by Ryan Casey
Plus, she’d learned from losing her mum and her sister and probably her dad too that following a crowd, following instructions, never led to a happy ending.
So she threw herself at the wall at full pelt. Clambered up the side of it, got a grip on the top and pulled herself up.
Gasps behind her. Grumbles of frustration.
“Chloë!” Annabelle said.
Chloë stood on the top of the wall and looked down at Annabelle and Tiffany. Annabelle had that red face that Jordanna always called a “slapped arse face.” She had long reddish hair and always wore the same tracksuit top and bottoms. She didn’t look happy.
Tiffany stood beside her. She just looked up at Chloë and smiled. She didn’t say much, but she always did what Annabelle did. Didn’t have the guts to stand up to her.
Chloë fast learned that kids didn’t change no matter whether the world had gone evil outside the walls or not.
Bullies would always be bullies.
The bullied would always be different.
“You can’t go over there,” Annabelle said. “It’s cheating.”
Chloë stared down at her. Shrugged. “Do I look like I’m bothered?”
Tiffany cracked a smile.
Annabelle saw it and her cheeks went even redder. “We just worry about you, don’t we Tiff?” Her eyes danced around Chloë’s cheeks. “After what happened to your … you know.”
Annabelle didn’t have to say the words. Chloë knew what she meant. And the words always cut deep, made her well up inside. Her knees went wobbly. “Say it.”
Annabelle searched the floor again, more out of show than anything. “Your face. The scars. I mean … we don’t want to end up like that too. And if you go running off and we come to find you, well … We want to stay pretty, don’t we Tiff?”
Tiffany wasn’t smiling anymore. She looked at the concrete flags. Gulped.
Chloë felt tears welling up in her eyes. She reached for her pocket and then remembered her mum’s locket wasn’t there anymore, which she couldn’t get used to no matter how long it’d been since that nasty man Cameron smashed it, cut up her face.
She turned around and looked at the other side of the concrete wall so Annabelle couldn’t see her crying, so Tiffany didn’t think she was weak.
“I’m bored of this game anyway,” Annabelle said. “Come on, Tiff. Let’s leave her to sulk.”
Chloë felt tears rolling down her cheeks. The saltiness of them always made her face sting. The cuts under her eyes. On her cheeks. On the edge of her nose.
She wondered whether anyone would look at her and think she was pretty ever again.
She knew Mum would. But Mum wasn’t here. Mum was gone.
When she heard Annabelle and Tiffany’s footsteps get further away, she turned around and looked at them.
Annabelle stared right ahead moaning and whinging.
Tiffany looked back over her shoulder right at Chloë.
Looked right into her eyes with those blue eyes of her own.
Chloë felt warm inside, and then Tiffany turned around the corner and she was gone.
Chloë was alone with her tears again.
***
When Riley stepped out of Dr. Wellingborough’s office, the world around him took on a whole new form.
He could hear the sounds of children playing right in the distance. They mixed with the sounds of the market on Main Central Street, which were louder than ever. The breeze that brushed against his cheeks felt stronger, colder than usual.
Like he’d been awoken to some dark truth.
Which, in a way, he had.
He climbed down the steps towards the pavement. Saw people walking past. A dark-haired woman in a white cardigan. A tall, skinny man in a suit who smelled of aftershave. All the details, they all seemed so much crisper, so much more … real.
All because of Dr Wellingborough’s words.
“You’ve got two weeks, Riley. Two weeks, and then you become one of the infected.”
Just thinking back to the words brought a sickness through Riley’s system. He lowered his head. Put one foot in front of the other and walked down the pavement, no real direction, no real clue of what to do next, of where to go.
Dr Wellingborough said something about meeting Jim Hall to discuss the next steps. A proposition of some sorts.
But all Riley wanted right now was his bed. His pillow.
Two weeks to go until eternal darkness and all he wanted right now was temporary darkness.
Ironic, really.
He walked across Main Central Street, cut down a quiet little alleyway to avoid the crowds of people. He couldn’t face people right now. Although he wasn’t sure, his face felt pale.
It felt like it had “infected” scrawled all over it.
Like the MLZ folk would know exactly what he was hiding just by looking at him.
He headed further down this alleyway. Listened to his footsteps echo against the tall concrete walls. Didn’t really look where he was going, just followed the path around. It’d lead him out somewhere. He just needed to walk right now. Walk, clear his head.
And then …
He felt something in front of him. Heard a gasp.
Looked ahead and almost jumped out of his skin when he saw Chloë standing opposite him.
“Chloë?”
She frowned at him. She was wearing a red raincoat and blue jeans. She looked like she’d been crying.
“Are you okay?”
Chloë sniffed up. Wiped the tears from her sliced-up face, her gold ring nearly slipping off her middle finger. Nodded and half-smiled. “I’m … I’m fine.”
She lowered her head and scooted around Riley.
Tension built up inside him. An urge to speak. He turned around. “Wait.”
Chloë was just about to leave an alleyway when she stopped. Looked back at Riley.
Truth be told, he pitied Chloë massively. The scars on her face, under her eyes, the little piece of her nose missing … it was a shame for her. She seemed to have a few friends, which was good of course. But she’d struggled to adapt to the MLZ. Struggled to adapt to the “new normal,” as Pedro put it. Because sometimes, adapting to a new normal was harder than living in a perilous world. Because out there with the creatures, it felt temporary. Like there was an end-goal. Like everything would build up to a huge climax and all would be back to normal some day.
But in here, in a new normal, Chloë had no mum. She had no dad. She had no sister.
She just had a severely scarred face and the memories of the horrible things she’d seen, the horrible things she’d done.
“You can talk to me,” Riley said, forcing a smile. “I know Jordanna isn’t my biggest fan, but you and me always got on alright. Right?”
Chloë lowered her head. Brought her shoulders closer together. “But Jordanna says—”
“Listen,” Riley said, taking a few steps closer to Chloë. Speaking to her, it made him feel at ease. Pushed his own problems to the back of his mind. “I … You don’t have to talk to me. I know Jordanna isn’t keen on it. But what happened between me and Jordanna, it was a long time ago. I’ve changed a lot since then. You’ve changed too.”
Chloë stared at the ground. Twiddled with the bottom of her coat. “She—she says you left her. To die.”
Riley crouched opposite Chloë. Crouched so much that he was looking her in her tearful eyes.
“I’m here right now, aren’t I? I … I came here to help you. To help you all.” A lump built in his throat at the impending lie. “And the cure. It’s … it’s progressing. So soon we’ll be able to get it out to everyone. Soon we’ll be able to push those walls even further out. And it was us who did this, Chlo. Us. Together. I … I didn’t leave Jordanna behind because that wasn’t me. I’ve changed. I’m different. I … I wouldn’t leave any of you behind.”
“You left my mum behind,” Chloë said.
The words cut Riley deep. He lowered his neck. “I didn’t—”
“You watched that man Rodrigo shoot her in the head and—and you didn’t do …”
She started crying again. Stepped around Riley.
The images flashed back in Riley’s mind. The images of Rodrigo holding the gun to Claudia’s head in the stand-off with Mike. Of Riley begging him not to pull the trigger.
Of him executing Claudia right in front of her own daughter, starting a war.
“Is that why you killed Anna?” Riley asked. “Revenge for your mum?”
He wasn’t sure where the words came from and he instantly regretted them. A cloud had settled over him since learning of his death sentence. A cloud that blurred the lines between right and wrong.
Chloë’s cheeks went red. Her lips quivered faster and faster.
“Chlo, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Chloë backed away. “Jordanna’s right. About you. You’re … you’re a bad man.”
“Please, Chlo. Don’t …”
But she ran down the alleyway and took a right turn before Riley even had the chance to plead her forgiveness.
He sighed. Slouched back against the solid wall of the alleyway and stared up at the sky between them.
He felt every beat of his heart.
Heard every clatter and laugh and cheer and shout of the crowd on Main Central Street.
He was dying.
This was his new normal.
Eternal blackness would take its place.
And when Apocalypsis took hold of everybody, they’d all join him.
Death was humanity’s new normal.
***
Chloë took twists and turns down the alleyway that she’d never taken before.
She kept her eyes on the cobbles as she ran down the alleyway. Every time she heard the voices of people on the streets getting closer, she made sure she took another turn so she wouldn’t have to face them. She didn’t want to be around people anymore. She didn’t want to be around anyone again.
Her eyes stung from her tears. So too did her cheeks and her entire face, which had hurt every single day since that evil Cameron had sliced it up, taken away her looks. A constant reminder of what he’d done to her. Of what he’d taken away from her.
She sniffed up. Her throat vibrated like it always did when she was sad. Her heart raced and she was running out of breath so she stopped by a big black bin and crouched at the side of it and cried some more.
What Riley said. About her killing Anna.
He never mentioned that. He told her he’d forgiven her. That they’d never even have to talk about it. And Chloë liked it like that.
But what he’d said about her mum. About whether shooting Anna was revenge for that …
A small part inside her knew the truth.
Knew that feeling that if she couldn’t be happy then it wasn’t fair. Nobody could be happy. Because it wasn’t fair that she’d had everything taken away from her and no one else had to suffer like her.
She leaned back against the solid wall and looked up the sides of the building. She could hear voices coming through the window behind her. That weird doctor, who’d helped Riley get better. He was speaking quietly. So quietly that Chloë couldn’t really tell what he was saying. He didn’t sound happy.
Chloë held her fingers together and thought about Annabelle. Thought about that nasty smile on her face. Why couldn’t she just like her? Accept her?
Why couldn’t she just let Chloë and Tiffany be friends?
She wiped the tears from her eyes and sniffed up again. Had to look strong. Couldn’t let anyone see her crying. She didn’t want to look weak. And Jordanna didn’t like her staying out playing too long. She wasn’t her mum, more of her friend who looked after her.
She was nice. Annoying, but nice.
She started walking back the way she’d come from when she heard the groans coming from the doctor’s window at the side of her.
She stopped. Felt that familiar wave of fear that she hadn’t felt in so, so long but would never forget.
She turned around.
A groan. She’d heard a groan.
A monster’s groan.
She crouched down. Stared at the dusty window to the doctor’s office. The sounds of voices, all happy like they always were, echoed from the main streets and down the alleyways.
She held her breath. Stepped towards the window until the groans were so close, so loud, so definitely from the doctor’s office.
She moved up slowly. Peeked just enough so that she could see through the window.
The ginger doctor was leaning over a man. Only this man wasn’t just any man. He was a monster.
His wrists were tied down to the table with silver cuffs, so too were his feet and his neck. He struggled, his bulging eyes focused on the doctor. He let out groans, snapped his teeth together. There were parts of his teeth missing, meaning he must’ve clamped them together so much he’d cracked a few.
The doctor was doing something to this monster. Sticking a needle into its arm, which had chunks of flesh missing from it. Taking blood out of it, which was thick and dark like treacle. He took one batch of it, then he took another from the monster’s other arm and then another from the side of its head.
“Let’s get you back in with your friends,” he said to the monster, like he was just another person.
He put a metal bar in its chomping mouth, which the monster’s teeth clattered down on some more. He tied a belt around the back of its head. And then when he’d tightened it up fully, he let the monster out of the cuffs and tied some other cuffs around it—cuffs around its arms and its ankles.
He put a hand on its back. Pushed it up to a heavy-looking metal door at the back of his surgery. Grabbed the handle. The monster struggled, tried to bite him.
Chloë saw him counting down from three …
And then he swiftly pulled open the door and pushed the monster inside.
He shut the door, turned around and looked right at Chloë.
Chloë crouched down. Blood whooshed through her head, a chill came over her as she thought about what she’d seen in that back room.
Monsters. More monsters, all with metal bars in their mouths, all with cuffs around their wrists.
To the side of her, a large, black door with lots of padlocks on it creaked.
She’d never felt as close to the monsters since she was out on the road.
And yet …
She stood up. Walked down the alleyway. Walked back to the voices, to the people, to the happiness.
She had an idea.
CHAPTER THREE
Jim Hall had that morbid look on his face that told Riley in no uncertain terms that he was fucked.
His apartment was in the southern section of the Manchester Living Zone. Light, spacious, with minimalist decor. No photographs on the sparse, white walls. No indication of a past life. The only thing on the walls was a very fitting handwritten quote: “The past is irrelevant. The future is speculative. The now is what matters.”
No attribution, so Riley just assumed Jim had written it himself.
“Take a seat,” Jim said. He held out a hand over his burgundy sofas. They circled a coffee table, which had a map of the MLZ spread out over it. Just beyond the sofas, a great view out at the MLZ, the lights twinkling in the darkness of oncoming night.
Riley sat down on the sofa and instantly felt relaxed. Jim Hall’s luxury chairs had a way of doing that to him.
Jim walked across the room and towards the kitchen area of the studio flat. “Drink?”
Riley shook his head. “I’m … I’m okay.”
Jim Hall shrugged. Unscrewed a cap of Jack Daniels. “Excuse me if I help myself, then.”
He poured himself a glass.
Riley just stared out of the window, into the darkness, into the nothing.
Jim’s footsteps clicked against the solid tiled floor. He perched down on the sofa directly opposite Riley, everything so rectangular and symmetrical in this apartment. He sipped back on h
is whisky. Kept his focus on Riley as he washed the drink around his mouth. “Nights are getting lighter every—”
“Can we just get to the point?” Riley snapped.
Jim looked on, whisky in hand. And then he sighed, put the whisky down on the mapped coffee table. “Dr Wellingborough spoke to you, then. About your … your condition.”
“He told me I was going to die in two weeks, yes.”
Again, Jim Hall looked on for a few seconds. Rolled his tongue against his top teeth, like he was formulating the best words to say. “Well firstly, I’d like to say how sorry I am. It must be … quite a lot to take in.”
Riley shrugged and forced a smile. “I’ve been bitten twice. Surrounded more times than I can remember. And even before all this, I came that close to driving myself into a brick wall. It’s fine. I’ll find a way to weasel my way out of death again. Death and me, we have a good thing going on.”
Jim Hall didn’t even crack a smile. Clearly, the humour was lost on him.
Riley looked at his feet. Swallowed a bulging lump in his throat. “I … I guess I just—”
“There might be a way,” Jim said.
Riley looked up at him. He had his hands on his knees. Sitting completely upright. The wideness of his eyes, it looked like he was unsure, afraid. “A way to what?”
Jim scratched at the thighs of his black trousers. Went to lift his whisky glass again, then put it right back down without taking a sip. “I don’t want to make any false promises or create any illusions of hope. What I’m proposing is extremely high risk and has no guarantee of—”
“Jim, Dr Frankenstein just told me I’m dying in two weeks. Turning into one of his fucking test subjects at this rate. So please. Don’t talk to me about high risk. Be straight.”
Jim lifted his whisky and this time, he did take a sip. “I told you about the other places.”
“The other Living Zones?”
Jim nodded. “Birmingham, Cardiff, Glasgow, London. Now we lost contact with them when the world went to shit. But we expected that. Just part and parcel of comms disintegrating. And anyway, our goal was to build from small beginnings. Focus on our own individual communities. Integration, well. That was always a long-term thing.”
