Dead Days: Season Four (Dead Days Zombie Apocalypse Series Book 4)

by Ryan Casey

  Women and children, all of them.

  One woman’s head was caved in on one side. A blonde girl with freckles on her cheeks still had fear in her greying eyes.

  And the children …

  Jordanna preferred not to look at the children.

  She turned around. Grabbed her knees as her head got dizzy, started to spin. Hot acid seeped up through her trachea. She stared at the ground, waited to puke, begged to be imagining things.

  “Turn around, drop yer gun and put yer hands where I can see ‘um.”

  The voice didn’t even take Jordanna much by surprise. Nothing could take her by surprise after what she’d seen in that warehouse. Fuck.

  She looked up. Looked at the man pointing the shotgun at her. His long, dark hair swayed in the breeze. His yellow-toothed smile made Jordanna want to hurl even more.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  Jordanna wanted to fight back but she knew she didn’t have a choice, not now her reactions had dulled, her senses had failed.

  She turned around.

  Lowered her gun.

  When she looked inside the warehouse once more, she couldn’t help but notice the little black girl lying on top of the pile of bodies.

  A little silver “K” necklace dangled around her neck.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Riley didn’t have time to think as he stood there in the dark expanse of the tunnel.

  His face seared with burning pain. His ears rang with the intensity of a thousand gunshots.

  And his eyes. His eyes were filled with the light from the blast.

  The explosion that had rippled through the sewer.

  The explosion that had sent water tumbling down the sewer roof, splashing below.

  The water that, if he didn’t get the fuck out of here fast, would drown him.

  He lifted himself up. His legs ached with pain. His arms were on fire. But he had to move. He had to run. He had to get away.

  He put one foot in front of the other. Felt a sharp searing pain as he ran blindly through the darkness. The smell of sewerage was replaced by burning.

  Charred flesh.

  Gus’s charred flesh.

  He ran as fast as he could. Splashed through the squelchy, awful water. His heart raced. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t die. He was too important to die.

  But no. He wasn’t too important to die. It didn’t matter if he had a cure or not. This world didn’t discriminate.

  Nobody was too important to die.

  He made his way through the darkness. The sound of water crashing down through the exploded tunnel roof behind him rumbled against his perforated eardrums. Sweat dripped down his forehead. Sweat, or sewerage, or blood.

  He didn’t know.

  It didn’t matter.

  Just had to keep on running.

  Just had to get out.

  He clattered into the solid side wall of the tunnel. Tumbled back. Landed on his arse. His hands and legs stung. He let out a shout—a shout that he couldn’t even hear himself through the sound of the approaching waterfall. Definitely deaf.

  But deaf was better than dead.

  He lifted himself up again. Pushed his hand into the rotten squelch of the sewage water below.

  And then he felt something grab his arm and drag him down.

  He heard the groan. Heard it but didn’t see where the creature was, only that it was definitely down here. Probably down here all the time, just hadn’t noticed it on the fucking way.

  He yanked his arm away. Tried his best to pull it free of the creature’s grasp.

  The creature kept on clutching.

  Clutching so hard he felt his skin piercing.

  Or maybe it’d bitten him. Maybe he’d been bitten again. Maybe his life was over. Any hope of a cure, tainted. Hope destroyed.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  He pulled his arm away again. Pulled with all his strength against the creature’s tightening grip, or its teeth, or whatever the fuck was holding on to him.

  Behind him, the water kept on tumbling down.

  Chasing him.

  Soon, he’d be drowned.

  He’d be dead.

  He’d be nothing.

  Nothing, like so many friends and enemies before him.

  He held his breath. Tried his best to steady his feet on the bottom of the tunnel.

  Come on, Riley. You can do this. You can do this.

  He pulled his arm back as hard as he could.

  The creature lost its grip.

  He was free again.

  He stared down into the darkness, his pulse pounding in his skull. His arm wasn’t stinging anymore, which meant he couldn’t have been bitten. He’d been bitten twice already. Trust him, he knew what it felt like to be bitten.

  Without hesitation, he sprinted off as fast as he could through the tunnel again. The water got louder and louder as it rose and approached him, splashed against the back of his legs. He couldn’t have far to go now. He was amazed that he’d made it even this far.

  Come on, Riley. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other …

  He readied himself to collide with the ladder that dropped down into the sewerage tunnel. Held his hands out in front to soften the blow. Gus and he had closed the manhole cover before dropping down completely. Great fucking idea. Banishing this place of light. Knowing his luck, Riley would find someone waiting for him on the other side.

  Find the bikers with Jordanna, Pedro, Tiffany, James.

  Find Tamara and Chloë, dead.

  Find the armoured vehicle burned to the ground, Dr Wellingborough’s research nothing but crumbled ashes.

  No. He couldn’t think like that. He had to power on. He had to keep his cool.

  It was getting harder to run as the water levels rose. He waded through layers of shit and ancient disposed tampons. Held his mouth shut to stop any of the sewerage getting in. The noise from the oncoming water grew louder.

  Couldn’t be far now. Couldn’t be far.

  Just had to keep on …

  Ahead, he saw a light.

  It appeared out of nowhere. A light from above. Like an opening in the trees in the middle of a forest on a sunny day. Or a light that aliens shot down before they abducted people.

  “Give me your hand!”

  Riley wasn’t sure whether the voice was a figment of his imagination or not. It sounded familiar. Familiar but … not overly familiar.

  But now he saw it. Saw something in the middle of the light.

  Two arms were reaching down.

  Someone was trying to help him.

  “You have to get the hell out of there,” the man shouted. “Grab my hands. Come on!”

  Riley wanted to reply but he was frozen to the spot.

  The voice did sound familiar. He couldn’t place it—couldn’t place why it was so familiar—only that it was.

  And there was something about its familiarity that scared him.

  “Quick!”

  The water was up to his waist now. Behind him, he could hear the shattered foundations of the dingy tunnel crumbling to pieces. Soon, another wave of water would fly in his direction, drag him down into the abyss below.

  In the light from above, he could see back into the tunnel.

  The water level rising rapidly, the water so cold and so filthy.

  The water pouring through a huge hole in the sewerage tunnel roof.

  A tinge of red to the water. Scattered body parts.

  Gus’s body parts.

  A hand on his shoulder. “Get the fuck on the first step and grab my hand right now.”

  Riley turned away from the oncoming water. Looked up at the person trying to help him. His eyes, still adjusting to the light, couldn’t make out his face but for a silhouette, only that he was relatively muscular, his face pretty gaunt.

  He knew this man. Something about this man told Riley he knew him.

  “You’ve got a few seconds. Literally a few seconds to live. Don’t do
this. Don’t … don’t make me leave you.”

  Riley didn’t see what choice he had.

  He grabbed the arms. Pulled his way up onto the high first step of the ladder.

  The water swallowed his ankles and his thighs almost as quickly as he’d taken them out of it.

  “Just … just hold on,” the voice said.

  Riley gripped tight hold of the guy’s arms.

  Clambered his way out of the water, out of the putrid smell of the sewer, back to—

  He lost his grip on the guy’s right hand.

  He slipped down.

  The force of the water crashed against the right of his body like a car against a wall.

  He felt the air thump out of his lungs. Felt some fluid splatter out of his mouth, too.

  He kept hold of the man’s left arm as well as he could as the sewerage water coated his upper body, his neck, so freezing and so putrid.

  He felt his grip slipping as the water crashed against his cheeks.

  Felt it slipping even more as it filled his nostrils, covered his eyes.

  He was barely holding on by the tips of his fingers when he saw the guy’s face clearly in the light.

  If he’d had a chance to let go, he would have, but something hard smacked him in the side of his head and everything went black.

  He drifted off into a noisy, painful unconsciousness with one thing on his mind.

  How was he alive?

  ***

  “On your knees. Right now.”

  Jordanna stared into the warehouse filled with dead women and children. She looked at their bodies all stacked up on top of one another, left there to rot like bad meat.

  At the back of the warehouse, beyond the buzzing flies and the piles of naked bodies, she could see clothes. Little brown shoes piled up on top of one another. A stack of little pink dresses. Skirts. T-shirts.

  Teddy bears with bloodstains splattered across their scuffed fur.

  “Lady, I’m not gonna fuckin’ ask you again,” the biker behind Jordanna said. “On your knees or I’ll pop a cap in ‘em and make you kneel right now.”

  Jordanna breathed in the stinking, rotting air. Her entire body was shaking. These women and children, they’d been alive. They’d been survivors, just like her. Just like Tiffany and Chloë, Tamara and her.

  And now they were gone.

  Brutalised and murdered, and all for what? The kicks of some bloodthirsty group.

  She couldn’t have that. Couldn’t accept it.

  The biker’s footsteps got closer behind her. “I won’t ask you ag—”

  “It’s okay,” Jordanna said. She raised her hands. Edged down to her knees. “I’m kneeling. I’m kneeling.”

  She crouched down, lifting her hands slightly higher above her head.

  The “K” necklace around the little black girl’s neck stared back at her.

  She held her breath.

  Dropped to her knees.

  Lunged forward for her gun and spun around and pulled the trigger.

  She felt something smash against her left shoulder just as she fired at the biker. Felt a searing heat spread across it, then down her left arm. Warm blood splashed up and onto her face. She let out a cry but kept on firing her gun at the biker, firing until she was absolutely sure he was down.

  He tumbled back in a heap. Blood oozed out of the bullet holes in his body.

  Jordanna checked her shoulder. A crater had formed in her black coat, blood pooling out of it. Jesus Christ, what was it with shoulder shots today? First Pedro, now her. She pulled the coat away, holding her breath as every slight move sent shooting, stinging sensations right down her arm and through to her back. Her skin was grazed. The bullet had sliced right through the top of her shoulder by the looks of things. Not the worst wound, but enough to cause some blood loss if she didn’t get it bandaged up.

  Her head thumped as she stared at the blood trickling down her arm and dripping onto the concrete below. She had to get Tamara and Chloë. She had to act fast.

  She stood up and rushed over to the warehouse of bodies. There was a door at the back of it right in the middle of the shoes and the clothes. She’d have to go through there. Chloë and Tamara had to be in there. Tiffany and James were still nowhere to be seen.

  Something had happened to Riley and Gus, she was sure of that.

  But that couldn’t stop her from doing what she had to do.

  She lowered her head and stumbled into the warehouse.

  The smell of rotting flesh was even more intense as she stepped inside. The buzzing of flies was louder too, like the static on a television turned up to full. Her head spun, either from the shock of the gunshot or the hammer-blow of her surroundings—probably a mixture of both.

  She hurried down the bloodstained tiles in between the stacks of bodies. Powered on to the door.

  And then she stopped, right in the middle of the room.

  She looked to her left and she saw the little black girl again. The one with the “K” necklace around her neck. A necklace that had stayed there, not disposed of like the rest of the jewellery.

  K for Khaila.

  Gus’s daughter.

  She swallowed a sickly lump in her mouth. Walked slowly up to the body of Khaila, which was completely still. She was naked. Her eyes had rolled back into her skull. In the centre of her forehead, a tiny clean gunshot wound.

  Poor girl.

  Jordanna stepped on her tiptoes, doing her best not to slip on the bloodbath below.

  Stretched right over into the middle of the bodies for Khaila’s silver necklace. She tried to avoid eye contact with the dead ginger woman with a terrified, wide open mouth underneath her. With the dark-haired boy with blood running from the middle of his shattered skull …

  And then she felt her feet give way and she tumbled face first into the bodies.

  She shouted out. Yelped. Punched away at the bodies as they surrounded her, engulfed her. The smell got stronger. The buzzing of flies got more intense. She had to get out. Get away. Get—

  “Fuck! Thompson? We need backup at the fucking warehouse!”

  Jordanna went completely rigid as she lay there, face flat on the dead women and children.

  Footsteps outside. Voices.

  Fuck. The bikers had found “Thompson.” The guy Jordanna had shot.

  She pulled herself out of the bodies. Wiped her mouth, desperate to get the taste of death from her lips, but it just got worse.

  She looked over at the door she’d come through.

  Shadows getting closer.

  Footsteps getting louder.

  The metal door at the other side of the warehouse where Tamara and Chloë must be, it was too far away.

  She didn’t have time.

  She turned back to the pile of bodies.

  Held her breath.

  Shut off her thoughts.

  And then she ran up to them, climbed on top of them and lay down on the flimsy back of a woman whose head was barely dangling on.

  She pointed her gun at the door. Kept very still.

  Two men rushed inside the warehouse. They were both wearing leather biker jackets and carrying pistols. They looked around the tiles, then up at the bodies.

  “Knew this was gonna come back to fucking bite us,” one of them said. “What you guys did. It was wrong. I told you it was—”

  The other one grabbed him by the chest. “Don’t fucking lose your shit on me, Elijah. Make sure the prisoners are still in there. I’ll check the bike shed.”

  The bulkier guy let go of Elijah and ran back out of the warehouse door.

  Jordanna pointed her gun at Elijah.

  Held her breath, though that did little to rid her of the stench of the bodies.

  She tickled the trigger and she watched.

  Elijah cursed. Shook his head, his shoulder length black hair flicking off beads of sweat. He walked with a limp over to the door at the opposite side of the warehouse. Shuffled around in his pocket, pulled out some keys.


  Jordanna kept her gun on him.

  Just had to wait until he unlocked the door.

  Just had to wait until he turned the handle, and then …

  Something moved below her.

  She looked down. Right down into the face of a blonde woman with freckles and blood peppered all over her cheeks.

  When she saw what was just below her, her stomach dropped.

  There was an Asian woman with piercing green eyes. Half of her dark hair had been shaved off. Blood was splattered all down her throat and her bare breasts.

  This woman had silver duct tape around her mouth.

  She was wriggling.

  She was alive.

  She reached a shaky hand up to Jordanna from under the crushing weight of the decomposing bodies. Flies buzzed around her face like she was cattle. Landed in the corners of her eyes, rubbed their little feet together. Maggots clawed through the large, weeping purple wound on the side of her head.

  Jordanna wanted to reassure this woman. She wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay. That she was going to get her out of here. Get her to safety.

  And then she looked up and saw Elijah looking right at her.

  He didn’t have his gun pointed at her. He was just staring at her. Staring right in her eyes. Lines of sweat rolled down his blushing forehead. His pistol shook in his quivering hand.

  “I … I didn’t want this,” he said. “For any of this.”

  Jordanna felt a red hot heat spread through her chest. She lifted her gun. Aimed it at Elijah’s head.

  He raised his arms. The chain of keys to the rusty metal door dangled from his hand. “Please,” he said. “I… I never wanted to be a part of this. I… I never condoned it. Not all of us are bad. I wanted to get away too. But there’s no other way around Preston. No … no other way to be safe. Please.”

  Jordanna wanted to speak but she couldn’t. She could only think about the Asian woman left to suffocate beneath the rotting bodies of her fellow prisoners below her. She could only wonder how many more women like her had met a similar fate.

  How many children were at the bottom of the pile of bodies right now, gasping for air.

  “I’ll—I’ll unlock the door,” Elijah said. Tears streamed from his watery brown eyes. “I’ll … I’ll unlock it and I’ll say it’s clear in here. You can take the keys. Take your friends and—”