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

by Ryan Casey

  “We at least have to run,” James said.

  “Well good fucking luck with that,” Riley said. “You saw what it’s like outside. You saw the creatures just like I did. There’s … there’s no running from them. And the vehicle’s fucked. There’s no getting away from them.”

  “So what do we do?” Jordanna asked. She rubbed one hand up her other arm. Looked to Riley for an answer.

  Riley looked at Jordanna, then at Chloë and Tiffany. He wanted to tell them that everything was gonna be okay, as the creatures got closer. He wanted to tell them that they were going to ride this out. That they’d conquer this hurdle, just like they’d conquered everything else in their way. That they were going to get to Birmingham and get the cure distributed. Start again from scratch.

  But the creatures. The sheer number of them. Riley couldn’t get them out of his mind.

  Getting closer and closer …

  “We’re going to brace ourselves,” Riley said. “We … it’s all we can do. Now you have to get down or they’ll see us through the front window. And you have to keep quiet. You with me?”

  Jordanna looked at Tamara then nodded and crouched. “Don’t see what other option we have.”

  Tiffany got under the sheet too. James scrambled his way under. Chloë made her way towards it as the footsteps sounded right outside the armoured vehicle, as the stench of the dead mass came within metres.

  That just left Tamara and Pedro not under the sheets.

  “You two. We need to …”

  But Riley could see Pedro was shaking again. His entire body was convoluting. He spat out more blood from his mouth as he bit even harder on his tongue. His eyes had rolled back into his skull. His face had gone completely pale. The purple bruise on his head was starting to weep.

  “Tamara, you need to—”

  “I’m trying,” she said. She grabbed hold of Pedro’s black coat. Pulled him towards her as he continued to shake. “Pedro, please. Please don’t do this. Not now—”

  A bang on the side of the armoured vehicle.

  And then another.

  And another.

  The vehicle creaked. Tilted to one side. Out of the front window, Riley could see the heads of the creatures right down the road and right up to the front of the vehicle. There was no escape. No way out.

  “Keep very still,” he whispered, not even daring to move his mouth much.

  He kept focused on the creatures out of the front window. Watched a rotting woman with one arm and half a face squeeze by. A bulky man with his head hanging on by a thread wandered around disoriented, blood smeared down his white vest. An old woman with white hair scratched at the windows as maggots nibbled away at a crater in her gnawed, gangrenous shoulder.

  Riley kept as still as he could. He felt a sudden warmth in his hand and realised Jordanna had gripped hold of it. She squeezed it. Squeezed it tight, as Pedro continued to shake on the bed, as Tamara did all she could to hold him down and stop him giving away their position.

  Every second felt like an hour as the creatures swarmed around the armoured vehicle. Riley couldn’t see the whole picture, but he knew exactly what it’d look like from above: their dark green vehicle floating in a sea of the dead.

  No way out.

  Nowhere to run.

  He waited some more. Listened to the silent whimpering of his companions against the backdrop of groans and scratches and footsteps. Felt Jordanna’s hand squeezing tighter and tighter. Heard the rumbling of Pedro’s body against …

  No.

  Wait.

  He’d stopped.

  Riley twisted his neck to look at Pedro.

  He’d stopped shaking. His eyes were open. Blood dribbled down his chin, clotted in his beard, but he was awake. He was alive.

  “What’s … what’s—”

  Tamara lifted a finger to her lips and “sshed” him.

  Pedro stopped speaking right away. He took a look around the vehicle. Looked at Riley, frowning. “What’s happenin’, bruv?” he mouthed.

  And then he looked beyond Riley.

  Looked at the window at the front of the armoured vehicle.

  At the mass of creatures.

  “Oh,” he said.

  Riley kept still a little longer. Or maybe it was a lot longer. He didn’t know. Couldn’t work it out. He’d lost all sense of time. He had no idea if the creatures would even move on. Maybe they’d stay here forever. Surround them. Maybe they’d all die in here. Starve.

  Or maybe they’d go to the lengths Ivan had considered back in December.

  Cannibalism.

  “What’s up with the vehicle?” Pedro muttered.

  “It’s gone,” James said from somewhere under the green quilt. “Now can you please stop talkin’ until we’re—”

  “It’s the fuel filter,” Pedro said.

  Riley swung around.”What do you mean it’s the fuel filter?”

  Pedro rubbed his temples. Squeezed his eyes shut. He was still deathly pale, still dripping with sweat. “Before we set off. Jamal mentioned summat about the fuel filter being iffy. Sucky connection.”

  Riley’s fists tightened. “So we can sort it?”

  Pedro moved his hand away from his face. Wiped some of the blood from his chin. His speech was a bit better now, despite biting down his own tongue. Slurred, but better. “We can. But we need to sort it from outside.”

  Riley looked out to the window at the front. Some of the creatures had drifted up the road, leaving the smallest of gaps in front of the engine. “There’s not enough room. Not enough time.”

  “But we know what’s wrong now, right?” Jordanna whispered. “We know what’s wrong. So we can wait it out. Wait it out and then get this shit sorted then get out of here. Right?”

  Riley looked at Pedro. Looked to Pedro. There was something about the expression on his face. That fear he’d noticed before, that vulnerability, it was still there.

  Pedro took a deep breath. He turned to Tamara. Grabbed the back of her head. Kissed her on the forehead.

  And then he wobbled off the bed and climbed the ladders to the top bunk, reached for the hatch on top of the vehicle.

  “Pedro!” Tamara shouted.

  “Be quiet,” Pedro said. His face was deadly serious. “I’m gonna do what I can to distract the goons. I can fix this. You just need to stay quiet. I just need you lot to bang on the side of the vehicle. Just bang on the side and distract them. Do what you can to keep ‘em away. I can fix this.”

  Tamara shook her head. Clutched Pedro’s leg. “You’re not well, Pedro. Anything could—could happen. You could have another—”

  “Then so be it,” Pedro said, a shaky grin creeping up his face. “I’m all skin ‘n bones anyway. Won’t make the nicest goon treat, that’s for sure.”

  He looked at Riley. Stared into his eyes. Nodded.

  And Riley understood. Deep down, he understood.

  He understood the look on Pedro’s face.

  He understood the source of the fear in his eyes, the quivering of his chin.

  He understood, and he nodded back.

  “Good luck, bruv,” Pedro said.

  He climbed through the hatch onto the top of the armoured vehicle.

  Riley felt a tear roll down his cheek.

  ***

  Pedro stood at the edge of the vehicle and wondered how the fuck the world had got so damned shitty.

  The road was filled with goons. Absolutely cram-packed with ‘em. Most of them were wandering up the road now, like they’d got lost in the woods and found their way again. Built in GPS. Maybe that was their new adaptation. Their new evolution.

  He wondered what came next for them, but truth was, he was tired.

  Tired of this whole damned world.

  He lowered down the front of the van, where a little gap had formed. He’d have ten seconds, maybe less, to get the fuel filter reattached.

  Ten seconds or bust.

  He tasted blood in his mouth. More of the nasty stuf
f clotted in his throat. Damned awful taste to have in his mouth right now. Poetic justice, too.

  He’d be tasting a hell of a lot more of it soon.

  He took in a deep breath of the putrid, nasty air. He always loved the smell of the woodlands, whether it was camping with Corrine and Sam, or out with the army on a training mission. But that world was gone. Long, long gone. And it wasn’t coming back.

  So the least he could do was make sure it was comfortable for those who were sticking around for the ride.

  He lowered himself down even further, his legs shaking. His head ached like hell. Another reason he was tired. The beating he’d got from those damned bikers. They’d probably knocked a screw loose in his head anyway.

  And maybe that’s why he was doing this. Maybe he’d lost his shit. Maybe he’d regret this the instant he hit the road.

  But he had to take a chance.

  He dropped onto the road.

  Heard the gasps of the goons around him.

  Heard their footsteps scraping against the concrete, changing direction and walking towards him.

  He leaned into the hood of the armoured vehicle. Reached right down into the cold, oily metal and tugged at the pipe that’d come loose from the fuel filter.

  He gripped the pipe tighter and tighter as the footsteps got closer.

  As the groans got louder.

  As the cold of the dead bodies surrounded him.

  He pulled some more. Pulled to get the fuel filter reattached. He tried his damnedest to block out the sounds of Tamara’s screams. He didn’t want her to be sad.

  He didn’t want her to see him go like this.

  Salty tears mixed with the taste of blood in his mouth as he yanked the fuel pipe as hard as he could to attach it to the fuel filter.

  Just another inch …

  Just another inch …

  He felt the first bite right in the middle of his lower back. Fucking awful feeling. Sent a shooting pain right through his body.

  But he kept on gripping tight.

  Kept on pulling the fuel pipe as the choir of goons drowned out Tamara’s screams, the other shouts.

  The second bite came soon after. This one was on his left arm—upper arm.

  The third one bit him on the right side of his body, right by his kidney.

  He wanted to let go of the fuel pipe. To let go and scream. Tears rolled out of his eyes as he bit down on his stinging tongue, begged himself to keep pulling, urged his legs to stop shaking as more bites pierced through his skin, gnawed through his flesh.

  And then the pipe jolted into place.

  The fuel filter was reattached.

  He grabbed the hood of the armoured vehicle and fell to his knees, bringing the hood down with him.

  He lifted his shaking, pain-filled head as the goons scratched and bit at it.

  He looked through the front window of the vehicle.

  Saw Tamara banging at the window, screaming, hysterical, but so, so beautiful.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just imagining it, because he felt a bite on his neck, felt blood spluttering out of his jugular, felt his throat filling up with warm fluid.

  He wanted to take one final look at Tamara but the goons swarmed around him.

  Yanked at his arms.

  Gnawed at his exposed ribcage.

  He closed his eyes as he lay on the concrete, the stench of dead flesh making him dizzy.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw himself on a beach with Tamara and Josh.

  And then with Corrine and Davey. All of them happy. All of them playing, kicking a beach ball around, smiling.

  In the distance, he saw the little Afghan kid he’d killed. The one who’s family captured and tortured Pedro. The one he’d punished for actions his family made in a fit of rage.

  The Afghan kid was smiling at him.

  Smiling and waving.

  It felt good. Felt good knowing he’d done something worthy.

  Done something for other people.

  Made a sacrifice he never thought he was capable of making.

  Pedro lifted a hand as the deafening sound of tearing flesh crashed through his ears.

  Waved back at the Afghan kid.

  And then, nothing.

  EPISODE TWENTY-THREE

  AFTERMATH

  (FIFTH EPISODE OF SEASON FOUR)

  Prologue

  The sun shone brightly over the A6 road linking Preston and Birmingham.

  Spring in the north of England was always hit and miss. Sometimes, it seemed like winter never really went away, the frost and the cold stretching right through until one or two pleasant summer days. Other times, spring was Britain’s summer, the best weather of the year falling in those pre-June months. Children playing in the gardens. The sound of sprinklers spitting water and defying the hosepipe bans. The smell of barbecues cooking away as families laughed, celebrated, lived.

  This was one of those days. A day where the sun cracked the flags. A day where summer felt like it was truly here, even if it was only the end of March.

  Riley could almost picture the barbecues, hear the laughter, see himself roasting away without any real care in the world.

  How things had changed.

  The armoured vehicle zoomed down the A6. James was driving it, leaning forward and doing all he could to keep the distractions behind him out of his mind.

  Tamara’s screaming and crying.

  The dull realisation of what had happened.

  Of what Pedro had done.

  Of what they’d lost.

  Again.

  Riley thought about Pedro’s last words to him. Good luck, bruv. And no matter what he did, he couldn’t get that look in Pedro’s eyes out of his mind.

  The look that he knew exactly what he was doing.

  A look that told Riley Pedro was willing to sacrifice himself for a cause he believed to be greater than himself.

  Tamara sobbed into the bed. Jordanna had an arm round her, hushing and quietening her. Chloë and Tiffany just sat there, backs against the wall, distant expressions on their faces.

  They were moving. Moving on to Birmingham. Moving on to the BLZ. Saving people.

  But what use was saving people when there was nobody left to save?

  Riley swallowed a lump in his throat. It tasted nasty. The memory of Pedro outside the front window of the armoured vehicle invaded his thoughts. He tried to hold it back, repress it, but it was worthless.

  Pedro wincing as he struggled with the engine.

  The creatures coming in from the left, biting his arm.

  Biting his legs.

  Biting his neck.

  And all through it, no matter how much blood poured from his body or how many creatures attacked him, Pedro kept on trying.

  And he’d succeeded. He’d fixed the vehicle.

  “I don’t understand why,” Tamara sobbed. “I don’t understand why.”

  Riley could sympathise with her. She’d lost her son, and now she’d lost Pedro. The one last thing she truly cared about. In truth, it still didn’t seem real to Riley. Pedro’s lack of presence felt … temporary. Like he was just going to hop back down through the hatch on top of the armoured vehicle with a cheesy grin on his face saying, “What’s all this crying about, you soft shites?”

  But there was nothing temporary about Pedro’s death.

  There was nothing more permanent.

  And that scared Riley. The thought of Pedro’s life just ending. His whole existence defined by one single moment of bravery …

  That terrified Riley.

  “A6 won’t be clean right down to Birmingham,” James called. He’d seemed strangely rattled by everything that had unfolded too, even though he barely knew Pedro. “But y’know. We do what we can. Just … just hang tight back there. Right?”

  Nobody responded. James took that as an “okay.”

  Something else terrified Riley. It was something that’d frightened him when Ted had died, and when Anna
had died too. The other people he’d seen die all got to him, sure, but those two in particular, as well as Pedro, sparked something inside him because they were the people he cared about most.

  In the movies, when the good guys die, they go down heroically. When the good guys sacrifice themselves in the films, the last shot of them is closing a door before pulling the pin of a grenade. Or closing their eyes as enemies approach, the screen cutting to black before the death scene takes place.

  But watching Pedro being bitten, being torn apart, there was something raw about that. Yes, he had died a hero. He’d died fixing this vehicle. He’d died knowing that the fits and the damage to his head were serious, and so too was the gunshot wound in his shoulder.

  He’d died a hero. He’d said his famous last words: Good luck, bruv.

  But the image of the creatures chomping into Pedro’s fighting body …

  The tears rolling down Pedro’s cheeks …

  Blood spurting out of his neck …

  They were two things the movies didn’t show in the heroic death scenes.

  Riley looked to the bottom of the bed. Saw the black rucksack with all Dr Wellingborough’s documents inside. And then he put his hand in his pocket and twirled Anna’s necklace around. It wasn’t just Anna the necklace represented now. It was a reminder of everyone he’d cared for that he’d lost.

  It was a reminder that it was still possible to find friendship, companionship, in the darkest of times.

  He felt the ripples of his beating heart, listened to Jordanna’s muffled, reassuring words to Tamara, as Tamara continued to cry and sob.

  He felt the remnants of the cure pumping around his body.

  Felt it wearing thin.

  He knew he didn’t have long to get to Birmingham. Dr Wellingborough had given him two weeks, but Riley always remembered his Aunt Clara being given six months to live with liver cancer.

  She died the following week.

  He wanted to stay awake. Wanted to stay tuned in for the journey. Wanted to be alert for any trouble they encountered on the road.

  He didn’t want to open his eyes to another nightmare.

  He was sick of opening his eyes to nightmares.