by Ryan Casey
“Chloë is here, though,” Alan said.
The sense of dread in Riley’s stomach was replaced by relief. “She—she’s here? She’s okay?”
Jim Hall lowered his head. There was concern on his face. “Not quite okay, but … well, she’s alive. That’s the main thing.”
Riley’s heart pounded. He wondered what Jim Hall meant by “not quite okay.” But she was alive.
He needed to see her.
Talk to her.
He didn’t know what to say to Chloë yet. About Anna. About her mum. Not a lot of time had passed, but it felt like forever.
And if Riley’s experiences of the last week were anything to go on, Chloë would be a completely different person.
“I need to speak to her,” Riley said.
“We’ll stop by on the way back. She’s resting right now. Another of Pedro’s group is looking after her. Oh, wait. Speak of the Devil, here she is right now.”
Jim Hall pointed across the street.
Riley wondered who Jim Hall was referring to. Another member of Pedro’s group? Had someone else escaped Heathwaite’s?
A naive spark of light.
Anna?
No. Anna was dead. Long dead.
He looked across the street and he saw who Jim Hall was pointing at.
Underneath the streetlamp, which a soup stall was propped up against, there was a woman.
She had dark hair. Long, chocolate hair. Slightly dark skin. Wearing a long sleeved white shirt and blue jeans. A scar above her top lip.
A scar that Riley remembered.
Recognised.
Dread built up inside him as he stared into the eyes of this woman. As she stared back at him, completely fixated on him, completely focused.
Riley wanted to say something. Wanted to move.
But he couldn’t. Because this woman in front of him was the woman he’d left behind on the very first day of the outbreak.
This was the woman Ted and he had fled the flat with. Who’d driven the tanker off the A6 for them.
The woman they’d not found the time to save.
Riley saw her start to shake. Saw the shock in her eyes turn to anger. Saw her jaw tense.
She walked towards him slowly.
Then picked up pace. Like a rhino honing in on its prey.
Tensed her fists.
This woman was the woman he’d left behind to die.
This woman was Jordanna.
CHAPTER FIVE
It might’ve only been a mile and a half to the Trafford shelter, but it felt like the longest damned mile and a half Pedro had travelled in quite some time.
And he’d travelled some damned miles recently, too.
Tamara knocked down a lone goon that wandered in the middle of the road. Whacked the butt of her gun into its head until its skull became one with the concrete. Harry looked on through the scopes of his gun, goggled hood back over his head.
“Can’t be far now, surely?” Pedro said.
“Hmm,” Harry said, as he focused down the road. In the distance, Pedro could just about make out the Trafford Centre. Or what was left of it, anyway. The big glass dome on top of it had been smashed to pieces. Quite fitting, seeing a commercial capitalist haven in such ruin. Represented society, that kind of shit.
“We’re better looping off aren’t we?” Tamara said. “Don’t want to go wandering down a main road. If there’s—if there’s more of them, they’ll see us coming from way off.”
Pedro looked at Tamara. Raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Good thinking.”
“What’s the ‘wow’ supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I just—”
“Are you surprised I’m capable of good thinking?”
Irritation crept up the back of Pedro’s neck. He shook his head. “Look, I was just saying. I’m just tryin’ to …”
“To lighten the mood? Because that’s not what we need right now. What any of us need.”
She turned around. Looked down the street, down past the trashed cars and derelict buildings that were in such opposition to the perfectness of the MLZ.
“We need to get to Cameron. We need to … to make him pay. For what he did to my son.”
“And we need to save Dom, don’t forget,” Harry added rather loudly. He looked right at Pedro when he said it though. Side-glanced at Tamara.
Pedro could see the concern for Tamara’s state of mind in Harry’s eyes and his thoughts echoed that worry. They shouldn’t have let her come along. She was in a stage of grief. Her emotions were raw. She hadn’t even had the frigging time to say goodbye to her son.
Now she wanted vengeance on the man who had killed him.
Pedro knew exactly what the desire for vengeance felt like.
He walked to the front of the group. “We stick to the sides of the road. When we see this shelter in sight, we drift off. The other vehicle—you said they were stopping how far out?”
“Half a mile,” Harry said. “Or so.”
“Then we’ve gotta be there soon. They’re heading in due west, we’re heading in due east. Surely we’ll see them soon.”
“Isn’t it kind of the point that we don’t see them?” Tamara asked. “That nobody sees them?”
Pedro mulled over Tamara’s words. Thought about telling her she had a point. Decided to just nod instead. Didn’t want to patronise her anymore.
Didn’t want to crumble even further in her damned estimations.
They walked a little further in complete silence. The road just went on, up a hill, and then they reached the top of a hill and had an even clearer view of the destruction at the Trafford Centre.
And then, just in front of the crumbled brick walls at the front of the shopping centre, a huge-ass white tent just like the one Pedro and the others had stayed in a little while, stocked up in, when the helicopter landed that morning.
Shit. Earlier that morning.
What a frigging eventful Christmas he’d had.
“That looks like our place,” Harry said.
Pedro nodded. “See another vehicle around?”
They all looked through a goggle on their heads. They were like binoculars, or more like a mini telescope. Well, one of them was. Other one was night vision. Another was thermal, something like that. But yeah. The telescope binocular thing. They were the ones they needed right now.
Handy little kit. Would’ve come in handy back in the gulf.
Especially now he knew exactly what he’d been fighting to prevent.
“See ‘em?” he asked.
Silence, as he scanned the road in front of the shelter. As he looked to the left of it. No cars. No signs of life. Nothing.
“I don’t see a thing,” Harry said.
Pedro didn’t like the feeling he had inside right now. Like he was being watched. Like someone else was looking right at him through long range telescopic vision.
Watching.
Waiting.
“We should get to the sides of the road,” Pedro said. “I don’t like this.”
“Wait,” Tamara said. “There.”
Pedro looked through his telescopic vision again, then had to remove it to see where Tamara was pointing.
When he looked, he saw she was pointing to the right. Due east. The direction the folks in the other armoured vehicle weren’t supposed to arrive at.
He lowered the telescopic vision and looked where Tamara looked.
“Oh shit, yeah,” Harry said. “I see ‘em too.”
It didn’t take Pedro long to find the second armoured vehicle, either.
It was parked up to the right of the shelter from where they were. Close to it. Less than a tenth of a mile, let alone a half.
It was empty.
Abandoned.
As was everywhere.
A strong breeze blew into Pedro’s face. He heard crows cawing. Got a whiff of rotting.
He removed his telescopic lens. Looked at his immediate surroundings. The boarded up windows. The desperate graffiti
on the walls—”Save Us!” and “God Fucking Hates Us!”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Just like they did when he got the feeling someone was watching him back in Afghan. Or in Iraq.
Out there, on patrol in the darkness.
Always watched.
The enemy just waiting.
Biding their time for the perfect moment to …
“Infected to the left!”
Harry’s voice snapped Pedro out of his thoughts. He swung around to the left. Lifted his rifle.
A gang of four goons staggered out from behind a murky bus shelter. He went to fire at them, but then he heard the groans behind him.
Spun around.
Saw some goons were power-walking, borderline jogging.
And they weren’t just approaching from behind, either.
They were approaching from everywhere. Like they’d been there all along, just waiting for that right moment to attack, that right moment to strike.
“Back to back!” Pedro shouted.
He threw himself up against Harry’s back, against Tamara’s back.
“We rotate. We focus on one at a time. Let’s deal with these fuckers.”
Pedro fired up the road. Snapped the necks of a couple of the fast walkers, one after the other. The sound of Tamara’s gun made his left ear ring, of Harry’s gun opening fire made his right even worse.
But still, he stepped right. Aimed on one. Deep breath. Focus. Fire.
Step. Aim. Breathe. Focus. Fire.
The goons grew closer. The ones up ahead coming from the centre of the road were running. Running and quiet. Tamara, Harry, they were missing a few. So whenever Pedro’s turn came, it was up to him to blast them.
Step. Aim. Breathe. Focus. Fire.
Aim. Fire.
Missed. Fuck.
He saw three of them getting real close to his face.
“Get my back!”
Harry’s gun swung over his shoulder and blasted one of the three goons, half-blasted a second.
And then he needed to reload.
Pedro struggled to reload his gun. Struggled with his shaking hands. Looked over. Tamara was firing at two herself.
And this ugly blonde goon was coming right at Pedro. One of her arms missing, the bone chiselled down all sharp.
Stumbling. Spewing out dried blood.
Coming for him.
He held his breath and he quit trying to reload the gun.
Then he threw himself at the goon and obliterated her head.
One hit, two hits, three hits.
Nothing but mush.
He turned around to help bail Tamara out, help her out of whatever situation she was in.
But then he saw she’d already done that.
She stood over the two goons that’d been attacking her.
Stared down at one of them, blood all over her hands and arms, tears in her eyes.
Worry intensified. Shit. She hadn’t been bitten had she?
Pedro stepped up to her. “Tamara? You okay? What’s …”
And then he saw the goon on the floor.
Saw his little form. Dark hair. About as tall as Josh.
He felt the same nausea she felt for a moment. The same nausea he’d felt when he’d lost his little boy.
He gulped down the taste of sick in his throat. Put an arm around her. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s move forward.”
Tamara flinched at first. Flinched, like she didn’t want his arm around her.
But then she let it rest there. She let it rest there and she cried.
Harry watched as Pedro comforted Tamara. As he let her rest her head on his shoulder. As he whispered reassuring, battling words into her ear.
“We should—should really move,” Harry said. He had a look of sympathy about him. Wide-eyes. Twitching, as always.
“Just wait,” Pedro said. “We just need one minute, bruv. Please.”
Harry half-smiled. A shaky half smile. “One minute. But nothing—”
Pedro heard a thunk.
Watched Harry’s head explode.
Felt his hot brains splatter over his face.
“Down on the ground, right this second.”
The voices came from above. Above, to the right.
And then more, from the left.
He looked up. Looked up, heart pounding, not grasping what had happened to Harry or what was happening.
And then he saw men dressed all in black.
On the balconies either side.
Pointing sniper rifles at them.
“On the fucking ground right now. Or we’ll shoot out your kneecaps and make it slow and painful for you.”
Pedro wanted to run. He wanted to take Tamara and he wanted to run. He bit his lip. Thought about speaking back. About firing at them. Did he have enough time? Would Tamara be safe?
But then he looked at Tamara. Shook his head.
Dropped his weapon to the ground.
It landed in a pool of Harry’s blood. One of Harry’s eyeballs looked up at Pedro as it rolled along the concrete, a bloody mush where his twitchy head was just moments ago.
“Tamara,” Pedro whispered. “Put the gun down. Please.”
She looked up at the men either side. They were both pointing at her now. And Pedro knew these men wouldn’t hesitate to kneecap her, rape her, do all kinds of nasty things to her, not after what they’d done to Josh, to Chloë …
She looked down at the road. Sighed. Tossed her gun onto the concrete.
And then, she grabbed Pedro’s hand, and the pair of them dropped to their knees.
“Good,” a man on the left said. He was climbing down a ladder from the upper balcony now. Smile on his chubby face. “The rest of your friends are waiting for you. Well, the ones Cameron didn’t dismember, anyway. Let’s see if you’ll get quite as lucky.”
CHAPTER SIX
Riley didn’t have long to figure out what he was going to say to Jordanna because she was flying in his direction.
The goggle-wearing guard fast caught wind of Jordanna’s plight. He threw himself in front of Riley. Took the full blow as Jordanna crashed into him.
But still, she kept her focus on Riley. Scrambled and scrapped to get free from the guard’s grip.
Alan and Jim both looked at Riley with strange expressions on their faces.
“You left me!” Jordanna shouted, as she struggled to get free of the guard. She was spitting, scratching, kicking out and everything. “You left me to die!”
The words made a weight tumble to the pit of Riley’s stomach. Because it was true—he had left Jordanna to die. And it didn’t matter if it was his call or Ted’s call—they’d left her to die on the very first day of the outbreak. Left her to die when she was trying to save their lives.
That’s what kind of a man he was.
He scratched the back of his neck. Felt cold all over. Looked at Alan and at Jim, who continued to look with bafflement between Jordanna and Riley.
Jordanna continued to shout, to struggle.
“What happened here?” Jim asked. His voice had taken on a serious tone. The most serious tone Riley had heard since he’d met him.
“I … I don’t—”
“He’s a killer!” Jordanna shouted. “He left me for dead! Him and his fat fuck friend left me for … let go of me!”
The words hit Riley like bullets across his already tender chest. Just hearing them out loud confirmed the reality of what he’d done.
“I … I didn’t mean to—”
“You left me,” Jordanna said. She pointed a finger right at Riley. She’d stopped struggling, but tears filled her eyes and her body shook.
Riley wanted to apologise. He could see it in Jordanna’s eyes. He could see that look—that look that everyone who had struggled in the Dead Days had.
And he felt guilty for that. So, so guilty.
“I’m sorry,” Riley said. “I … I left you. And I’m sorry for that.”
Jim Hall and Alan watched
, silent, as they stood on the street corner. Over by the bakers in the distance, a man and his wife and a few others gathered around to see what the commotion was all about.
This place didn’t seem a town accustomed to commotion.
Riley’s heart pounded. Sweat dripped down his forehead even though it was freezing as hell. “I … I left you. On the first day. I remember you. Jordanna. I remember the … the things you did. The sacrifices you made—”
“You don’t know a thing about the sacrifices I made.”
A silence fell between them. The sound of cheer from the houses in the distance, of birds tweeting overhead. The stillness, the serenity of this place really settling in.
Settling in except for here, where the tension hit home with a solid punch.
It was Jim Hall who broke the silence.
“We … Jordanna, you should … How’s Chloë?”
A tingling sensation in Riley’s chest. “Wait—you know Chloë?”
Jordanna gave Riley the dirtiest look imaginable, then turned to Jim Hall. “She’s in a bad shape but she’s getting there. The scars on her face, they’re gonna be deep. Deep as shit. But she’s getting there. She’s just … She’ll have a lot of adapting to do. A lot of … of getting used to her new features.”
Getting used to her new features? What’d happened to her?
Jim Hall sighed. Nodded. “Thanks.” He looked back at Riley, then at Jordanna again. “I … Listen, we’re having a communal Christmas dinner in the old Printworks tonight at seven. You’re welcome to come along.”
Jordanna’s eyes flicked to Riley. “Will he be there?”
“Jordanna, I—”
“Then no. Thanks. I’ll pass. I’ve got a lot of sleep to be catching up on.”
She turned away. Walked down the pavement, arms wrapped around her front.
Riley wanted to call back to her. Call back, apologise again. Get on his frigging knees and beg for her forgiveness.
“Let her walk, Riley,” Alan said.
Riley looked at him. Sat in his wheelchair, he watched Jordanna walk away, as a few specks of icy cold snow started to fall.
“She’ll come around. When she realises what you are.”
When she realises what you are.
Riley took a deep breath. The baked food didn’t smell quite as delicious to him anymore. “You’ve no idea what I am.”