by Ryan Casey
Then he heard the engine of the boat lower.
He turned around. Looked ahead. The storm. Something was going to happen. Everything was repeating itself. Everything was coming full circle all over again…
Then he saw the coxswain of the boat smiling, pointing ahead.
“It’s here,” he said.
It took Riley a few seconds to truly understand what the guy was getting at; what he was pointing at.
But then he saw the island.
He saw the activity around it.
The life around it.
“Welcome home,” the skipper said. “You made it.”
CHAPTER THREE
Now…
RILEY SAT in the interview room across the table from the man and woman dressed in suits, and he wondered why he felt so afraid, especially with all the things he’d been through since the beginning of the Dead Days.
The late morning sun beamed in through a window behind the interviewers, giving them a god-like halo that struck even more fear into him. It was hot in this room. Stifling hot. And as well as the inappropriate coffee stain on his lap, he was well aware that his armpits were sweating. Damn. He just had to keep his arms close to his body, hope the interviewers didn’t see the stain. Part of that was his own fault. He’d been running so late that he’d ended up sprinting his way up the stairs towards the third floor, where the interview was being held. Not his finest hour, especially when he’d nearly slipped on the bloody steps and fallen to his death… okay, bit dramatic, but serious embarrassment so close enough.
The perils of the new world. He’d forgotten just how stressful the mundanity of everyday life really could be.
He watched the desk fan circle wildly, blowing not-quite-cool air against him. He licked his lips, which were dry, strange considering how humid it was. In front of him, the duo sat there, smiles on their faces. He’d seen them around, sometimes. But honestly, the people in power on Island 47 kept themselves to themselves. There was no leader-led community spirit like at Heathwaite’s or the MLZ. It was more like the old world in that respect. The leaders kept detached from the majority of the people, leading via other methods—old methods of communication. Law and order. That kind of thing.
There was nothing outwardly intimidating about them in the sense of a madcap leader of a rival group back on mainland Britain, that was for sure.
But there was that constant sense that they were there; they were watching, and they were the ones pulling the strings.
And as long as it kept people happy and put food on tables, they had to be grateful.
“So you say you have experience in writing in the past?” the woman—Gerri—asked.
Riley nodded. “I have several years as a journalist back home.”
“And where is home again, Mr Jameson?” the balding man on the left—Andy—asked.
“Home is… home was Preston. England.”
“Ahh, Preston,” Andy said. “You a Preston North End fan?”
“Not partic—”
“Good,” he said, ignoring Riley’s attempts to answer. “Good team. One of the founder football teams, I believe. Nice to support your local team and all that. But anyway. I digress.”
Gerri shot him a glare like, yes, he really had digressed. Then she looked back at Riley with those piercing green eyes and smiled. “You say you were a leader when you were in the old world.”
“Well,” Riley said. “I wasn’t so much a leader. I mean, I had a lot of freedom ’cause I was the only journalist on the music desk. And I suppose that gave me some responsibility. But—”
“I’m not talking about your time at the paper, Riley,” Gerri said. “I’m talking about after.”
The second she said the words, Riley felt his stomach sink. His mouth went dry. “What does that have to do with an interview about editing a paper here?” He had thought about writing a book of his experiences—a non-fiction account of his encounters of the Dead Days, based on himself and the people around him. Some of them would be based on the stories he’d heard. Others would be based on things he’d experienced directly. He even had a good title for it. No prizes for guessing.
But that still seemed like something… far away to him. And it wasn’t something he was too keen on engaging himself right now. He’d rather just do local news. That was his thing. That had always been his thing.
Gerri looked at Andy, and he looked back at her before clearing his throat. “Mr Jameson—”
“Riley,” he said. “Really.”
“Okay, Riley. We know you’re interested in this paper. We’ve read your ideas for the future of it, and we think you’d be an absolute asset. And with your journalist expertise already, that would obviously count for a lot.”
“But?” Riley said.
“But,” Gerri picked up, “we can’t help but feel your skills would be… under-utilised, let’s say, should you choose this particular career path.”
Riley felt his arms start to tingle. Deep down, he had a sense of where this was going. “I’m not going back there.”
“You said when you arrived that you were a leader. Others tell stories of your bravery. Of the things you did to save them. The difficult decisions you had to make. And the conviction with which you took them.”
“I’m not going back.”
Gerri half-smiled. “We can’t help but feel you’d be going to waste sticking around here on the island when there are so, so many people out there who could benefit from the leadership of a man like you.”
She pushed something across the table, which Riley narrowed his eyes at when he saw it.
“What is this?”
“It’s an application form,” Gerri said. “An application form to be a scout leader.”
A scout leader.
In the old world, that might not have been the kind of position that struck fear into a person. But this was a different world, where scouts were very much different things. “I can’t do this,” Riley said.
“You have leadership skills,” Andy said. “You have experience in difficult situations. Honestly, Riley, I can’t think of anyone more suited to the role than you. Especially after you brought Kesha to us.”
Riley stood up, then. He scraped the chair back, heart pounding, turning away.
“Riley, don’t—”
“I’m not going back there,” he shouted, pointing at the two of them.
They looked at him, disappointment and a glimmer of fear on their faces like they’d misunderstood him completely. Misjudged him completely.
He thought about Kesha. The journey she’d been on from a baby to the little girl she was now. And also the things she’d been through. The blood they’d taken from her. The experiments they’d done, using fragments of her DNA to vaccinate people from the infection. And he felt guilty for that. So guilty.
But she was here.
And he was staying here with her.
Because that was the promise he’d made.
“You know what? Forget about the paper too,” Riley said.
Andy stood up. “But Riley—”
At that point, it was already too late.
Riley slammed the door of the interview room.
The memories of the old world filling his mind.
The shadows of his past not far behind, stalking him, like the coffee stain on his crotch, like the eyes glaring at him as he rushed out, like everything was cyclical, repeating itself, inevitable…
CHAPTER FOUR
Then…
RILEY STEPPED off the boat and onto the island.
The clouds had parted. The rain had stopped falling. There was a chill to the air, but nothing over-noticeable. And it seemed poetic, in a way. Poetic that the clouds would part like that right upon their arrival. Poetic that things could possibly seem so dreamlike, so perfect, right at the moment they’d got here.
But this was no dream.
This was reality.
He looked ahead at the large steel gates. They were close
d. But they didn’t have to be open for him to know what was beyond them. He could hear it from out here. The cheering. The chatter. The sound of life. Of good life.
And it reminded him of another time. It reminded him of the first time he’d walked around the Manchester Living Zone, seen it for what it was. But there was something different about the Living Zone. And that was the fact that merely looking over the walls was a strong reminder that you were still living in that infected world. That no matter how many dinner parties you threw or pints you drank, no matter how many times you went down to the shops or small talked with your neighbour, the dead were still outside. You were very much under siege in their world.
But this was different.
This was different because there were no dead.
This was their world.
Humanity’s world.
Riley looked around. There were other boats tied up on the beach. And there were helicopters too. And it soon dawned on Riley that all these people had been taken away from various extraction points across the country. All of them were being lined up, sent for medical examination, assured that nothing bad was going to happen to them—a few shots at the very worst.
And as hard as Riley found this to believe, a deep sense inside of him allowed himself to trust. Because why else would these people have brought him here? Why else would they have gone to all this effort just to kill him and his people—and all these other people? It didn’t add up.
So he found himself, for better or worse, believing.
And although belief hadn’t been kind to him in the past, he could only hope that now, things would be different.
He saw someone up ahead. Suited. Short dark hair, face a little like a ventriloquist’s dummy. He was walking towards him, flat smile across his face, hands behind his back.
As soon as he reached Riley and his people, he held out a hand.
The soldier with Riley and his people frowned. “Sir? They haven’t been medically examined yet.”
“Oh to hell with their medical examinations,” the man said, American twang to his accent—reminding Riley of the day he’d arrived at Heathwaite’s, met the larger-than-life Rodrigo. “These people look awfully tired. Like they’ve had quite a journey. I’m Peter. Peter Hillson. And I’m one of the people in charge of running this place.”
Riley looked at Peter’s hand, and all kinds of pushback emerged inside him. He shouldn’t trust this man. He shouldn’t trust anyone.
Before he could react, Peter lowered his hand. “You’re mistrustful, of course you are. And I can only imagine the things you’ve been through to make it that way. But rest assured. You’re going to be very safe here, and you’re going to ultimately be very happy here. Now… I know it’s going to be a lot to take in. Most people take weeks before they’ve even accepted the fact that they’re safe here, that we’re on their side. But we are. We truly are. You need to believe that, first and foremost.”
Riley saw something then.
He saw the way Peter’s eyes drifted to Kesha.
He saw the way they settled on her, lying there in Carly’s arms.
“What do we have here?”
He stepped up to Peter, then. Nothing could stop him. Nothing could get in his way. The alarm bells were still there. The panic was still there. The fear still gripped hold of him.
And he squared right up to Peter. “You back away from her,” he said.
Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Sir, I don’t think you—”
“I told you to back away from her. You don’t lay a finger on her. You don’t even lay your damned eyes on her. Any of you, okay? Any of you.”
Silence followed. And Riley sensed people looking at him, saw some of the other rescued people looking over, rolling their eyes, and he wondered whether he really was so much crazier than the rest of them; whether he was really so far gone.
Peter simply stepped back. But there wasn’t a look of judging on his face. There wasn’t a look of fear on his face. There was none of that.
Instead, there was something all the more remarkable. Something Riley hadn’t been expecting, not at all.
There was a reserved look of understanding.
And then Peter said something.
He said something that Riley felt, right in his bones.
He said, “You’re safe here. You’re all safe here. You’ve kept her safe, the little girl. You’ve kept her safe.”
“You’ve kept her safe.”
And it was then that Riley fell to his knees.
It was then that he couldn’t hold it together. Not any longer.
It was then that Anna came to his side, wrapped her arms around him.
That Ricky and Melissa held one another.
That Carly came over.
That little Kesha looked him in his eyes, so perfect, so beautiful.
“You’ve kept her safe,” Peter said.
And as he said it, all Riley could think about was Chloë.
All he could think about was how he’d done this; how he’d done it for her.
And how he was going to keep on doing it, no matter what.
Because this was it now.
This was home now.
They’d made it.
RILEY LIT a cigarette with his shaking hand and stared at the flames burning in front of him.
His heart pounded. The flames flickered up, the smell of smoke clinging to his nostrils, making him want to heave. He could hear crying beside him, so distant, so hazy. Everything was so hazy.
“I’m sorry, Riley. I’m so sorry.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Now…
THE SECOND RILEY stepped inside his flat, he knew he was going to have to tell Anna about what’d happened at the interview.
And telling Anna what’d happened at the interview wasn’t going to be easy, especially when he couldn’t really answer that damned question himself.
The flat was cool, the windows open, and the blinds shut, blocking out the late morning sun. As Riley stepped inside, he felt an air of calm hit him at his familiar, safe surroundings. He saw the kitchen worktop, where he’d been learning to cook all kinds of lavish, ambitious meals over the last year. His signature dish, though, was a simple penne arrabbiata. Sometimes the more simple things, when packed with an effective punch, were all the more delicious.
Unsurprisingly after his experiences on the outside, he’d gone off meat. Meat in a world where you were fighting for your survival was a given, of course. You had to hunt. There was no room for morals. That was just how it was.
But the rules had changed, now. The island was stocked with all kinds of foods, from ready meals to fresh ingredients, all of them dropped in from the outside world, or grown in here. It was a strange existence, of course. Apparently, there were even documentary filmmakers bargaining to visit the island to film something for one of the major networks about the survivors of the “plague.” It was like living in a Truman Show-esque bubble. But it was home.
There was another reason he’d gone off meat. Try spending years watching the undead rip flesh off other people, raw. See how much you fancy tucking down into your juicy, rare steak then. Just see.
Riley walked further inside his flat, looked at the sofa by the window, the books stacked on the table. Books were their primary form of leisure. There was a television, but they were limited to movies and in-house networks, which wasn’t exactly HBO standard. Apparently, the links to the outside world weren’t ready to be made yet. Not entirely. Again, Riley wasn’t sure about that. But when he was otherwise being treated so lavishly, he couldn’t exactly complain.
He heard the bathroom door creak open.
Anna was standing there. She had a towel wrapped around her waist, her breasts on show.
She looked at him with a beaming smile on her face. “How’d it go, handsome?”
Riley felt fireworks in his chest. Ever since he’d first met Anna, he had to admit there’d been something there. And sure, he felt bad towards Jordann
a for admitting that. After all, he’d loved Jordanna. No mistake about that.
But he cared so much about Anna. Jordanna knew it. She wouldn’t begrudge him his happiness.
But as she walked over to him, getting ready to plant a kiss on his lips, hands on the corners of the towel, Riley stopped her. “It didn’t go good,” he said.
Anna frowned. “What do you mean it didn’t go good?”
Riley rubbed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t even know how to begin explaining.”
“You can make a start,” she said. “What’s happened, Riley? What’s bothering you?”
Riley sat down, and Anna joined him. Outside, he could hear the laughter of the people, the commotion of everyday life, and it reminded him of two things. The world before, and the living zone. And he couldn’t shake that knowledge that both of those worlds had fallen. Both of those existences had collapsed. Just the thought of the same thing happening to this place… well, it filled him with dread. Filled him with fear.
“They weren’t interested in my application for the paper,” he said.
“Oh. That’s… well, that’s on them,” Anna said. “They’re missing out on a fucking Grade A writer if you ask me—”
“They told me they want me to apply to be a scout.”
Riley saw the way Anna’s face turned. He could see that unmistakable look of fear in her eyes. No matter how much she might try to deny it, it was there. Unwavering. Unforgettable.
“A scout?” she said, finally regaining her composure.
Riley nodded. “They say I’ve shown ‘leadership qualities’ in the old world. That they want me to go back out there and lead a mission, I dunno.”
“And what did you say?”
Riley frowned. “You really think that’s a question worth asking?”
He saw the relief in Anna’s eyes. And he realised then that she’d been concerned. Just for a moment, she’d been concerned that he might’ve said yes. That he might’ve decided to go.