by Ryan Casey
Nick and Abigail, they didn’t deserve that.
He couldn’t fail them now.
“Do you see anyone, Harrison?”
Nick’s voice stopped him from peeking the curtains open. He looked back to the entrance of the bedroom. Saw Nick standing there with his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. Curiosity on his face. Fear, too.
“You go back into the bedroom with your sister,” Harrison said. “Let me take a look.”
Nick took a step back towards the bedroom but kept his eyes on Harrison. Harrison could see the uncertainty in them. The longing for Harrison to not leave him.
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” Harrison said.
Nick lowered his head. His dark, curly fringe tumbled over his eyes. “That’s what … what my dad said. Before he went.”
Harrison felt like he’d been stabbed in the stomach. The reminder that Nick wasn’t his, that Abigail wasn’t his. That they’d had parents, before all this mess.
But he’d been there for them. Taken them under his wing.
They’d fixed him.
Fixed him after all the bad things he’d done.
“I’m not going anywhere. I … you’re right. I probably can’t promise you that. I’m probably wrong to promise you that. But I … I’m here for you. You and your sister. You know that. Right?”
Nick lifted his head. Kicked his blue trainers against the dusty carpet. He nodded. Just once.
Once was enough. It was all Harrison needed.
“Now let me check outside the window. I think the bikers are gone, but I need to be sure.”
Nick kept his eyes on Harrison for a few seconds.
Then he turned away and stepped back around the bedroom door.
Harrison watched to make sure he didn’t step back out. He knew what Nick was like—too curious for his own good sometimes.
The sort of curious that would get him killed if he wasn’t careful.
Abigail, well. She was always the thinker. The inquisitive one. The cynic.
Harrison turned back to the curtains. Grabbed the edge of it. His heart raced. He knew he’d be okay. He knew he’d have time to look. The bikers, they’d gone. And they were based right over the other side of the docklands anyway. Plenty far enough away.
But still, too close for comfort.
Always too close for comfort.
He edged open the blinds. Peeked through the gap.
Movement outside on the docklands walkway.
He let go of the curtain. He’d seen something. Or rather, someone. Two people.
Only they didn’t look like bikers.
A black guy.
And then a skinny guy. Tall. Dark hair.
Like someone he’d known, once upon a time.
He steadied his breathing. Tried to banish the memories of that “once upon a time.”
Because he was a different man back then. He wasn’t thinking straight. He was scared.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, which was dry from lack of fresh water recently.
Grabbed the edge of the curtain again.
He had to look. Had to see. Had to know, for sure.
He pulled the curtain aside slightly.
Saw the black guy in the leather jacket, gun in his hands.
His knees went weak when he saw the guy next to him.
The dark hair.
The skinny features.
And that face. That face that always returned to him in his nightmares. That face that reminded him of all the bad things he’d done in his past, of the person he’d become, of the lengths he’d gone to.
“Harrison?”
Harrison let go of the curtain. Swung around.
Abigail and Nick were both standing there looking at him, frowning.
“Are we okay to come out now?” Abigail asked.
Sweat dripped down Harrison’s head. He looked back out of the window, down the docklands where he’d seen the two men with the guns.
They were nowhere in sight.
“I think so,” he said. “I … I think so.”
But deep down, Harrison Fletcher had never been more afraid. Not of the bikers, not of the zombies.
The sight of Riley Jameson was enough to fill him with sheer terror.
Sheer terror, because Riley Jameson knew exactly who he was.
And that was enough to tear his life to pieces.
CHAPTER FIVE
“You ready?” Gus asked.
Riley stared down into the sewer opening. The stench of rotting shit and rotting whatever-else powered into his nostrils. Looking down into the darkness, Riley thought back to the tunnel from Heathwaite’s Caravan Park to Lancaster. The journey he’d taken with Alan. The dark, the mustiness. The crushing feeling that he was never going to surface again.
How close he came to not resurfacing at all.
“How sure can we be?” Riley asked.
Gus climbed in through the sewerage hatch. “How sure of what?”
“Of them not being down there waiting for us. The bikers. Or … or that they don’t have some kind of trap set up.”
Gus clambered down the ladder. His footsteps echoed as they hit the metal steps. “Maybe they do. Maybe it’s all one big trap they set up. Maybe we’ll get halfway and find the sewer lined with C4 ‘n shit.”
He plonked himself down into the water. The splashing of the sewerage sounded out from below, the smell getting even worse.
“You’re not really filling me with confidence,” Riley said. He put his foot on the first step of the ladder. Turned around, and started to climb down into the abyss below. He took one final breath of fresh air before descending completely.
“Yeah, well,” Gus said. “Trust me. James and me have scouted this area for a long time. Hardly ever see the bikers come through this way anymore.”
“And that’s supposed to be reassuring? Maybe they don’t come this way because—because there’s something down here.”
Gus chuckled. “Maybe. Maybe.”
Riley looked outside at the brightness of the grey sky. Imagined the seagulls that usually swooped around the docklands.
As he took a step down, he swore he saw someone watching him from a window of one of the flats.
“Jesus Christ. Couldn’t have perhaps picked a smellier route?”
Gus coughed, spluttered. “Hold your breath,” he whispered, his voice echoing against the sewer tunnel walls. “We’ll be there in no time.”
“Hold my fucking breath,” Riley said. “Like I need telling.”
The tunnel was one of the darkest places Riley had ever been. Overhead, he could hear water dripping down as the huge body of docklands water rested above them. The sewers reeked, as you’d expect, of shit. Worse than shit—like the creatures had taken baths in their own decomposing fluids down here. Cold, stagnant water oozed through Riley’s boots with every step he took, and his feet squelched in the occasional floater. The taste of vomit lingered at the back of his throat. He hadn’t eaten in a while, and he certainly wouldn’t be eating for a while longer after this little venture.
“We get to the other side and we wait for it to kick off,” Gus said.
Riley slid his hands against the wall of the tunnel. It was the only way he could stay oriented. “‘Wait for it to kick off.’ You know, the more I think about this ‘plan’, the less I think I like it.”
“We’re nearly there,” Gus said. “We … My Khaila. And—and your people. We’re nearly there for them.”
The walk through the tunnel felt like it dragged on forever. The further they stepped, the more the water rose, drenching Riley’s ankles, then his knees. The tunnel seemed to narrow, too.
“No fucking way I’m swimming through this cesspit if that’s the way we’re going,” Riley said.
He bumped into something. Something solid. Squishy. Stepped back and lifted his gun, then realised it was just Gus.
“Gus?” he asked. He could tell from the lack of sound that Gus had stopped walking. He was compl
etely still.
Completely silent.
His heart started to pick up. “Gus? What’s up? See something?”
A few seconds of silence from Gus.
And then: “Behind you. I … I thought I saw something.”
The hairs on Riley’s arms stood up. He looked over his shoulder. Looked back into the darkness. Nothing but pitch black.
“You sure about that?” Riley asked.
No response from Gus. He stayed there, completely still, completely rigid.
“Maybe not,” he said at last. “Come on. We’d better—”
Riley wasn’t sure if Gus said anything else or not.
He felt an immense heat hit his face.
Heard the loudest blast he’d ever heard, so loud that his ears felt like they were on fire.
Aching pain crumbled through his skull.
He flew back. Flew back fast. Felt like he was speeding through water, except he wasn’t. He wasn’t in water at all.
His eyes burned. His face burned. When he tried to shout out, his throat burned.
As he flew backwards, he peeked his eyes open and he saw light in the tunnel.
Saw flames.
And just before his body cracked against the sewer floor, he saw bricks crumbling down from the roof of the tunnel.
Saw the black, gunk-laden walls were splattered with blood and body parts.
Gus’s body parts.
And then, through the top of the tunnel, he saw an immense body of black water tumble down towards him and he knew he was fucked.
***
Jordanna knew they were in trouble when she heard the blast somewhere in the middle of the docklands water.
She crouched down behind the rusty blue Nissan parked on the kerb. She actually felt the ground rumble with the explosion. She stared at the docklands. Watched as the previously still water started to budge.
Dread welled up right in the middle of her chest.
Something had happened to Riley.
She lifted herself ever so slightly to peek over the top of the Nissan. Worthington’s Bike Emporium was just up the road. It was a green, metallic building, like an old warehouse hangar on an airport or something. The Worthington’s logo was sprayed on the side in white, some of the letters wearing away. The chain-linked metal fences surrounding the place were topped with barbed wire. They were built up pretty high. Pretty fucking high indeed.
Jordanna couldn’t help but shake the feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, they’d underestimated the bikers.
She looked to her right. Looked in the direction James had gone with Tiffany and Pedro. She wondered about James. He seemed so trustworthy. His plan seemed so … well, it made sense better than any other damned plan.
But she’d left Tiffany with him. Left a wounded Pedro with him. Left Riley’s rucksack with him.
Had they made some sort of enormous balls up?
She heard a shout from Worthington’s. The sound of metal scraping against the concrete of the road.
The gate opened up.
Engines of bikes revved.
Four bikers made their way out of the front, the smell of exhaust fumes travelling in the wind.
Jordanna crouched down. Gripped her rifle tightly. She knew how to use a gun. Better than most British citizens, in fact. Her ex-boyfriend, Oleg. He’d owned a load of guns. Used to take her pigeon shooting like it was some kind of romantic gesture.
And she just rolled with it. Rolled with it because he made her feel special. Rolled with it because he fucked her hard.
Rolled with it because he gave her drugs as long as she’d do “favours” for his friends.
She gripped the gun even tighter and waited for the motorbikes to get closer.
She thought back to the sound, like a muffled explosion. Thought back to the way the ground shook. Something had happened. The sewers, they were a trap, something like that.
Riley was down there.
The fucking cure was down there.
And …
Shit.
The rucksack with the cure info in. She’d just let James drive off with that. They’d all just let James drive off with that. A guy they’d barely known a few hours. And all for what? Because he seemed alright? Because he seemed like he had a plan?
Hope did funny things to people in a world where hope was dead.
But what other choice had they had?
She squeezed the gun even tighter. Lifted it. Waited for the bikers to pass. They’d left the emporium way too early. Jordanna hadn’t even had time to think about running yet.
She’d have to wait until they passed. Wait until they passed then sneak around them. Find her own way inside the Emporium.
Or kill them. Shoot them in the back as they passed.
She had no other option.
She was on her own.
She was—
“Little nipper over the road!”
The bikes slowed down to a rumble just before the car Jordanna was crouched behind.
She held her breath.
“Where?” one of the bikers asked.
“In the fucking trees, you blind idiot! Little girl. Over there, see!”
More rumbling of the engines.
More muffled voices.
“Shit. I see her too.”
Jordanna leaned forward ever so slightly. She could see the bikers’ leather boots right under the car. If they moved an inch closer, they’d see her too.
Point their guns in her face and blast her to pieces.
Or worse.
“What shall we do with her?”
The engines rumbled some more. The bikes swayed from side to side, the men getting restless.
“No time to fuckin’ wait around. Don’t wanna waste a cutie like that. We get her. Gary, Paul—you two check the sewer breach. Me and Sammy’ll follow the girl.”
The bikes roared back to life.
Two of the bikers, Gary and Paul, took a left and shot up the road over towards the terraced house-laden streets of nearby Ashton.
The terraced house laden streets where Jordanna could see Tiffany’s little figure running away.
She wanted to jump the fuck up and get into the Emporium when the two other bikers revved up and shot past her.
She stayed rigid, back against the Nissan. Her heart beat so fast that she felt like the car was shaking with its thuds.
She watched the two bikers get further and further away from her, speeding up the side of the docklands, leaving her in a petrol-reeking trail of fuel.
When she was absolutely sure the bikers were all gone, she stood up and looked over at the entrance to Worthington’s.
The chain-linked fences were still slightly open. The yard beyond them looked empty. Beyond that, the warehouse.
The place where Chloë and Tamara were.
Where Gus’ daughter was being held.
Jordanna swallowed a lump in her throat, wiped her sweaty trigger hand and walked towards the entrance to Worthington’s. In the distance, up in the streets by the terraced houses, she heard the crackling of the motorbike engines, the shouting of Tiffany’s pursuers.
She hoped to God James hadn’t stitched them up.
She hoped to God Riley was okay.
She turned her walk into a jog. Lifted her gun as she approached the chain-linked fences. The tops of them were covered with thick barbed wire. The sharp edges were sprayed with a red coating that could only be blood.
She took a look over her shoulder as she stood there at the entrance to Worthington’s. Saw the two bikers speeding around the docklands and past the old Chiquitos restaurant to the flat blocks at the other side. The sense of worry for Riley she felt went beyond mere hope that he was the cure.
She didn’t want to admit it, but there was something else there, too.
Something she didn’t quite understand bubbling away inside her.
But she didn’t have time to think or dwell on it right now.
She stepped over the threshol
d into Worthington’s Bike Emporium.
The yard was exactly what you’d expect of a bike shop—blue Yamahas, a jet-black Ducati, even a snazzy red and blue Harley that definitely didn’t look like it belonged anywhere near a shabby side-street retailer.
The place was quiet. Like nobody was based in this place at all.
Except they had to be.
She lifted her gun and made damned sure her guard didn’t drop.
She walked slowly through the yard. Watched her left, where the bikes were lined up, cardboard price banners long ago tossed onto the muddy ground. She checked her right, where piles of blue petrol containers were stacked up like Lego bricks.
And then she looked ahead.
Ahead at the warehouse.
Ahead at the rusty metal door.
She pointed her gun right at it. The closer she got, she could see that it wasn’t padlocked. Maybe it was locked from inside. But that didn’t matter. A knock on the door and she could take out whoever was behind it.
She just had to get in, get Chloë, Tamara and Gus’ daughter, Khaila, and get out.
Simple as that.
She stopped right in front of the doorway. She could hear nothing but the distant hum of the motorcycles. No birds singing. No talking. Nothing.
She reached for the scruffy handle of the heavy-looking door.
Wrapped her shaking fingers around it.
Pulled.
To her surprise, the door shifted open right on the first pull.
She stumbled back.
Lifted her rifle.
Pointed it inside the warehouse.
The first thing that hit Jordanna when the door swung fully open was the smell.
It was ghastly. The worst fucking smell she’d ever smelled. Like rotting eggs mixed with shit mixed with …
Decomposing bodies.
She looked into the warehouse, still not quite processing what was in front of her. The sound of intense buzzing filled her ears, like back when she was in a dodgy apartment in Spain on Oleg’s orders and the place got infested with flies.
She remembered the way the flies felt, too, as they bumped into her face, fearful and disoriented.
They did the exact same thing right now, as Jordanna stood there, lowered her gun, stared into the warehouse with blurring, watering eyes.
The place was filled with bodies.
Dead, naked bodies.
