by Ryan Casey
She reached the alcove—the one where the voices were coming from.
When she turned, she saw a metal door.
It was partly open. But there had been chain locks wrapped around the handles.
Whatever was in this place, someone had wanted to keep it secret.
She looked either side again, making sure no one was around.
Nothing but her.
Nothing but her and the moon.
Then she stepped down the steps towards this heavy metal door.
She crept through it, squeezed through the gap, not wanting to make a sound by making it creak in any way.
Inside, she found something she didn’t expect at all.
It was a laboratory type place. Like somewhere medical. Flickering lights. Buzzing electricity.
She walked down the corridor, slowly. On the right, she saw a room with loads of drawers.
The room where the scratching was coming from.
The room next to the one with the voices.
She took a deep breath and walked past that room. Then she poked her head around the ajar door where the voices were coming from.
When she saw it, her stomach turned.
There were two men standing. And there was another on the ground. He was shaking, sweat pouring down his head.
There was something on his lips.
Blood.
“Please,” the man was saying, trying to break free. “I—I didn’t mean to. You don’t have to do this.”
The men beside him—both armed—lifted their guns. “We do. We’re sorry. We… we do.”
They went to pull the trigger as the man cried out.
Marie heard something hit the floor beside her.
The men turned. Looked over at her.
And at that moment, she saw the terror in their eyes.
The terror that she realised what was happening here.
The bite mark on one of the gunmen’s arms.
The bloody-mouthed man chained up to the wall.
She held her breath. Waited. Just for a few seconds.
Then the men lifted their guns. “Come back here. Now!”
They started to fire at her, but it was already too late.
Marie was running.
“You have to come back here!” Marie heard as she sprinted up towards the door.
She got to the exit. Then she slammed it shut, bullets rattling against the solid metal.
She tied the chains around it.
Clicked the padlocks shut.
Then she backed away, as the men inside banged harder and harder against the metal.
She stood there in the glow of the moon and listened as the men’s banging got less and less frequent.
And she thought about one of the last things she’d heard the men muttering, just before she’d run.
“It’s airborne. We’re all at risk. We have to end it. All of us.”
She swallowed a lump in her dry throat, and she made her way back home.
She got inside. Looked at the photograph of her and Carly—the polaroid of them on the cliffs—and she smiled.
“I love you,” she said.
She closed her eyes.
Six hours later, Marie opened her eyes again.
But she wasn’t hungry for breakfast.
She was hungry for something else.
She pushed her bedding away and rose.
She had to eat.
She had to feast.
Now.
EPISODE FIFTY-TWO
LIKE DOMINOES
(SECOND EPISODE OF SEASON TEN)
Carly stood in the house and felt the tears roll down her cheeks.
The sun shone in through the windows. She could smell something. Pancakes. Pancakes that she was sure must’ve been cooked recently. And as she smelled them, she thought back to that happy time. The time when she’d made them with Marie; the time when she’d tried flipping her first one and ended up dropping it on the floor. The love they’d made afterwards, still laughing about the failed pancakes, still laughing about everything.
Happy.
She swallowed a heavy lump in her throat as she saw the figures outside begin to surround the house. And she knew then that this was it. This was her moment. This was when she did it—when she did what she had to do. She didn’t want to. Nobody wanted to do this.
But there was no other way.
Not now she knew the truth.
Not now she’d witnessed the truth, first hand, for herself.
She looked around at the petrol covering the house. She could smell it. And it relaxed her, somewhat. She’d always liked the smell of petrol. Always comforted her, reminded her of long journeys she’d taken with her family; stops at service stations, where Dad would always get her some gimmicky little sweets or a keyring or something; just anything to put a smile on her face.
And she smiled as she thought about it, as the figures outside got closer, as they surrounded her. She heard the voices, the shouts, getting louder. She knew she could just stand here. She knew she could just wait. And perhaps she would make it. Perhaps things wouldn’t have to be this way. Perhaps, just perhaps, things could be different.
But she smiled again when she thought about those pancakes; about the Polaroid; about the time they’d spent on those cliffs, happy, together.
And she closed her eyes.
She heard the voices get louder. Heard the shouts intensify.
And all Carly did was take deep breaths of that petrol-fuelled air.
She was ready now.
It was time.
She took the match out of her pocket.
Rubbed it against the matchbox with her shaky hands.
“I’m coming now,” she said. “I’m coming.”
She took one last look at the match as it dangled between her fingers.
She held her breath.
And then she dropped it, and she closed her eyes and waited…
Chapter One
Carly shot upright and let out a cry.
It was morning. The sunlight was peeking through the blinds in her room. It felt cool, probably because she’d left one of the windows open last night. She didn’t remember doing it. Which was weird. She swore she always shut the windows at night. Not because she knew there were things out there to fear—she knew there weren’t.
But still. Living in a world surrounded by the dead, and by the dangerous living… that had a funny way of sparking up a few trust and security issues even in the new world, that was for sure.
She rubbed her hands against her face. Her hands were clammy, and her skin was hot to the touch. She felt groggy as hell. She’d had a dream. She knew that much. A bad dream. She couldn’t remember what’d happened in that dream, only that she’d felt this unwavering sense of terror crawling through her body. The sense that something was coming for her; that she couldn’t get away from the inevitable conclusion no matter what she tried to do, no matter how hard she tried…
She climbed out of bed and got ready. It wasn’t long before Marie was on her mind. The same every morning, really. Marie was the last thing she thought about when she went to sleep and the first thing she thought about when she woke up. She was thinking about asking her to move in with her. She’d not stayed the night because their relationship was still a secret—and Carly wanted them to keep it that way, for now.
But their time would come.
And when it did, Carly couldn’t wait to tell the world how in love with her beautiful girlfriend she actually was.
She had some breakfast, read a few pages of her book. She hadn’t always known she was interested in women. Honestly, she hadn’t really thought of things strictly in those terms. She was attracted to whoever she was attracted to. She didn’t feel the need to put labels on love. She wondered why so many other people had issues with that, too. Love was love. That was how it should be. That’s how it always should be. Wasn’t it?
Marie transcended everything she’d ever felt about anyone, though. And sure, she
was a little older than her. But she cared about her. She made her feel special. Precious.
What they had together was sacred. And Carly was going to do everything to make sure they worked things out between them.
She got dressed and stepped out of her flat. It was another nice day, quieter today, though, as it always was in the mornings. She saw the marketplaces opening up for another day of business, the bulk of their supplies harvested from the nearby fields, bartered with the other three districts. Some of the supplies were shipped in from overseas, too. There was always a sense of order about this place. Always a sense of authority. And it was that sense that filled Carly with confidence that things could be okay. That things really could work out the way she wanted them to.
She bought two grapefruit and lemon smoothies from a nearby stand. Bill served her. He had wispy white hair, and Marie always joked that he looked like a creep, but Carly liked him.
“You have a nice day, girl,” he said—always saying “girl” for some reason.
“You too, Bill.”
She knew she was going to have a nice day.
What day wasn’t nice in this world?
She made her way further down the main street, and it hit her. Square in the chest. The luck. The luck she must have that she was not only here, in this safe haven, but that she was happy. It crept up on her this realisation, sometimes. It was so easy to slip into being ungrateful; for accepting something as the new norm far too easily. But Carly felt so grateful that she was here. She felt so grateful that she had what she had. And she felt so grateful that this was the life she’d managed to forge for herself, especially when so many people were still trapped on the mainland—some of them trapped there forever.
She thought about Chloë, and her stomach sank.
She’d liked Chloë. She seemed like a nice kid. She’d been protective of her. She’d looked out for her. Kind of felt like a little sister to her, right from the moment they met.
Seeing the way her body had been torn to pieces by the savagery of the living, not the dead… that still sent cold shivers through her body. A constant reminder on the horizon that humans were responsible for some of the cruellest crimes in this world. That the cruelty could not be outrun, no matter how hard they tried…
She thought back to her dream last night, tasted a little vomit in her mouth.
Then she reached Marie’s house, and everything felt okay again.
Marie lived in a little bungalow just off the main street. The bungalows were where the first arrivals had been pitched up, rather than the high rise flats of the sort where Carly and the rest of her friends were.
She liked her flat, but Marie liked her bungalow. She called it her little cottage. And Carly started to worry, then. She started to worry that Marie wouldn’t want to leave her “cottage” after all to live with her because she liked it here too much. That she wouldn’t even entertain the idea of living in a high-rise flat. After all, who would want to when they’d lived somewhere like this?
And it wasn’t so easy for Carly to just move in here. It’d taken her ages to feel even close to safe in her flat. To the point that she locked the windows at night even though she was on the second storey; that she propped a chair against the door just in case someone tried to get in there.
Getting used to a whole new place after she’d only just adapted… that wasn’t going to be easy.
She took a deep breath. She was going to find a way, regardless.
She walked towards Marie’s place, smoothie in hand. She thought of what she might be wearing. Her red T-shirt? That flowery skirt? Those glittery earrings? All of the possibilities danced around Carly’s mind in a beautiful rhythm.
She thought about how she was going to ask Marie to move in with her. How to approach it. How best to word it. Would it seem too forward? Was she more into Marie than Marie was her?
“No,” she muttered under her breath. “You’ve got this, Carly. You’ve got this.”
She went to walk up Marie’s garden path when she saw something off.
Marie’s front door was open.
And there was blood on the steps leading up to it.
Chapter Two
Ricky sprinted across the island as quickly as he could and hoped he hadn’t made a major fucking mistake.
The morning sun was warm. The town hadn’t got busy yet—thank God. If it had, he might just have to beat himself up about it because he might struggle to get through the crowds that he knew were prone to forming in this place, especially on weekends like this. The markets always got busy. The weather was a major contributor.
But he didn’t want to think about this place.
He didn’t want to think about how good it was or any of that.
Because he was going to get away from here.
He thought about the argument he’d had with Melissa last night when she dropped the bombshell on him that she was leaving the island to lead a scouting mission. How she’d been secretly training to become a scout behind his back for the past few months. And he’d been in two minds about it all. Well, one mind really—pissed off. Pissed off that she hadn’t been open with him. Pissed off that she’d kept it a secret for so long. When was she planning on telling him? How long was she hoping she could hide it from him?
He’d been so mad that he told her to fuck off. That he didn’t ever want to see her again.
But that was wrong.
That was so wrong.
He loved Melissa. Make no mistake about that. There was nobody he’d loved as much as he loved her.
And he respected her decision to go back to the mainland. Because although it wasn’t what he wanted, although it tore him apart to know what danger she was going to be putting herself in… she was so brave. She was so selfless. And that was the Melissa he loved.
He’d made a mistake lashing out at her for wanting to help other people. She had to know how much he cared about her. How much he respected her decision.
She had to know how much he loved her.
He raced through the street, getting faster and faster. He looked down at his watch. Ten to nine. Shit. She’d said she was leaving at nine. She told him to suit himself, but to come down there to wish her farewell if he wanted to.
If not… well, it was pretty clear what that meant. The pair of them were over.
And Ricky wasn’t ready for them to be over.
He wasn’t ready for them to ever be over.
He saw a helicopter rise into the sky, and for a moment, his entire body turned to mush. After all, this had to be Melissa. This was her, leaving. He’d missed her. He’d missed his opportunity to say goodbye. He might’ve just seen her for the final time.
But then he looked down and saw more helicopters preparing to leave.
He rushed over towards them. Saw guards, armed, standing around, blocking his entry.
“Sir, you can’t pass here—”
“Like hell I can’t,” Ricky said.
He threw himself at the guard, knowing full well the danger he was putting himself in.
And then he saw her.
She was sitting in a helicopter already. She was wearing full military gear.
And as the propellors of the helicopter started to spin, Ricky couldn’t remember ever feeling so proud.
“Melissa!” he called.
She turned around.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, he thought he saw that madness in them. He thought she was still annoyed; that she hadn’t forgiven him.
But then he saw her smile.
“Ricky,” she said.
He opened his mouth to say the words; to tell her he loved her.
Then he felt something smack against his back, and he fell to the ground.
The weight of the guards was on top of him. He struggled against them, kicked against them. And as he pushed and fought, he heard the helicopter come to life.
He looked up. Caught a glance of Melissa.
She wasn’t look
ing at him with concern. Not anymore.
She was looking at him with a smile on her face.
She blew a kiss at him as the helicopter rose, higher and higher.
And as much as he tried to move his mouth to say the words, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
So he blew a kiss back at her.
Then he saw it.
“I love you,” she said.
He pushed against the guards. Pushed them out of the way so he could see her again, so she could see his mouth, see the words form.
And as she rose into the sky, eyes locked with his, he said it.
“I love you, Melissa.”
He watched the helicopter get higher and higher as the guards pushed him away, forcing him to step back.
He watched it as long as he could see it, as it made for the clouds.
He watched it until it was just a speck in the sky.
Until it was gone.
“I love you,” he said.
He’d see her again. He’d see her again soon.
He just had to keep telling himself that.
Chapter Three
If there was one thing Riley hadn’t been expecting when he woke up this morning, it was an impromptu meeting with Peter Hillson, the public face of Island 47.
He’d been invited up to Peter’s office on the thirteenth floor of the aptly titled Main Building. Yeah, these new world types really didn’t mince their words.
The Main Building was pretty much the island government’s headquarters. It had a library downstairs, coffee shops, things like that. But it was what was above that was important. That was mostly off-bounds.
The government headquarters.
Visits up here were rare.
And meetings with Peter… yeah, they were especially rare.
Peter was standing by his window when Riley stepped inside his office. His office was open, airy. Very minimalist, with very little personality about it. White walls. Dark marble floors. A few black and white framed pictures hanging from the walls, and a laptop perched at the end of his stark white desk.
When Riley entered his office, Peter turned around and smiled. He was chubbier than he had been a year ago and notably greyer too. But that friendly, charming smile was still there, etched on his face. “Riley Jameson,” he said, holding out a hand. “Pleased you could make it. Take a seat.”
