Dead Days: Season 3 (Books 13-18)

by Casey, Ryan

  But none of them were hitting. Pissing awful shots.

  But then how’d they managed to hit Josh twice in the head?

  Pedro turned back to where the bullets were coming from. It took him a few seconds to see, but then he saw little lights flickering from behind a smashed up blue Honda Jazz.

  They were firing towards him. Firing around him.

  But they weren’t firing at him.

  Tamara was still on the road cradling her son, as if she hadn’t noticed what was going on, hadn’t noticed the chaos around her.

  “Tamara, I need you to‌—‌to‌—‌” What did he need her to do? If she ran, she’d be putting herself at risk. And Pedro was paying these people that were firing around him a visit. He was paying them a visit and making sure the fuckers paid for what they’d done, whoever they were. He’d do it with his bare hands if he had to, even if it killed him.

  He understood what sacrifice was now. Sacrifice was dying for something you believed in.

  “Tamara, I want you to get on your feet and stay right behind me,” Pedro said.

  This did cause a momentary stop in Tamara’s sobs. She stared up at Pedro with her tear-stained eyes.

  “What?” she said. “You…‌you want me to‌—‌”

  “These fucks are shooting around me, not at me. Either they’re shit shots, or they’re trying to get my attention for some bullshit reason. If you…‌if you stay behind me, they won’t shoot you. But I’m going to see ‘em. You have to understand that.” He paused. Felt more bullets whoosh past his face. “But if we go to see them I don’t think we’ll be coming back.”

  Tamara’s lips shook. She held tightly onto her son, his green army helmet on the side of the road. She looked deep in thought, blinking her eyes, controlling her sobs. Initial stage of grief, that’s what this was. Realisation Josh was dead would come and go in waves. Waves of fucking brick and steel.

  She took in a sharp breath. Placed the helmet back onto Josh’s head. Then she stood up, still holding Josh in her arms, and nodded at Pedro. “For my boy.”

  Pedro nodded back at her. “For your boy.”

  Pedro turned around. Prepared himself to take a step. Prepared himself to bring those fuckers to justice, to gouge their fucking eyes out of their sockets, or to die trying.

  When he turned, the first thing he noticed was that the bullets had stopped.

  He took a few more steps. Squinted at the Honda Jazz. Tried to look for movement, listen for the reloading of a gun, anything. They can’t have just gone. The bastards can’t have just…‌

  Then, he saw movement.

  Only it wasn’t the movement of people.

  A crowd of power-walking zombies spilled out of a side road. They filled the road like sea-water in a sandcastle. Tons of them. Fifty, sixty at least.

  They turned around and they walked fast up the road, gaining serious ground on Pedro and Tamara.

  “I guess they got through the gate after all,” he said.

  Pedro held his arm around Tamara as they ran away from the oncoming zombies as fast as they could.

  Christmas Day. Christmas fucking Day.

  Tamara was slowed down by Josh’s body, which she still held in her arms. Behind them, the sounds of the paceys were getting nearer. But Pedro just charged on towards Piccadilly Station. Dom, Chloë, the meth-face‌—‌they must’ve gone inside. Must’ve fled and gone inside the Living Zone the first chance they’d got.

  Pedro tried not to look behind him. Instead, he just squinted for some kind of entrance. The tall metal walls that blocked off the road at the side of Piccadilly didn’t seem to have any openings in them. Even Piccadilly Station itself was fronted by a mass of barbed wire and spikes, like the highest security prison on the planet. Frigging “Living Zone”‌—‌what the hell was a Living Zone that didn’t let the living inside?

  He turned to the left. Caught a quick look at the goons coming their way. They were definitely quicker than they used to be. Quicker and quieter. They didn’t groan, not like that dumbass way they used to.

  A worrying thought sparked in Pedro’s mind.

  Were they getting used to the way the world worked? Ironing out their weaknesses, like troops tested out different models of guns before settling on the best?

  No. Don’t be a numbhead. They’re dead. They can’t think.

  “Come on,” Pedro said, gasping for air. Like shit could he run the way he used to. “Just…‌we’ve gotta‌—‌gotta take a left. Gotta find a place to hide.”

  Tamara seemed distant. Had those same glassy eyes that Elaine had when she’d lost her son, like the world was just buzzing by even though her life was under threat.

  They took another left. Ran alongside the towering metal wall of the Living Zone. Pedro couldn’t believe it the more he saw of it‌—‌just how long it stretched on at the side of the street. Must’ve taken ages to build. Which posed the question: when had it been built? And who the hell built it?

  The answers would have to wait. Only question that mattered right now was how the fuck they were going to get away from these pacey bastards.

  They kept on running. Kept on running, but Pedro could tell Tamara was struggling to keep up. It was the weight of her boy. The weight of Josh in her arms. He knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up. Not carrying him.

  “Tamara, give me…‌you’re struggling. Give me Josh. And‌—‌and I promise I’ll‌—‌”

  “What?” she said as they kept on jogging away. “You…‌no. No. My Josh, he…‌he…‌”

  She was panting so much she couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Please,” Pedro said. “You’re struggling. I can…‌I’m not as fit as I used to be but I know how to carry a body.” He cringed with the last words. Great choice, dickhead. Great sympathy there.

  Tamara slowed down some more. The footsteps of the goons clattered against the road, getting closer.

  “Please, Tamara. Let me help you. Please.”

  She looked at Pedro. Her eyes were totally filled with tears, and her bottom lip was quivering. Her hair was peppered with her son’s clotting blood.

  And then she gently moved Josh away from her chest. Held him out to Pedro. Laid him in his arms.

  Just grabbing hold of Josh brought too much baggage back to Pedro. He saw flashes of carrying that Afghan boy out into the desert, digging a hole in the ground and burying him under the sand.

  He saw flashes of holding Sam one final time, the sound of his heartbeat thumping through the soft blankets in his hospital bed, his chest rising and falling from the ventilator.

  Now Josh, still warm in his arms. Still warm but completely still.

  He couldn’t hold him. He couldn’t‌—‌

  The sound of the footsteps from the zombies, the smell of their rotting flesh getting nearer and nearer.

  He blinked a few times. Saw they were about twenty metres away.

  “Come on,” Tamara said to him. She kept her eyes on her son, who Pedro hadn’t even looked at. And then they ran.

  Pedro could understand why Tamara was struggling so much running and carrying her son’s body. Shit‌—‌he wasn’t as tough as he used to be. Should’ve been, living in a crazy world like this, but he just wasn’t. The top of his back ached, and he was buckling at the knees. He needed a proper sleep. A proper bed.

  Somewhere to hide for a few hours, days, weeks.

  They kept on following the metal wall, went right down this long street. Pedro could see a turn up ahead. They’d turn down there. There had to be an opening to the Living Zone. And Dom and Chloë, they couldn’t have got far.

  “No matter where it leads, we take a left around this next corner,” Pedro said. “You hear me?”

  Tamara nodded. She was running, but all the time she rested a hand on Josh’s body as Pedro carried him, like she was comforting him in his sleep.

  Pedro bit into his lip. Took in a few deep breaths.

  And then he ran as fast as he could, even faster
than he had been before.

  Tamara did surprisingly well to keep up with him. Probably Josh’s body weighing him down. But they were almost at the turning now. The zombies, they weren’t as close behind. They could do this. They could shake them.

  And then they could get in the Living Zone and they could work out what the hell they were going to do with their lives next.

  “This is it,” Pedro said, nodding just ahead at the turning in the road, the wall running alongside it. “We go down…‌”

  Pedro stopped speaking when he saw what was around the turning.

  His run slowed.

  The turn in the road happened, and the wall turned with it at first, but then after that, the road turned back. Went straight on.

  Only the wall didn’t. It crossed the road and attached itself to some tall, brown-bricked flats.

  The wall blocked the street.

  It was a dead end.

  “What‌—‌Pedro, what…‌”

  Tamara’s voice echoed around Pedro’s mind. He scanned the side of the flats‌—‌tried to find a way they could climb up, get off the road, get away.

  But the walls were lined with barbed wire. The fire escapes were stuffed with sharp-looking metal.

  Pedro stopped when he got to the wall. Stopped, but only when it was right in front of him, only when he could see that there was no way in, no way through, no way at all.

  He turned back. Turned back, Josh still in his arms, Tamara by his side.

  The paceys were getting closer. At least a hundred of them, all very hungry, stopping for nothing. Where humans seek an open end, the hungry fuckers relish a dead end.

  A dead end with plenty of live treats.

  “What do we do?” Tamara asked, her voice minuscule, as the slavering goons completely blocked the road ahead, stripping them of any possible escape. “Pedro? What do we do?”

  Chapter Two

  The light blinded him, but he was getting used to it. He still didn’t understand, though. Didn’t understand the muffled voices above him, like chalk on a blackboard, scratching around his head. He didn’t understand the smells‌—‌medicinal, tangy. But stronger. Stronger than anything he’d ever smelled in his life.

  What even was his life? Who was he? Where was he and how was he here?

  Deep down, beyond those questions, which fizzled out like vaporised smoke, he had a vague idea of what he was. Of what had happened to him. Something bad.

  But he couldn’t pinpoint it. He couldn’t understand.

  “Are you ready to walk around, sir?”

  A woman’s voice from somewhere above him. Yes‌—‌the dark haired woman. He couldn’t make out her face, but he knew she was there. Knew she was helping him. Helping him from whatever had happened…‌

  And then he remembered.

  He remembered exactly what had happened. The pain. The defeat. The blackness.

  He remembered what had happened and he wondered if this was heaven.

  When his eyes adjusted to the light, he realised it was much, much more interesting.

  Pedro took in a few shaky deep breaths as the pacey goons approached.

  He knew his time was almost up.

  Backed up against the metal wall of the Living Zone, he watched as the zombies got nearer. Listened to the sounds of their eager footsteps marching against the ground like soldiers well out of cue. He tried his best not to smell them, tried his best not to picture his face as one of them.

  But there were so many of them that he’d probably be lucky. They’d tear so many pieces off him that he’d have nothing left to walk with.

  He looked at Tamara. She too was staring ahead, defeat on her face. She wasn’t looking at her boy anymore, who Pedro had placed back in her arms, army helmet resting atop his head. She was just staring at the oncoming zombies, probably thinking the same thoughts as Pedro, probably hoping the damn pacey goons would hurry the fuck up and get it done with.

  “Thank you,” she said. Her lips quivered. She didn’t look at Pedro, but she said the words.

  Pedro didn’t respond. He just rested a hand on her shoulder. After all, what was she thanking him for? He’d failed her. Failed her boy. Failed the whole frigging mission he’d been trying to accomplish.

  Pedro backed into the wall some more. The goons were so close now. It’d be over in a matter of seconds. It’d hurt, and if he had a loaded gun he’d much rather blow his brains out than the fate he was about to suffer. But shit. He’d had a good run. Lasted a shit ton longer than the majority of people.

  “You tried,” Tamara said. Her hands shook. She was losing the grip of her boy, her knees shaky. “That’s…‌Everything you did for us. Thank you.”

  Pedro looked into Tamara’s brown eyes. Looked at her gorgeous blonde hair, her pretty plump lips.

  Shit. If this was a romance, he might just wrap his arms around her and snog the face off her. Nice way to die.

  But it wasn’t a romance, so he just half-smiled as well as his shitting-itself face could manage, and nodded at her.

  He turned to face the zombies. Looked at the wall of them as they prepared to close in.

  He shut his eyes. Didn’t want to see them tear his guts out. Which was weird, really, because it’d just make their teeth sinking in him even more of a shock.

  He thought of Corrine. Thought of Sam. Thought of Sam when he was full of life. Before the accident. When he was outside in the sunshine, riding his bike with his stabilisers.

  They were nice thoughts.

  Nice times.

  He braced himself. Braced himself as the smell surrounded him, as the footsteps became drumming noises.

  Almost over. Almost‌—‌

  At first, he thought the crackling noise was the start of it. That the zombies were biting into his flesh and his brain just hadn’t registered the pain yet.

  He opened his eyes.

  Weirdest thing was happening.

  The zombies were all falling. Falling to the ground, like a wave crashing to the shore, right in front of him and Tamara.

  And there was something spraying, something crackling above him, behind him.

  Gunfire.

  He looked up. Saw several people in black‌—‌too many for him to count. They were all firing guns. Firing ammunition down at the zombies in a mass of rounds, sending them tumbling to their feet.

  “To your left!” one of them shouted. “Through the gates with your hands in the air!”

  It took Pedro a few seconds to realise they were talking to him.

  To his left? Had this dick even seen this place?

  When Pedro looked though, he noticed something different about the wall. There was an opening in it. A tiny opening, square, that he’d have to crawl through, but an opening nonetheless. An opening that wasn’t there before.

  “Hurry the fuck up unless you want these bullets to be for nothing.”

  Pedro pushed Tamara forward. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the zombies, falling but gradually getting nearer, the ones at the back climbing at over their dead dead friends.

  They reached the opening. Tamara crouched down, Josh still in her arms, and moved through it.

  Pedro could hear the goons so close behind. He could hear the bullets still firing, but then someone above shouted: “They’re too close! Cut the fire!”

  As he watched Tamara shuffle through that opening and onto the concrete at the other side, he knew right there and then what sacrifice meant. For her to be safe, he’d willingly not walk through this opening with her.

  But he did anyway. Made more sense than sticking around with a bunch of hungry undead wankers. And fuck, he’d been due a deus ex machina moment his whole damned life. Fancy time to get one.

  He shuffled through. Felt the zombies scratch at the back of his legs, felt their teeth snap at his ankles.

  But he was through. Tamara was through.

  The metal door slammed shut behind them. A group of goons thudded against them.

  “Hands
above your head!”

  Pedro hardly had time to take in his surroundings before a man dressed all in black was pointing a gun at him.

  No. Make that six people in black pointing guns at him.

  He lifted his arms. Lifted his arms as he stood at the other side of this wall. Truth was, it looked much like the outside of the wall here. Only quieter. None of the abandoned, mashed up cars. Clear streets. Buildings, shops that weren’t boarded up.

  “And the lady,” one of the masked men said. He had goggles over his eyes.

  Pedro looked over at Tamara. Looked at her standing there, holding her son.

  “Her son’s dead. Give her a br‌—‌”

  “If you want to step another foot into here, I suggest she lifts her arms right now,” the angry-sounding man said.

  Pedro nodded at Tamara. Nodded at her to trust these people. Not that he trusted them himself. Just he worried what they’d do to her‌—‌to both of them‌—‌if they didn’t comply. After all, they were the ones holding the guns.

  Tamara crouched down. Winced as she placed her son on the floor. Pedro caught a glance at him. His skin had gone a paler colour. He looked right away. He didn’t want to see anything else. It turned his gut just to think of it.

  “Frosty reception for a ‘living zone,’” Pedro said.

  The angry-sounding man paced towards Pedro and Tamara. “None of that smart-talk. My colleague is somewhere outside the walls in a very precarious position all thanks to you two. Boys and girls, you know what to do.”

  The five men behind the angry one, all of their faces disguised by helmets and big black goggles covering their eyes, powered forward with their rifles in hand, large black rucksacks on all of their backs.

  “Your man,” Pedro said, ignoring the people as they stepped forward. “Are you talking about Dom?”

  The angry man ignored Pedro. Two of the soldiers stepped behind Tamara, grabbed her arms and pulled her back.

  “Hey!” Pedro shouted. He tried to lunge forward but he felt something tug at his arms‌—‌something tight. “Get your fucking hands off‌—‌”

  And then one of the men crouched down over Josh. Held his gun against him. Pedro noticed some weird thing on the end of the gun‌—‌some kind of scanner, and a little screen in the other man’s hand.