by Ryan Casey
He opened the metal fire exit door at the bottom of the staircase. The door took a few pushes to open properly. Great fire exit. Very safe. He stepped out into the lobby area. Keith and Karen were sitting on the antique sofas in front of reception playing cards.
“You alright, Mike?” Keith asked.
Mike smiled and nodded at Keith and Karen and headed towards the door at the side of the building. The front door was all boarded up, chairs and tables stacked up against it to avoid any interference from outside. But the side door, they blocked the windows up but kept it accessible. It was handy for going out on supply runs. Vital, in fact.
“Oh, erm, Smith was looking for you,” Karen said as she plonked three cards onto the table.
“Thanks,” Mike said, smiling. “Already spoke to him.”
Karen smiled back at him. Thick, round glasses. Blonde hair almost as fucking thin as his. And that stupid gap-toothed smile. Just the sort of person who would end up having a crush on him in the zombie apocalypse. Just typical.
But a hole was a hole at the end of the world.
Mike peeked through the peephole of the side door. Outside, he could see that they were there already. Right on time. No creatures in sight. Smiles on their faces. Too smiley, actually. God only knew what they’d gone and done this time.
And God would reject them for it, if he hadn’t already.
Mike opened the door. Seth and Matt turned around right away. They were leaning against the bonnet of a silver Mercedes.
“Alright, Boss,” Seth said. Drooling again. Always fucking drooling.
“What did I tell you about bringing cars here?” Mike said, looking down the street either side to check for zombies. “The sound. I told you the sound attracts them. Are you trying to get us killed?”
Matt scratched at his greasy, dandruffed hair and grinned at Seth. “He’s gonna like this, ain’t he?”
Seth giggled a stupid goofy laugh. More drool oozed down his chin. “Boss is gon’ love it.”
“It better be fucking good,” Mike said. “Did you get the message across?”
Seth giggled again. Matt stepped around to the back door of the car. “Oh, we got the message across alright. And we…we got a little message of our own, too, if you know what I’m saying.”
Mike didn’t know what he was saying, but he could work out from the sleazy smile on Matt’s face and the sheer amount of fucking drool dripping from Seth’s mouth exactly what was going on here.
“Mike, I’d like to introduce you to two lovely ladies,” Matt said, holding open the back door.
Mike looked inside. Two women. No—a woman in her late thirties, early forties, and a girl. A young girl. Thirteen, fourteen at a push. Hard to tell.
He stared at them for a few seconds. Gags were wrapped around their mouths and eyes. Tears dripped down their red raw cheeks. Heat burned up inside his chest. Tingled across his arms. Seeing them like this, all bruised eyes and bloody foreheads. It made him sick. Sick to the fucking stomach.
“So, what d’you reckon to—”
Mike grabbed Matt and pushed him hard against the car. He gripped as tight as he could. Smelled Matt’s gassy breath on his face. “What the fuck is this?” he said. “We save people. We don’t fucking—”
“Yes, we save people,” Matt said, not even resisting Mike’s clutches. “But do we save Heathwaite’s people?”
Mike’s heart thumped. These two women. He certainly didn’t remember them from Heathwaite’s. But there were a lot of people at Heathwaite’s. He could easily have missed them. Or they could’ve arrived more recently.
The younger girl struggled against the ties around her chapped wrists.
“Get them inside,” Mike said. “I’ll…I’ll clear the lobby. Then we’ll decide what the fuck we’re going to do with them.”
He pushed Matt against the car and stormed back in through the side door of the hotel.
Seth giggled that goofy laugh of his.
More saliva dripped down his chin.
Chapter One
Riley stood in the doorway of Rodrigo’s caravan. It was set back and distanced from the others. The edge of the garden looked down on the rest of Heathwaite’s caravan site like it was a watchtower. Like this former American troop who dressed way too young for his apparent age was some kind of guardian angel.
Rodrigo sighed and rubbed his hands against his face. “Was it quick? Painless?”
Riley looked at Aaron, then at Anna and Pedro. He started to open his mouth when Pedro intervened.
“Stevie got bit on the ankle. Opened up the door to take a walk and got dragged out of the van and feasted on.”
Rodrigo turned around and peered at Pedro. His bottom lip quivered. “Did you…Did you deal with him?”
“We tried, Rodrigo,” Aaron said, struggling to look Rodrigo in the eyes. “I swear we tried. But there was just too fucking many of them. Lucky to drive out alive as it is—”
“Right,” Rodrigo snapped. “Enough. Enough.” He grabbed a pint glass and poured in a smidgen of off-colour looking whisky. “Drink? Anyone?”
Riley raised a hand to object, which made Pedro sigh.
“Okay. Just me then. Just me.” He knocked back the whisky and poured himself another.
Riley wrapped his arm around his front. The cold winter breeze really was starting to pick up. Soon, it would snow. It had to be a matter of days away. It was, what—December 10th? The snow always fell around Christmas in this part of Britain. Or maybe the Dead Days would affect the weather too. Maybe the eco-system would be another victim of this crazy, fucked up new world.
“Stevie was a good guy,” Rodrigo said. “One in a fuckin’ million, he was.”
Anna frowned. Raised her eyebrows.
“Don’t give me that fuckin’ look, lady,” Rodrigo said, staggering towards them. “You didn’t know Stevie like I did. You have no clue of the sacrifices he’s made for this group—”
“No. We don’t,” Riley said, raising his voice. “But I’d say we came pretty close.”
Rodrigo’s eyes narrowed. Twitched to Aaron, then back at Riley again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Can we come inside?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
Riley scoffed and stepped backwards, back into the cold of the outdoors.
Rodrigo sighed. Placed his pint glass down on his cluttered table by the door. “Sorry. ‘Scuse my manners. Just with Stevie, you know. Course. Come in.”
Rodrigo’s caravan was surprisingly disorganised for a man who prided himself as a leader. Magazines were cluttered around the living room floor. In the corner of the kitchen, a bin spewed out excess waste. There was a dull, sweaty smell in the air.
“Sorry about the mess,” Rodrigo said. “Meant to clean up when…when you guys got here.”
“Right,” Riley said, humouring Rodrigo. Just what Ted would have said before tossing another empty Coke bottle over at the overflowing bin.
“What was it you wanted to see me about?”
Riley looked at Anna, Pedro and Aaron again. All of them looked back at him. Looked like he was going to be elected speaker once more. “Firstly, I think it would spare the awkwardness if we both acknowledged that Claudia and Chloë weren’t—”
“Took you long enough to figure out,” Rodrigo said, rolling his eyes. “I mean, the chances of you three surviving were pretty much fucking nil. The chances of five from a crew of five surviving…I dunno. Minus eighty, or something.”
Riley felt a bubble of awkwardness burst at Rodrigo’s sudden words. Quite frankly, he’d been expecting a little bit more of a lie from Rodrigo to contend with. The honesty of strangers was a concept he’d grown apart from since the Dead Days started. Probably before, in all truth.
“So you don’t deny sending us out there because we…we’re dispensable to you?” Anna said. “You don’t deny that?”
Rodrigo
laughed. He plonked himself against the desk beside his television, which creaked with his weight. “Lady—”
“Anna. I’m called Anna.”
A momentary pause. A flickering of the eyebrows from Rodrigo.
“Okay, Anna. I’ve been honest and straight with you about your friends. Yes, I used them to get you out there and down to Morecambe Bay. But ‘dispensable’…wow. That’s a harsh word. A very fuckin’ harsh word.”
“Well that’s how it looks,” Pedro said. He shrugged. “Just saying.”
“Right. That’s how it looks. Is that how it looked when we treated that wound on your leg, Riley? Or when we put our necks on the line to save you from that crowd of zombies, Pedro? How about you, Anna? Leaving you to wander on the beach with that gaping cut on your head. That’s dispensable. And it would’ve been much damn easier too, that’s for sure.”
Riley pondered Rodrigo’s words. He had a point. If the three of them really did mean nothing to him, then he could’ve just left them to die on their own in the Dumping Ground. But he hadn’t. He helped them. Cleaned them up and gave them food, for fuck’s sake.
Which posed another question.
“Then why did you send us out there? Why us?”
Rodrigo sighed. “I wanted to test your loyalty and your abilities. When Aaron came back to me and told me about Dominic and Peter being trapped in that pier out there, I figured it’d be a routine rescue mission. Something to make you feel good about yourselves. A way for the Heathwaite’s residents to see your qualities.”
“So you were doing us a favour,” Anna said. “Just looking out for us. Right?”
Rodrigo frowned again. “You really do have some serious trust issues, don’t you, lady—”
“Anna.”
Rodrigo lifted his hands like he’d been caught by police and turned away from Anna, looking right at Riley. “It should have been a routine rescue mission. Which makes me wonder what went wrong out there.”
“It does, does it?” Riley said. “So let me get this straight. You send the three of us out with your beloved guard Stevie all because you want us to—to feel loved?”
Rodrigo reached for his pint glass again and finished off the whisky that was sitting in the bottom. “Put it any way you want. That’s the truth.”
“So it had nothing at all to do with this?” Riley pulled the bloodstained note he’d found on the air hockey table out of his pocket. We’re Coming. He stepped up and placed it in Rodrigo’s hands.
Rodrigo stared at the note for a few seconds. All of them were silent. Completely static.
“Where…where did you—”
“With Dominic and Peter’s castrated, mutilated bodies,” Riley said.
Rodrigo stared at Riley. Then he looked at Aaron. Narrowed his eyes. His mouth moved as if he was trying to find the right words, but nothing was coming out.
“Is this…is this true? Aaron, is this—”
“Yes. Sir.” He still avoided eye contact with Rodrigo, shaking and shivering as he looked down at his feet.
Rodrigo took another look at the note. His face had gone a whole new shade of white. The empty pint glass was elevated in his other hand, like he was a statue holding it in place.
“I appreciate your half-honesty, Rodrigo,” Riley said, walking closer to Rodrigo, “but the time for half-truths is over. I want to know what this is all about.”
Rodrigo cleared his throat and tossed the crumpled note to the floor. “I’ve…I’ve no clue. What does it mean? Who—did you find who did this?”
Riley smiled. He looked at Aaron and patted him on his shoulder. “Show him, Aaron. Don’t worry. It’s okay.”
Aaron reached into his pocket with his shaking hand, breathing heavily, and he pulled out another crumpled piece of paper. He lifted it out and held it up so that Rodrigo could see, but not high enough as to give away his betrayal of loyalty.
On this piece of paper, more bloodstains, more writing in the same style as the note they’d found with Dominic and Peter.
In thick, scribbled handwriting, the words Eye for an eye, Rodrigo.
But that wasn’t all. Where the final “o” was in Rodrigo’s name, there was a little round object that looked like a contact lens, only dripping with blood.
It wasn’t a contact lens. It was an actual lens. Or half an eye, rather.
Rodrigo’s face was even paler. He was completely still, completely silent.
“You knew about this. Don’t even try to deny it because Aaron’s told us everything. Nathan, I believe this eye belonged to. Right?”
More silence. More staring.
“Let’s start again,” Riley said. “I want to know what’s going on here. I want to know who’s killing your people.”
Rodrigo placed down his pint glass. This time, he’d filled it with a little bit more than a smidgen of whisky. As he gulped it back, his cheeks had reddened a little. His posture had slackened as he sat back on the cushioned chair around the dining table. Riley, Anna, Pedro and Aaron accompanied him.
“He was…is called Mike,” Rodrigo said.
Riley edged forward in the chair. Despite being cushioned, the hard surface underneath dug right into his arse. “Mike. Who is Mike?”
Rodrigo cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows at Aaron. Aaron was still struggling to make eye contact with anybody, like a kid caught stealing sweets.
“Mike was a friend. A close friend, in the early days. He was here at Heathwaite’s when people started turning. He helped secure this place. Laid the foundations and made it what it is today. The brains behind the Dumping Ground. A real asset.”
“Then what happened with Mike?” Anna asked. She too edged forward in the chair, which gave Riley the impression that she was struggling to get comfy too.
Rodrigo fiddled with a coin that was stacked atop a load of other copper coins in the middle of the dining table. The coins reeked of old metal. In fact, the whole room did.
“Mike got out of control, to cut a long story short,” Rodrigo said. “Started…started making demands. Started growing tired of outsiders. Growing very…what’s the word? Insular. That’s it. Insular. As far as he was concerned, it was us versus the rest of the world.”
“Sounds like a wise man,” Pedro said.
“Does a wise man cut eyelids off? Castrate other men and leave them in a pool of their own blood?”
Pedro shrugged. “Depends what they’re mutilating them for.”
Rodrigo readjusted himself on the far too spongy cushion. “You’re right. Mike was a wise man. A disciplined man. A controlled man. Very intelligent. Used to work in the stock markets, or something. Very observant. Could see things coming a mile away.”
“Then why isn’t he here?” Riley asked. “And I want details. We deserve that much.”
Rodrigo clenched his mouth shut. His eyes flickered to Aaron again, then back to Riley.
“No more secrets. No more lie—”
“Mike murdered a boy in cold blood because they stole from the rations he imposed.”
Riley felt a sharpness smack him right in the chest. The flashes of Little Thomas, sleeping, on the verge of turning. The sound of his skull cracking as he swung the piece of wreckage down on his head, again and again and again. Each crack echoing against the metal walls of the caravan.
“Why did…” Anna started. Her eyes were wide. Watery.
“The kid was called Bill. Bill Pearson. Sixteen, he was. We’d just brought him in a few days prior. Him and two others. His mother and his stepdad, Carol and Barry. When…when Mike started doubting this group. One minute, he was all for the preservation of Heathwaite’s, the next minute, he was growing paranoid about this new group. Didn’t like the way Barry looked at him, or some shit like that.
Anyway, this is in the early days. We’ve got lots of food—as we still do, but even more food back then, right? So we’ve got all this food, all t
hese supplies, and Mike, being a finance man, he’s in charge of rations. And one afternoon, quite a sunny but cool afternoon, I go down to the main building to see how the rationing is going on, and I see…I see Mike walking towards me with this boy in his arms. Just walking past people with this boy, all limp and contorted. Walking with him and looking right at me as if fuck all’s happened, right?”
Riley gulped. Anna and Pedro stared at Rodrigo, the colour from their cheeks being the ones to fade now.
Aaron continued to stare at his feet.
“So, cutting a long story short, he walks up to me. I ask him what the fuck he’s doin’ walking through a crowd of people with this kid in his arms, and he tells me the kid kicked up a fuss. Tried to run off with too much food. Fought back. So Mike dealt with him. Put him down.”
“Fuck,” Anna said. “The guy’s a loose canon. He’s…Fuck.”
“What about the boy’s parents?” Riley asked.
“Well, they were angry of course. Angry and furious and grief stricken and fuckin’ clueless as to why this had to happen to their boy. Naturally. So we arrange for them to leave. Arrange for a couple of men we trusted to take them out to somewhere safe. Because it was them or Mike, and at that point I was still too fuckin’ blind to see what a liability Mike was becoming.”
“He sounds like a monster,” Anna said. “Not a liability. A monster.”
“Wait til you hear the rest,” Aaron said. They were the first words he’d spoken since they’d entered the caravan.
“So yeah,” Rodrigo said, clearing his throat again and taking a deep breath. “A day or two pass and all seems okay until I’m out on a scan of the Dumping Ground and I find poor Carol Pearson chomping on her dead husband. Right there in the middle of the Dumping Ground. No other way they coulda gotten there than being put there.”
“Mike was feeding them?”
