by Ryan Casey
Riley looked at Tamara’s blonde hair, robbed of its gloss and shine, and he knew that she was struggling. Because he’d struggled to. He was struggling right now. Knowing he was on the verge of dying unless he got to the Birmingham Living Zone—and even then having no guarantee of survival … Yeah. That wasn’t an easy thing for a man to live with.
“You gonna stare at her the whole trip or are you gonna move on to me when I’m not looking too?”
Riley looked down. Saw Jordanna staring up at him. Scowl on her face, as ever. He couldn’t tell if it was actually a scowl or just her normal face.
He did know, however, that she didn’t like him very much.
“I …” His cheeks blushed. “I was just …”
“It’s okay,” Jordanna said, nodding. A mischievous smile grew across her face. “As long as Pedro doesn’t see you, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Doesn’t see what?” Pedro grumbled, rolling over to face Jordanna and Riley.
Riley sat there, completely still, cheeks getting hotter and hotter. “Nothing,” he said.
“I was just telling Riley to stop mentally undressing everyone he sees,” Jordanna said. Her voice was so serious that Riley had no clue whether she was joking around or not.
Pedro lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, ignore him. He does that with me at least three times a day.”
The pair of them laughed.
Riley tried to laugh but his cheeks and mouth were like plasticine.
He was about to make some sort of ill-fated comeback when he tumbled to the right and heard the brakes of the vehicle screech.
“Holy—” Pedro started, then fell right to the foot of his bed. “That bastard’s gotta be takin’ the piss right now.”
Chloë and Tiffany slid along the floor. Tiffany let out a little high-pitched scream, but Chloë grabbed her hand, kept her cool.
The vehicle’s brakes continued to screech. Riley gripped onto the posts of the bed for dear life. “I … I don’t think he’s dicking around.”
He climbed down the ladder at the side of the bed as the vehicle came to a complete halt. Walked over to the opening, which was guarded by a green metal slider. He slid it open. Looked through at Jamal, who sat hunched over the steering wheel. The brightness of the motorway ahead made Riley eyes sting, sun-like compared to the dinginess in the back of this vehicle.
“What is it?” Riley asked, blinking and struggling to see through the window. “Don’t tell me we’re there already.”
“Were those damned brakes really necessary, bruv?” Pedro shouted. “Nearly cracked my damned head.”
“There’s something on the road,” Jamal said.
Riley blinked a few times, let his eyes adjust to the light.
“What do you mean there’s—”
Jamal pointed at the windscreen with his big sausage fingers. The front cabin of the vehicle reeked of sweat. “There,” he said. “In front of … in front of the cars. Under the bridge.”
It took Riley a few seconds to make out what was ahead, but when he saw it, he understood every word.
There was a motorway bridge up ahead. In front of it, three huge lorries with containers on the back of them. A Shell lorry, an Eddie Stobart one, and another blank and grey. All parked right across the motorway, all blocking their route down the M56.
“Shotgun not moving any of the lorries,” Jordanna said, emerging by the side of Riley. “Especially not if Riley takes the wheel of this thing.”
But it wasn’t the lorries that creeped Riley out the most. Lorries could be moved or manoeuvred around. Junctions on the motorway could be bypassed.
“Who are they?” Chloë asked. “And … and what are they running from?”
Chloë’s words echoed Riley’s thoughts.
There were three men running in their direction, fear and panic on their faces.
All of them were wearing black leather.
Biker gear.
Riley watched the three men getting closer, approaching from the lorries stacked up in front, blocking their way.
Watched them look over their shoulders. Shout. Scream.
“What we gonna do here?” Pedro asked.
Riley watched the three men in biker gear get closer and closer. He didn’t want to stop for anybody. Stopping for anybody was a risk.
“I don’t like this,” Tamara said.
“We can’t just leave them—leave them outside,” Jamal said. He turned around. Sweat poured down his big, beefy face. He looked the least collected of everyone in this vehicle, which was ironic considering he was supposed to be a guard. “We … we can’t just leave them to die.”
“But they could be dangerous,” Tamara spat. Her cheeks were blushed. It was the most heated Riley had seen her all day. All year, for that matter. “We… we need to get Riley to Birmingham. We can’t just—just go trusting three men we don’t know.”
“They’re running from something,” Jordanna butted in. She craned her neck so she could see over the top of them. Over by the lorries, which blocked their route ahead on the M56.
“Question is, what?” Pedro asked.
The same question was running through Riley’s mind. He didn’t like not being able to see what he was up against.
“Jamal, go back to the last junction. We need to find another way around.”
Jamal turned around. Frowned at Riley. “It’s—it’s madness. You know how risky it is going through the towns and the cities now. Actually, scratch that: you don’t. Looters. Gangs. You don’t wanna mess with those—”
“And what makes you so certain these men aren’t the looters and gangs you’re on about?” Riley shouted back.
Jamal took in a shaky breath. Shook his head. “They … they need help.”
“And we need to get the fuck out of here,” Pedro said. “So back up before I climb over there and take the damned vehicle over the motorway island myself.”
Jamal shook his head. Watched as the men got closer. Riley could hear them shouting. Shouting for help, waving at them to wait. Looking over their shoulders at some invisible enemy.
He started up the engine, went to reverse.
Something clattered against the back of the vehicle.
“The fuck was that?” Pedro asked, turning around.
Jamal frowned. Tried to reverse again, but smacked into something once more. He rolled down his window. Leaned out, took a look at the wing mirror. “Oh, shit. They’re—”
A series of loud blasts cracked against the side of the vehicle.
One of the bullets blasted Jamal in the head, sent blood splattering over the wing mirror.
Tiffany screamed. Chloë and Tamara both grabbed her, held her hand and her mouth.
Riley crouched. “Everyone down!”
More bullets fizzled against the side of the vehicle, rattling the metal like sweets in a tin jar.
Tiffany covered her ears. Cried.
Riley stayed low down on the ground.
Crawled over to the back of the vehicle to the black rucksack.
Checked Dr Wellingborough’s cure research folders were still inside, more bullets blasting against the steel, voices and footsteps picking up outside.
He moved the folders out of the way and pulled out the pistol Pedro had given him, and then the machete.
Hoped to God he wouldn’t have to use it, but knew damned well just how much use hoping to God was in these Dead Days.
The bullets stopped. The motorway outside went quiet. Riley looked around the vehicle. Looked at Pedro crouched over by the opening, rifle in hand. Looked at Tiffany sobbing as Chloë and Tamara held onto her. Looked at Jordanna, pistol in one hand and knife in the other.
And then, a voice.
“Woo, hooo! Looks like we’re in luck, boys.”
A series of bangs on the side of the vehicle. Footsteps and chatter picking up again.
“Not every day you see one of these fuckers,” a deep northern accent said. “Arm-eh or summat?”
; “Fuck the army,” another said. “This is government level shit.”
Riley held his breath. Crept slowly across the solid metal flooring to the door. Lifted his pistol. If they could open the door by surprise, they could take a few of them out.
“Don’t even think of doin’ owt,” another voice said. “We’ve got ten men ‘ere. Ten men and a shitload of guns all pointed at the door of this fucked-up camper of yours. Now this camper looks tough, but I’ll bet a shitload of bullets in the same spots at point-fuck range’ll do the trick. All you gotta do is step out of the camper and we let you go. Or pay a little … toll.”
A few of the men laughed.
“A little toll to carry on down this road.”
Riley’s heart raced. He kept quiet, kept still, everyone else in the back of the vehicle looking on at the door.
“Any women and children on board? Hellooo?”
More men laughed. Sounded like there was a lot of them. Definitely ten. Definitely outnumbered them inside the vehicle.
“No, no one on board, lads. Alright. I’m gonna play this different now. I’m gonna count down from ten. If you don’t step outta the camper, women and kids first, we’re gonna force our way in there ‘n crack each ‘n every one of yer ‘eds like eggs in a jar.”
Riley looked at Pedro. Pedro looked back at him. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“Ten, nine, eight …”
They were stuck. Trapped. No other way out.
“Seven … six … five …”
Think, Riley. Deep breaths and think.
“Four … three … two …”
Riley stood up. Grabbed the door handle.
“One …”
CHAPTER TWO
Riley held his breath and opened the door of the armoured vehicle.
“Woah! Hands above your fucking head! We said the girls first!”
Riley lifted his hands above his head. He’d slipped his machete in the back of his belt. Had the pistol in his front right pocket.
But he took another step out of the armoured vehicle.
The men—all dressed in leather biker gear like the three they’d seen running towards them—all had various weapons. A couple of them, armed with rusty-looking guns, shuffled and aimed as Riley stepped closer.
“We ain’t fuckin’ kiddin’ when we say—”
“You don’t want to kill me,” Riley said.
He knew it was a risk. Could always tell things were a bloody risk the moment he felt his heart pounding through his chest, almost cracking his ribcage open.
The bikers, all of whom were dirty, long-haired, dishevelled, all looked at one another. Smiled. Some of them sniggered. “Trust me, pal. We really do wanna kill you.”
“Not when I tell you who I am. And who’s behind me.”
More awkward shuffling from the bikers. There was around eight of them. A couple of them, both skinny and lanky with patches on their head, backed away a little. Didn’t look like they were used to handling human contact. Or at least, not humans who spoke back to them.
The guy who’d been speaking—long, dark hair with a bushy beard—lowered his rifle so it was pointing at Riley’s stomach and smiled, revealing a mouthful of blackened teeth. “You’ve got balls. Steppin’ out that van like that ‘n tellin’ us we don’t wanna kill you. So go on. Why don’t we wanna kill you?”
Riley looked at the group of eight men. All of them were perched on motorbikes. Four of them armed. Another four with knives, hammers, crowbars. They’d be easy to take out. But this was a risk. A complete risk.
He knew what happened if he died.
Game over.
And yet, here he was, standing opposite a group of men who’d sworn to kill him without the slightest thing resembling a plan.
He cleared his throat. Felt adrenaline course through his system. Listened to the silence on the rest of the motorway, the anticipation building to bursting point.
“I …” he started. He looked down. Gulped. “We’re going somewhere. Somewhere where there’s … somewhere that knows how to cure this thing.”
The main guy raised his bushy eyebrows. Smile started to tremble at the corners of his mouth. “You … you’re tellin’ me you’re savin’ the world?”
Riley heard a few titters. Looked around at the men. All dirty savages. All men he could have been like if he’d taken a few wrong turns. “I … I’m not kidding. Why else do you think we’d be travelling in a vehicle like this?”
The titters turned into full blown laughs. The main guy with the straggly long hair lowered his gun so it wasn’t even pointing at Riley anymore. He had a wide smile on his face. Shook his head. “Pal, quite frankly, I don’t give a fuck whether you savin’ the world or not.”
He lifted his gun again.
Aimed it right at Riley’s head.
“The world’s just fine as it is.”
Riley heard the gunshot and waited for the darkness to surround him.
It didn’t.
The main guy flew back. Blood spurted out of his shoulder. The rifle fell out of his hands as more gunfire sprayed down from the top of the armoured vehicle.
Riley looked up.
Pedro and Jordanna.
He pulled the machete out of his belt and ran towards the balding guy with the crowbar. The guy looked shocked, panicked. Looked around for somewhere to run, but there was nowhere.
He lifted the crowbar. Went to swing it at Riley.
Riley yanked the gun out of his pocket with his left hand and fired at him in the chest three times.
He fell to the floor choking on his own blood.
Riley looked around. Saw only two of the men were still standing. One of them tried to ride off on their motorbike, but Riley shot him in the back before he could make any progress.
“Riley!” Jordanna shouted. “Watch yourself!”
He heard the footsteps behind him and swung around with the machete.
It was a perfect hit.
The gaunt, blonde guy’s innards spilled out of his belly. Riley watched as the man fell to the floor, then fell face first on top of them.
Silence came over the motorway again.
Complete silence.
“Next time,” Pedro called, “let us in on the plan when you go wandering outside the vehicle with a fuckin’ death wish.”
Riley wiped the blood from the top of his machete. Looked at the bikers on the concrete bleeding out of various cuts and bullet holes. “Yeah, well. I think it worked pretty well.”
He was about to head back to the armoured vehicle when he realised there were only six men on the ground.
There’d definitely been eight. He’d counted them right, he was sure of it. Unless he’d just got caught in the moment. Miscalculated due to the stress, the pressure.
“Let’s get Jamal out of the front seat and get the hell out of here,” Pedro said. He started to lower himself down into the vehicle.
Riley saw movement through the back door of the vehicle.
“Pedro, wait!”
Riley heard a gunshot. A loud blast echoed through the vehicle then out of the door.
His heart raced. His mind spun.
Someone had got inside the vehicle.
Someone had shot Pedro.
Riley gripped his gun and rushed over to the vehicle when he saw exactly what was inside.
Two of the bikers. One with lots of muscles and a long, greasy ponytail, another short and slight.
Both of them were holding guns to Tamara and Chloë’s heads.
“You make a move and we’ll pop a cap in their skulls,” the muscular one said.
Riley looked up at Jordanna as she stood on top of the vehicle.
“Same applies for your bitch on the roof,” the muscular biker said. “She makes a move, we pop their skulls. Wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Riley didn’t know what to say. A part of him wanted to raise his gun. Fire at them.
But it was too risky.
These men didn’t look
like they were messing around.
The gunshot. Then Pedro going silent.
They’d shot Pedro.
“Tell you how this is gonna work,” the muscular biker said, stepping out of the armoured vehicle. The other biker followed him closely, looking at the roof of the vehicle and checking for Jordanna. “You’re gonna let us walk out of ‘ere with these two women ‘n we’re gonna let you and your camper go.”
“No fucking chance,” Jordanna said. She pointed her gun over the edge and squeezed the trigger.
“Woah, woah, woah!” Riley said. He lifted his shaking hands. Stared at the two men as they stepped further out of the armoured vehicle, onto the concrete, towards two of the overturned bikes. “Please. We … we don’t want any trouble here.”
The muscular biker—the only one of the two who seemed physically capable of speech—smirked. “Shoulda thought about that before you took down six of ours. We coulda reached a … a diplomatic resolution. Ain’t that right, Bob?”
The small guy grunted. Smiled. Nodded.
“Yeah,” the muscular guy said. “That’s right.”
As the men got closer to the bikes, Chloë tried to struggle free. Whimpered and shouted out under the grip of the muscular guy. Tears rolled down Tamara’s cheeks, who looked resigned to her fate.
A fate accepting that Riley’s life was the most important thing on this journey.
That he couldn’t do anything that’d jeopardise that.
He felt a twinge of guilt for Tamara even having those thoughts.
The muscular guy crouched down beside his bike. Pulled some duct tape out of a satchel that rested by the front of it. Wrapped it around Chloë’s ankles, wrists and mouth, then did the same to Tamara.
They perched them both on the front of the bikes, climbed onto the seats and revved the bikes up.
“Nice doin’ business with ya,” the muscular guy said.
He revved the bike up some more and, in a cloud of thick black smoke, powered north up the motorway.
Riley watched as they disappeared. Watched, listened to the sounds of their engines getting further and further away, of Chloë and Tamara disappearing to an unimaginable fate.