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

by Ryan Casey

  “Sorry, but it doesn’t work like that anymore.”

  Jordanna pulled the trigger and fired a bullet right between Elijah’s eyes.

  His neck cracked back and he tumbled down to the floor, the keys spilling out of his hands.

  Jordanna put her gun over her shoulder. Looked back down at the Asian woman. She had to pull her out. Find a way to save her. Find a way to …

  When she looked into the green eyes of the Asian woman, the life had drifted from them.

  Her face had gone still.

  She’d stopped moving.

  Jordanna sniffed. Felt her jaw quivering. She wiped the tears from her eyes as flies landed on her. Seeing the Asian woman beneath the bodies reminded her of Kirsty. The way she’d found her body when the Preston Red Light Killer stalked the streets.

  Tape over her mouth.

  Beautiful eyes staring up in fear as her bowels hung out of her waist.

  She climbed out from the pile of bodies. Jumped down onto the ground and walked over to Elijah’s body. Stopped when she reached him and looked down at him, hole between his terrified eyes leaking blood.

  She reached down and picked up the chain of keys. Took his pistol while she was at it. Maybe Elijah was telling the truth. Maybe he was a good man. Maybe he really did have no other option but to ride with these bikers.

  But the women. The children.

  Everyone had a choice when things got that serious.

  Jordanna rose to her feet. Her head spun as she did, and she almost tumbled over. Fuck, the bullet wound. She looked at her shoulder. The blood didn’t seem to be slowing down. She had to hurry. Get in the back of the warehouse and get Tamara and Chloë out of here before she passed out and became just another crushed body.

  Unless Tamara and Chloë were already part of that pile …

  No. She couldn’t think that way. She had to keep faith.

  She stuck the key into the rusty lock of the metal door. Tried to turn the first one to no avail. Pulled it out, tried the second one. Then the third.

  She heard gunshots somewhere close behind her. Engines rumbling. The bikers. They were back. They’d caught Tiffany. Killed James. They’d—

  No. Keep the fucking faith.

  She stuck the final key into the lock and turned it with all the force she had.

  Grabbed hold of the handle and lowered it.

  She pushed open the door. It screeched against the metal floor. She almost tumbled over with the pain rippling through her shoulder.

  The room was dingy but lighter than the rest of the warehouse. A little shade-less bulb dangled down from the ceiling. Flies and moths buzzed around it, head butted it, flew away then repeated the move. Murky windows lined the walls, which were smeared with brown and red stains.

  A shuffling movement to Jordanna’s left.

  She arched her neck. Lifted her gun. Pointed it where she’d heard the movement.

  And then she saw those familiar eyes looking up at her.

  Chloë’s eyes.

  “Oh, Chlo,” she said.

  She crouched down opposite Chloë. She was tied up at the hands and the feet and had the same kind of silver duct tape around her mouth that the Asian woman had. Her scarred cheeks were clear, dry. Hadn’t cried a tear by the looks of things.

  But her eyes. There was a glassiness there. A detachment. A distance.

  An even bigger detachment and distance than had been there before.

  Jordanna struggled with Chloë’s cuffs. Unlocked them from her limp legs, from her even limper wrists. As she did, she looked over to the right. Saw Tamara there, too.

  “Tamara,” Jordanna said. She smiled. Couldn’t contain the tears dripping down her cheeks.

  Tamara stared on with glassy-eyed detachment, too. A look that terrified Jordanna.

  She uncuffed Chloë’s wrists, pulled the duct tape from her mouth and wondered what the hell these sick fuckers had put her friends through.

  When Chloë was free, she went over to Tamara. Un-cuffed and un-taped her. But Tamara just stayed there. Stayed backed up against the wall. Stayed completely still.

  Jordanna grabbed Tamara’s hand. In the distance, she could hear the engines of the bikes. The peppering of gunshots.

  “Come on, Tam,” Jordanna said. “We have to go. We really have to go.”

  Tamara’s eyes drifted towards Jordanna’s. Met them for a brief moment. A brief moment of understanding, of sheer horror.

  And then Tamara nodded. She looked around as if only just taking in her surroundings. She stepped up, wincing as she did. Walked over to Chloë, who stood with her shoulders slumped. Neither of them had said a word.

  Jordanna walked over to the door, back into the body-stacked warehouse. “We just … we just have to leave through here.” She grabbed the handle. “You … There’s some horrible things in here. Things you … you might not want to see right now.”

  Tamara and Chloë stared on, blankly.

  Something told Jordanna they’d experienced far worse horrors than what they were about to see outside the door.

  She lowered the handle. Yanked open the door, the searing pain from the bullet wound crippling her shoulder again.

  “I don’t think so,” a man’s voice said.

  Jordanna kept hold of the door.

  Five bikers were standing at the opposite side blocking their exit. They were all holding pistols, all looking at Jordanna, Chloë and Tamara.

  In front of them, James sat on his knees with rope tied around his mouth and wrists.

  Pedro sat beside him, a large purple bruise on his bald head.

  And beside Pedro, Tiffany sat. Tears dripped down her cheeks. Her dark hair was scruffy and covered in mud. She tried to mumble a few things through the gag, but Jordanna didn’t get a word.

  “This is how we’re gonna do things,” the biker with the short, black hair and the pockmarked cheeks said.

  He pointed his gun at the back of Pedro’s skull.

  Two other bikers did the same to James and Tiffany.

  The pockmarked biker smiled. Smacked the barrel of his gun into the back of Pedro’s head.

  “You three are gonna watch your pals die,” he said.

  The scrawny biker to the right of him booted James in his back, sent him tumbling face-flat onto the floor.

  The bald, sweaty biker to Pockmark’s left crouched down, rubbed his fingers down Tiffany’s cheeks, pressed the gun against her temple.

  “And then we’re gonna put you through a world of punishment.”

  Pockmark cocked the pistol.

  Pressed it right against Pedro’s head.

  Squeezed the trigger.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A part of Riley wondered whether he’d ever open his eyes again after the blow to the head.

  But the very fact that he was wondering whether he’d ever open his eyes again told Riley one thing: he was alive.

  His head stung with pain. It started on the right side, right on his temple, then radiated through his skull and over to the left. He felt like he had after a few too many boozy nights before the Dead Days. The nights when the depression hit. When he couldn’t face the reality of living day by day without anyone by his side, with no purpose beyond some writing crappy music reviews for a local paper.

  And now, looking back, he realised just how good he’d had it. That stasis, that nothingness … what he’d give to have that back.

  The MLZ had given him that stasis again for a few months, while it lasted. And he’d made the most of it. Savoured life. Enjoyed it.

  But now that was gone, too.

  And soon, if he didn’t get to the Birmingham Living Zone, he’d be gone. His friends would be gone.

  Everything would be turned to ashes.

  He squeezed open his eyes. The searing light made him shut them right away, tighten his eyelids together as hard as he could. He couldn’t remember what exactly had happened, how he’d got wherever here was. Only that he’d been down in that sewerage t
unnel leading to Worthington’s Bike Emporium. Crossing it with Gus.

  And then the explosion.

  Running from the rising tide of water.

  Someone lowering their hands down and trying to save him …

  He tried to see the man’s face. He knew he’d seen it at some point, recognised his voice, but the memory was cloudy and fuzzy.

  He crinkled his eyelids together. Tried to think. Tried to focus.

  “Mister?”

  The voice made Riley’s skin crawl. A high-pitched voice, belonging to a little girl from the sounds of things.

  Riley turned over in the direction of the voice. Peeped through a crack in his eyelids. Realised just how quiet the room was. Just how … out of place the girl’s voice had sounded.

  He saw her standing by the door. She was thin, a pink jumper dangling loosely from her shoulders. Her freckled face was dirty, and her dark hair looked stuck to the sides of her head, unwashed and unkempt. In her hands, she was holding a can of tuna.

  Riley opened his eyes some more and tried to get a sense of his surroundings. He was in a room—a bedroom. The walls were yellow. Paintings of old villages and towns hung to his right, a poster of The White Stripes to his left. He was lying on a double bed, the fabric soft under his fingers. He could almost smell fresh washing of the MLZ, and of the time before. Funny, really. He always used to complain about doing the washing, Ted never volunteering to do it.

  But now… what he’d give to just go back and do some more frigging washing, to surround himself in those clean smells.

  The girl stared at Riley. She held out the opened can of tuna in his direction. “You can have this,” she said. “Me and Nick like tuna but … but Harrison says you should have some. And it’s tasty. See?”

  The girl shoved her fingers into the sloppy, brine-coated tuna and stuffed some in her mouth. She stopped chewing right away. Her cheeks went red. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s … it’s yours.”

  She put the tuna can on his chest and turned away, walked towards the door.

  The smell of the tuna was ghastly. Salty, fishy … just ugh. But Riley was hungry, so he knew he’d have to eat some. He hadn’t eaten for ages. Wasn’t sure how long exactly, but he knew it had been a while.

  “Wait,” he said.

  The girl stopped by the door. Turned around and looked at Riley.”

  “Are … are you here alone?” Riley asked.

  The girl shook her head. “No, silly. I just told you. Nick and Harrison are here. Nick’s my brother. Nick’s seven. I’m eight. I’m Abigail.”

  The girl’s words buzzed around Riley’s head. He tried to reach for some, catch them, put them together. “Abigail, I … I’m Riley.”

  “I already know that,” she said. “Harrison told me.”

  She smiled at him.

  “I’ll get Harrison.”

  She disappeared out of the bedroom door before Riley got a chance to ask how the hell she knew who he was and who the hell Harrison was.

  He squeezed his eyes shut again. Tried to think back to the man who’d pulled him out of the tunnel.

  Muscular. A deep voice that was vaguely familiar …

  But his face. His face was clouded over. Distant. Blocked by the water in Riley’s stinging eyes.

  Riley opened his eyes. Heard voices outside the room. He tried to move off the bed but his back ached like mad, his head even worse.

  He heard the creaking of a sofa or a chair.

  Footsteps plonking along the floor outside the bedroom, coming in his direction.

  He closed his eyes again. Took in a few breaths and got a whiff of the awfully salty tuna. He’d have knocked it right off the bed if that sweet kid hadn’t given him it. How could he refuse when she was offering up something that she clearly valued?

  He squeezed his eyelids together.

  In his memory, he saw the man reaching into the manhole, pulling him out.

  Felt the water covering his chest, its coldness knocking the air out of his lungs.

  Tasted the putrid water as it filled his nose and mouth.

  Who are you? Who the fuck are you?

  And then he saw him.

  He saw a flicker of his face in his mind.

  Felt a wave of fear crash over him. A wave of fear that felt familiar. Familiar to when he’d recognised the man before being knocked unconscious.

  A wave of fear to when he’d watched the man hold that blade …

  Slice that neck …

  “Riley?”

  Riley opened his eyes. His muscles were frozen. His chest tightened with fear. His heart raced.

  The man stood at the door.

  Slick, dark hair.

  A bushy beard, but not bushy enough to hide who he was.

  “Before you freak out, we need to talk,” he said.

  But Riley had already “freaked out.”

  He closed his eyes again.

  Saw the man opposite him back at the Fulwood Barracks.

  “A lot of time has passed,” the man said, as he stepped into the room.

  Riley remembered this man holding the blade to Ted’s neck.

  “A lot has changed.”

  Slicing it. Pushing Ted to the floor. Leaving him to bleed out.

  This couldn’t be possible. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.

  Riley opened his eyes. Saw the little girl at the door looking confused. Saw a little curly-haired boy beside her, peeking around the door.

  But it was the person at the side of the bed that made every muscle in his body tense up.

  The person beside him who couldn’t be here, couldn’t be alive, couldn’t be real.

  It was Ted’s killer.

  It was Ivan.

  EPISODE TWENTY-TWO

  GOING VEGAN

  (FOURTH EPISODE OF SEASON FOUR)

  Prologue

  Fulwood Barracks, December 2013

  Three Months Ago …

  A shiver ran across Ivan’s skin. His head stung. At first, his breathing was calm. He was waking up in bed. Something had happened, he wasn’t sure what. But he was okay. He was holding this group together. The bodies—the frozen bodies—none of that had happened. They were okay. Life was good. Supplies were good. They were okay.

  But then a sense of dread and realisation thumped him in the stomach. He pulled open his eyes. He was in a room he recognised. He was shivering. It was so cold. He just wanted to be enveloped in a warm, tight jumper. Something to keep him from this cold. His breath frosted in front of him. What was going on?

  “Welcome back.”

  The voice came from the doorway. He looked ahead. He recognised the silhouette. Riley.

  “Wondered when you’d be joining us again.”

  Ivan tried to step up but something was stopping him. He looked down—his wrists were tied with plastic ties to the arms of a chair. His feet were also tied up. He was stuck. Trapped.

  Riley stepped towards him. “A part of me didn’t want you to wake up again. A part of me wanted you to rot on the side of the road for the things you’ve done. The people you’ve killed. The people close to me that you’ve hurt.”

  Ivan tried to reply to Riley as he crouched opposite him but he was just too cold. His army uniform had been torn away from his body. He was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. No wonder he was freezing.

  Riley tapped the gun against the floor. Ivan’s gun. And he was avoiding looking behind Ivan.

  Ivan knew exactly why.

  “I wanted to kill you. Make no mistake about it. I think you’re lucky to be here. To have another chance.” Riley stepped up.

  “Pl—please,” Ivan said. “I—I … Please.”

  Riley turned away from Ivan and walked back towards the freezer room door. As he got about halfway between Ivan and the door, he reached into his pocket and dropped a pair of scissors onto the floor. “The difference between me and you is that I’m willing to give people a chance. Even after all the horrible, horrible thing
s I found in this freezer—” Riley gestured to the piled-up bodies behind Ivan without looking at them. “Even after all those things, I was willing to let you and your people stay here. But we didn’t want to be a part of it.”

  “Please,” Ivan begged. His lips were chapped and dry. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious. Probably a few hours. “I can change. I can change.”

  Riley leaned against the door and smiled. “You, on the other hand, didn’t give people a chance. You just wanted things your way. All your way. And look how it’s ended up. Pedro’s leaving with our group. Your men are all dead. But hey — you’ve still got your beloved barracks, right?”

  A tear dripped down Ivan’s cheek. Soon, it would freeze against his skin. He had to get to the scissors. He had to get out of here.

  Riley kicked the scissors in Ivan’s direction. “We’re leaving. We’re going to start again, from scratch. I suggest you do the same. If you can reach those scissors and get yourself out of that chair, of course. I’ve made sure the freezer is extra-frosty today.”

  Ivan shook his head from side to side. “I was only trying—trying to do the—the right thing.”

  Riley shrugged. “Well, you failed. You killed my friend. My best friend. And you would have killed us all. Pedro told me about your plans for the women. Ironic, really, how your patronising little view of how weak or strong they were was your downfall in the end. Chloë did good.”

  Ivan shook his head from side to side. “Please. Please.”

  Riley reached for the door handle. “Well, better leave you to it. We’ve got work to do, and so have you.” He started to close the door. “Good luck, Ivan. Not many people would give you a chance after the things you’ve done. I hope you come back from them, I really do. But take one step at a time, huh?”

  “Please!”

  Riley slammed the door shut. The room descended into darkness.

  Ivan’s heart raced. He dragged the feet of the chair forward. He could only just see the scissors up ahead of him as a dim beam of daylight peeked in through a window. He just had to get to the scissors. He just had to get out.

  His chair tumbled forward. His forehead smacked against the hard, frozen ground. He bit into his tongue and swore. He couldn’t move. He’d fallen forward with the chair on his back so he couldn’t break free, no matter how much he turned from side to side.