Dead Days: Season 3 (Books 13-18)

by Casey, Ryan

  He wiped his forehead. Loosened his tie some more. He’d keep an eye on the light. Keep an eye, and if it didn’t sort its shit out, he’d have a look outside the door.

  He heard the wind whistling behind the metal door as he stared back at it, and it felt like the eyes of a thousand were watching him.

  Three hours later…‌

  The one who was David Heller opened his eyes and rose to his feet, spilling the contents of his guts onto the hard, tiled floor.

  He followed the others out of the door, out into the tunnel.

  He was one of the many now.

  The red light never stopped blinking.

  Chapter One: Pedro

  Pedro stared at the goons blocking the road ahead, all of them crouched down over Chris’s twitching body, all of them dirty-fighting to tug out his guts.

  He knew right then that there was no way the group was going down this motorway.

  There were hundreds of the zombies. Hundreds of them. But there was something weird about them‌—‌they weren’t all groaning, moaning in that horrible tone like they usually did. Sure‌—‌they still reeked like shit now they were up close, but they were quiet.

  But they’d definitely noticed Pedro because they were wandering in his direction now.

  “Run,” Pedro tried to shout, squeezed between the tight gap of the truck door and another car. He said it, but his voice was weak. No way Tamara, Josh and Barry had heard him.

  “Pedro, what’s‌—‌”

  “Run back!” he shouted.

  He yanked himself away from the lorry door as one of the goons reached out for him. He just about got away, just about stopped it from grabbing his black coat, and he sprinted back in the direction they’d come from, towards the wide-eyed and shocked faces of the others.

  Josh screamed. Grabbed his mum’s hand. Barry stared on, the little colour from his pale cheeks gone. “Chris is‌—‌is‌—‌”

  “He’s gone,” Pedro shouted. “Now we have to go.”

  “Where?” Tamara asked, but any thoughts Pedro might’ve had about where they were going were soon pushed to one side when the lorry door cracked and the sound of a hundred creatures staggering through, squelching through, nipped at his heels.

  “Anywhere!” Pedro shouted.

  And then he ran. Ran down the motorway in the direction they’d just come from. The cold sleet stung his face, but that was okay because he was boiling. He needed to cool down. Needed to calm himself. He squinted back up the foggy motorway, back past car after car after car, getting further away from the oncoming mass of goons. Why the fuck were they being so quiet?

  Shit‌—‌what did it matter right now anyway?

  He thought about looking over his shoulder to see how Tamara, Josh and Barry were getting on, but he couldn’t bring himself to look. He couldn’t see the despair on their faces, the fear and the terror as they slipped away. He couldn’t face that. Not again. Not two groups in a day.

  His vision blurry, the taste of sweat in his mouth, he tried to focus on his surroundings. Cars, vans, lorries‌—‌all sorts of vehicles. He had to hide in one of them. He had to get inside and he had to hide. The nearest motorway exit, it was too far away. Or was it? Fuck, he wasn’t keeping note.

  No. He had to hide. Hide and let the zombies pass.

  He looked over his shoulder, unable to stop himself. Kinda wished he hadn’t when he saw just how close the zombies were. Just how close they were to Tamara’s long blonde hair, to Josh’s little body. They were moving quicker too. Not running or jogging or anything like that. Just looking…‌hungrier. Power walking, like his ex used to do. Like they were getting used to all the running away people were doing.

  Getting used to. Was he mad? The dead didn’t get used to anything.

  He turned around, panting, looking for somewhere‌—‌anywhere‌—‌to hide. There was a black Vectra to his right, but the windows were smashed. A van on its side. He could get in the back. He could…‌

  And then he saw it. Saw exactly what he needed.

  A dirty-cream tow caravan. Attached to a Range Rover. Doors shut, manky red curtains closed. He could hide in there. Hide in there and hope to fuck the goons didn’t see him.

  And if they did, what choice did he have anyway? It was the tow caravan or a broken leg trying to dodge all these abandoned cars. Least the caravan might have some booze to pass the time quicker. Make death easier.

  He looked back again. Saw Tamara and Barry pulling Josh away. He waved at them. Waved in their direction, just hoping they saw where he went.

  But fuck. What did he used to say about survival? You save yourself first. Make yourself the priority. Then, you worry about the other people.

  And as much as that thought gnawed at his gut, he knew it was right.

  He lunged forward towards the caravan. Reached for the handle of the door, hoping to God this van was unlocked, open.

  But God wasn’t fucking listening today. Course he wasn’t.

  He tugged at the handle of the caravan door. Nothing‌—‌didn’t even budge. He stepped back. Looked at the wrench he’d found on the way in his hand. Could he smash a window? Like hell he could. That’d only compromise his position even more. Bring a whole load of attention towards a live human snack.

  He closed his eyes. Closed his eyes and rubbed his left temple. Think, Pedro, think. Use that brain of yours.

  And then it clicked.

  The black Range Rover in front of the caravan. If that were the car pulling the van, then the keys could be in there somewhere.

  He jogged back towards the Range Rover, keeping his head down so he couldn’t see the zombies about fifty feet away, the big, smelly wall of them. He pulled open the door, heard glass crack as it hit the floor.

  His stomach sank when he saw what was inside.

  There was a woman in the front seat of the Range Rover. Slouched down in the front seat. She had dark brown hair and was wearing a short white vest top, nails painted bright blue.

  She didn’t have any legs. Bottom half of her body completely gnawed away.

  She reached out a weak, shaky hand. Looked at him with glassy, distant eyes, unable to move, letting out pitiful little gasps from the pit of her throat.

  Pedro tasted sickliness in his mouth. Because although the bottom half of her body was gnawed away, he could still see her belly. The lump on her belly. He remembered what that lump looked like when Sam was inside Corrine’s belly. The way she rested her hands on it, feeling for the little kicks.

  Pedro gulped back the sickliness. Tried as well as he could to avoid vomming with the wretched smell, the flies buzzing around the Range Rover. Focused on the task at hand, as the weak, pitiful zombie gasped at him, starving away as it stayed rooted to the seat.

  He scanned the car. Scanned the dashboard, looked for the keys.

  There were some keys in the car.

  And there were a few keys dangling from a set.

  Pedro took a short but deep breath. Readied himself to reach into the car before the half-woman had a chance to snap at his arm.

  And then he heard a scream. A scream to his right.

  It was deafening. Loud, like a squealing animal. So high pitched that it had to be a woman’s.

  Or a kid’s.

  He looked to his right. Prepared to stare the mass of oncoming zombies in their eyes.

  When he looked, he had to blink a few times to convince himself he wasn’t seeing things.

  The fog had really set in. It was so thick and so dense that he could only clearly see the five vehicles ahead.

  But the goons. The goon zombies that had been so close just seconds ago. They were gone.

  And so too were Tamara, Josh and Barry.

  Pedro heard another scream. Further away. Further in the direction they’d all been headed. His stomach sank. This scream, it was weaker. A dying scream. A final, defeated scream that he’d heard from so many enemy troops when he’d held a gun to their heads and blasted their b
rains into next week back on the job.

  He looked inside the Range Rover. Looked at the pitiful woman, still clutching at him with her weak, thin fingers. Stared at her, tensing her jaw so much it shook, desperate to just take a bite out of him.

  For a moment, when he heard the third scream, a bit of choking thrown in this time, he thought about holding his damn arm out for the woman and letting her snack away.

  But then he reached in quickly, yanked the keys out of the car, and walked over to the caravan.

  He unlocked the door. Stepped inside. Had another look at the thick fog on the outside. Listened for a sign‌—‌a sign of life from anywhere on this barren motorway.

  But there was no life here. No life anymore.

  He closed the door of the caravan and was surrounded in darkness.

  Alone again.

  Chapter Two: Chloë

  The night-time wasn’t easy because Chloë didn’t like the dark even before there were monsters.

  She curled up against a tree, holding her hands over her legs, sticking her face onto her knees. She was shivering. Shivering cold. So cold that her ears felt like they were going to fall off, so cold that she couldn’t even smell anything but cold. But she’d walked so far. Walked so far after what happened at Peter and Angela’s cottage. She didn’t want the monsters to get to her. She couldn’t let them.

  When she looked ahead, she couldn’t see a thing in the thick woods. Just blackness for as far as she could see. The only light was from the little stars above her, twinkling in the sky. Every few minutes, she’d look up just to check they were still there, then she’d look back down again when she thought she saw something moving in the dark ahead.

  She stuffed her head back against her legs. Her teeth chattered, the taste of squirrel stew growing more and more distant. Fingers were so cold. It’ll be light soon. It’ll be light.

  All the time, she held onto two things‌—‌one was the necklace she’d bought for her mum. She was holding it so tight she was worried she was going to crush it.

  In her other hand, she held the gun.

  She knew she’d used the last two bullets. Used them on Peter and Angela. But she’d had to. If she hadn’t shot them, the monsters would’ve got inside and they’d have eaten them all. And Peter told her to use the bullets wisely so that’s what she’d done.

  She thought back to Riley. Back to some of the things he’d done. But also back to the early days, when she’d hit Stan’s wife Jill in the head. From the beginning, she’d made the hard choices that she didn’t want to do, and she was alive.

  The only one alive.

  She tasted salt against her lips as she squeezed her face against her legs. Maybe that’s what this was. Maybe she was being punished for the bad things she’d done and that’s why she was all on her own now, like a naughty step but bigger. A naughty step that she’d never find her way off.

  She heard something. Something snapping just ahead to her left. She resisted the urge to move. To look up. She knew it was probably a bird or an animal. She was in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night. The monsters wouldn’t be in the middle of the woods. They’d be in the places where there was food.

  But then she heard it again. Footsteps. Definitely footsteps, crunching against the hard leaves on the ground. They were over to her left. Moving quite quickly.

  She clenched her jaw. Tightened the gun in her hand even though she couldn’t shoot with it.

  And, slowly, she looked up.

  What Chloë saw confused her at first. It scared her a bit, too, as she squinted in the darkness, her eyes struggling to get used to the small amount of light.

  There was a deer in front of her. A beautiful brown deer. It stared at her with its big eyes. Stared at her, and she stared back at it, both of them completely still.

  Chloë could see that the deer was pretty but it was skinny too, just like the squirrel had been. And it was shaking. Its thin legs were shaking.

  She took a few breaths of the cold air. Kept tight hold of the gun and the necklace.

  And then, she moved forward slightly.

  The deer stepped back at first. Stepped back like it was just as surprised to see her as she was it. She smiled. Smiled and thought about cuddling up to the deer. The deer would be warm, and her body would be warm underneath so they could warm each other. They could be friends. They could find food together. They didn’t have to be alone anymore.

  “It’s okay, deer,” Chloë said. She felt around the ground with her necklace-hand for something to give the deer. Felt through leaves, twigs, and…‌and a small bit of grass.

  She tore out the grass, the deer still standing there, shaking, stunned.

  “Come on. I’m your friend. Here’s some food.”

  She held the grass out for the deer.

  At first, the deer stumbled back again. Stumbled back, looked ready to run.

  But Chloë just kept that grass held out. Kept it held out and didn’t move her hand or her arm any further forward.

  The deer backed away a bit more.

  And then it got closer to her. Closer to her hand. Sniffed at her warm hand. Dribbled onto her hand, onto the grass.

  Chloë smiled. Felt warm inside. “Go on,” she said. “Take some. It’s yours.”

  The deer sniffed some more. Sniffed, then lowered itself towards her hand. Opened its mouth and‌—‌

  And then it flew onto its side and fell to the ground.

  Chloë didn’t know what had happened. One second the deer had been there, the next it was on the ground, gasping, grunting. She’d felt warm wetness cover her too, like rain.

  Except she knew it wasn’t rain when she looked down at the deer.

  At the bloody hole in its side.

  Chloë felt her bottom lip shake as she stared at the deer, its tongue out, struggling to move. It stared at her with its beautiful big eyes. Stared at her, as tears poured down her cheeks, hot on her freezing face.

  She didn’t have time to say anything else to the deer because that’s when she saw the lights and heard the footsteps.

  She froze. Looked to her left and saw the two lights coming. Heard the footsteps crunching through the ground. People. They’d shot the deer. She had to hide. Get away.

  She shot to her feet and threw herself behind the big tree. She could still hear the deer letting out heavy breaths, hear the footsteps and the whispers coming in her direction.

  She held her breath. Held her breath so the smokiness didn’t come out as the lights got closer. And she held herself tightly. Still.

  She soon saw two people: a man and a woman. She couldn’t see their faces because they were covered up with warm-looking scarves, but she knew one was a woman because of the long brown hair and the higher voice. Both of them were holding big, thin guns, like Dad used to fire at the fairground and win her prizes.

  She couldn’t properly tell what they were saying to each other, but they both crouched down and picked up the deer. They sounded happy, which Chloë found a bit wrong because why would they be happy about killing an innocent deer? She knew the deer was food for some, but they didn’t have to be happy about something being dead. Just thankful.

  She kept as still as she could. Felt herself going dizzy with how much she was holding her breath.

  “Gonna go down well…‌” the man said.

  “… doesn’t please Ursula then…‌” the woman said, both of them hard to hear.

  Chloë gripped her gun tightly. Gripped and hoped the people wouldn’t find her. Because as much as she wanted to be with people, she had to know them first. People were a problem and they always hurt everyone and each other. So she had to know them first. There were lots of bad people out there, Mum used to tell her. More now than before the monsters came.

  She gulped. Clenched the necklace…‌

  Wait.

  She looked down at her left hand. Gripped again, tried to see where she’d put it.

  The necklace was gone.

>   “Hold up, what’s this?”

  The man’s voice gave Chloë’s tummy the tickles. She’d left the necklace. She’d dropped it when she’d been feeding the deer. Silly, silly girl. Mum would be so sad. Mum would tell her off for this. They were going to find her. They were going to know she was here.

  She listened as the footsteps cracked against the ground, the torch searching. She moved her feet out of the way as the light almost hit them. Curled herself together again, holding the gun tight, taking a peek around the tree and hoping‌—‌praying‌—‌they wouldn’t find her.

  The man crouched down and picked up the necklace. This made Chloë sad, seeing him with something that was hers‌—‌hers and her Mum’s. He looked at it. Looked at it with his torch, the woman lingering behind.

  And then he shone his torch in Chloë’s direction.

  Chloë was sure the man had seen her. She was sure he must have.

  But he didn’t walk over to her.

  He stood up with the necklace and walked up to the woman.

  “I’ve got you a gift,” he said.

  Chloë peeked around the corner. The man wrapped his arms around the woman’s neck, placed the necklace on her.

  “Necklace from a dead woman,” the woman said, laughing a bit. “Nice. Classy. More Ursula’s cuppa anyway.”

  Then they both giggled and touched each other and kissed, and then started walking away with the deer.

  Chloë was so mad. She couldn’t believe anyone would take her necklace. She felt lost inside without it. Felt weak and like a little girl with no strength again.

  So she waited until the people were just far enough ahead, and then she crouched down and crept after them.

  She kept her eyes on the lights from their torches as they got further away. Moving was warming her up, but only a little bit. She could see more, and she realised it’s because the trees were getting thinner, which meant she should be near the end of the woods.

  And then the lights stopped. The lights stopped, and something banged up ahead.