by Casey, Ryan
She crept closer to the window where she’d seen the curtain twitch. The brick was all grey and mossy and the windows were small and dusty but Chloë didn’t mind. The place looked cute. Like somewhere Dad might have taken them on holiday before the bad things started to happen.
She got closer to the window. So close that she could see an orange glow inside. So close that she—
She slipped. Tumbled over, smacked her right shoulder on the ground, tasted warm metal right away.
And then she heard it. Heard the crying out, felt the hard hands sticking into her, the dirty nails wedging into her face.
The monster was on top of her. It was once a man, and it had really bad breath and blood coming out of its eyes. Chloë let out a little scream as it wrestled her further down onto the dirty ground, then stopped herself when she realised it would only get the attention of others.
She tried her best to grip her gun. She couldn’t shoot it—she had to bash it. She had to—
And then the gun slipped out of her right hand. Hit the ground.
The monster pressed her further down. Its smelly breath and rotting black teeth got closer to her neck.
“Please, Mummy. Please…”
She heard a thump. A heavy thump, and then the monster let out a whimper. She thought at first it had got her. That the thump was the sound of the biting.
But then she realised she was free of the monster. It wasn’t gripping her anymore.
She looked up, still frozen, the gun still out of her hand.
A man was standing over her. A man with green eyes and a wooly blue hat. He looked younger than Daddy, but he had a beard that was going a bit white so maybe he was older. His breath was clouding in the cold, and he was holding a blood-stained spade.
“Get up and get inside,” he said to Chloë, offering her a hand.
Chloë looked over to her left. Looked over at where the cries of the monsters were, but were invisible, like ghosts behind the trees.
She grabbed the man’s gloved hand and pulled herself back to her feet, wincing with the soreness in her back after falling.
“I hope you like squirrel stew,” the man said, as he put his arm around Chloë and led her to the front door of the warm cottage.
Chloë was so cold and so hungry that she could have eaten anything right now, even if it did have poor squirrels in it.
Chapter Nine: Pedro
Even reaching the motorway didn’t put Pedro any more at ease.
There was something fucking creepy about this motorway. The way the cars were just abandoned, doors opened, keys still in the locks. No blood, no smells of the rotting flesh that usually filled the air, nothing like that. Just empty cars. Abandoned cars.
And lots of them.
Pedro, Chris, Tamara, Josh and Barry moved along the motorway. It was so frigging quiet out here, too. Like eerie silence. Pedro had been to some quiet places in his time—some sniper missions in Iraq where even the smallest fart would give away his position—but this was something else. Something else completely.
The five of them moved around an open door of a car. Pedro kept his eyes on the ground, just in case a goon leapt out and snapped at his heel, but he wasn’t sure. Seemed too quiet for goons. Too empty.
Sure, maybe it was safe. But was safe a good thing in these end times? Made you wonder why it was safe.
“Used to drive down this motorway every month, Candice and me,” Chris said. His voice didn’t sound right in the silence. Nobody had spoken much since they’d got onto the motorway. Too scared, too wary. But now Chris was speaking, maybe that was a good thing. Took their minds off this creepy shit a bit.
Or maybe it wasn’t a good thing. Maybe it was a recipe for disaster.
“Up this motorway whenever we fancied a trip to the Lakes,” Chris said. “Used to get so packed at every junction, especially on a bank holiday. So noisy. Reeked of exhaust fumes. But not…not busy like this.”
Pedro knew what Chris was getting at. He’d done a few trips himself up north in his time in the army. This end of the M6 used to be buzzing with holidaymakers, bank holiday tourists. So annoying, but so full of life.
But now there was nothing but silence.
Not even death. Just silence.
“Do we have to walk much further, Mummy?” Josh asked. His voice sounded tired, and he was pulling back at his mum’s arm.
Pedro looked up at the sky. Looked for the sun. Afternoon. They must’ve been walking a good five, six hours now. Five, six hours of nothing but stacks of cars. Five, six hours of silence.
Not right. When did the silence end?
“Stopping wouldn’t be wise,” Barry snapped. He’d been the most silent of them all. Bit of a dickhead, really. Had such a sour-ass face. If it were up to Pedro, he’d have ditched him long ago. But safety in numbers and all that, that’s what it seemed to be.
“We’ll stop in a few hours,” Chris said, a short distance ahead of the others now. He looked back at Josh, half-smiled, then carried on drifting ahead.
Josh sighed. Sighed and covered his little face with his hands, theatrically.
Pedro couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction.
“Oh, Josh,” Tamara said, impatience in her voice. She shook her head, her blonde hair wafting either side. “Don’t be such a drama queen. I know you’re good at Drama, but no need to start your acting on the road.”
“You an actor?” Pedro asked, although he wasn’t sure where the question came from. Completely out of nowhere. It dawned on him in a split second that he hadn’t even asked what these people did before the end times. For a living, all that. But he supposed that was just the way things were going now. Didn’t matter what you once were, mattered what you were today. World had no room for somebodies anymore. Only the somebodies who didn’t mind getting their hands dirty.
“I used to do plays and pantomimes and stuff,” Josh said, removing his hands from his face. He looked at Pedro with those innocent blue eyes of his, little fixated smile on his face, and Pedro felt something like his heart melting for this little soldier. “I was Joseph in the Jesus story!”
“Huh,” Pedro said, as their walk slowed down. “I was in a play once.”
“Wait…” Tamara laughed. “You were in a play?”
“I was in a play, yes!” Pedro said, smiling back at a giggling Tamara. “What’s so funny about that?”
“Let me guess. A Christmas Carol. You were Scrooge.”
Pedro shook his head and nodded over at Barry. “Nah. Barry was busy being Scrooge, ey bruv?”
Barry didn’t laugh, but he just about cracked a smile. That was something. Progress.
“No, it was Aladdin actually. Only an extra in the background, but it was for my boy’s school show. Lot of the parents got up and made idiots of themselves. I wore white undies and a big turban on my bald head. ‘Cause that’s just what kids want, ey?”
Tamara laughed some more, as did Josh. “Well I’m sure your boy enjoyed you making a fool of yourself.”
Pedro felt a lump in his throat. But it wasn’t the usual lump that he felt when he was talking about Sam.
It was a realisation that he’d actually been able to talk about Sam without breaking into pieces.
“Are we going to small talk forever or are we actually going to get on with our walk?” Barry asked, shaking his head, trying not to smile. Pedro looked ahead and saw Chris climbing around a lorry door, disappearing to the other side. “All this—this chat is slowing us—”
“Ever been on the stage, Baz?”
Barry narrowed his eyes. “It’s Barry. And believe it or not, yes. Many times. I…” He scratched the back of his bald head. Looked over his shoulder at the mass of abandoned cars, little specks of snow resting on their roofs. “Before all this, I did—I did charity work. Save the Children, Make a Wish, things like that. And I had to dress up as a clown for a cancer group once.” He smiled. A genuine, warm smile. “F
elt like an absolute buffoon, but it made the kids happy, so…”
He looked at Pedro, Tamara and Josh and suddenly snapped out of his confession, as if realising he was peeling too many layers from his well-guarded soul.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s keep moving.”
“Wow,” Tamara said. She looked at Josh, wide-eyed. “I don’t know what I’d rather see, Pedro in his underpants, or Barry in a clown suit.”
“Definitely Pedro in pants!” Josh shouted, sniggering.
Pedro grinned. He was buzzing all over. Buzzing from his present company. They were decent people. Genuine decent people. And yeah, he was wrong for feeling buzzing, but company was good. He’d been lucky. Lucky he’d bumped into them. Even Barry, as frumpy a fat-fuck as he usually was, was letting himself go a bit. Progress.
“What about you, Chris?” Pedro called, squeezing past the large lorry door that Chris had gone through a few moments earlier. “Ever been on stage in your pants?”
Chris didn’t answer.
Pedro’s heart thumped as he pulled himself around the lorry door. His arms tingled, and he became aware of the cold wind on his skin, then sheer silence of the road. Chris had to be behind this door. He’d just disappeared out of sight for a split second, but he had to be behind it.
“Chris? You okay, bud?”
Again, nothing but silence in reply.
“What’s that smell?” Josh whispered.
Pedro looked back at Josh. It was only when the kid mentioned it that he smelled it too. The rotting smell. Fuck—one of the worst rotting smells he’d ever smelled. The others must’ve smelled it too, ‘cause they were sniffing at the air, looking left and right, seeking the source. Must be a body in a car nearby. Something like that.
Pedro crept further around the tight gap of the lorry door. He still couldn’t see Chris, but he couldn’t be far ahead. Damn that bastard if this was a trick. Damn that…
He stopped. Stopped, just before he emerged from behind the lorry door.
A chilly breeze washed against Pedro’s face, biting into his skin. The smell of rot was strong in the air, the taste of it lingering in the back of his throat.
“What is it?” Barry asked. “What do you see?”
Pedro’s heart sunk when he stared down the motorway at what was ahead. When he saw them, so numerous in their dead masses, unlike anything he’d ever seen before.
It sunk just like it had when he’d seen his son lying in a pool of blood fourteen years ago.
Chris was lying on the motorway up ahead.
Lying in a growing pool of blood.
His eyes were wide open. Wide open, as a zombie bit into his neck, took out a chunk of his flesh.
Another one ripped through his black coat and feasted on his wormlike guts.
But it wasn’t just Chris that made Pedro feel ill. It wasn’t just the fact that Chris was down that froze him in his tracks and made him want to get the fuck out of here right away.
It was the hundreds of creatures surrounding him.
It was the hundreds of creatures, and how…how quiet they were.
“Pedro, what is it?” Tamara whispered.
One of the creatures, a dark-haired man with glassy eyes and narrow, gaunt cheekbones, lifted itself from Chris’s thigh and looked up at Pedro.
It let out a tiny little groan, and, raw meat spilling down its chin, it stood up.
And then the other creatures all looked.
Looked at Pedro, suddenly disinterested in Chris.
There was a moment of sheer stasis as Pedro stared at the hundreds of silent goons; as the goons stared at Pedro.
But it was only a moment, because they launched themselves in Pedro’s direction, not a groan coming from the bloodied mouths of any of them…
Chapter Ten: Riley
Alan came out of the bathroom looking a completely different man to the one that’d gone in.
He’d shaved his bristly beard off completely, revealing a younger, red-cheeked face. He’d snipped at his grey hair too, and although he was hardly sporting the most fashionable or cohesive haircut, he’d taken twenty years off himself. Before, Riley would’ve had him down as in his seventies. Now, his fifties, perhaps.
Alan plonked himself down in the wheelchair. He had a blue rucksack on his lap stuffed with food, entertainment, guns, all sorts. It was alright for Alan—he was just being chauffeured through a tunnel. He could relax. Not so much for Riley. Not quite as enjoyable.
“I still don’t see why we can’t just drive a car through this tunnel,” Riley said, sighing as he tensed to push Alan closer to the open tunnel door, the dark, dimly lit expanse lying ahead.
Alan sniggered. “First sight of a car we get, we can drive one. But don’t get your hopes up too high down here.”
Riley bit into his lip as he got used to the weight of Alan and his rucksack in the wheelchair. Shit. This was going to take longer than they thought. Days, let alone hours. The rifle strapped to Riley’s left shoulder wasn’t helping either. “Let’s just get a move on then.”
As Riley pushed his way through the tunnel door, the noise of Alan’s wheels echoed around the tunnel. Just stepping inside it gave Riley a new sense of the sheer expanse of this thing—it was cold, for one. Cold, and dark, and it left a damp taste in the mouth. There was a musty smell in the air, not as bad as a sewer, but barely present. Underfoot, there was a metal pathway, which felt slippery.
Riley nearly plummeted forward as Alan slammed his feet down onto the ground.
“Jesus, what are you…”
Alan was looking over his shoulder. Looking back at the light coming from the bunker. Being inside this tunnel, it was like the bunker was a million miles away even though it was only a few feet. But not for long. Not for much longer. Not when they got going.
“Close the door,” Alan said.
Riley stepped away from Alan’s wheelchair. Yanked back the heavy door, taking one final look around the bunker.
The television. The computer. The air conditioning. It wasn’t a bad place, not really. It was safe. One of the safest places on earth.
But he had bigger things to worry about than mere safety.
He pulled with all his strength and the door clattered shut, sending a huge series of echoes down the tunnel.
Darkness surrounded him. Darkness, but for the dim, flickery lights lining the top of the tunnel roof all the way down, into infinity. Now, in the darkness, it really did feel like he was in a cave, as water dripped somewhere in the distance, sheer silence reminiscent of some alien land.
“Just so you know, there’s no going back through that door,” Alan said. “Not without someone on the other side.”
Riley turned back to Alan. Shook his head. “Thought there might be a catch. Nice of you to tell me in advance.”
Alan, with his new, younger face, smiled. “If I told you, would you have come?”
Riley didn’t answer. He wasn’t even sure himself, but he knew what Alan was getting at.
He took a few steps back up to the wheelchair and grabbed the handles. Tensed again, and pushed, getting into the flow as the wheels squeaked and rattled against the echoey metal flooring.
“Our first pit stop is in Lancaster,” Alan said, his every word echoing. “Around four, five hours. Twelve miles.”
“What’s in Lancaster?” Riley asked. In truth, he was quite intimidated by the tunnel. Still not completely trusting of its safety. He’d locked himself underground. Locked himself underground with a man who’d been bitten. He had a gun, sure, but all weapons and all food were only finite. He’d either made the best decision in the world or the worst gamble.
But without a gamble, you died in the Dead Days. It really was as simple as that.
“Another bunker similar to the one we’ve just come from,” Alan said. “Smaller, more easily penetrable, but it should provide nice shelter for the evening.”
A sobering thought whacked Riley square in th
e gut. “What if…What if there’s nobody there? The door—you said the door to the last tunnel needed someone at the other side. What if there is no one?”
Alan laughed. He lifted a hand. “Fret not. Lancaster doesn’t have quite as advanced architecture as Bunker 749. It’s a simple code system that I happen to know rather well.”
“And if—if something happens to you?”
Alan looked back at Riley. The smile on his face, barely lit by the dim lights above, was bordering on infuriating. “You’d better damn well hope nothing does happen to me, or you’ll have to use the backup.”
Riley gulped. “Which is?”
“My fingers. Chop the index off and you’ll have a nice portable keycard. Just don’t go showing it around. It won’t make you many friends.”
Riley couldn’t laugh at Alan’s half-joke even if he wanted to. All he could focus on were the echoing noises, the sound of a burst pipe dripping away in the distance. He had to get through this place. Get out of this place. And Alan…no matter what he thought of him, he’d been bitten. He’d been bitten, and he was alive.
So he had to get to this Manchester “Living Zone.” He had to get there with Alan. Anything else and this whole journey was a complete failure, and he’d die in the dark.
“Just pretend you’re on a nice long walk,” Alan said as Riley pushed him further and further down the metal path, further and further into the belly of the beast.
“I’ll try,” Riley said.
It was just a walk. Just a walk, with snacks and sleep and refreshments on the way. Alan was government, or government related. He was professional. He knew what he was doing, what he was talking about.
He looked up at the high ceiling of the tunnel above. Imagined the creatures staggering around on the surface, in a different world to Riley completely.
It was just a walk through a tunnel.
He took a deep breath. Stared into the darkness ahead.
How hard could a walk through a tunnel be?
They heard them coming all those miles away with the first footsteps. Heard the squeaks, the rattling against the walls.
