Dead Days Zombie Apocalypse Series (Season 5)
Page 37
Just Tamara.
Just the woman he was falling in love with.
Alive.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MR FLETCH
Mr Fletch knew he was in trouble when he heard the groans approaching.
He wanted to deny it at first. Wanted to reject the inevitable. As he lay there in the dirt outside the MLZ walls, blood oozing out of each kneecap, he wanted to climb to his feet and rise again. Because people would believe in him. People out here, somewhere in the world, they’d understand what his intentions were. What he was trying to build. What he was trying to create.
He wanted to believe that his vision of the next stage of humanity would power on.
That he would rise again.
But then he heard the footsteps getting closer, closer, closer.
He took in deep breaths of the dusty air as the sound of the infected approached. He stuck his fingertips into the muddy ground. He didn’t want to accept his death. But if he had to die, at least he’d die with his values. At least he’d die knowing he did all he could to keep his dream, his idealistic image, of an idyllic paradise alive.
For his Orions would fight on.
His children would fight on.
He had to believe that, even though the screaming had died down inside the MLZ.
He had to pray they’d live on, even though he hadn’t heard the satisfying click of the Orions’ throats for quite some time.
He felt rain patter against him. Figured how fitting it should be for him to go out in the same way he’d entered a new world. He remembered the rain that very day the news of Apocálypsis’ spread broke. Remembered the grey of the sky, the harsh intensity of the clouds.
He remembered how beautiful it looked, and it pained him to know that all of that was going to disappear.
All of that wouldn’t even be a memory.
It’d just be atoms.
But at least he was going to die with his values.
His heart started to properly race when he heard the infected just metres away. When he heard one of them cry, and then another, and then another until all of a sudden he knew he was surrounded. Surrounded by the smell of rot. The shadows of the heathens. The wasted, empty vessels. The terrorists of his new world.
And when the first of the infected crouched down and sunk its teeth into the back of his right thigh, Mr Fletch thought about shouting. Thought about screaming out for forgiveness as the burning spread up his legs, into his back, down his neck.
He thought about screaming as the blunt teeth dug into his ear.
Split through the base of his back.
As filthy nails scratched at his skin, split through layer after layer, pulled at his buttocks, split his anus in two.
He wanted to repent for the things he’d done.
For the people he’d captured.
For the pain and the suffering he’d put them through in order to realise his perfect idealistic vision.
But he was dying.
He was dying, so he wouldn’t have to.
Soon, he wouldn’t have to repent for anything.
He wouldn’t be guilty of anything.
He wouldn’t be anything.
And slowly, he was growing content with that.
He looked up at the walls as a creature bit into the back of his neck. Ripped his flesh away.
He looked up and he hoped to the lords above—if there were such a thing—that his vision of the world would power on.
He hoped that none of his work had been in vain, that none of it would go to waste.
And then his vision blurred, the hearing disappeared, his sense of smell diminished, his senses being stripped away just as vigorously as his flesh as the infected sunk more teeth into him, snatched and tore at more of him, and then …
He didn’t feel anything.
His sense of being had gone.
He was nothing.
His life was over.
He was at peace.
But if that was true, how did he know that his life was over?
How was he consciously able to accept that his life was over?
And then, as his eyes opened, the grim reality struck him.
The grimmest reality of all.
He understood.
He understood it all.
Abre los ojos.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jordanna stood in Riley’s room. Stood beside his bed. Makeshift hospital bed in one of the remaining buildings of the MLZ.
She held his hand and she prayed.
Prayed he’d pull through.
Prayed he’d survive.
Prayed that he’d give her a sign.
But so far, he’d given her nothing.
* * *
By the door, Hassan looked on. He looked on at the man called Riley as he lay in the bed. Being treated by Ted and Harrison. Two excellent doctors. Brilliant scientists. People Mr Fletch had trusted, sure. But people he trusted.
People that had to help Riley.
That had to save him.
Because if they didn’t, he worried for his own future, for the future of his people.
He worried what the new authority—Jordanna, James, Tamara—would determine his fate to be.
They looked like a group stretched past the realms of forgiveness in favour of rationality.
Of justice.
Hassan stood there and he hoped to whatever god was up there he’d done enough to convince them of his loyalty.
* * *
Tamara and James held one another. They held one another and didn’t say a word. Didn’t speak. Just held one another like letting go would be some kind of brutal mistake. Like it would condemn them to years of isolation. Loneliness. Death.
Then Tamara reached for James’ hand.
Put his hand on her tummy.
Where the baby was.
Or the thing was.
And she smiled.
So too did James.
Because for now, it was just a baby.
For now, she was just pregnant.
For now, she didn’t know what was inside her.
Or whether it was going to tear its way out, piece by piece, at any given moment.
For now, all that mattered was they were alive.
Together.
* * *
Between the buildings outside the MLZ, Chloë looked on at her old home. Part of her wanted to go back there. Part of her wanted to know if her friends were okay. If her people had made it.
But she’d seen Mr Fletch being eaten. She’d seen him being feasted on by the monsters and that was enough.
Because for her, that was the defeat of his evil. For her, that was the end of him. Her revenge for Tiffany. Not as hands-on as she’d have liked, but revenge nonetheless.
She tightened her fists.
Looked once more at the vast expanse of high-rise buildings, of the towering wall.
And then she turned to the open city, the open world, and she did what she’d wanted to do for so, so long.
The buzzing noises stopped.
She ran.
* * *
Abre los ojos.
He walked because he had to walk.
Mr Fletch understood that now.
He understood that as he rose to his feet, even though his kneecaps had been pumped with bullets, even though the infected had torn his flesh away, ripped him to pieces.
He stood because he didn’t have a say in the matter.
He didn’t have a say in the direction his head turned, revealing to him the bitemarks in his body, the guts hanging out of his torso.
He didn’t have a say in the fact that he walked with the infected.
Walked with them without them seeing him.
But no.
That wasn’t true.
That was the horror of it all.
They did see him.
Abre los ojos. Open your eyes.
Mr Fletch’s eyes were open now.
Open, just like the ginger m
an with no clothes left on his bitten body, one of his eyeballs dangling onto his cheek.
Open, like the little boy with a gaping wound in his skinny forearm, maggots and flies battling for command of the territory.
His eyes were open, just like the rest of the Apocálypsis infected, just like the rest of the dead.
Because he understood now.
Abre los ojos.
Open your eyes.
The dead weren’t dead.
They were undead.
Conscious in death.
And there was nobody he could tell about his discovery. Just like death itself, there was no way he could marvel at the truth of his newfound existence. No way he could beg for his life as he walked into the barrel of a gun.
No way he could stop himself crouching over a screaming baby.
Sinking his teeth into its blubbery stomach.
Or a crippled, tearful old pensioner.
Filling his empty, permanently hungry impulses with more, more, more.
Flesh he didn’t want.
But flesh he had to eat.
Because he couldn’t do anything.
He could only walk.
Walk, just like the rest of the crowd.
Walk, just like the rest of the infected.
Walk, until the moment of true death finally arrived.
Abre los ojos.
His eyes were open.
But as he walked for days, weeks, months, as he walked in night and day, as he feasted on man and woman and child and nothing—nothing was the worst as the hunger grew so intense, so strong—he wanted nothing more than to tell someone the truth. To snap out of this state of death.
Just like the rest of the infected.
Just like the rest of the undead.
But when the feral men with CoY etched on their bodies strung him up and punched him, kicked him, hit him with stones and sticks and cut away at his flesh all laughing, all enjoying this torture and feeling no moral repercussions because they didn’t understand, Mr Fletch just wanted to die.
To die, for real.
For anything was better than this purgatory.
Anything was better than this hell.
Abre los ojos.
Well, his eyes were open now. His eyes were open, and he didn’t like what he saw.
So he rejoiced inside when the CoY men pressed a knife against his forehead.
When they pushed it into his brain.
Slowly.
And when the darkness surrounded him, engulfed him, killed him for real.
For he was one of the lucky ones.
The dead who’d walked, the dead who’d fallen.
The conscious dead.
Abre los ojos.
No. Cierra tus ojos. Close your eyes.
Put a bullet in your head before you turn.
Kill yourself by any means.
Because you don’t want to be infected.
You don’t want to see the truth.
You don’t want this conscious torturous purgatory.
You don’t want …
* * *
Abre los ojos.
As Mr Fletch’s eyes closed, back at the MLZ, two eyes opened.
WANT MORE DEAD DAYS?
The Dead Days saga continues in Dead Days: Season Six. CLICK HERE to get reading right away.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ryan Casey is the author of over a dozen novels and a highly successful serial. He primarily writes post apocalyptic fiction, and also has a series of mystery novels. Across all genres, Casey's work is renowned for its dark, page-turning suspense, unforgettably complex characters, and knockout twists.
Casey lives in the United Kingdom. He has a BA degree in English with Creative Writing from the University of Birmingham, and has been writing stories for as long as he can remember. In his spare time, he enjoys American serial television, is a slave to Pitchfork's Best New Music section, and wastes far too much of his life playing Football Manager games.
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ABOUT THIS BOOK
THE FIFTH SEASON IN THE GRIPPING POST APOCALYPTIC HORROR SERIES
In October 2013, a chaotic infection spread across Britain, turning the majority of the population into bloodthirsty zombies.
The weak fell. Many of the strong fell, too. The only survivors were those willing to sink to the most brutal depths of humanity in order to further their own existence.
Dead Days is the story of a group of those survivors.
Season Five of the thrilling, suspenseful post apocalyptic series picks up right after Season Four's devastating conclusion. The journey to the BLZ is over. Our survivors' lives hang in the balance. Terrifying new horrors lurk around every corner of this living hell...
Who will escape? Who will survive?
And even if they do, will they be able to handle a staggering new truth?
A horrifying truth that reveals itself as Season Five hurtles towards its conclusion?
One thing is for certain...
There will be blood. There will be tears. In the Dead Days, nobody is safe.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any reference to real locations is only for atmospheric effect, and in no way truly represents those locations.
Copyright © 2015 by Ryan Casey
Cover design by Cormar Creative
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by Higher Bank Books
Table of Contents
Bonus Content
DEAD DAYS: SEASON FIVE
Episode Twenty-Five
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Episode Twenty-Six
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Episode Twenty-Seven
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Episode Twenty-Eight
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Episode Twenty-Nine
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Episode Thirty
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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