by Casey, Ryan
He smiled at this. Chloë didn’t really get what he meant, but she guessed from the other things that he’d smiled at that it couldn’t be good.
Dom spluttered on the floor. Coughed out blood. Grunted, like he was trying to say something.
“What’s that, hobo?” Goggly-eyed said. He walked back over to Dom, pointing his gun at him, the other one switching back to Jordanna. “Trying to say something?”
Dom coughed. Spluttered some more blood. Grunted as he tried to move his blasted leg.
“You’ll…You’ll…Ne-bur inside. Ne-bur inside.”
Goggly-eyed man crouched back over him. He frowned, like he was pretending to be serious. “I…What’s that? I’ll never get inside? We’ll…we’ll never get inside? Well, that’s a grand claim. A very grand claim.”
Chloë looked up at the walls. She wondered why nobody was helping them like the people who’d shot the monsters all running towards the wall just down the road. Why couldn’t she get any help? These were bad people. Bad people were as bad as monsters, sometimes worse.
But then, in her mum’s voice, she heard the words in her mind: Sometimes it’s better not to fall out with the bad people in case the bad people get stronger than you.
It’s the sort of thing that Mum or Dad might have said. Only this time she really did understand.
Goggly-eyed walked back away from Dom. Took two steps back, looked at Jordanna, then at Chloë, then at Jordanna again.
“So it looks like we’ll be flushing the rats out then. Looks like our only course of action, eh boys?”
The two men shrugged in turn like they were robots wired up to the same system.
“But who to choose? Who to choose indeed.”
He stared at Jordanna. Stared at Jordanna as she panted hard. Her jaw was tensed. She had more fear in her eyes than Chloë had ever seen before. There was a complete silence for a few seconds.
And then Goggly-eyed stepped away from Dom and walked towards Chloë.
“No! Please!” Jordanna shouted, before Chloë could even understand what was happening, before she could even understand why Goggly-eyed was pointing his gun at her and walking towards her now.
“Anyone but…Please. Use me. Use me!”
Goggly-eyed stopped. Stopped right in front of Chloë, his heavy boots on the concrete right beside her. He smelled of sweat. Strong, nasty sweat, like the boy’s changing rooms always smelled at school.
He looked back at Jordanna. Smile on his face was wider than ever.
Jordanna shook, her whole body vibrating like she was a phone on silent. Tears ran down her cheeks as her eyes darted from Chloë to Goggly-eyed to Chloë and back again. “Please. I beg you. Not the girl. Not the girl.”
Goggly-eyed sighed. He lowered his gun slightly. Shook his head.
“I admire you,” he said. “I really do. Looking out for the young’uns and all. Offering yourself up like that. I respect you.”
He stepped away from Chloë again. Stepped away from Chloë, whose heart was pounding and mind was racing and—Mum. She just wanted her mum. Please Mum. Please be here. Please tell me what to do. Please help me.
“But y’know what else I think?” Goggly-eyed said.
Jordanna’s lips quivered. She was still panting. Chloë could even see her heart pounding through her clothes.
“I think offering yourself up proves who’s most important here. Who’s gonna flush out the rats better.”
Chloë heard Jordanna scream, but she didn’t understand it.
She didn’t have time to understand it because she felt something hard crack across her left cheek, tasted a rush of metal in her mouth, felt the side of her head thump against the road and make her ears buzz and her eyes spin with colours.
She didn’t understand, but she just wanted her mum here, as Jordanna screamed and screamed and as Goggly-eyed’s hands yanked her from the ground.
He smiled at her. Lifted a knife out of his pocket. Pressed it against her forehead.
“This is gonna hurt, princess. Gonna hurt a lot.”
Chapter Seven
It took Pedro a few minutes to get his head around what was in front of him.
Outside the door that Jim had opened, there was a little town. Streets were lined with shops much like the rest of Manchester outside the walls.
Except these streets were bustling with people.
Bustling with life.
“What…How…” Pedro started.
He couldn’t carry on because his heart was pounding too much, his mind was racing. He could smell fumes from chicken cooking, hear the chatter and bustle of people that came with any big town.
“Welcome to the Living Zone,” Jim said.
They took a step out of the door and onto a metal balcony. Pedro leaned against a railing, looked around at the scene below—looked at everything, anything that caught his eye. A mum holding her kid’s hand and carrying a bag of shopping. A bald guy smiling and taking pictures of his family.
People living lives. Normal lives.
“How—this isn’t possible,” Tamara said. She sounded as stunned as Pedro felt. “This…who are…” Then she stopped speaking again. Stopped speaking under the same weight of thought and feeling that Pedro was also experiencing.
“It is possible because it’s right here,” Jim said. He had a smile on his face like a father did when revealing a long-anticipated Christmas gift to his kid. Shit—it was Christmas Day, too. This was the best, weirdest Christmas gift Pedro had ever had in his entire damned life.
“All these people…” Pedro said. Doors opened and closed on this busy street. In the distance, Pedro could hear someone “ho ho ho-ing” in a Santa suit, kids laughing. Laughing like everything was okay. Like everything was normal.
“The lucky ones,” Jim Hall said. “Survivors who were nearby. Or people from afar, like yourselves, who found their way.” He looked over the balcony, pride in his wide eyes as he stared down at this town.
“But—but the world outside,” Pedro said. His mouth was dry, and he couldn’t focus on any of his thoughts properly. “The…the world outside isn’t like this. It’s…people can’t just act normal, like. They can’t—”
“Why not?” Jim Hall said. “Everyone’s got to start somewhere. And don’t tell me at some point on your journey here, you haven’t tried normality in some guise or another.”
Pedro thought back to the barracks. Thought back to the boat, then Heathwaite’s. Jim had a point.
“Well now’s your chance for normality,” Jim said. “Humanity doesn’t rebuild itself in a day. And there have always been threats outside our front doors, in some guise or another. The Black Death. Smallpox. Ice Ages. Even terrorism. But humanity adapts. It always adapts. Like a plant, it just requires the right balance of care. The garden just needs tending from time to time.”
Pedro couldn’t argue with Jim’s words because he couldn’t concentrate long enough to dispute them. He was too busy looking down at the people in the middle of this street, this normal Manchester street. The only weird thing about it was the big metal wall outlining the area, a constant reminder of just how closed in these people really were.
“Just take your time to soak it in. I know a few places in town are having Christmas celebrations later today if you want to head along to them. But I understand if you’re tired. And—oh. You’ll want to head down to Induction tomorrow morning. 9 a.m. at the Arndale. You know how to get to it?”
Pedro nodded. Nodded as he stared down the street, streets he’d visit with Corrine when she wanted to buy that weird shit from Afflecks. And the Arndale, too. Absolute bane of his life whenever she wanted to go shopping there.
But now he was back. He was here in Manchester. This place was normal.
“What’s…are there police?” Tamara asked. “What kind of—of money, and—”
“There is a police system in place,” Jim said. �
��Mostly it’s a voluntary service. It’s a true democracy, but it requires some order to survive, of course. As for currency, there’s…well. It’ll all be explained in the induction tomorrow. You don’t have to worry about currency for now.”
There were a million questions Pedro wanted to ask. Food? Where did they get their food? And what Tamara had said—how did the police work? How did currency work?
But it was Tamara who asked the next question, too.
“Is there…what about medical things? Treatment and…and research.”
Jim narrowed his eyes. He looked from Tamara and to Pedro and then back again.
“Yes, yes there are medical research programs and active hospitals and GPs.”
Tamara’s head dropped. She closed her eyes, and her tears dripped onto the metal balcony below.
Jim looked at Pedro, who went to put an arm around Tamara. They had medical research here. If they’d just got Josh a few hundred fucking metres further, he could’ve lived.
He could’ve saved everyone.
“My boy, he—” Tamara started.
“You don’t have to—”
“He was bitten,” she said, snivelling. “He…weeks ago he was bitten. But he didn’t turn. He wasn’t turning.”
She pushed herself close to Pedro. He felt his own eyes sting under the weight of everything that had happened. Fuck Christmas dinner—he needed to find a bed and sleep for weeks.
Jim watched Tamara as she sobbed, a look of sympathy on his face. He didn’t speak, not while Tamara was sobbing. It was strange, this. Strange feeling so fucking sad while the cheers and laughter of people emerged from the streets below.
It was strange feeling so damned abnormal when everyone else around you was so normal.
“There have been cases like…like your son’s,” Jim said.
Tamara rose her head. “What—what do you mean cases like his?”
“Well…there have been… there have been other people bitten. Other people that show a—a resilience to the Apocálypsis infection if they don’t die of blood loss or secondary infections along the way.”
“Wait,” Pedro said. Another fucking bombshell to knock his senses further into confusion. “Are you saying there’s—there’s more bitten people who’re immune?”
Jim Hall slanted his smile. Tilted his head from side to side. “Not so much ‘immune,’ just more resilient than others. But Apocálypsis is highly adaptable. That’s why it’s so hard to try and cure. It’s like a living organism on fast-forward. It adapts and thrives, and it adapts and thrives pretty well.”
Tamara sniffed. “So…so my Josh. He couldn’t have…he couldn’t have helped anyone.”
Jim seemed caught in two minds about what to say in response, looking at Pedro for reassurance then fiddling with his tie.
“I can only say I’m sorry for what happened to your son.We’ll give him the proper send-off he deserves.”
Tamara leaned back into Pedro. He felt her body warm up his cold skin. Rubbed his hands against her blonde hair, so greasy and tangled from all the days without showering.
“We shouldn’t have come here,” she whispered, sniffing up again.
Pedro felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “You can’t…this place is good—”
“He wouldn’t have died if we hadn’t come here,” she said.
Pedro wanted to disagree. He wanted to tell Tamara that Josh could’ve died anywhere on the road, and that here was the safest possible place to try to bring him. He wanted to tell her it was just bad luck—frigging awful luck—that Josh had been shot right before they’d stepped beyond the wall.
But instead, he just kept on stroking her hair. Kept on holding her close. Didn’t say a word. He hadn’t had time to soak anything in yet—to understand it—yet.
It happened the same way when Sam died. The demons took time to surface.
A door to their left rattled open. A man burst out, wearing the same black armour as the men from earlier, goggles perched on top of his head. He was carrying a sleek assault rifle that Pedro didn’t for the life of him recognise. He didn’t even glance at Pedro or Tamara, walking straight to Jim.
“We’ve found him,” the man said, clearly trying to whisper but not doing a very good job.
“Found who?” Pedro cut in. “Dom? And—and Chloë?”
The armed guy glanced at Pedro and Tamara like he’d just realised they were in his presence. Upon realising, he leaned in closer to Jim, whispered more effectively into his ear.
Jim’s eyes widened. Colour seeped from his cheeks in an instant.
“What’s wrong?” Pedro asked. “What’s happening?”
Jim looked at Pedro.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said.
Chapter Eight
“What about now, eh? You not fancy letting us take a peek behind your wall now?”
The goggly-eyed man’s voice buzzed around Chloë’s head. Her face was sore. Sore right from the forehead, through the eyes, across her cheeks and on her chin. So sore that she wasn’t sure it would ever feel right again. Her throat was sore, too—sore from her own screaming, from Jordanna’s screaming, from squeezing her eyes and trying not to feel what the goggly-eyed man was doing to her with his sharp knife.
On the concrete below her, she saw her mum’s locket, snapped into two, the silver heart split into loads of little pieces.
She saw something drip beside it. Something red. Blood.
And with the way her face stung, she knew it was her own.
“So now you know we ain’t pissing around here,” Goggly-eyes said, walking back over to Dom, crouching over him as he spat more blood from his beaten-up mouth. “I’m gonna ask you again. Are you gonna let us inside your little den here, or are we gonna have to keep on flushing the rats out?”
Dom’s lips quivered. He stared at Goggly-eyes like most people would stare at the monsters.
“They…they won’t come,” he said. “The…it’s policy. No…no interference in—in other people’s problems.”
Goggly-eyes stepped back and laughed. “Hear that, boys? No interference in other people’s problems. Well that’s just a grand shame, isn’t it? Looks like whoever’s at the top of these walls are just gonna have to watch some more shit go down.”
He booted Dom in his side and Chloë heard something crack. Dom rolled over, shouting out as he hurt his bleeding out leg in the process, his face getting more and more white the more blood that came out of him.
And then Goggly-eyes stepped over to Jordanna.
Jordanna didn’t try to get away. She didn’t say a thing. Her eyes just widened and she started breathing heavier.
Goggly-eyes grabbed her cheeks. Grabbed her, stepped right up close to her and looked at her like he was a doctor inspecting a patient, only a nasty doctor who hated people.
“Bit of a scrub and you’ll look just fine, honey,” Goggly-eyes said. He had his gun pointed at her tummy, his bloodied knife slipped under his belt. Chloë bit her lip through the stinging pain all the way down her face, one of the other two men pointing their gun at her now. She hoped Jordanna wouldn’t have to go through what she’d gone through. She wouldn’t want to watch. Ever.
Then Goggly-eyes pushed Jordanna to the ground. She smacked her head on the hard concrete, let out a little shout as her skull thumped against it. Goggly-eyes pinned himself on top of her—on top of her so she was looking at him, not like Chloë had been.
He reached for the knife in his belt. He was slavering like an animal, his eyes big and scary like something evil.
“I want to see the look in your eyes when you realise how fucked you are,” he said, bringing the knife over Jordanna, then snipping his way through her coat and her shirt. “I want to see the look on everyone’s face when you realise there’s no way you’re getting out of this—”
Something plunk
ed just in front of Chloë. Like a whoosh of a firework into the sky hitting something solid.
It was only when she saw the man with his gun pointed at Dom tumble to the ground with a hole in his head that she realised what was happening.
More bullets whooshed through the air from up the road. Up the road, where they were heading before they’d bumped into these nasty people.
“Peters? Fuck!” Goggly-eyes threw himself off Jordanna, stuffed his knife in his back pocket and ran over to a car that was on its side. He got his gun out and fired up the road, fired up towards the people all coming their way, shooting at them.
“Get down, Chlo!” Jordanna shouted. She ran over to her, crouched down, and wrapped her arms around her. Chloë squealed as she did, her face searing with pain.
“Oh God.” She looked at her face in horror. “I’m sorry. I’m…We’ll be okay. People are coming for us now. People are coming.”
The bullets rattled all around them. They were so loud and fast that Chloë didn’t even have time to think. Goggly-eyes and his friend were firing at the people coming towards them, and those people were firing back.
“Quick,” Jordanna whispered, helping Chloë to her feet. “We’ve—we’ve got to get away. Get away while they’re—they’re distracted.”
Chloë let Jordanna pull her away from the middle of the road, but all the time her eyes were focused on Goggly-eyes, as he fired his gun. She wanted to take that knife and she wanted to stick it in his chest until he coughed up blood and then she wanted to take it out and do it again and again and again until he bled to death.
She hated him. She hated him for holding her down and for putting that sharp knife against her skin.
But mostly she hated him for breaking Mum’s necklace. For breaking the only thing she had left of Mum on the day she was supposed to be giving it to her.
“What about—about Dom?” Chloë asked. Dom was still in the same position in the middle of the road, wincing and spitting out blood as the bullets whizzed over him.
