we took them from outside the walls against their will and we kidnapped them. To test on.”

  “For a greater good—”

  “No. For your fucking greater good.”

  Hassan’s voice echoed against the outside of the wall. Inside, silence now. Nothin
g but silence.

  “I’m sorry but are you doubting me?” Mr Fletch asked. Left eyelid twitching. Smile faltering.

  Hassan looked him in his eyes. Nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I am. I signed up for restoring humanity. For—for building. For the future. I didn’t sign up for massacring other people. I didn’t sign up for using the Orions as weapons.”

  Mr Fletch nodded. He wiped his knife against his trousers. “Then you leave me no choice.”

  He walked up to Hassan.

  Tightened his grip on the knife.

  “No,” someone said.

  Mr Fletch wanted to keep moving. He wanted to put Hassan down. He’d stood against him. He’d stood against his positive movement. His movement towards a better future.

  He’d stood against him and he had to pay.

  But Mr Fletch’s people raised their guns.

  More of them.

  One by one, slowly, but surely.

  They raised their guns and they pointed them at Mr Fletch.

  Mr Fletch could only stand there and smile. “So this is, what? A coup?”

  “It’s nothing like that,” Hassan said, his gun pointed squarely at Mr Fletch’s forehead. “It’s not about leadership. It’s not about power. It’s about doing what’s right. So put your knife down. Give us a chance and we’ll let you live.”

  Mr Fletch laughed. He laughed, but inside he felt unease building. Frustration building. “You’re going with capital punishment now? Preaching ‘the right way’ then talking about murdering me? Executing me?”

  “If that’s what it takes,” Hassan said.

  His gun didn’t waver.

  His aim didn’t waver.

  His focus, his intentions, they didn’t waver.

  Mr Fletch lowered his knife. Cleared his throat. Reformed his smile so it looked more natural, even if it did feel like papier mache. “You understand I can’t just give up. I can’t just give up on all my values. On everything I believe in.”

  “Then you leave us without a choice,” Hassan said.

  “I gave you a fucking choice,” Mr Fletch said, raising his knife. He stepped forward. “That’s why you’re fucking standing here. That’s why you have this fucking opportunity. That’s why you—”

  He felt a sharp pain split through his right kneecap.

  Then another through his left.

  Mr Fletch tried to stay standing. Tried to keep moving towards Hassan so he could silence him; silence him and finish him so he’d stop corrupting his people, stop corrupting his vision.

  But he couldn’t.

  He couldn’t because he dropped to the ground.

  Blood spilling from his cracked kneecaps.

  Burning agony powering through his body.

  “Fuck. You—you fucking—”

  “Inside those walls, people are dying because of us,” Hassan said, walking to Mr Fletch. “Because of the monsters we stood by and watched you create. Because of this fucking grudge you had with the MLZ. The grudge that you just couldn’t let go.”

  Mr Fletch’s head started to spin. His vision blurred. The pain in his knees got stronger, more intense. “You’ll regret—you’ll fucking regret—”

  “Maybe we will,” Hassan said, reaching down and lifting the knife from Mr Fletch’s limp hand. “Maybe we will. But at least we’ll die trying to do what’s right. Now it’s your turn to do the same. Come inside the walls with us. Stand trial for your crimes. We’ve got good doctors here. We can help you. We can—”

  “Go to hell,” Mr Fletch said, clutching at his knees.

  He tried to smile but he knew it’d look nothing more than a grimace.

  A pained grimace of defeat.

  No. No. He hadn’t lost. He’d stood by his morals. Stood by them right to the end, if indeed this was the end.

  Hassan backed away. Shook his head. “So be it,” he said.

  And then he walked towards the hole in the MLZ wall.

  Gun strapped to his chest, just like the rest of Mr Fletch’s men.

  Hands in the air.

  “You’ll—you’ll regret this!” Mr Fletch shouted, bleeding out onto the dirt. “You’ll regret it!”

  And maybe they would.

  Maybe they would regret it.

  But that didn’t take away from the truth.

  The truth that his people were walking away from him.

  Each and every one of them, turning their back on him.

  Leaving him outside the wall. Struggling to grip onto consciousness. Fighting not to fall under the weight of agony.

  But worst of all, as the last of his men stepped inside the MLZ, was the fact that Mr Fletch was alone.

  He was all alone.

  His vision and him, all alone in the wilderness, left to rot in the dirt, for eternity.

  Or at least he thought he was.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  JAMES

  James was already well inside the MLZ walls when he heard the explosion.

  He saw the flames rise up ahead. Right down the road they called Main Central Street. Saw the black smoke erupt from the site of the blast. And as much as he wanted to deny it, as much as he wanted to bury his head in the sand and reject the truth, it stared him right in the face, filled his mouth with a bitter taste.

  Tamara had pulled the pin.

  She’d done what she had to do to save the MLZ.

  To destroy the Orions.

  “You should go,” Jordanna said.

  Her voice seemed to drift in from somewhere outside James’ understanding. He looked to his right. Saw her leaning against the brick wall of an old office building, Riley in a trolley which she held on to.

  He saw the tears on her face.

  The blood on Riley’s white shirt, still flowing out from the stab wound in his chest.

  “You should—you should go,” Jordanna said. “I’ve got Riley. I’ve … I’ve got him.”

  James heard the doubt in Jordanna’s voice, but he didn’t want to pull her up for it.

  So he walked over to Riley. Put a hand on his pale forehead. White, covered in sweat, splattered with blood.

  “Pull through, brother. Pull through.”

  Then he turned around and walked towards the site of the explosion.

  First thing James realised as he walked was just how quiet it was without the gunshots. Just how peaceful this place actually was when the dust settled. How hopeful it was.

  It was a place he wanted to be a part of.

  But … but without Tamara.

  That wasn’t something he wanted to imagine.

  He walked further down the street. Further towards the smoke. He held his breath with every step he took. Just stared at the rubble. Stared at it and hoped, hoped Tamara had made it somehow. Hoped she’d pulled through.

  He hoped, but he knew. He knew the truth.

  He stared at the rubble. Stared at the sheer mass of rock where the building used to be. Looked at the smoke emerging from it.

  But most of all, James looked at the blood staining the rocks.

  Blood of the Orions, sure.

  Blood of Tamara …

  He swallowed a lump in his throat and urged himself not to think about her like that.

  He walked a little closer to the rubble. Crouched down right in front of it, the air thick with dust.

  “I—I’m sorry I didn’t know you much longer, Tamara,” he said.

  He tried not to cry.

  Failed.

  “I’m—I’m sorry I wasn’t there. When—when you died. Sorry I wasn’t there for you. ’Cause—’cause I should’ve been. I should’ve been there whether you fuckin’ wanted me to be there or not. I … I should’ve been there. I shouldn’t have made you do it alone. I …”

  He stopped, his words overwhelmed by the tightening of his throat.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Put his hands on the lukewarm rubble.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “You don’t have to be.”

  The voice didn’t seem rea
l. Not at first. It came from behind him somewhere. Not from the rubble but behind him.

  But it couldn’t be real.

  It had to be in his mind.

  It had to be.

  He opened his eyes. Turned around.

  Every muscle in his body loosened.

  Tamara was standing opposite him.

  She was bruised. Bruised badly. Her forehead was cut. Her clothes were covered in tears. Her hair was black with dust, black with blood.

  But she was here.

  She was alive.

  “Tamara,” James said.

  He stood up. Wrapped his arms around her. Squeezed tight. Tighter than he’d ever hugged anyone in his entire damned life.

  “Hey. Just—just go easy.”

  “Sorry. Sorry.”

  “Just my arm, it’s …”

  James backed away. Hands shaking. Entire body fucking shaking. He blinked. Blinked the dust from his eyes. Tried to understand. Tried to figure out how she could be here. How she could be alive.

  “How did … You can’t be—”

  “Jim Hall,” Tamara said, holding James’ hand. “He … he did what he had to do.”

  “But—but the Orions. They were only—only drawn to you. They were only—”

  “I’m still here,” she said, grabbing James’ face. “Jim Hall, he stepped in. He came good. I got caught up in the explosion but … but I’m still here. We’re both still here.”

  And it was those words that did it for James.

  Those words that made him lean across.

  Made him kiss Tamara on her lips, then hold her again, looser this time.

  They stood there in the smoke. Stood there as small pockets of people emerged from their flats. Terrified people. People with nasty burns. With bitemarks. People dragging along their beloved dead, distraught, destroyed.

  “Riley. The—the others. Are they …”

  James didn’t know what to say. He could only hold Tamara. Hold her, rub her back, stroke her hair. And in the end, he decided to just go with what he knew. Go with the only positive to emerge from this catastrophic sequence of events. A sequence of events that started with their kidnapping at the hands of the BLZ, that continued with their struggles to get here, climaxed in this battle. “We’re still here. We’re still here.”

  He held Tamara a little tighter.

  And she hugged him back.

  As they clung onto one another, James tried not to think about Riley, fast losing blood from the knife wound in his chest. He tried not to think about Chloë, who he hadn’t seen since Mr Fletch threw her aside. He tried not to think about anyone or anything.