by Ryan Casey
No. He’d cheated death way too many times to give in now. He’d been bitten. Twice. And he’d made it. He was one of the few people on the entire planet who’d been bitten and made it.
He couldn’t just let this end.
And neither could Mr Fletch.
Riley looked up at the grey, cloudy sky. The sun peeked through, its rays getting stronger, warmer. The silence of the BLZ was impossible. Quieter than anything he’d heard in months, and he’d been living in a post-apocalyptic world since last October.
But that silence was about to change.
“Mr Jameson, can you please—”
“You can’t kill me,” Riley said.
Mr Fletch frowned. “What d’you—”
But it was too late.
Riley kicked the guard behind him right in the balls.
Swung around and cracked his knuckles into the face of the guard beside him.
And then he yanked the blade from the guard’s top right pocket, got behind him, held it to his neck.
It all happened in a second. A mad split second. And a second later, the other guard was back on his feet, clutching his balls but pointing the gun at Riley.
Mr Fletch stared on with narrowed eyes. Mad eyes.
“You can’t kill me,” Riley said, backing away slightly. “Pointing a gun at my back, bullshit. You need me. Like you say. I’m important. I’ve got the cure inside me.”
Mr Fletch’s serious expression didn’t change. The guard Riley held struggled, and every time he did, Riley pressed the blade deeper and deeper into his neck.
Deep enough for it to bleed.
“P-please,” he muttered. Riley smelled urine.
And then, Mr Fletch smiled.
Smiled that fucking smile.
“Mr Jameson, please. There’s no need for hysterics.”
“You let me go or I cut his throat. You let me and my friends go.”
“I’ve already told you. It’s not going to be possible for your ‘friends’ to go anywhere with you—”
“I don’t accept that. No fucking way. You’re cold, but you’re not that cold. No one is.”
Mr Fletch’s smile widened.
He didn’t have to say anything. He had the words all over his face: You want a bet?
“Put the blade down, please. You’ve nothing to gain from this situation.”
“If I put this blade down you’ll turn me into one of your fucking test subjects.”
“You’re more selfish than I thought,” Mr Fletch spat. “Choosing to take the life of an innocent man over sacrificing yourself to the greater good—”
“Fuck the greater good,” Riley said. “I’ll cut this man’s throat if you don’t let me leave.”
“And then my colleague here will shoot you and all of us will lose out. Just think about what you’re doing here. Put the blade down. Don’t cause any more trouble than is necessary.”
Riley tightened his grip on the guard. And as the guard shook, Riley started to get the sense that he wasn’t much of a guard at all. He was blubbering. Shaking. Reeked like piss. “So this is what you do to your citizens? Turn them into your bodyguards?”
“Aren’t we all just bodyguards to someone?”
Mr Fletch stepped a little closer. Riley edged away, but he was gradually getting slower. The BLZ seemed to be opening up all around. He could feel eyes watching him, hear people whispering about him. He wasn’t sure how much of that was the truth, how much of that was in his mind, but he knew he had to do something. He had to act.
He couldn’t go back to inaction. ’Cause inaction had got him into too much shit already.
“Put the blade down,” Mr Fletch said.
The guard under the blade struggled.
The other guard pointed his gun at Riley.
Shakily.
Riley thought of Jordanna and Tamara and James. Thought of his friends. The people he’d made it here with. The people who had fought so hard to get him here safely.
He thought of Jamal. Pedro. People who’d lost their lives getting him this far.
He thought of Jim Hall. Of Alan Mixter. The people back at the MLZ who were waiting on him.
He couldn’t just give up on them.
“You’re wrong,” Riley said.
He stopped.
Mr Fletch stopped too.
“About what?”
Riley didn’t answer in words.
He answered by slicing open the neck of the guard in front of him.
He heard a shower of blood spray out, felt hot blood splatter against his fingers, but there was no time to stay and check he’d finished the job.
He turned around and sprinted as fast as he could towards the empty-looking red-bricked house on his right.
He caught a glimpse of horror on Mr Fletch’s face just before he ran. Heard him shouting at the guard with the gun to hurry, to fire, and the guy did fire but Riley kept on running, hurtled towards the empty building, towards safety no matter how temporary it may be.
He felt things whooshing past him as he ran across the gravel. Thought they were bullets at first, then realised they were darts. Sedative darts? So they weren’t gonna kill him. They’d never intended to kill him at all. He was right.
He smacked against the front door. Turned the handle. Stuck. Completely stuck. Like this was a town of model homes and he didn’t have a pass for any of them.
More darts fired around him, one of them so close it almost wedged into his neck. He turned. Saw Mr Fletch and the other guard running his way. The guard he’d cut the throat of convulsing and spewing out blood on the concrete.
More darts landing around him.
So close.
He ducked his head and ran to the door of the next house. One of them had to be open. There had to be somewhere to hide. He could try to make it to the walls, but no. Not yet. They’d catch him. He needed time to lay low. Time to catch his breath. Prepare his ambush.
He reached the door to the next house. Felt nothing but pessimism as he grabbed the handle, turned it …
And it turned.
The door opened.
He stopped. Stopped for a split second. Stared at the empty space ahead of him. A chance for shelter. A place to hide.
He was about to throw himself into the house when he felt a sharp thud hit the back of his neck.
He knew what it was right away. He reached for the dart, tried to pull it out, but his arms were already weak, his fingers already flimsy.
He rushed into the house and just had to hide but his knees buckled underneath him, his feet turned to jelly, and then he was on the ground and he was drifting, drifting to another place, an awful place, and still he kept on trying to run away.
He heard footsteps. Saw a shadow fall over him.
“You were wrong, Mr Jameson,” Mr Fletch said. “I have absolutely no hesitation about killing you.”
Riley wanted to shout but a heavy blow cracked the back of his head and then there was nothing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHLOË
Chloë held her breath as the doctor stepped closer to her with that syringe in hand.
She was so tired. She’d been tired for so long. It felt like she hadn’t slept in forever. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept properly. Even at the MLZ, where she was surrounded by walls and safe from the monsters outside, she still hadn’t been able to sleep, not like she used to sleep. Mum used to say she slept like a log. That she was the good kid out of her and Elizabeth. That she was heaven sent.
Now, she was ready to sleep again.
“I promise you’re doing the right thing,” the doctor said. He spoke like he cared. And that was way different to how anyone else spoke to her lately. Riley told her she was dangerous. He kicked her out of the motorhome and told her to walk away. And he was right. She was dangerous.
The monsters weren’t just outside, weren’t just the infected who feasted on others.
The monsters were the bad people.
And she was one of the bad people.
She listened to the doctor’s footsteps echo against the tiles as he walked closer. Looked at the white walls all around her. No windows. No sign of whether it was the middle of the night or the nicest day in ages. It was just a room. Just a chamber where she’d go to sleep. Where she’d wake up from a long sleep and be with Tiffany, be with Elizabeth, be with her mum and everyone she loved all over again.
No. Not just everyone she loved. But everyone who loved her in return.
The only ones who loved her in return.
The doctor crouched beside her. He reached out. Wrapped his hands lightly around Chloë’s left arm. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’ll be over in a flash. But you take as long as you need to ready yourself. You take as long as you need to get composed.”
“I … I’m scared.”
“It’s okay to be scared.”
Chloë tasted tears. She let the doctor hold her arm, tried to keep her gaze away from that syringe. “What if … what if I don’t wake up ever again?”
“I was raised a Christian, my dear. I believe we do wake up again. But you aren’t going to die. You’re about to be reborn. Sure, it might take time. It might take some extra research. But you will awaken again. And when you do, you’ll transcend anything that has come before you. You’ll achieve great things. Things that you couldn’t achieve in your … current form.”
Chloë’s eyes clouded over. She looked up at Tiffany. Lying there on the bed so peaceful, so lonely. She wanted to be with her. Wanted to be with her so bad. Because Tiffany had been there with her. She’d understood what Chloë was going through. The only one who put her first.
Gone.
“I … I just want to be normal again.”
Chloë looked up and saw the doctor’s smile falter. He loosened his grip on her arm. Lowered the syringe. Relaxed his posture. “You’ve been through some trauma, haven’t you?”
And Chloë wanted to open up. She wanted to scream “YES.” She wanted to tell this doctor all she’d been through, everything that had happened to her, everything she’d done.
But if she told him everything she’d done then he’d just see her as a danger, as a freak, just like everyone else.
She wanted to scream out and confess.
All she could do was nod.
The doctor sighed. He wiped his forehead and looked across the room at the bodies on the slabs. “You know, I lost someone in all this too.”
“Your kid?”
He turned back to her. “Yeah. My kid. How’d you guess?”
“Seen that look in so many people’s eyes. Seen it in my mum’s eyes. In … in Tamara’s eyes. I just know.”
The doctor stared back at her. Tears built up in his eyes. “I guess you do, kid.”
He turned away from Chloë. Relaxed even more. “A part of me hopes things’ll all sort out some day. That everything will be perfect and peaceful. That I’ll see my kid again. You reckon things can go back to normal again someday?”
Chloë thought of all the things she’d seen. Done. Lost.
Shook her head. “Never.”
The doctor sighed. “Kind of figured you’d say that.”
He moved back in front of Chloë. Put his hand on the back of hers. Looked at her right in her eyes. “Chloë, I have to be completely honest with you. This place, it’s … well it’s not bad exactly, but I fear it’s gone too far. I fear Mr Fletch has lost sight of all the good he’s trying to achieve. Of all the good he was so close to achieving.”
Chloë didn’t reply. Just stared at the doctor. Watched his facial expressions. Waited for him to carry on speaking.
“I … I just need you to know that this syringe here, it’s … it’s going to make everything okay. It’s going to take all the badness of this world away. But it’s going to make it so you can’t wake up until somebody wakes you up. Now if you’re fortunate, that might be pretty soon considering the rapid rate of Orion production. But depending on … on circumstances, it could be a long time. A very long time. Do you understand?”
“Will it hurt?”
“Just a prick. Like an injection at the doctor’s.”
“I hate injections at the doctor’s.”
“Then not as bad as an injection at the doctor’s. That’s what doctors always say before they give you kids the jabs, right?”
“Do I get a sticker?”
“A sticker?”
“When I’m at the doctor’s. Always give me a stupid sticker. ‘Brave girl,’ stupid stuff like that.” She paused. “Will I get a sticker?”
The doctor looked like he was struggling to contain a smile. Or maybe they were tears. “I’ll … I’ll see what I can do. About that sticker.”
Chloë nodded.
She held her arm out.
The doctor looked at it like it was an alien object. Then looked back at Chloë. “Are … are you sure—”
“I want all the badness to go away. I just … I don’t know why but I feel like it’s inside me and I just need it to go away. The buzzing noises. I just need it to all go away and I … I need you to help me. Please. Please.”
And then he looked at her in the way she’d dreaded. She didn’t understand why, but the nature of the look was undeniable.
Wide-eyed.
Open-mouthed.
Like she was a monster.
“If … if you’re sure,” he said.
“I am sure,” Chloë said.
She pushed her arm further in his direction.
Looked away from the needle.
Stared at the white tiles as the doctor took her hand.
It’ll be okay soon. You’ll be with Tiff soon. You’ll be with Mum and Dad soon and everything will be okay.
She felt the tip of the needle prick the middle of her arm.
Pushed her teeth together.
Tasted her tears.
It’ll be okay.
All over soon.
“You’re very brave for—”
She heard a blast.
Then she saw red splatter all over the white tiles.
She thought at first it must be something to do with the needle, maybe he’d pushed it too hard or something.
Then she turned and saw the doctor wasn’t smiling anymore.
The top half of his head had been blown off.
And behind him, as he slumped to the floor, Jordanna stood pointing a gun.
“Come on, hun,” she said, rushing towards her. “Time for us to get out of this place.”
CHAPTER NINE
ANDY
Andy Wilmslow heard the gunshot down the corridor and he knew he had a problem.
He stood in the corridor with one of the guards, Gavin, and Doctor Kyle Ottoman. Both of them turned when the blast rang out. It was quiet, but they were so used to the monotonous whirring of fans and the occasional scream or begging cry in this place that anything untoward stood out like an infected in a room of normals.
They looked at one another, Doctor Ottoman with his shoulder-length silver hair and circular glasses, Gav with his enormous physique.
And then they hurried in the direction of the blast.
Andy tasted nausea at the back of his throat as the men’s boots echoed on the tiles. He’d given Jordanna a gun and told her to get the hell out of here. Told her to leave her friends behind—because they were beyond saving. And that was the truth. Once in a while, perhaps one person escaped this place. Maybe, just maybe two, but very rarely.
Not again. Not ever again.
But as he watched the men storming towards the end of the corridor, past the room where he’d let Jordanna go, he knew there was a chance his gun would lead back to him. And although he’d been careful to switch off CCTV outside and inside Jordanna’s room—the perks of working high security in this building—he knew he couldn’t get too lucky.
His sins would lead right back to him.
And if they led right back to him, they’d lead even further to Ste
ve.
He couldn’t let anything happen to Steve.
“Wait,” Andy called.
The two men stopped. Turned around.
“Hurry the fuck up, Andy. You heard it s’well as we did,” Gav said.
Andy tried to think of something else he could say, something to lure the two men away from the direction they were heading. Because Jordanna needed more time. More time to get to the hatch. More time to get out of here.
At this rate, they’d cross paths.
And crossing paths meant a bloodbath.
Nobody wanted a bloodbath.
“Andy, we’re not—”
“Behind me,” Andy said. “Another shot. Loud and clear.”
Gav frowned. Doctor Ottoman narrowed his eyes, sweat building on his blushed forehead. “The fuck you mean y’heard another—”
“We need to check it out,” Andy said. He turned, for show. Knew how ridiculous he sounded. Knew how pathetic his attempt to keep the two men from investigating the noise was. But maybe he really just needed to delay them. Keep them away a few seconds longer.
Whatever state they found the guard on duty by the hatch in, well, he’d just have to accept full responsibility for that.
Anything to keep Steve out of trouble.
Gav shook his head and looked at the doctor. The doctor looked down at the floor, characteristically dodging any kind of responsibility.
After a few seconds pause, Gav cursed under his breath then stomped in Andy’s direction. “You sure as fuck you heard …”
Andy’s stomach dropped as quickly as it had risen when he heard the second gunshot up ahead, in the direction Gav and Doctor Ottoman had been heading.
In a momentary flash he saw them finding the guards dead, finding Jordanna and whoever she’d saved free. Pinning it on him and making Steve suffer for that reason because that’s what happened under Mr Fletch’s rule. Innocent people suffered. Good people suffered.
They’d suffered for too long.
So Andy lifted his dart gun.
Aimed at Gav.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
And then he fired.
He hit Gav smack on the back of his neck, which was one of the many sedation sweet spots the body had to offer—all of which Andy knew.
Gav stumbled. Fell onto his knees and hit the floor, gasping for air. Unfortunate side effect of the darts. Sometimes a windpipe or artery got punctured.