by Casey, Ryan
Pedro crouched down on the hard, cold concrete. His head was still aching from his collision with the ground, and he could taste blood in his mouth, which was always fucking horrible. He listened to the complete silence coming from the motorway, now that they were sitting down at a junction just off it. Gave him the creeps, it did. Preferred the old groans and wails of the goons. At least they were obvious that way.
His legs ached. So too did his back—but hell, so always did his back when he’d been walking too long. He smelled, too. Smelled like his army gear used to smell when he pulled it off him after a searing hot day in Afghan. Rank.
But he didn’t feel bad. Not really. Because Barry, Tamara and Josh were crouched opposite him.
Tamara had an arm around Josh’s back. Josh was tapping a stick against the road, dumb contention in his face as he scraped it against the ground. Pedro wished he was a kid again for a moment, but then again these days couldn’t be easy for kids, no way. Not all this death, all this loss. Couldn’t do anyone any good.
Barry sat on his own opposite Pedro. He was looking at him, scratching at his bald head, half-smiling. Shit—even Barry looked kind of happy to be reunited with Pedro.
But there was sadness about the vibe, too. Quietness and stillness. Because yeah, Tamara had saved Pedro from the grasp of the half-bodied zombie underneath the car. But they’d also lost, too. Chris. He figured that loss was hurting the others.
“Maybe we should go out there and…and find his body,” Pedro muttered, thinking aloud more than anything. “See if he’s—if he hasn’t turned yet.”
Tamara sighed. Josh kept on tapping at the road with his stick, yawning, clearly tiring and in need of another distraction.
Barry cleared his throat. “No, we…we saw him. He—It was already too late. Happened very quickly.”
Pedro’s stomach sank. So Chris was a goon after all. All that life, all that optimism about getting to Manchester, and he’d lost his chance in a split second of madness. “It’s utter crap. Utter crap, this world.”
Barry rubbed his ungloved hands together, which looked red and hard. “That I can agree with.”
Agreement. More progress. Maybe Barry wasn’t so bad a guy after all. First impressions and all that. Pedro knew people had got him wrong in the past—the gung-ho army guy who follows orders. But those people knew nothing. They didn’t know a thing about him, not really.
“I miss Chris,” Josh said. His voice was quiet, sad.
Tamara sighed some more. Tightened her grip around her son’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Josh. It’s–”
“It’s—it’s not okay,” Josh said. His bottom lip quivered. “Chris was nice. And…and all the bad stuff is happening to the nice people. Why does the bad stuff have to happen to the nice people?”
“Hey,” Pedro said. He wasn’t sure what he was doing or what he was going to say, but he lifted himself to his feet and approached Josh. “We’re good people, aren’t we? Nice people? And we’re still here.”
Josh looked at Pedro, and all Pedro saw looking back at him was Sam. Strange, really. They didn’t even look much alike, not now he’d got to know the kid.
But the feeling he gave him. This weird feeling of wanting to protect him, look out for him. That was there. That’s what reminded him.
He didn’t want to let another kid down. Not after Sam. Not Claudia’s kids, or Little Thomas at the caravan park.
Not after Afghan.
He shuddered, knocked the thought out of his mind.
He held a fist out to Josh, like gangsters did.
“We’re gonna be alright, us,” Pedro said. “Hell, you’ve been bitten, bruv—you’re tougher than the lot of us!”
Josh smiled at this and examined Pedro’s fist.
“Go on,” Pedro said. “Bust me.”
Josh’s cheeks went red. He turned his nose up. “I’m not doing that. That’s silly.”
Pedro scuffled Josh’s curly brown hair and laughed. He heard Tamara laughing a little, too. Caught her smiling. Even Barry had a flat smile on his face.
He stepped away. Stepped away and scratched at his arms. He knew they couldn’t stay on this junction forever. They had to make a decision. A choice of where to go.
He looked out over the motorway. Stared over at the mass of cars, empty, doors open.
“We’ve got a decision to make, gang,” Pedro said, regretting the joviality of his tone right away. Shit. How did leaders speak? And what made him think he was leader all of a sudden? Oh well. Someone was going to have to do the dirty, and it looked like him.
He turned and faced the others. Tamara looked back at him, doe-eyed, her blonde hair in need of a wash. Josh looked at him too, smile on his cute face now. Even Barry watched, scratching at his measly beard and bobbing his head up and down.
“And it’s a decision we need to make together. All four of us. ‘Cause that’s how it’s gotta be from now, you hear?”
The three of them nodded. Pedro was slightly gutted they did because he still had no idea where he was going with his crazy little speech.
“We…We were heading to Manchester. Heading to this—to this Living Zone. Heading there so we can get there to safety, and so we can get Superman Josh to save the world.”
He winked at Josh. Josh stuck his skinny arm out and pointed at the sky, the bandage underneath poking out, a reminder of what he was—how special he was.
“And…And we know the motorway is dangerous. We know about the threats because of—because of the zombies we saw all on the motorway. Big group of them, kinda group we don’t want to be dealing with again.”
Barry lowered his head. Pedro could see something in his wandering eyes. Something that Pedro had felt himself time and time again—guilt. He felt guilty for making the call to go on the motorway. If he hadn’t, Chris might not have died. That’s the way Barry would be looking at things, Pedro just knew it.
“But it’s also the most-direct route,” Pedro said, raising his voice. “It’ll get us to Manchester quickest. And the truth is I…I still believe it’s the safest route. There’s cars, vans, shelter all the way down. And sure, there’s danger, but where isn’t there danger these days?” He paused for a second. Caught his breath. “I…I think we made the right call going the motorway route. And I think we should stick to it.”
Barry lifted his head again. Lifted his head and looked Pedro directly in his eyes. The guilt was gone, replaced by wide-eyed amazement.
Pedro nodded at him, only subtly, but it was enough because Barry nodded back.
A thank-you.
Or as close as Pedro was going to get from Barry, anyway.
Pedro scratched at his tingling neck. He was getting agitated with this public speaking malarkey. Time to wrap it up. “So…But it’s not just me. Not just me who makes the call. So I need to know what you all think. We all need to know what each other thinks, even if it means tearing our own necks out.”
Josh giggled at this. Not the intended effect, but Pedro figured a kid’s humour might be a bit creepy in a whacked-out, zombie-laden world.
“So who’s with me?” Pedro asked, feeling even more hot-faced, even more ridiculous.
For a moment, nobody budged. Everyone just stared at Pedro.
And then Barry cleared his throat and rose to his feet.
He nodded at Pedro. Scratched at his big round belly underneath his black winter coat. “With you,” he said.
And then Tamara rose. Tamara rose, holding her son’s hand. She smiled at Pedro, a smile that made him feel weirdly gooey inside.
“Count us in, too,” she said.
Pedro smiled back at her. Then he turned his attention to Josh, who was still tugging at his mum’s hand, holding his ground.
“What about you, soldier?” Pedro asked. “Ready to take on some more goons?”
Josh squinted. Tapped a finger against his lip.
And then he broke out in a smile
and jumped to his feet. “I’m in!”
Pedro laughed. Tamara tutted, shook her head. Barry kept his eyes on Pedro, still amazed, but now free of guilt.
“Okay,” Pedro said, looking around at the three of them, then looking down the junction and towards the blocked-up depths of the motorway. “On your marks, get set…let’s go.”
Chapter Eight: Chloë
When Chloë came around, she thought at first that she was back at home in bed.
She could feel the soft blanket covering her. It was so warm. So warm, especially when she’d been so cold lately. She wondered whether Mum was here with her. Whether she was going to wake her up and take her somewhere nice like the Deepdale Retail Park for the day. Her and her sister could look at all the nice clothes in Next and Outfit.
Or she wondered if Dad was off work. If he was home. If he’d take them out to watch the football with him. She didn’t really understand the football, but she enjoyed watching all the people in the crowd celebrating and going crazy. It was always funny.
She opened her eyes. It wasn’t bright, not like she’d expected it to be, even though there was a little light in her head. She sniffed up. Sniffed up and smelled…No. It smelled bad. Like a bad toilet. Had she been ill? Had Elizabeth been ill? Smelly Lizzy, she’d call her at school. That would make her more popular than her sister, finally.
She could taste something in her mouth, too. Like copper, as if she had a penny in her mouth. She opened her eyes some more, wondering what the nasty smell and the horrible taste were, trying to see in the darkness.
It was dark. Very dark. And she was cold now, she realised that. This wasn’t her bed. She wasn’t under a blanket, either.
Where was she?
She looked around. Looked around for a light. She’d had a dream like this before. A dream where she’d woke up in the pitch black and tried to find a light switch but couldn’t. So she’d screamed and screamed in the dream until she woke up screaming in real life. She didn’t sleep for days after that. She went to bed terrified every night, too scared to fall asleep. She wondered if that’s what the people felt like before they became monsters…
And then it clicked. The monsters. Her mum, her sister, all of them gone.
Her heart raced. Her breathing did, too.
She’d been in the woods. She’d followed some people. Some people with a deer. A man and a woman. And then…
She felt sick as the copper taste got stronger in her mouth.
She remembered the people. Remembered the man in the blue shirt with the black moustache, and the dirty looking woman. Remembered all the people tied up in that horrible room—the old man who looked like he was sleeping, the woman with the blue hair…
Wait. She wasn’t, was she? She couldn’t be…
She looked to her side and noticed someone twitching. She tried to move her hands, but it hurt to do so as they were tied to something behind her, tied so tight. Her feet were stuck, too. She couldn’t open her mouth to shout because there was something wrapped around it, something digging right into the corners of it.
She tried to move. She tried to shuffle away.
She was in the room. She was one of the poor people who were trapped in there.
She shook some more, but she knew there was no point. She was sick and dizzy and she wanted her mum so bad. Warm tears crawled down her cheeks. This was her fault. She should never have hurt Peter and Angela. She should never have hurt Anna, even though that was by accident. She should have stayed with Mike and maybe her mum would have lived. She should have stayed on the boat. They all should.
“Psst. Kid. You’re gonna have to keep quiet. Keep quiet or they’ll be in for you sooner than you think.”
The voice was a woman’s. It came from Chloë’s left. She couldn’t properly see the woman yet because her eyes were still getting used to the dark, as well as stinging from the tears. She could just see that she had long hair. And she had a soft voice. Like she was calm.
Chloë blabbered and whimpered some more. She couldn’t help it. She just wanted a nice Christmas. A nice Christmas with nice people, and this is what she got.
“Kid, seriously,” the woman whispered. “I’m not so keen on them finding me with my gag off. Just…” The woman looked over her shoulder at the other tied up people, then back at Chloë. “These—these gags, they aren’t as tough as they seem. You’ve just gotta push them up your face instead of down. Push them up over your top lip with your tongue. But—but be quiet when you do. I think they meant for us to slip ‘em so it gives ‘em an excuse to take us for our turn quicker.”
Chloë squeezed her eyes shut. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed at the gag with her little tongue. Pushed with everything she had until it made her throat sting, the sweaty taste of the gag making her feel sicker. But she couldn’t do it. She just wanted to breathe properly again. That’s all she wanted.
“Come on, kid. You…You’ve got to have strength if you want to make it. Most of these others, they don’t have strength. But I—I saw what you did earlier. The way you hid in here, then went sneaking out. You did good. Not great, but better than most. So come on. Try again.”
Chloë could see this woman better now. She had long, greasy dark hair and a little scar just peeked out beneath her gag. She was thin and had big cheekbones, but she was quite pretty if she was a bit cleaner.
Chloë looked ahead again. Stared into the darkness.
And then she yanked her tongue into the material of the gag and did all she could to lift it.
At first, she didn’t think she was getting anywhere, and her jaw was getting sore.
But slowly, bit by bit, the gag started to lift. It started to creep up her face, up towards her top lip, and then before she knew it, it was just wrapped above her top lip and her sore, chapped mouth was free.
She gasped. Gasped and let out a little shriek.
“Sssh!” the woman said. “Ssh. You did good. Very good. But you need to be quiet. What’s…How did you end up here, anyway?”
Chloë’s mind raced with thoughts. All she wanted to do was cry, not talk. “To—to Manchester. I was—I was going to this Living Zone and then…And then I was okay and then bad things happened and I…”
She let the tears pour out. She couldn’t hold them in anymore.
“It’s okay,” the woman whispered, leaning closer to Chloë. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk. For what it’s worth, I had a shitty time getting here myself. But this…this Living Zone. You wanna drop that fantasy right away. Because there’s no such—”
“I saw it on a map!” Chloë shouted. She realised the error of her ways immediately as the other gagged people around the room shuffled, moaned, grumbled. “I…On the map the bad people had. That’s where they were going.”
The pretty woman smiled. “I saw gold at the bottom of a rainbow once. Doesn’t mean I ever found it.”
Chloë wasn’t sure what rainbows had to do with anything, but she thought she got what the woman was saying.
“Anyway, now you’re in this fine four-star establishment, you might as well tell me your name,” the woman said. Her voice was lighter. Friendlier.
Chloë gulped away a lump of copper-tasting snot in her throat. “Chl—Chloë,” she said.
“Chloë. Nice name.” The woman smiled. “I’d offer a handshake, but, erm…” She shook at the cuffs tied to the pipe behind her.
Chloë waited a few seconds. Waited, the pair of them in silence.
“What’s—what’s your name?” Chloë asked.
The woman smiled some more. “Thought you’d never ask. My name’s Jordanna.” She tilted her head in Chloë’s direction, her greasy brown hair almost touching Chloë’s face. “Pleasure to meet you, Chloë.”
Chapter Nine: Riley
“Get the hell back, Riley! Get the hell back!”
Riley stumbled back, Alan’s wheelchair in hand. Th
e creatures—hundreds of them, all blocking the way through the darkness of the tunnel, all blocking the route to Lancaster.
All looking at Riley and Alan.
And all heading in their direction.
Riley pulled Alan back but he was finding it hard. His arms had turned to jelly, as had his legs. He dared not look over his shoulder. He knew there was nowhere to hide, anyway. Nothing to do but run.
But pulling Alan meant running was out of the question.
They were fucked.
“Get—get back so we can get a clear shot,” Alan shouted, trying his best to wheel himself away from the oncoming horde of creatures as fast as he could. They were so silent. That was the scariest thing about them. A part of Riley wondered whether he and Alan had taken them by as much surprise as they had he and Alan, but no. The creatures were never surprised. Besides, they should be groaning now.
They should, but they weren’t.
“You haven’t even glimpsed what hides under the iceberg yet, Riley.”
Riley pulled Alan back, the sounds of his wheels screeching against the metal of the walkway. He had a gun wrapped around his shoulder, and a heavy one at that, but the creatures were too close. Stopping now would be disastrous. Alan would die. Riley would soon follow.
Locked in a smelly, damp crypt under the earth trying to take a nutty scientist to save the world. He couldn’t have made this crap up.
Riley shuffled further back, his heart racing, his head spinning. Alan was messing around in the rucksack, the creatures still just a stone’s throw away, all of them following. And now they’d reached the last of the dim lights of the tunnel again, it just made Riley feel even worse. Now he could properly see the sheer number of them, all in the light.
Fuck. They had no chance. Not a chance whatsoever.
“Riley, I need you to do something,” Alan shouted, as he pulled out the biggest metal gun from the rucksack. Shit—no wonder the wheelchair was hard to push with that thing secretly hiding away.
“Do something?” Riley said, taking a look over his shoulder, down the endless, corner-less tunnel. “I’m fucking trying—”
