Surviving The Virus (Book 5): Extermination

by Casey, Ryan

  Noah just nodded. It was about all he could manage.

  The man looked over his shoulder. Then back at Noah. He was short. Wore glasses. Had a squint. “I wish you all the best. Really, I do. And maybe… maybe I’ll see you around someday. If we do, well. Remember me. Michael. And remember I was the one who helped.”

  He stood up, then. Disappeared from Noah’s blurred view.

  He got back into his car. An engine started up, and he drove away, off into the night.

  And as Noah lay there on the ground, staring up at the beautiful stars above, he felt a tear roll down his dry, sore cheek.

  “Thank you, Michael,” he muttered, with his raspy, weakened voice.

  And then he slipped back away into darkness.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Zelda didn’t stop walking once that entire night.

  The morning sun was blistering, suffocatingly hot. Even though it was only the end of spring, it really felt like summer was taking its first stand. Hard to imagine how it was going to get much hotter than this as the months progressed, mind. But in the space of a year, they’d had a virus, which affected people in radically different ways, which then mutated into a super-killer that wiped out the bulk of the few who remained, turning the nation—and likely the world—into a ghost town.

  And various groups had risen in this new world. Some good. Some very, very fucking bad.

  One thing was for sure. Individualism was the way forward. Zelda wasn’t getting herself entrapped in some kind of connected hell again.

  Especially not after Finn.

  She pushed her thoughts of Finn to one side. She was in a small town. It was deserted, just like everywhere. She didn’t even need to keep her guard up anymore. Nobody did. There was barely anyone left. But there was still a sense that someone sinister might be out there. That someone sinister might be watching.

  And there was Curtis’ group to worry about too.

  She thought about what Michael had done for her. The opportunity he’d provided her with to get away from that place, to escape. And it went in the face of everything she thought she was fighting for. In the face of the goal that had occupied her thoughts every second of every day.

  Getting her revenge on Curtis.

  On Eddie.

  On Finn.

  Those who had betrayed her.

  Those who had tortured her.

  Those who had put her through hell.

  And then there was Noah, too. Michael told her he was going to be okay. She felt an attachment to Noah. An uncomfortable attachment. He was a good person. She didn’t want to get too sentimental, but she hoped he was okay—truly okay.

  But as much as she wanted to go back there, as much as she wanted to carry out what she felt like she was still alive for… she knew it wasn’t the time.

  The time would come.

  The day would come when she would get her revenge.

  But that day was not today.

  She could wait a little while longer.

  And when it did come, it would be the sweetest thing she had ever tasted.

  She walked down an old high street. Her footsteps echoed against the empty, boarded-up shopfronts. Crows swooped down overhead, cawing. She went in a few of the shops on her way down. Made sure they were totally clear. Made herself a bag of kit. Grabbed a few spare clothes. Picked up a few things she could use as weapons if she had to. Knives. Meat cleavers. That sort of thing. Even grabbed a few scraps of stocked up food from the flats above the shops. They all had this awful smell to them, the flats. Like sweat. Like death. Maybe she’d been cooped up at Curtis’ for so long that she’d forgotten what the outside was like.

  The death.

  The rot.

  That constant stench, and the reminder around every corner of just how many had fallen.

  Little girls lining the streets, rotting away.

  Skeletons gnawed at by the dogs and the rats.

  She kept on going. Kept her guard up at all times. She wondered what her direction was, truly. Where she was heading. Where she was going to go. She figured she’d just live life as she lived it before Curtis’ group, before Finn. Drift from place to place. Keep her head down. Lay low.

  But then, she’d had Barney by her side.

  She’d had…

  She stopped.

  Barney.

  Noah told her he’d found someplace to tie him up. He told her he was okay.

  If Noah came the way she’d come to Curtis’, maybe she could go back there. Look for Barney. Find him.

  But then her stomach sank.

  It was two months since that day. If Barney had been tied up, he’d either have chewed through the rope by now and gone on his way, or he would’ve died attached to it. She’d find nothing but his rotten corpse.

  She swallowed a sickly lump in her throat as she pictured Barney’s dead body. As she pictured his fear. His loneliness. His sense of isolation and separation.

  Feelings she’d felt herself.

  She went to keep walking when she heard something up ahead.

  At first, she thought her mind was playing tricks. It wouldn’t be the first time. She was still going cold turkey from the heroin, after all. She wasn’t exactly in the soundest of mental states.

  But as she crept from car to car, she heard those two voices getting louder.

  She heard them getting closer.

  Or her getting closer to them.

  She tiptoed her way out of the town, towards the main road that ran alongside it. Now she thought about it, she’d sworn she’d heard something earlier. An engine, something like that. Something making a racket, kicking up a shitload of noise.

  She thought it was in her head. In her mind.

  Her head playing tricks.

  But the further she crept down this street, the more she realised her instincts were wrong.

  She could hear voices. Three, not two.

  And she swore she recognised them.

  She reached the car at the edge of the road, and she saw three people by the side of the road.

  When she saw who they were, the hairs on her arms stood right on end.

  Marky. One of Curtis’ goons.

  Another guy she didn’t recognise. Asian. On his knees. Blood trickling down his face. Terror in his eyes.

  And then somebody else.

  Long hair.

  Slimmer than she remembered.

  But him.

  Undeniably him.

  Zelda took a deep breath and felt a smile stretch across her face.

  Eddie stood there at the side of the road, the Asian man on his knees before him.

  She tightened her grip around the meat cleaver.

  Maybe she wouldn’t have to wait so long to get her revenge after all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eddie and Marky had been walking a solid day when they saw their first sign of life.

  Or rather, they heard it, first. The sound of engines racing down the once busy motorway ahead of them. He and Marky hadn’t spoken much on this journey. Whenever Eddie thought he was alone or had a moment to himself, he’d always catch Marky peering at him from the corner of his eye. Looking at him like he wanted to take him out. Like he wanted to kill him and pretend there’d been some kind of accident.

  But so far, so good on the “staying alive” front.

  Back in the day, Eddie might’ve been tempted to crack a joke here and there to break through the silence. But he knew there was no fooling Marky. He wasn’t the kind of guy you could small talk with. The atmosphere between them was palpable. It could be cut with a goddamned cold knife, let alone a hot one.

  And it didn’t help when he broached the topic of what he thought about Eddie, just before they heard the engines. Just before every damned thing changed, all over again.

  They’d stopped to grab a bite to eat. And it really was a bite at this stage. A few chunks of meat, chicken, not cooked very well, either. Eddie longed for a KFC. Longed for the crispy coating, longed f
or that succulent, smooth gravy. Those were the days. If he could turn back time, he would. Simpler times. Better times.

  And then Marky opened his goddamned mouth and ruined the whole fantasy.

  “I know you’re not 100% with us,” he said.

  Eddie looked at him. Felt his face flush. Felt a bead of sweat start to trickle down his chubby nose. “I—I don’t under—”

  “You might have Curtis fooled. But you don’t have me fooled. I know you’re torn as fuck about this. And believe me when I tell you I’m watching you. Very closely. Any wrong move, any hint of a wrong move, and I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your skull.”

  He tapped the pistol at his waist, just to prove a point.

  Eddie swallowed a dry lump in his throat. Suddenly, the chicken tasted even less good, somehow.

  “Might just get it done with anyway,” Marky said. “Pop a bullet in you. Do the work myself here. I’ll do a better job than you will, anyway.”

  Eddie felt the pistol stuffed in his back pocket.

  Thought about doing the same.

  But no. He couldn’t kill anyone else. Couldn’t get his hands any bloodier.

  “Maybe so,” Eddie said.

  Marky smirked. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If you could just weasel your way out of this one like you’ve weaselled your way out of everything else.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Marky snapped, a rare show of emotion… and it wasn’t a good emotion, that was for sure. “I know a weasel when I see one. And if you think I’m going to stand around and let you sabotage things for me… seriously. One wrong move, you’re finished. And I’ll make damned sure those friends of yours back at camp are finished, too.”

  Eddie thought of Noah. The anger in his eyes. The dismay.

  He thought of Zelda, too. The way she’d looked at him.

  The shame he felt about the way he’d betrayed them both.

  The things he’d done.

  “I’m not sure I have so many friends back at camp anymore,” Eddie said.

  Marky looked into his eyes. Something like a smile twitched across his face.

  “Anyway. We’d better get moving. It’s…”

  Two things, then.

  First, a dog appeared. Some kind of spaniel. Ran up, out of nowhere. Snatched some of that chicken, rushed off towards the road.

  “Little shit,” Marky said. “I’ll kill the bitch for that!”

  But then they heard it.

  The engines.

  The sound of something heading this way.

  Eddie looked at Marky, and Marky looked back at him.

  And then before they had time to hide, two motorbikes zoomed right past.

  Followed by a third.

  Slower.

  And…

  That look.

  Those eyes.

  That face.

  Was it?

  Could it be?

  “He’s stopping,” Marky said, lifting his pistol. “Fuck. Get down, Eddie. Now!”

  But Eddie stayed standing there.

  Watching as that bike slowed down.

  The direction they were heading in.

  And this man.

  Sunil?

  Could it be his place they were heading to?

  Was that the camp he was being asked to spy on after all?

  The camp where Kelly and his estranged son were?

  “Eddie!” Marky said.

  Eddie ducked down then. Got right behind a car. He waited there. Heard footsteps heading his way. His heart raced. Fuck. This wasn’t in the plan. This wasn’t what he expected. Sunil. He wasn’t totally sure but… fuck, it looked like him. A lot like him.

  And he wasn’t sure how he felt about Sunil.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about anything.

  Sunil’s footsteps got closer—or at least the footsteps of the guy he thought was Sunil. He heard him say something then. Mutter something to the dog.

  And at that moment, Eddie just knew.

  The tone of his voice.

  Everything.

  It was Sunil.

  There was no doubting this.

  It was him.

  What happened next all unfolded so fast.

  Marky stepped out and cracked the man over the skull.

  Knocked him to the ground, bleeding badly from the head.

  The dog barked a few times, then ran off into the distance.

  Eddie stepped up as Marky flipped out his pistol and pointed it at Sunil. “Wait!”

  Marky stopped.

  Sunil lay there on the ground. Holding his head. Moaning.

  “We need to pop him,” Marky said. “Before he pops us.”

  “He’s… he’s from the group.”

  “What?”

  “The community. The one we’re heading towards. What if he’s—if he’s one of them?”

  Marky frowned. Looked down at Sunil. “Then even more reason to kill him.”

  He tightened the trigger.

  “Let’s—let’s use him,” Eddie said—pleaded. “Let’s get all the information we can from him. Please. We don’t have to kill him just yet. We can use him. Get him to help us somehow. And then we kill him. But not yet.”

  Marky stared at Eddie closely.

  And for a moment, Eddie thought he might just pop Sunil just to spite him.

  But then Sunil pushed himself to his knees and looked Eddie in the eye, and a whole new fear kicked in.

  The fear of Sunil recognising him.

  The fear of Sunil knowing him.

  “Ed—”

  So Eddie walked over to him. He pointed his pistol to his head. “Don’t say a word.”

  “Wait,” Marky said. “Did he just say what I think he said?”

  Sunil looked up at him. Blackness under his eyes. Blood pooling from the back of his head. “You’re… you’re alive. You’re still out here. You walked away, and—”

  “What’s he talking about?” Marky shouted.

  Eddie looked up at Marky.

  Then back at Sunil.

  Right into his eyes as he held the pistol to his skull.

  And just standing here, he felt guilt. A deep, unshakable guilt for walking away from Kelly.

  But also desperation.

  A sense that his path wasn’t necessarily decided.

  Not yet.

  But the awful depths he was going to have to sink to if he wanted to get things the way they were supposed to be.

  “Tell me one thing,” he said.

  Sunil stared back up at him.

  “Kelly,” he said. “The baby. Are they okay?”

  A tear streamed down Sunil’s cheek. “They’re safe. They’re at home. What—”

  “Good,” Eddie said.

  And then he pulled the trigger and blew Sunil’s brains out.

  The gunshot echoed around Eddie’s skull. Inside, he felt emptiness. Pain.

  “The fuck?” Marky cried. “I thought—”

  Eddie turned around and pointed his gun at Marky.

  “I’m sorry, Marky. Actually, no. I’m really not.”

  He lifted the pistol and pumped a bullet towards his head.

  But it missed. Just.

  It hit him in the shoulder.

  Knocked him back.

  But he was still on his feet.

  Still wielding a pistol of his own.

  And he had the time to turn the gun on Eddie and fire at his arm.

  Hot pain tore through his shoulder. He yelped, cried out, just about clung on to the pistol as he walked over to Marky, lying there on the ground, squirming away.

  He booted the pistol from a wounded Marky’s hand.

  And then he sat down on top of him.

  Pressed the pistol to his head.

  “We’re going to do things my way now,” Eddie said.

  “You cunt. You fucking, weasel cunt.”

  “You should’ve kept a closer eye on me. Goodbye, Marky.”


  He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

  A splatter of blood across his face.

  A moment’s memory. Recollection. Of Jane. Of his shame.

  And then, relief.

  He tucked his pistol back into his pocket, forced a few deep breaths, and stood.

  He looked at the bodies. His ears rang. He swore he still heard the gunshots ringing in the silence.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, panic kicking in. “What have I done? What the fuck have I done?”

  He had to hide the bodies. Both of them. Neither of them could be found.

  But this gunshot on his shoulder. Shit. It was bleeding. Not as bad as it could’ve been, but still pretty fucking badly.

  He scurried around, over to Sunil’s body. Over to the panicked look in his dead eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Eddie said. And he meant it. He felt guilty. He felt like a monster had awoken within again; resurfaced from the ashes. “I’m so…”

  That’s when he felt the cold blade touch the back of his neck.

  “Not another fucking move,” a familiar woman’s voice said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Michael drove back towards the compound and wondered what the fuck he’d just gone and done.

  It was dark. But there was a blueness to the sky already, a blueness that teased the day ahead. Always knew it was gonna be a nice day when he saw the sky like that. When he heard the birds chirping away. There was a smell to the air, too. A freshness to it. Always reminded him of summers as a kid, camping out in the mountains with the Scouts. The one time in his life he actually felt like he’d belonged, like he was a part of something.

  Before joining Curtis’ group anyway.

  And much like the Scouts, Curtis’ group was coming to an end.

  He kept his foot down on the gas. Glanced back over his shoulder. He’d made sure he brought some supplies along with him. He’d found them a couple of weeks ago but decided to keep them back in case he ever needed an excuse for why he was out and about. There were guns. Ammunition. Plenty of it, too, from an old barracks a few miles west.

  And as much as he hated the thought of Curtis getting more weapons in his hands, it didn’t make much of a difference. Not in the grand scheme of things.