Dead Days: The Complete Season Two Collection

by Ryan Casey

  Chris smiled again. Took a final piece of good meat from the rabbit and handed it to Josh. “Maybe now, that’s true. But I don’t believe it has to be that way forever. But we have to find that out for ourselves. We have to take that step.”

  Pedro stared beyond the street, over the trees and towards the Arnside Knott in the distance. He wondered if Riley was out there. Or whether he was a creature, staggering around like the rest of them, aimless, directionless. And he realised that if he stayed out here, just moving from place to place whenever it suited, he was no different from the creatures, not really. He had to try and do something with purpose. He had to try. That’s what made him human, still.

  “Please stay with us, Pedro,” Josh muttered. “I wanna hear your war stories!”

  Pedro laughed. He took a deep breath of the crisp, winter air. He smiled at Josh. Smiled at Tamara, then at Chris. Didn’t bother with Barry.

  “I guess I…‌‌Okay. Okay. I’ll come with you.”

  Josh whooped and cheered. Chris leaned over and offered a slightly soily looking hand to Pedro.

  “To Manchester,” he said.

  Pedro grabbed his hand. Shook it firmly.

  “To Manchester.”

  Riley held the baseball bat in his hands. He’d kept tight hold of it all night, just in case anything else came, whether creature or human. He kept hold of it, let the blood and the flesh dry on the surface.

  In front of him, the bodies of the three young adults who’d tried to attack him lay, all of them with heads caved in, all of them attracting flies in the rising morning sun.

  He yawned. He hadn’t managed a wink of sleep last night. But he’d also not managed to make any further progress towards the bunker that supposedly was somewhere towards the bottom of this hill. Fuck‌—‌he didn’t even know what it was he was looking for exactly. Or whether it was penetrable. Only that there was a bunker and it might be safe.

  He rubbed his tongue against his teeth. He could taste blood in the cold air. The blood of last night. The blood of what he’d done. He’d battered these young adults to death. Done exactly the sort of thing they’d have done to him, all over what? A torch?

  But no. What he’d done, he’d done because he had to do. Because that’s what he had to be willing to do now if he wanted to stay alive. He remembered what Anna once said to him when they sat on that boat, laying beside one another.

  “The things we’ve done. The things we’ve seen and been through. How long can we last? How long can any of this last before we all just destroy each other?”

  And now Riley knew the answer. The truth was, they hadn’t lasted. Humanity was already destroying one another. That was the new world order. Join in the destruction or be destroyed. This world didn’t favour the weak, or the moral, or even rebuilding. It favoured the rapists. The homeless. The mentally challenged and the escaped prisoners. It favoured those who had spent years trying to imprint their own twisted morals onto the world, and finally, after years and decades and centuries of resistance from the world, their twisted morals had won.

  Riley stood up. His legs ached a little, and he was a bit shivery. He could smell the charred sticks in front of him. He’d found a lighter on the lanky guy. Got a few twigs together and set them alight. Kept him warm enough. Just about. But now was time for moving. His stomach ached with hunger. He couldn’t stay here, not for much longer. The guys and the girl he’d finished off, they’d provided a good enough barrier for the night. Something for any stray creatures to sink their teeth into instead of him. Fortunately, that hadn’t happened.

  He looked at the three young adults one final time. Looked at their caved-in heads, their faces unrecognisable. He looked at their still arms, and their emptied pockets. He’d found a lighter, a bag of crisps, cigarettes‌—‌a few other things. He’d left the money they had. It had no value anymore. And the bag of crisps he was saving for when he really needed them. He was hungry now, sure, and he always got agitated when he was hungry, but he had to save them.

  Then, he walked through the tall frosty grass and descended the hill through the trees.

  He gripped tight hold of the baseball bat.

  He listened as he descended the hill. Listened to the birds, and the insects, and all the little echoing sounds in the distance. But mostly, he listened for the groans. Or the footsteps. He had to be on guard all the time. He looked around. Looked at the empty trees. Looked at the branches, spread across and stretched out like distorted arms. Even though it was cold, he felt sweat on his head. The sweat of 110% concentration. The sweat of being aware. The sweat of surviving.

  And then he saw one. Just ahead, a few hundred feet away, its back to him. But definitely one of them. No‌—‌two of them. Wandering aimlessly. Flies buzzing around them. And yes‌—‌there was the rotting smell, from all this distance away.

  He gripped his bat even tighter and descended even closer towards them. Maybe once upon a time, he’d have tried to sneak around them. Now, he knew that every one of them he could take out was potentially one less that could come back and attack him in future. He didn’t like having to think this way, but it was the only way he could think.

  He lifted the bat. Held his breath as he crept into the more open area and approached the first of the creatures‌—‌there were four of them now, he could see, all still with their backs to him. He clenched the bat tightly. Clenched it as he crouched behind the first creature.

  3, 2, 1…‌

  Then he rose and he swung the heavy metal bat around the creature’s bald, rotting head.

  It let out a tiny groan as cold blood sprayed from its skull and splatted across Riley’s face. The others started to turn around, but it was already too late for them. This time, Riley had the advantage.

  He smacked the next one around its half-eaten face, then smacked it again as it hit the ground, its skull making a sound like an egg cracking.

  And then he rushed over to the next one. This one flew at him, the decaying, shit-reeking, flesh-filled mouth snapping and snapping. Riley smacked this one in the mouth, heard its teeth cracking, then rammed the baseball bat further down its neck, hitting and hitting through the roof of its mouth until it went still.

  He felt something on his arm. Sharp fingernails scratched at him. He looked around. The fourth creature, blonde hair filled with dried blood, half-bitten tongue dangling off, groaned in his face and got closer to his neck.

  He tugged at the baseball bat but it was stuck in the other creature’s mouth. He tugged. Tugged some more as the final creature got within inches of his neck.

  Deep breath. Do what you have to do. Survive.

  He let go of the baseball bat and suddenly felt very defenceless.

  That was until he pressed both of his thumb knuckles into the bloodshot eyes of the creature. He pushed the creature back as it snapped and snapped its teeth together. The pair of them hit the ground. Riley was on top. He pressed further into the creature’s eyes, pushing as hard as he could. The eyes felt like marbles, dry, rough, falling further back into the skull as the creature moaned and moaned with something that resembled pain.

  And then the pressure of the bulging eyes gave way, and Riley’s knuckles sunk further down into the creature’s head.

  He heard a popping sound as the creature’s eyeballs exploded. His thumbs were covered in a cold, gooey black-red substance. He felt like heaving as the sickly smell came from the rotting eyes. He felt like it, but instead he pushed even further, until his thumbs were completely in the eye sockets of the creature, until they were embedded in the skull of the flailing, whining beast.

  He wasn’t sure how much longer he held himself like this, but eventually, the creature stopped struggling.

  Riley kept his thumbs inside the creature’s burst eyeballs and pierced brain for a few extra seconds just to be on the safe side. He listened around him‌—‌listened for more footsteps, more groans‌—‌but there was nothing. The creatures had all fallen. He’d dealt with them al
l. Done what he had to do.

  He looked away as he pulled his thumbs back from the creature’s skull. Felt the sticky gunk and pieces of eye following his thumb out of the creature. Now he really did feel like heaving. Eventually, he got his thumbs free and he wiped them on the bloodstained white shirt of the creature, bloody holes where its eyes once were.

  “Sorry,” Riley said, but he didn’t feel any emotion. Nothing other than nausea, anyway.

  He reached for his baseball bat with both hands and yanked it out of the skull of the other fallen creature.

  Then, he turned around and continued in the direction the creatures had been blocking his route to.

  And he saw it.

  His knuckles loosened. His stomach tingled. Heat coated his cheeks.

  He took a few more steps. Then those steps turned into a jog, and then a run.

  In front of him, at the bottom of the hill, hiding in the grass like some kind of Tellietubby home, there was a rusting green bunker.

  Chapter Six

  Chloë was cold when she woke up. She wanted to pull her quilt cover up to her neck and snuggle under it for a bit longer. Another day without school. Another day without homework. And Christmas was coming soon. Christmas with her sister and her mummy and‌—‌

  Her trail of thoughts stopped. She remembered her mum falling as the bad man shot her in the head.

  And then the bad man falling.

  And then Anna falling when she shot at them all, shot at them for taking her mum away from her.

  She opened her eyes. The light from the open window stung them. Wind blew through into the room, tickling her head. She was damp. Damp, but…‌‌but sticky. Like something dried was stuck to her.

  She looked down and remembered what the dry feeling was. She was covered in red. Blood, from the men who’d tried to hurt her.

  And then she realised what the cold lump against her back was.

  One of the men’s bodies.

  She shuffled away from it. She’d slept beside the one called Grant last night because his body had been warm, and she knew it would be warm for a bit longer. But now Grant was cold. Now she was cold. But at least it was daytime. At least she’d woken up. At least the monsters hadn’t got her in her sleep.

  She listened. Kept still and listened, just in case there were any monsters in here with her. She could hear litter tapping against the road outside. Seagulls singing in the distance. But no groans. No footsteps. Nothing like that.

  She turned around. Looked out of the window. Heathwaite’s Caravan Park was filled with creatures, but they were all at the top end, wandering around aimlessly after running out of fresh meat. She scanned the floor. Reached out for her gun and pulled it away from the pocket of one of the dead men. She clutched it. Clutched it, then looked at her necklace and clutched that too.

  “We’re okay, Mum,” she said. “We’re still here. Still here for Christmas.”

  She stood up, her head spinning a little as she did. Her throat was dry and her mouth tasted salty, like she’d drunk water from the sea. Her stomach churned. She wished she had real water. Real clean water to gulp down. To wash this sticky, hard blood off her clothes and her skin.

  She crouched back down beside the men again. Maybe they had something she could eat. They seemed like the sort of men who would have lots of food and water. She rooted through their pockets, trying not to touch the wet bloody bits. She found sweet wrappers. Coins. But no water. No food.

  She also found a wallet. A nice wallet like Dad used to have. She rubbed her hands against its smooth surface. It said Gucci on the bottom, which was the same as Dad’s too. She opened it up. Maybe there would be a little sweet in there, or some chewing gum. Or maybe it was just Dad who used to do that.

  There wasn’t a sweet, and there wasn’t a piece of gum. There was, however, a little piece of folded paper that tumbled out towards the floor.

  She looked at it as it lay there on the bloody hard ground. She picked it up and folded it out, trying not to break it into pieces. It was much bigger than she first thought, just folded into such tiny parts. It was a map. A map like she used to draw in Geography at school. She’d always liked orienteering, so maybe this was just like that. Maybe these men were just orienteers and they’d got lost.

  She saw the words Morecambe, Lancaster and Silverdale on the map. There was a line drawn through them, with crosses over some of it ending at Silverdale. Then the rest of the black line went on, past Silverdale, past Lancaster, towards other places she didn’t really recognise the names of until she saw Preston. Preston! Home! The line went right through home.

  And then it went a bit further. Further below Preston. Through Bolton and Wigan, where Dad used to work sometimes. Through a place called Salford, and finally ending with a big circle in Manchester.

  Manchester. She’d been there before. Been there to see the Walking With Dinosaurs show in the big arena. That’s where the line ended. The little crosses, they must’ve been where the men had got to. She knew they were just past Morecambe so this place they were in must be called Silverdale. She thought she’d heard one of the caravan people mentioning Silverdale, actually.

  Underneath Manchester, she noticed some more writing, this time small. She had to squint to read it, but eventually she put the words together.

  Living Zone.

  She stared at the big map paper. Rubbed her fingers across its smooth surface. Maybe the Living Zone was a safe place. Maybe that’s why these men were going there. Maybe that’s where she needed to go.

  She folded up the map, not into quite as many parts as the men had, but still small enough so she could carry it without it blocking her view. It smelled like old books, like in the school library, which she sometimes went to when the other girls were picking on her. She folded it up, tucked it under her arm, then gripped tight hold of the gun as she stared down at the two men, still, their skin turning grey.

  “Thank you,” she said. “And I’m sorry for what I did.”

  She stood up, climbed over Dave‌—‌who’s bitten off ear looked a bit like a funny toy from a fair or something‌—‌and gripped hold of the gun in one hand and her necklace in the other.

  “I found somewhere, Mum,” Chloë said. “Somewhere safe we can go.”

  She walked down the creaky wooden steps, down through the big main area that smelled like cheesy feet, and out of the main door at the front of the building. She opened it up. Felt the cold wind brushing against her hair, her sticky skin.

  “I found somewhere,” she said.

  She opened up the map and pointed at Silverdale. Then, she looked at the road that led over towards the land, away from the seaside.

  She folded the map up, and she walked.

  Fluffy white snow finally started to fall.

  Riley ran towards the bunker. It was painted green, rusty from years of wear, but it was intact. There was a large, heavy looking door in front, a tiny dirty square window on the outside. The door was closed. It didn’t look like there were any lights coming from the place, or any noises around. Maybe the place really was undiscovered. It was pretty rural round here, so before Heathwaite’s exploded with escapees, there had to be some level of privacy about the place, right?

  Riley slowed down as he approached. He felt something slushy underfoot, and heard a squelch below. When he looked down at his feet, he realised what it was‌—‌a body. Not a creature body by the looks of things, either. No bite marks, not visible anyway. Just a bullet wound in the side of the head. Maggots around the greying skin of the body. Riley covered his mouth. It had to have been here a few days.

  Which meant that maybe this place wasn’t so abandoned after all.

  Covering his mouth with his sleeve, he took another few steps towards the bunker. He couldn’t believe a place like this‌—‌so big, so sprawling‌—‌could just go undiscovered. And with the body outside the door…‌‌No, bodies, plural. There were blackened, charred remains of others, all of them dusty and at l
east a few weeks old, from Riley’s recent experience. With the bodies outside the door, there had to be somebody defending this place.

  He held his breath. Took another few steps towards the large steel door, which was covered with rust and weeds. He held his baseball bat tightly. Smelled the metallic door mix with the metal on the end of his baseball bat. He’d have to play this right. He’d have to be careful.

  He rested his hand on the long metal handle on the front of the door. The handle was covered with dust. Dust and a faded red substance. Blood. He took another deep breath. Whatever was in here didn’t look like it was friendly. But who knew‌—‌maybe whoever was in here could’ve left weeks ago. And maybe the bodies outside the door were bad people.

  But wasn’t he just a bad person too?

  He held his breath. Felt his heart pounding in his chest.

  Then, he lowered the creaky handle and pushed the door with all his strength.

  Dust coughed up from the door as he pushed it open. There was a musty smell about the area. Stringy cobwebs stretched out and broke as the door creaked further open. The entrance area of the place was dark and unlit. There was a cracked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Riley’s footsteps echoed as they came down on the hard, unhomely floor.

  “Hello?” he called. There was another door in front of him. Shit‌—‌it seemed colder in here than it did out there. If this place was unoccupied, then it was hardly an ideal home. It’d be full of rats. The place stunk of piss. But still, he moved towards the next metal door hiding in the darkness. He was here, now. He’d crossed the line. He supposed he was going to have to check it out.

  As he took a few more steps on the hard ground, keeping his eyes on the door, listening beyond the echoing of his feet for the sound of something‌—‌anything, he felt something touch the left side of his head.

  “Don’t move another muscle,” a voice said.

  Riley froze. He froze, right there, staring ahead at the door in the darkness. Something hard was pressed against his left temple. Something solid. After what he’d seen outside‌—‌the body with the bullethole in his head‌—‌he didn’t want to take any chances.