by Casey, Ryan
But Riley wasn’t buying it. Not until he saw it. Not until he saw it, properly, for himself.
Alan chuckled. Some pieces of toast fell down his chin, tumbled to the floor while other bits of it clung to his grey beard. “What’s what?”
“You expect me to just believe that you know what cures this thing? The people walking around out there…I’ve seen it in their faces. They’re gone. Dead. There’s nothing behind their eyes.”
Alan shook his head. He tutted. “No, not a cure,” he said. He staggered closer to Riley. “Cure is inaccurate. I’d…I’d say more of a vaccination, to be precise. If my research is correct.”
Riley brought his fingers through his hair. At least it wasn’t greasy anymore, although he figured if he had to put up with Alan’s question-dodging for much longer, his scientific jargon, it’d be greasy as shit again in no time.
“Just tell me. Tell me what caused the outbreak. Tell me when, where, why it started, and tell me what it is we’re going to do about it.”
Alan leaned against the back of the leather sofa, which Riley found comfier than anything he’d sat in for days—weeks, even. “I never have been a fan of exposition,” Alan said. “I prefer to…to show, rather than to tell—”
“I’m a journalist,” Riley said, his skin tingling with heat. “I don’t need a crash course in linguistic tricks.”
Alan chuckled at this. “There are no tricks, Riley. You asked for the answers, but there’s only so much I can tell. What you see with your own eyes, however…that’s what makes the difference.”
Riley stared into Alan’s tired eyes. He was on the verge of storming over to that cabinet, grabbing a gun, and leaving on his own. This man was clearly mad. Insane. How could a man like this know the answers to the question of the virus—or whatever it was—on the outside?
“You need to be straight with me,” Riley said. He stood up from the sofa. If he stayed in it any longer, he’d get too comfy, too accustomed to it. He walked around the back of the sofa and confronted Alan. “So far you’ve told me you have a vaccination of some kind. And that you were in fortnightly contact with Rodrigo and the people at Heathwaite’s—”
“Rest their souls—”
“And now you just expect me to push you along through some fucking hidden tunnel to Manchester. Suppose I do go along with this story of yours. Suppose I actually for a moment go insane enough to believe you. What then? What’s in Manchester?”
Alan sighed. “You really do need spoon-feeding, don’t you?” He intertwined his rough old fingers. “I’m surprised you haven’t already heard, but why would you with limited mobile coverage, I suppose. There’s a place in Manchester. A “Living Zone,” as they are aptly calling it. A shelter. A home for everyone. One of the last ports of true, governmental civilisation left in the country.”
Riley could hardly believe it. He’d been in Preston, his home town, just weeks ago. Manchester was closer to Preston than his current location, somewhere under the bloody Lake District. He’d gone in the wrong direction. He could’ve been safe.
Anna. Claudia. Pedro. They all could’ve been safe.
“Top of my personal list of highlights in Manchester Living Zone is a medical research facility. The very best in the country. And that’s where we’re going. That’s where our tunnel very handily leads us right to.”
Riley stepped across the cold, hard tiles of the bunker floor. For a place so safe, he could feel himself going insane down here already. It was like being in a plane, miles above the earth, no idea what’s going on around you, and yet the things that aren’t going on around you instantly becoming so…irrelevant.
“How do you know all this?” Riley asked.
Alan shrugged. Crinkled his forehead, like his answer was common sense. “Well, I’m in the armed forces. I’m technically government.”
Riley scratched at the back of his neck, an itch burning him. “I just don’t…I don’t get it. It doesn’t add up.”
“The world is crawling with the dead. The days of simple addition and subtraction are long gone—”
“If you’re government, I don’t get why you wouldn’t have someone here with you. If you’re working away on some—some cure or vaccination or whatever, I don’t get why there wouldn’t be a backup. Because…no offence, but I wouldn’t want the whole of humanity to rest on your shoulders.”
Alan smiled and limped back over to the other side of the bunker. He dragged out his wheelchair and plonked himself back down on it again. Still smiling.
“What?” Riley asked. Clearly insane, this guy. Clearly a complete lunatic. A flaw in his story—Alan wasn’t expecting this. Sure, the tunnel to Manchester might help, but there was no way Riley was pushing this old psychopath along with him.
“You just don’t get it,” Alan said, struggling to wheel himself closer to Riley, his wheels screeching against the tiles. “It’s right in front of your eyes, and you just don’t see it.”
Riley could feel the vein in his temple pulsating. He was starting to prefer it up above, with the creatures. At least they were predictable. “Just tell me, for fuck’s sake. Tell me what you’re harping on about, or I’ll—”
“Look at my leg, Riley.”
Alan lifted his trousers and for a moment, Riley couldn’t understand. There was something out of place about Alan’s leg, the one he limped around on.
And then he clocked it.
The piece of flesh missing from him.
The bite marks.
Riley looked Alan in the eye. He was still smiling, still holding his trouser leg up, still showing off his wound.
“You…You’re—”
“Bitten? Yes.”
Riley’s eyes dodged over to the guns. Bitten meant dangerous. He knew what he had to do to those who were bitten now. No room for sentimentality. No room for thoughts. Just destroy.
“Two weeks ago, it happened,” Alan said, as Riley made a beeline for the gun cabinet.
Riley slowed down. He frowned. Turned around slowly to look at Alan again, who was still smiling away.
“You…It can’t have been—you’d be—”
“I should be,” Alan said, finally dropping his trouser leg and turning back to Riley. “But I’m not. Don’t you get it now, Riley? Don’t you see? See it right in front of you?”
Riley gulped. Gulped down a huge, pulsating lump in his throat.
“I am the answer, Riley. I’m immune.”
Chapter Five: Pedro
Pedro and the group stuck closer together after the encounter with the zombies.
They walked on towards the motorway. The snow was falling again, crisping the concrete of the road beneath Pedro’s feet. The bitter cold nipped at his face. It was a bitch, this snow. Never had been a fan of it. Always caused more chaos than good. Didn’t help that the British government was fucking inept at sorting out snow-related crises. A little flurry of snow, and all of a sudden it was issue of the year.
Now there was no government to deal with the snow anyway, there wasn’t much difference. Just less false panic.
Josh walked at Pedro’s left side. Beside him was his mum, Tamara. Chris was slightly ahead of the rest of the group now, craning his neck, staying aware of any imminent threats. Barry loomed behind.
Something about that bloke made Pedro uncomfortable. Just that weird detached look in his eyes, the way he’d barely spoken a word since they’d all met. That said, Pedro hardly knew much about any of them. Just that they had someone very special in their company. That Josh was well worth protecting.
“Like being skiing again, isn’t it Josh?” Tamara said to her son.
Josh half-smiled. He kicked his feet through the little powders of snow. He wasn’t being very co-operative with his mum. She was holding his hand, gripping even tighter since the confrontation with the zombies just before. For the first time, Pedro didn’t see a group of people
trying to protect an important, immune kid. He saw a mum trying to look out for her son.
“Enjoy skiing?” Pedro asked, forcing himself to break the silence between them.
Tamara looked at him with wide eyes for a split second. She blushed slightly, then looked back down at her son.
“Been to Corchevel and Val Thorens. Bit of a learning curve, but we had fun.”
“I skied down a red route!” Josh said, bursting with sudden excitement as he looked at Pedro.
Pedro smiled, although he didn’t feel very comfortable doing so. “Very…very brave of you, kiddo.”
“You ever skied down a red route?” Josh asked. He was full of excitement and inquisitiveness now, all of his attention on Pedro.
Pedro cleared his throat. Smiled at Tamara, who was now smiling in full flow too. “I’ve been down a route so tough it didn’t even have a colour,” Pedro said. He thought back to his training in the French alps. Now that was real snow, real cold. Dropped in the middle of nowhere with a pair of skis, some emergency food, a tent, compass and a map. Pure survival exercise. It was tough—tough as shit—but a small part of him enjoyed it.
In a way, it’d been the same when the world ended. There was a novelty about it at first. A freshness.
Now, he was pretty fed up of it. He wanted something new.
“Mummy, can we go skiing again?” Josh asked, tugging at her arm. “And—and can we take Pedro with us?”
Pedro and Tamara both laughed; both exchanged a brief glance again as the cold snow tickled at Pedro’s cheeks. “We’ll see about that, kiddo,” Pedro said. “Gettin’ a bit old for skis now.”
“Same thing happened to his dad,” Tamara said.
At first, she was smiling, but then her smile went away. She closed her mouth and lowered her head, gripping her son’s hand tightly.
Something within Pedro made him want to ask. Made him want to know Tamara and Josh’s story. To understand.
“His dad. Did he…”
“He’s gone to the stars, hasn’t he Josh?” Tamara said. She shot a harsh glance at Pedro to urge him not to pursue any further questions. And as much as he wanted to understand, he respected her wishes and left it at that.
“Finally!”
The voice came from up ahead. Pedro looked to see that it was Chris. He had stopped right at the start of a roundabout. Wrapped up in his woolies, he had a big smile on his face as he stared ahead.
Pedro nodded at Tamara and Josh and stepped forward to Chris’s side. “How’s it looking?”
“See for yourself,” Chris said. He pointed over the slight hill at the motorway. Pedro begged to himself. Begged it was clear. Begged it was okay. Still thought this plan was a bit crazy—that they should find somewhere to shack up for the night at least—but at least now he’d see what was ahead.
He stepped up beside Chris and looked ahead.
The motorway was filled with cars. Cars, with doors open. Blue cars, silver cars, red cars, all sorts of cars, jammed into the road like water in a bottle. Pedro sniffed up—smelled the lingering hint of gas and petrol, but no rot. No decay. There were no cries of crows, no sight of little animals feasting on any bodies.
“Looks to me like it’s been abandoned long ago,” Chris said. “Maybe on the first day. And it looks like the zombies went with the people.”
Tamara, Josh and Barry caught up. Barry, who reeked of sweat, let out a laugh. “Knew it’d be okay this way. Told you we’d be fine. Now we’ve just got to follow it.”
But there was something about the scene that Pedro didn’t like. Something that made him feel…just a twinge of discomfort.
“When will we get to Manchester, Mummy?”
Tamara squeezed her son’s neck with her gloved hand. “A couple of sleeps yet, my love. A couple of sleeps yet.”
“If we start moving now, we can find a car to stay in for the night when it gets too dark and cold,” Chris said. “Looking at the scene, doesn’t look like we’ll have much trouble finding one.”
“You’re right,” Barry said. He stepped ahead, towards the dipped junction that led onto the motorway. “We should start moving now. Start moving before—before anything else decides to come this way.”
Chris, Barry, Tamara and Josh started to wander in the direction of the junction.
“I don’t like it,” Pedro said.
They all stopped. Barry sighed and rolled his eyes. Tamara looked at him with concern. Chris stepped back towards Pedro. “What d’you mean?” he asked.
Pedro gulped down the cold spit in his mouth. His throat was dry, and he desperately needed a drink. “I dunno. I just think it looks…I think it looks too safe. There’s just something—”
“Too safe?” Barry said. His eyes were wide. He shook his head. Looked at Tamara and Josh for approval. “Did you actually just say somewhere looked too safe?”
“Wait,” Chris said, waving his hand at Barry. “Let the man speak. Pedro, what’s bothering you?”
Pedro looked back over his shoulder, back towards the hills, diluted by the clouds. He wondered whether Riley had got away. Whether any of the others had got away. And if they had got away, he wondered where they were now. He tried to think. Tried to ask himself what Riley would do. Level-headed bastard had an answer for everything, and usually he was right. “I don’t think we should try the motorway. I—It might be the most direct route, but I don’t know if it’s the safest.”
“We’ve discussed this,” Barry said, going red in the face. “We go the motorway route and get to Manchester in two, three days, branching off the motorway whenever we sight trouble. We get cars to sleep in, places to shelter and stay warm. Or we go the hilly route. Go through the frigging wilds and freeze to death on a seven-day hike. Turn ourselves into ice-pops for the infected.”
Tamara gripped her son closer. Chris looked at Barry as he spoke, and then at Pedro. He didn’t offer his opinion or any judgement, just watched and waited for one of the men to cave.
Pedro took another glance at the motorway, empty but for the cars. Completely empty. Not even a bird in sight. Was he being over-paranoid? Shit—he’d seen enough over the last few months to warrant it. He’d seen enough in his whole fucking life to warrant it. But there was something inside him that gave him a heads-up when something wasn’t right. This strange little tingling in his stomach, and right now it was rumbling like an appendix on the verge of rupturing.
Pedro sighed. Scratched at his balding head. Shrugged. “Okay. We try it. But I don’t like it. Just want you to know that, bruv.”
Barry’s chubby frown turned to a smile. “Glad you’ve seen sense, at last.”
As Pedro walked past Tamara, Josh, Barry and eventually Chris, he found himself leading the way down the dipped junction, onto the M6 motorway.
And with not a single step did he feel any more reassured about the direction he was heading in.
Chapter Six: Chloë
Chloë was still frozen to the spot although the monsters were moving in her direction.
She gripped the gun in her hand. She couldn’t hear them crying yet—letting out that horrible cry like they always did when they wanted to eat—but they were coming. Ten of them, some of them women, some of them men.
All of them wanted to eat her if they found her. She knew that.
Shivering with the cold, or with nerves, or with both, Chloë stepped slightly to her right, back to that bush where the legless dead lady was behind. She could see the squirrel was still there, nibbling away at the little flecks of meat hanging from the woman’s stump. She tried not to breathe. Tried not to breathe in the nasty, pooey smell when she got closer to the woman, sitting behind the bush, just waiting for them to pass.
She hadn’t heard them groan yet. Still hadn’t heard them groaning. But they were all coming her way. And if she didn’t do something about them, they’d find her. Eat her. She had to hope they wouldn’t smell her,
or smell the woman.
She tasted saltiness on her lips and realised that she was crying.
The pitter patter of the footsteps got closer and closer as the pitter patter of snow got heavier. Chloë squeezed her hands and arms around her legs, praying in silence. Please, Mummy. Please make them go away. I just want to get to Manchester and play with the girls and boys my age.
But she could hear their footsteps squelching closer. She could smell them, too. That horrible smell, like the woman next to her, but worse. She tried not to think about the smell, instead tried to think about the smell of flowers, the smell of Christmas turkey cooking, the smell of—
She accidentally breathed in and wanted to be sick right away.
She bit into her lip. Bit into her lip, held the gun in her hand. She’d done things to other people lately. She’d hurt people when they were going to hurt her, or someone she cared about, because that’s what people do now. That’s how they all survived, Riley used to say. But she didn’t like doing those things. She didn’t like hurting anything or anyone.
She stared at the heart-shaped locket dangling from her neck and tried to think what her mum would tell her if she was here with her. The footsteps were so close now. They still weren’t groaning or crying, though, which meant she was okay. For now, she was okay.
Keep quiet, Chloë. Keep quiet. Do your best. Don’t cry.
And then she heard it. A branch snapping somewhere under her foot. A branch that she didn’t even know she’d been stood on.
It sent a poorly feeling through her tummy, which the smell wasn’t making any better.
Please don’t notice. Please don’t—
And then she noticed that the shadows at the other side of the bush had stopped. Some of them were drifting away, but there were others that were standing still.
Looking at where the bush was.
Looking at where Chloë was.
She took a few breaths of the bitter air, doing all she could not to go dizzy with the smell. She gripped the gun tightly, although she couldn’t do anything but grip tightly because that’s what she always did when she was worried.