by Ryan Casey
James smiled back at him. “Yeah, yeah. Like we’re goin’ anywhere without you.”
They stood together for a moment, all of them. Shook hands. Hugged. Laughed. Cried.
Then they looked out of the gates. Looked at the abandoned cars on the side of the roads. Looked at the crows circling the high rise flats. Looked at the sun illuminating the hills in the distance and the creatures peppering the streets, gasping, groaning.
They looked out and then together, they walked, all eight of them.
Into the descending sun.
Into freedom.
They approached the first of the creatures a good half hour later.
“Never again thought I’d say the world looked so damned beautiful,” James said, as he lifted a metal pipe and readied himself to take on the creatures.
Riley grabbed a sharp shard of glass off the floor beside him. Something that’d split away from a car window. He watched the skeletal, rotting corpse waddle towards him. Pulled back the piece of glass.
“That’s because it’s our world,” Riley said.
He stabbed the glass through the eye of the creature.
Felt cold blood splatter down his arm.
And still he couldn’t help but smile as the sun made its final descent, as a red sky glowed over Birmingham.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MR FLETCH
Although the Birmingham Living Zone had always been relatively quiet, there had been a distinct sense of life about the place. Knowledge that, of all the places in the world to be right now, the Birmingham Living Zone was one of the lucky ones. No—it was the lucky one. Because it was where humanity took a step ahead of its former, failed self. A place where the tables turned, where new feats were reached, new ambitious goals achieved.
But right now, there was a prevailing sense of death around the place. A real, true quietness. A quietness that was accompanied by fear. Uncertainty.
A quietness that Mr Fletch had worked so, so hard to avoid.
A quietness that he had to stop before it spread its cancerous wings and destroyed everything he’d worked so hard on, everything he’d fought so hard for.
Mr Fletch stood at the top of the watchtower and stared at the setting sun. In the distance, beyond the debris-laden roads and past the destroyed remains of buildings, he could see them. And he knew he could stop them. He still had people. Enough people to take them on. Sure, they were tired, afraid people, but they were an army nonetheless. Disorganised, but strong in number.
He could’ve done everything to stop Riley Jameson and his people walking out of this place. He could stamp them into the concrete like woodlice if he really, really wanted to. Especially after taking two of his people with him. Andy Wilmslow. Doctor Ottoman. Two good people.
One of whom knew a secret or two.
A secret or two that could change everything.
And at first, as he watched the group disappear over the horizon, morphing into dots, Mr Fletch worried. Worried about the repercussions of those secrets. Worried what might happen if they were revealed.
Now, he wasn’t so sure it was such a bad thing.
It was all just a part of the game.
“Sir? You okay?”
Mr Fletch turned around. Standing opposite him was Hassan. Sheepish-faced as ever. Scared as shit, no doubt about that.
But loyal. Trustworthy.
The sort of person he needed right now.
Mr Fletch felt the sharpness in his left shoulder. The pain of the wayward bullet that ripped through his flesh, spurted out the other end. All thanks to Riley Jameson. It hurt. It hurt like mad, made him want to vomit, no doubt about that.
But another part of it made him want to keep on feeling that pain.
Because it reminded him of all the pain he was going to cause.
The inevitable destruction that lay ahead.
The unfortunate culmination of recent events.
“How’re the others?” Mr Fletch asked.
Hassan sighed. Shook his head. “Lost two more. Gunshot wounds. Bleeding ’n all that. They’re not soldiers. Not really. Sir, you should really get that shoulder—”
“How many do we have?”
“How … how many what?”
“Healthy. People willing to fight. How many do we have?”
Mr Fletch saw Hassan’s eyes narrow. Saw him look at him just like so many others had before. Like he was a freak. Like he was a monster.
Unfortunately for Hassan, it was the freaks and the monsters that changed the world.
“We … we’ve got fifteen, sixteen—”
“Everyone. Not just the guards but the doctors and the prisoners. People we can put guns into the hands of.”
“Sir I’m not sure that’s—”
“How many?”
Hassan was silent for a moment. He stared into Mr Fletch’s eyes like he was trying to read him, trying to weigh him up. Then, “Thirty. Or so. Total. But the prisoners. They … they ain’t a good idea. What if they turn on us? Turn this place upside down?”
Mr Fletch smiled at Hassan. Placed a hand on his shoulder as he walked past. “We don’t have to worry about that.”
He started to descend the stepladder. Excruciating agony seared through his left shoulder.
“Respectfully, sir, I think we do. And you … you ain’t in the best shape. You ain’t—”
“Are you questioning my decision-making, Hassan?”
Hassan opened his mouth and Mr Fletch knew he wanted to say it. Yes. Yes, I fucking well am.
But he didn’t. Course he didn’t. Because he didn’t have the guts to. He didn’t have the confidence to.
And that’s why he was so important.
“Get everyone ready. We’re leaving within the hour.”
“Leaving? For … Leaving where?”
“Manchester,” Mr Fletch said. “When I say everyone, I mean everyone.”
He descended a few more steps. Felt the cool evening breeze wash through the silence of the BLZ. The horrible, awful silence.
“Where—where are you going?” Hassan asked.
Mr Fletch stopped. He looked back at Hassan. Smiled. Because that was the biggest part of the plan. His destination was the sweetest part of the deal. The most joyous part of this entire quest.
“I have some urgent business to attend to,” he said.
Then, before Hassan could respond, he descended further down the stepladder, closer to the ground.
In his sights, the labs.
The cells where the remaining Orions were locked away.
The latest models.
Like cocoons ready to burst open with colourful life and stretch their wings over the world.
Mr Fletch walked towards the labs, keycard at the ready.
Time to let his children walk.
EPISODE TWENTY-SEVEN
A LONG AND WINDING ROAD
(THIRD EPISODE OF SEASON FIVE)
He walked because it was all he could do now. Walk.
It was all he’d been able to do for days, weeks even. Walk so much the soles of his feet were bloodied and worn down. Walk so much that fatigue crippled his body, dehydration gripped his throat, hunger stung his belly.
But still he walked.
Because he had to walk.
He had to keep moving.
He couldn’t stand still. He couldn’t get comfortable, settle down, anything like that.
Not in this world.
Not anymore.
It was pitch black. And weirdly, the darkness was his favourite time. Because it meant he didn’t have to see the horrors surrounding him. He didn’t have to witness first hand the terror right in front of him.
He could just walk.
Walk and hope he got lucky.
Walk and pray.
He was walking through a small town now. He wasn’t sure which. They were all the same now anyway. All filled with debris-laden roads. Cars flipped onto their sides, windows smashed in.
Flesh and blood coating the concret
e, the deep red paintbrush of death cast over this new world.
And a part of him wanted to stop. A part of him wanted to walk inside one of these abandoned buildings. Settle down for the night. Rest.
But instead he walked.
Because walking was all he could do in this limited world now.
Walking was all there was to do.
The silence should’ve reassured him because it meant he was alone. Silence was a good thing in this new world. It meant peace. Solitude. Comfort. A momentary sense of security in a world where security was a prized luxury.
But instead, tonight, it unsettled him.
To the centre of his core, it scared him.
Because walking in the silence, nothing but the sound of his own footsteps on the concrete, he’d never felt more alone in his entire existence.
At least when the infected were around, he wasn’t alone. Because they were something. There was so little left to care about in this world now that any thing was better than nothing, even if it was monstrous, evil, impossible.
But the infected reassured him.
They reassured him that he was not alone.
They walked, just like he did.
They weren’t so different after all.
He felt rain hit his skin but he didn’t care. He hadn’t felt truly cold for days, weeks even. He’d grown so freezing, so hungry that the momentary whims of the weather just didn’t matter anymore. They were irrelevant compared to the eternal iciness the cold had already injected into him.
And he wanted to believe he’d be warm again. He wanted to believe he’d be truly warm.
But he couldn’t dwell too much on it.
Too much dwelling just brought it all back.
Brought everything horrible back.
So instead, he just walked.
When he reached a turn in the derelict high street, he smelled rot. Thick rot. Heard flies buzzing in the distance.
And that’s when he knew.
He turned his head. Looked down the street. And although he didn’t see the dead, he knew they were there. He felt their presence. Heard the creaking of their bones, the gargling in the backs of their throats.
He should’ve been afraid. He should’ve been terrified. He should’ve walked away in the opposite direction, walked like he always did; like he had to do.
But instead, he tightened his fists.
Stared into the darkness.
And he walked towards them.
Because when he was near them, he didn’t feel alone.
And that was all that mattered anymore, as he walked, and walked, and walked.
CHAPTER ONE
TAMARA
Tamara knew that something was wrong inside her.
She walked through the woods, her footsteps snapping through the loose branches that carpeted the forest floor. Each snap brought an echo; an echo that always made her fearful, always made her cautious and wary.
But somehow, the horrors of the outside seemed less … well, relevant, after what happened back at the Birmingham Living Zone.
After what they’d done to her.
To her baby.
“Gotta level with you,” James said, holding a pair of binoculars to his eyes, the left lens cracked. “I ain’t really much of a hunter.”
Tamara smiled. She turned and looked ahead at the woods. Saw all the opportunities for foraging or catching food all the camping trips she used to go on provided her with. “That’s surprising. Always had you down as the hunter type.”
James lowered his binoculars. Squinted at Tamara. Black rings had formed around his eyes. “The hunter type? Is that a good thing?”
“It would be,” Tamara said, as she carried on walking through the woods. “But you aren’t. So first impressions can be deceiving, all that.”
James snorted. “Charming. Let’s see if yer still saying that when we leave here with a rabbit. A rabbit I’ve caught.”
“Let’s see indeed,” Tamara said.
She smiled.
James smiled back at her.
She wished she felt as good on the inside as her smile suggested.
They walked further through the woods. The rest of the group were out hunting too, while some of them had stayed behind to get a fire going. They’d found a car to sleep in last night. Wasn’t ideal, and one of the windows was smashed, but it was something. Certainly better than the BLZ, that was for sure.
“Still gets to me,” James said.
“What does?”
He paused, like he was contemplating his next words, deliberating over the right thing to say. “Just … just we should be dead, y’know? Right now we should be dead. But we ain’t. We’re here. Borrowed fuckin’ time.”
“We should’ve died weeks ago. Months ago, when this all started out. But we didn’t. So we’re here. And that’s how it’s supposed to be.”
“But every day we wake up we beat the fuckin’ odds. Just seems like—like them odds are narrowing, y’know? Like shit gets worse by the day—by the fuckin’ hour. And I just wonder when it’s finally gonna … gonna catch up with us.”
Tamara didn’t respond. She knew what James was saying, what he was feeling. They shouldn’t be here right now. So why were they here? Why the hell had they made it so far? And fuck, was that even a good thing?
“We’ve just got to make the most of every moment,” Tamara said.
James sighed. “I ain’t so sure I can. Not anymore.”
Tamara stopped. “What you saying? You’d rather be dead?”
“Not ‘dead,’ just …”
He looked into the distance. The sound of birdsong echoed through the woods.
Tamara didn’t pry James for more information. She got what he was saying. Found comfort in it, even. Because if James was suggesting that death was the most peaceful place to be, well then maybe Josh was in the best place after all. Away from the horrors of this world. Away from a transformation like Chloë had been forced through.
Maybe she shouldn’t have another kid.
Maybe she—
“How long you been up the duff?”
James’ words cracked Tamara’s foundations like a sledgehammer to the face. She turned round. Looked at him, cheeks flushing, eyes narrowing. “What … what do—”
“It’s okay,” James said, half-smiling, shaking his head. “I get why you wouldn’t wanna tell anyone. Secret’s safe with me, all that.”
“How did … how did you—”
“Ain’t ever seen anyone who ain’t preggers hold onto their belly like you do,” James said, scratching the back of his head.
Tamara didn’t even know what he was talking about until she realised her left hand was resting on her torso. She looked down at it, moved it away and looked back at James. “I … I just—”
“And I found a preggers test back in the van, too. Figured it weren’t gonna be Chlo’s or Tiff’s, and I don’t think Riley’s got Jordanna up the—”
“Can you please stop saying ‘up the duff’?”
“That’s yer biggest concern here?” James asked. Still smiling. Dick. “Look, I’m happy for you. This world needs a bitta positivity from time to time. But you shouldn’t, like, go it alone. If you get me.”
Tamara turned her attention to the woods ahead but really she couldn’t see beyond the next few feet. Her cheeks were still burning up. Shitting hell. James knew. He’d fucking figured it out. Who else? What would they say? What would they decide?
“Nappies ain’t gonna be in short supply anyway,” James said, trying to snap away the seriousness that clearly he was uncomfortable with. “Few trips to Mothercare and you’ll be—”
“When we were on the road, before we met you,” Tamara said, heart thumping steadily faster. “Before we even got to the Manchester Living Zone. We … Pedro, me and a few others. We found a woman. Elaine, she was called. Had a little baby boy in her arms called John. Holding a baby at the end of the world. Never seen anything like it, especially after being o
n the road so long.”
“Sounds sweet.”
“Her son was dead,” Tamara said. “Or … or at least he was when we put him down. He’d been bitten.”
“Oh,” James said.
Silence stepped between them.
Tamara crouched down and leaned back against the bark of a tree. She looked up at the morning sky. Looked at the buds growing at the end of the branches. The onset of spring. The start of a new season in a new world.
“I remember seeing Elaine and seeing her boy and swearing to myself right then that the world was over. Because it’s not a safe place for kids. For bringing up a child. It’s … it’s not a safe place to be a mother.”
James sat down beside her. He rubbed his rough hands together. His blond hair hung loosely on his shoulders. “Y’know, my mum said the same thing in the seventies.”
Tamara couldn’t help but snort. “I think this is a bit different to the seventies.”
“No, no, seriously. Vietnam War, Cold War, all that bullcrap. She was convinced it was the hardest damned time to be a mother. Personally I think she was just hung up that it wasn’t the Swingin’ Sixties anymore. Not gettin’ enough, all that.”
“Sweet story. Still not getting the point.”
James turned. He looked Tamara in her eyes. “I’m sayin’ that it’s always been tough being a mother. It’s always been tough growin’ up because it’s always … what’s the word? Relative. Relative to the time we live in. To the time we’re born in. But if you’re a good person, you’ll find a way. And if you’re a good person who’s … who’s got support, then you’ll do even better. And I’ve got your back, Tamara. We all do.”
Tamara melted inside. She stared into James’ eyes and she felt bad for wanting to reach over there and wrap her arms around him, kiss him. “That’s probably the sweetest thing you’ve ever said.”
“You’re not far wrong,” he said.
Tamara laughed. The two of them sat there against the tree just listening to the wind, the birds, the gentle glow of the morning sun peeking through the bare trees.
“We should probably get a move on,” James said. “Riley’ll be goin’ spare.”
“Right,” Tamara said. She stood, as did James. Felt her cheeks heating up again. Damned blushing. Always had been a problem. Not even the end of the world could change some things.