by Casey, Ryan
Dark World
Days of Darkness, Book 3
Ryan Casey
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
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Chapter One
Jax didn’t like to think about death.
But the more time passed without food, without water, without shelter, the more that spectre of oblivion crept up on him, step by step.
It was a crisp morning. His sore, blistered feet crunched along the forest floor, breaking the frozen leaves underfoot. His calves ached like mad. He’d been wearing the same brown Dr Martens boots ever since the power went out a month ago, and he was definitely starting to feel the downsides of that now. He hadn’t broken them in before the blackout. Found himself struggling to get used to wearing them. But he had to keep wearing them because Olivia bought them for him. His girlfriend got a bit awkward if he didn’t like something she’d bought him, even if he hadn’t asked for them. You just won’t push yourself outside your comfort zone, will you?
He looked down at the Dr Martens. Saw the dark leather scratched away at by the elements. Saw the stitching peeling away around the edges. Saw the blood.
But he found himself smiling. Because he looked around at Olivia, his girlfriend, and he felt so lucky she was here with him. So lucky to have her beside him.
They were going to make this. They were going to be okay.
He heard shuffling in the trees up ahead. Looked over there right away. He thought he’d heard something a while back. Swore he saw movement, as the morning sun peeked through the trees. He held his hunting rifle close. If he could just find some kind of animal—a squirrel, a dog, anything—it’d be enough to get him and his people through for a few more days at least. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, as his stomach groaned away. He remembered the meal, though. The remnants of a lion that looked like it’d been shot. Escaped zoo animal. He’d felt sad, chopping it up, tucking into it.
But that was days ago. A week ago, maybe.
A lot had happened in the space of a week.
And he knew for a fact he couldn’t go another week like this. None of them could.
“I don’t think I can take this anymore, Jax.”
Jax looked around. He saw his people standing behind him. The seven of them who were left, anyway. Olivia. Mark. Keira. Shelley. Beth. Will. Arnold. It was Arnold who spoke. He had wiry black hair and was tall and rake thin. Skeletal. The bones protruding from his face looked like they were gonna burst right out in no time.
He put his shaking hands to his knees. “I—I can’t go any further.”
Jax wanted to say something to him. Wanted to reassure him. Wanted to peddle him some bullshit like “we’re all in this together,” or something, like he always used to so effectively.
But he didn’t have time.
Arnold collapsed to one side and hit the ground.
Jax rushed over to him. Everyone else looked on. He didn’t want to see another person die. He’d already lost five as it was. A mixture of hunger, dehydration, illness. That’s what they never tell you about the end of the world. Most of the time it isn’t zombies that kill you. It isn’t tribal warfare, or anything fancy like that.
It’s the flu. It’s shitting yourself until you’ve got no fluids left inside you. It’s slowly starving, a poison eating away at you, your own body consuming itself just to keep going a little longer.
And that poison is lack of human knowledge. Lack of ability. Lack of adaptation.
A lack of survival instinct, dulled by the comforts of the modern world.
He reached Arnold’s side. Put a hand on his shoulder, which was all bone. He saw tears rolling down his pale face. Ground-down, yellow teeth stuck into his bottom lip.
And when Jax put that hand on his shoulder, Arnold reached up. Grabbed Jax’s hand. Tight. “Please. Please don’t—don’t let me die, Jax. You’re a good man. Just help me. Help me. Please.”
Jax held on to Arnold’s hand. And as he stared down into his eyes, he couldn’t understand why things had to come to this point. Another loss. Another friend staring up at him, begging to survive. Starvation striking once again.
And Jax wanted to say so many things to Arnold. He wanted to comfort him. He wanted to reassure him.
But in the end, he could only crouch there. He could only stare down into his crying eyes. Hold his hand.
“I’m sorry, Arnold. I’m so sorry.”
Arnold continued to cry. The rest of Jax’s people stood around, not saying much, some of them crying, too. Some of them trying to comfort Arnold. Some of them begging Jax to do something. Begging him to act.
But mostly quiet.
Like this was just inevitable.
Just life now.
Jax sat there. Felt Arnold’s bony, shaking hand in his.
Heard that desperation in his crying voice.
And he wanted to tell him everything was going to be okay.
He wanted to find him something to eat. Something to feast on. Something to—
“Please,” Arnold said. “Pl… please.”
Jax noticed two things, then.
First, Arnold’s hand. Going weaker. Its grip loosening. Arnold’s cries getting softer.
“Is he—” Olivia started.
“Ssh,” Jax said.
“Jax?”
“Just…”
And then Jax heard it again.
Over his shoulder.
Clear.
He looked around at the trees. And as dizzy and disoriented as he was, as much as he was prone to hallucinations in his hungry state, he was confident about what he’d just heard.
“Jax?” Mark asked.
“There’s something in the trees,” Jax whispered.
Mark looked around, frowning. Jax was on his feet now. He’d let go of Arnold’s hand. Because as much as he wanted to comfort him, as much as he wanted to be there for him and support him, if there was a chance of catching an animal, he had to take it.
If there was a chance of feeding his people… of potentially saving Arnold’s life—if he wasn’t alrea
dy too late—there was only one thing he could do.
He walked along that crispy, frosty ground. Lifted his hunting rifle. He wanted to race into the trees. But he knew he had to stay calm. He had to stay composed.
One step at a time.
He left his people behind. Pointed his rifle right towards the source of that shuffling. Whatever it was, it sounded big. Big enough to be a deer.
Or something else.
He could taste the meat already, his mouth watering, his stomach growling.
But there was something about the noise it was making. Something about the way it was dragging itself along.
Like it was struggling.
Jax edged further through the trees. Kept on focusing on that movement. The sun shone right into his eyes, blinding his view. He had to be careful. He knew the kind of people who were out here. The kind of savages and the kind of survivors. Just like him and his group.
Desperation was a dangerous game.
He kept on walking until he noticed something else.
That shuffling. It’d stopped.
But there was something up ahead.
Just behind the tree in front of him.
Panting.
Breathing.
Jax swallowed a lump in his dry throat. He thought about that lion meat. Salivated at the thought. His stomach groaning. His body shaking with anticipation.
But he had to stay focused.
He had to be ready.
He took a deep breath.
Braced himself.
And then he stepped around the tree and pointed his rifle up ahead.
When he saw what was sitting there, perched against a tree, he froze.
Because this wasn’t an animal at all.
It was a girl.
She looked young. Late teens. Dark hair. Slim. Deathly pale.
She was holding on to her belly.
Bleeding out.
Badly.
And at that moment, everything froze.
Jax’s hunger.
His desperation.
His anger and his grief.
Because he saw this girl sitting before him, bleeding, and he knew he needed to do something.
“Are you… are you okay?” he asked.
She opened her drifting eyes. Blood trickled down her mouth. She looked right up at Jax, right into his eyes.
“Dad? Is that… is that you?”
Chapter Two
Martin stepped into the woods and hoped for a sign.
It was morning. Mild and bright. The sun was only just peeking over the horizon, through the trees, which said a lot about how early it was at this time of year. Sun usually rose about half-five in May, so he figured it must be around then.
Didn’t bother him, though. He’d rather get up early.
Because getting up early gave him more time to search.
He looked at the ground before him. The grassy forest floor, right in front of that tree. He always visited here before anywhere else. He knew there wasn’t much logic to it. There was no chance he’d find what he was looking for here.
But then he didn’t have much else to go on. And he couldn’t give up.
Because giving up was accepting he’d lost her.
Giving up was accepting failure.
Accepting responsibility for the loss of his daughter. Just like so many other losses he was responsible for in his life already.
He stared at that patch of ground and remembered the day he’d lost Ella. A day of such hope. A day of such optimism. A day of such joy.
He remembered walking towards Lancaster. Towards that shelter that Harriet had escaped from. Preparing for whatever was ahead.
Only Ella had walked off into the woods. She’d disappeared. Told him she’d catch up.
That was the last time he’d seen her.
He’d searched these woods ever since. Walked them for miles.
And for all his searching, all his scanning of every blade of grass, the only trace of her was this patch of blood right by this tree. A patch of blood he didn’t even know had anything to do with Ella.
He stood there and stared at that patch. Listened to the birds singing in the trees. He could smell freshness to the morning air. Sweetness, signalling a warm day ahead. He came here every day. Every morning. Right when he woke up, which was usually around sunrise. Walked for a few hours. Searched areas of the woods he convinced himself he hadn’t looked through before, even though he knew deep down he already had, time after time.
But what was the alternative?
Giving up?
Accepting defeat?
Accepting his daughter was gone?
He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t face it.
Even though that inadequacy ate away at him, every damned moment.
He looked at that tree, and he wanted to shout at it. He wanted to scream at it. Why, Ella? Why?
Because he told himself she’d gone into the woods, and she’d been kidnapped. He told himself she’d fallen in with a rogue group.
But there were other possibilities, too. Other options that haunted him.
The thought that someone might’ve hurt her.
And the thought that for whatever reason, she might’ve walked away. She might’ve tried her luck on her own. Decided she could find a better life out there somewhere.
And that stung. It stung more than anything.
Because he never used to think himself capable of looking after his daughter.
And just when he’d started to believe it, just when he’d started to step up to being a father… she was gone.
The thing he cared most about in this world, gone.
He went to stand and search the rest of the woods when he heard movement to his right.
He froze. The first thought that came to his mind was Ella. She was here. She’d come back here. She’d escaped her captors, and she’d tracked him down, and she’d found him.
He wanted to believe that.
He had to believe that.
He looked around. Looked at the trees. Looked at the sun peeking through them. Looked at the birds flying around, their movement catching his eye, muddying his focus.
He held his hunting knife just in case someone bad was out there, on his trail, and he stepped towards that movement.
He knew what he was doing wasn’t strictly by the book. He wasn’t supposed to go wandering out of the community at this time. Harold, the de facto leader of the place, advised strongly against it. And Martin could understand why. Everyone had their roles at the community. It’d faced a rocky start. Supplies were limited. The rations weren’t easy to distribute among a community of their size.
But they’d found their way. They’d established roles within the community. They’d drafted some people in as hunters, others in as construction workers. They’d started schools for the children, and a medical bay to deal with minor injuries and the like.
And sure. It wasn’t perfect. Nothing would be perfect without power.
But it was home. And it was better than anywhere else they could be right now.
It was just missing something.
Ella.
Martin waded through those trees towards that shuffling movement. All kinds of visions filled his mind. Ella, stumbling towards him. Tears rolling down her cheeks. Smile beaming. Racing towards him and falling into his arms.
He walked closer towards that movement. He knew it was a fantasy. He knew the chances of running into Ella or finding her out here were slim. Practically non-existent, in fact.
But he had to keep hoping.
He had to keep believing.
Because without that belief, what was the point anymore?
He reached a bundle of trees, and he stopped.
He stood there. Listened to that movement. Closed his eyes. His heart raced. He knew he should step forward. He knew he should investigate the movement immediately.
But he wanted just a few moments to hope.
A few moments to believe
.
He pictured Ella standing right there. Allowed himself to luxuriate in that thought. Allowed himself to sink into the emotion of it.
And then he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and stepped around the trees.
A pair of squirrels fought in the leaves. They looked up at Martin, froze, and then darted off.
Martin’s stomach sank. His fists tensed. All that hope. All that optimism. All of it extinguished, all in one moment.
He booted the tree beside him. Hard. “Bastard!”
Pain spread across his foot. But he didn’t care. He felt that pain, and he felt his failure. His failure to look after Ella. His failure to look after his younger brother Gary all those years ago. His failure to look after so many people.
All of it on him.
All of it—
“Here again?”
He spun around. Squinted into the distance.
Harriet stood there.
Knife in hand.
A pair of dead squirrels draped over her shoulder.
Martin looked to the ground. More pain spread through his foot, climbed up his leg. He didn’t want to look at Harriet. He didn’t want her to see him like this.
She walked towards him. Stopped right in front of him. Stood there, silently, until he had no choice but to look up.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you back home.”
He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her to get screwed. To leave him to search for Ella.
But then he looked over his shoulder. Over at the trees. At the sun peeking through the lush green leaves. At that movement from the scrapping squirrels in the distance.