Dead Days: Season 3 (Books 13-18)

by Casey, Ryan

  Barry was standing there. His flabby cheeks were shivering, his jaw tensed. His eyes were distant and glassy.

  And he had a gun in his shaking right hand.

  Chapter Nine: Chloë

  Chloë couldn’t properly remember how she’d got to the bedroom, but she was going to have to find her way out before Moustache Man and snarly woman found her.

  Before they found Ursula’s dead body.

  She squinted into the darkness of the corridor outside the bedroom. It wasn’t like a bedroom at all out here‌—‌it was like a warehouse or something. It smelled like the mechanics where Dad used to take his car when something went wrong with it. As she walked, she could taste dust, too.

  Dust, and the tang of Ursula’s sickly saliva and blood that had dripped down onto her mouth.

  Every footstep of the Nike trainers she’d found under Ursula’s bed made a big tapping sound. There were three doors to Chloë’s right, which Chloë knew must belong to Moustache Man and snarly woman. As she walked along this floor, harder than the wood of Ursula’s room, she thought she heard something in the second door‌—‌a moaning sound, like the monsters sometimes made but friendlier.

  She felt her cheeks going hot when she heard these sounds‌—‌the sounds from a man, from a woman. She knew what they were doing. They were doing what all grown-ups did. Sex. The only thing that seemed to make grown-ups happy when they’d been arguing, the only thing anyone seemed to want. It must be good. Maybe she’d try it one day when she was older.

  She carried on down this dusty, dark corridor. There was a staircase leading down just to her left. It was one of the weirdest places Chloë had been in‌—‌it looked like a big Warburtons factory from outside, but inside it was like a strange house that had not been visited for years.

  She turned the corner of the staircase and stared down it. Her heart was still racing, and she was still shaking. She hadn’t even had time properly to think about the pain in her head where Ursula had pulled a clump of her hair out, or the burning scratch-marks on her face, the dull ache in her pressed-down eyes.

  All she had time to think about was getting to the bottom of these stairs. Getting to the front door. Then getting out.

  She stepped onto the first step.

  Then the voices from the room got closer. Louder.

  She froze. Froze right there on the top step. The man’s voice‌—‌definitely Moustache Man‌—‌was right by the door. The woman, who must’ve been snarly woman, was laughing at something. Probably laughing about the sex. They’d probably had a fun time together doing it.

  Chloë squeezed the necklace, which was now around her neck with the handcuff keys. She stepped down another step. Her feet echoed against these steps like she was in a cave. She kept on moving, slowly, kept on walking towards that front door, the light of the moonlight peeking underneath it in the darkness below.

  And then she heard a handle turning. The squeaking of a handle. Moustache Man’s voice whispering.

  She froze completely, there in the darkness.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. Moustache Man was outside the room now. He was stripped of all his clothes, wearing only a pair of white boxer shorts. He was quite muscular, like the footballers were on telly. And Chloë actually thought he looked quite good, if he wasn’t a bad man who hung around with Ursula.

  Chloë lowered herself onto her knees, peeked through the stair railings at Moustache Man. She thought about running, but he’d hear her. She wanted him to do whatever he was doing, go back to his room, then she could get away.

  He walked along the corridor, his bare feet tapping against the cold ground. He stopped, right by the end of the corridor, and he pulled his boxer shorts partly down and started weeing into an orange bucket that Chloë hadn’t even noticed before.

  The sound of his weeing echoed right through the landing area. It echoed so much that Chloë knew that if she hurried, she could make a move. Crouching there, not even hiding behind anything, she knew she could get away.

  But she knew he could see her, too. She knew that if she moved, there was a chance he’d definitely see her.

  And then he’d see Ursula. And she wasn’t sure she could do to Moustache Man what she’d done to Ursula.

  He stopped weeing and shook his willy in his hands. Then he coughed a bit, tucked himself in, and wiped his hands against his bare chest. Chloë could smell the wee now, and it was horrible, but not as horrible as the smelly room she’d been locked in at first, or as horrible as Ursula’s horrible perfume.

  He walked down the corridor, back towards the middle door. Stopped by it, touched the handle.

  And then he noticed something.

  He looked right over at Ursula’s room. Looked over at it, eyes squinted.

  Chloë tensed up inside. She felt her breathing get harder. What was it? What had he seen?

  “Ursula?” he whispered.

  Chloë could feel her pulse pounding in her skull now. He was so close to finding Ursula. He was walking over towards the door. Walking over to…‌

  Oh no. That was it. Her door‌—‌Chloë had left her door partly open.

  She gripped her mum’s necklace. Tried to move. She couldn’t see Ursula’s room from here. It must’ve blown open with the wind. Moustache Man had seen her. She had to get to Jordanna. She had to get there, quick.

  “Oh God, Ursula! What‌—‌Shelley, quick!”

  Footsteps from behind the middle door.

  Chloë had no choice now. No choice but to run.

  She jogged down the steps. Jogged, even though she could hear her feet echoing against the floor.

  “What is it?” Snarly Shelley asked. “What‌—‌oh fucking hell. You fucking idiot.”

  Chloë was so close to the door now. So close to the light under the front door.

  Then she heard a laugh. A laugh from Moustache Man, then a few “ssh’s” from Snarly Shelley. She found this weird. Why would they be laughing? Why would they be laughing about Ursula?

  “It’s okay,” Moustache Man said. “Deaf old bat sleeps right through anything.”

  “You’re gonna ‘ave to stop makin’ me jump like that,” Snarly Shelley said. “Fuckin’ dick.”

  Chloë was still again now. Still, but her heart and muscles were racing and twitching.

  They were joking. Moustache Man was joking. He hadn’t seen anything, not really.

  Chloë listened as their footsteps walked back into the bedroom.

  Listened as the door slammed shut, and the laughing and the moaning started again.

  She wiped her face. Wiped her face and let out a few big gasps.

  She was okay. She was as good as free.

  She was almost there.

  Chloë heard groaning as she pressed her hands against the big, metal door at the front. She heard the groaning to her left, and she knew what it was. The monsters who had been eating blue-haired lady. They were in that big room through there. A chain was wrapped around the handle. If it wasn’t, she might have let them loose to eat Moustache Man and Snarly Shelley.

  But she was okay. She didn’t have to do that, not now she was almost free.

  She pushed on the front door, being careful not to be too loud about it, and was hit with a refreshing blast of cold.

  She smiled as she stepped outside. Smiled as her shoes crunched against the stony ground.

  She was out. She was free. She just had one thing left to do.

  She turned to her left and walked down the side of the big metal warehouse. She walked until she got to the rusty door‌—‌the door of the smelly room. She stopped outside it. Looked around, looked to see there was nothing around. No sounds but the wind. Nothing at all.

  She reached for the handle of the door and lowered it, trying to do this as slowly as possible because she remembered how much it squeaked when she used to be inside it.

  And when she’d done that, she edged it open. Edged it open so that she got a whiff of the poo, the wee, the rotting.
>
  She tried not to look at the monsters that were chained up‌—‌the monsters that were people not long ago. She tried to ignore them as they clawed out for Chloë, tugging at their handcuffs, the gags in their mouths bitten down to a string.

  Instead, she looked only at where Jordanna was. Hoped and prayed that Jordanna was still alive and safe. Hoped she’d be there for her to spend Christmas with, because that’s all she wanted‌—‌someone to spend Christmas with.

  She didn’t see her at first. Didn’t see her in the darkness, as her eyes adjusted. Didn’t see anything but the puddles of blood on the floor, the bits of red meat all over the walls.

  But then she did.

  Jordanna was looking right at her. She was still, and her eyes were glassy.

  Too glassy.

  Chloë felt her bottom lip quiver. Felt her eyes welling up. Stepped back, because she didn’t want to see Jordanna like this anymore. She didn’t want to see her as a monster.

  And then Jordanna’s eyes widened, and she let out a weird little laugh.

  “Chloë‌—‌what‌—‌?”

  The butterflies flapped around Chloë’s tummy. Jordanna was alive. She was well. She just had to get to her now. She just had to get past the handcuffed creatures, unlock her hands and then they could run away.

  She pulled the handcuff keys from around her neck.

  She was so close. So nearly there.

  And that’s when she heard the shriek.

  Then the “Holy fuck! What the fuck‌—‌that little bitch! Let’s‌—‌let’s get the fucker. Quick!”

  Moustache Man’s voice.

  As Chloë stood there, keys in hand, handcuffed creatures in between Jordanna and her, she knew this time that Moustache Man wasn’t joking around.

  Chapter Ten: Riley

  Riley’s heart thumped fast as he sat motionless on the powered wheelchair. To his left, the men who were driving the three army vehicles approached with torches.

  And to his right, the familiar smell, the familiar shuffling sounds, of the creatures.

  He fumbled around with the knob to the wheelchair, but to no avail. He looked ahead at the nearest army vehicle. It wasn’t far away. A matter of metres. But then his legs‌—‌the stinging in his legs, and the throbbing in his mind. Did he have it inside him to make it a matter of metres? He tried to move his right leg. Tried to swing it over the side of the powered wheelchair.

  The agony that rippled through his body gave him his answer.

  He held his breath. Tried his best not to scream with the pain. He could hear the creatures getting closer, slushing their way through the field. Being bitten wasn’t all that bad, not really. It was kind of an anticlimax, in fact. The act of the bite itself was no worse than any accident you could do around the house‌—‌fall off a ladder, pass out and hit your head on the toilet bowl.

  But it was what the bites were doing inside him that worried him.

  At least if the creatures got him now, he wouldn’t have to worry.

  “Quick, Riley!”

  The voice came from behind. He didn’t have a chance to look, but he recognised it as Alan’s. He could see the lights to his left getting closer. Smell the rotting of the creatures, overpowering and unavoidable. He couldn’t go back to Alan now. He couldn’t go back to the bunker. He didn’t have it in him‌—‌the time or the energy. All he could do was push on. Push on to the army vehicle, or all his efforts would be for nothing.

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

  He tried once again to lift his right leg over the side of the powered vehicle. Once again, he had to stop himself from screaming as a searing burn spread all over his leg, up into his hip. That couldn’t be good. That must be what the spreading felt like.

  But he bit into his lip. Bit into his lip until he tasted blood, and lowered his right leg onto the ground.

  And then he took another few steadying breaths. The creatures, they were so close now. So close that he could make out their individual features. A bald man with narrow cheekbones and deep-set eyes, intestines hanging out of his front. Dark haired teenage girl looking all glassy-eyed as she walked around with half a face.

  He wasn’t going to become one of them.

  Not yet, anyway.

  He bit into his lip again, bit through the agony, and brought his left leg down onto the muddy grass below. He tasted salt on his lips from inadvertent tears, but he was there. He had both legs on the ground.

  Now he just had to move.

  The torchlights were getting closer. The voices, the laughter, of the men, so close.

  He stared at the ground in front of him. Realised that he was going to have to push himself face first onto the ground then drag himself to that vehicle if he wanted to stand a chance of surviving. A chance of laying low, at least for now.

  Come on, Riley. You’re dead anyway. Nothing a little more pain can do to hurt you.

  He pressed his hands against the metal side of the powered wheelchair. Pressed his hands against it, then with all the strength he had in his arms, he pushed himself to the ground.

  Falling to the ground without the support of his legs was like bungee jumping off a high cliff. And yes, he’d bungee jumped once in Turkey. Pissed himself on the fall. Never again.

  He hit the muddy grass with a thump and a splat. Felt that buzzing sensation in his nose, felt the damp of the smelly, once manure-covered mud all over his face. He must’ve bust his nose. A bust nose to join his knocked-out teeth, his leg bites.

  Wow. To think he’d once taken pride in his appearance.

  He started to edge himself along the ground, getting gradually closer to the first army vehicle. The back of the vehicle was open, but shit‌—‌he hadn’t even considered how he was going to climb it. That’s a weird effect survival had‌—‌it made you think short term. Very short term.

  And dragging himself through the mud, the lights getting nearer, the sounds of the creatures’ footsteps slushing closer, he figured he’d made one of the stupidest short term decisions imaginable.

  But he was close. He was getting close. Picking up pace as he moved. He was so cold, but sweat was dripping down his forehead and into his eyes. The taste of the shitty mud was so strong in his mouth. But he didn’t care. He’d lost his dignity long ago. Dignity counted for shit in the Dead Days.

  Dignity got you chewed on.

  He reached a hand out for the army vehicle. Just another push. His fingertips were almost touching. He was so close.

  One more push.

  One more.

  And then he felt it.

  Felt the ends of his fingernails scratch against the rusting green paint on the side of the vehicle. He felt it, and he knew he was almost there.

  But he felt something else too. Something that was getting all too familiar.

  Something pressed down on his right leg. Something thick, too thick to be teeth, but shit‌—‌it stung like mad. Forced a scream out of him that he could do nothing about.

  He looked back. Looked back to see what it was.

  A creature.

  No. Two creatures.

  One of them was holding Riley’s right leg with its grey-skinned hands. Digging its filthy, maggot-filled fingernails into the wound on his leg.

  And the other creature, a bald man, was lowering itself down. Readying itself for a bite.

  One bite would kill him.

  Two would definitely kill him.

  Three was beyond belief.

  He shook his leg away, but this only hurt him more. Only sent the creature’s fingers further into his wound. He whimpered. Tasted more salty tears in his mouth. He could be dead already. He could’ve opted out. Alan should’ve fucking finished him. He didn’t want to die, not like this, not out of his‌—‌

  And then he heard a blast and felt coldness splatter over his leg.

  The hand of the creature went loose. Riley didn’t understand what was happening at first. He didn’t understand what was happeni
ng until the bald creature’s head exploded, and it went flying back.

  “Let’s ‘ave em, lads!”

  The voice came from the right. Torchlights shone over the mass of creatures. They were still all heading towards Riley but being shot down, one by one.

  Riley yanked himself further forward. He didn’t have time to get inside the army vehicle. Only time to get underneath it.

  He had to get underneath it and hope they didn’t see him. Hope the creatures, the army or whoever they were, didn’t see him.

  As bullets flew over his head, whistled through the air, splattered into the mass of creatures, Riley managed to pull himself underneath the army vehicle. He watched the shots fly from underneath. Watched the creatures fall to the ground, one by one, as the torchlights got nearer. In the distance, just across at the bunker, he looked for Alan, but he was out of sight.

  He’d think Riley was dead. He’d think the plan had gone to shit.

  Riley waited. Watched and waited from underneath the army vehicle. The damp from the muddy ground seeped through his clothes. The smell of rotting was countered by the smoky smell of gunfire. Footsteps from the people with torches filled the scene, and he was like an extra hiding behind a curtain as this whole drama unfolded.

  He watched as the last of the creatures fell. Watched as a man all in black crouched down over it and sunk a knife into the side of its head.

  He held his breath. These people, mostly men, they were all dressed in black. They had a lot of weapons, but they didn’t look army. Not the army that Riley knew of, anyway.

  “That the lot of ‘em?” one of them said with a thick Lancashire accent.

  One of the people walked past the front of the vehicle where Riley was hiding. His feet squelched in the mud. He prayed he wouldn’t see him. Prayed he wouldn’t crouch down and look underneath.

  Riley just lay there and held his breath. Lay there and winced through the pain. If they saw him in the mud, bitten like he was, they’d think he was one of them. They’d shoot him. It would be game over, even though it was game over already.

  The person beside the army vehicle stepped away, his dark black shoes soiled from the mucky ground.