Dead Days: Season 3 (Books 13-18) (5 page)

And then she bit down on her lip and closed her eyes even though she knew that was a silly thing to do.

At first, she heard the squirrel squeaking away from where the monsters were. Then she heard the monsters moving again, moving away from her, distracted by the poor little squirrel who only wanted to protect itself.

She peeked out of the corner of her eye. Peeked onto the road. Saw the shadows getting further away as they all went after this poor little squirrel. The monsters, they must be so hungry too. So hungry and cold. Maybe they’d like soup. Maybe they only thought they liked eating people and animals because that’s all they’d tried.

And then she heard an almighty squeak, and then a crack like an eggshell, then nothing.

She wiped her eyes with the edge of her coat. She knew she’d done a bad thing to the squirrel. A very bad thing. But now the monsters were at the other side of the road. She could hear the squelching, like she heard when they were pulling the insides of out people, and she knew they were distracted. Now, she could move. She could carry on up the road. Get to Manchester. Enjoy Christmas, with the other people‌—‌the nice people.

She lifted to her feet, slowly. Her knees cracked a bit, like they always did before P.E., but that was okay because it wasn’t loud enough for the monsters to hear. But her legs were like jelly. She gripped the gun in her hand, the map under her arm, and she crept from out of the bush, trying not to stand on any loose twigs, on any noisy grass, on any crunchy snow.

She stared at the open road ahead. The monsters to her left across the road weren’t crying, so she’d be okay. She’d be okay, as long as she kept going. As long as she‌—‌

A loud wail from behind her.

She stumbled around to see where it came from, it made her jump so much. There couldn’t be a monster behind her. She’d have seen it. She’d have…‌

And then she looked at the blonde dead woman on the ground and realised what was happening.

The dead woman with one leg stretched her bony arm out in Chloë’s direction. Her eyes were glassed over, but she was looking at Chloë.

Reaching out for Chloë.

Crying at Chloë.

Chloë’s heart pounded. She knew what this meant. She’d have to shut the blonde lady up. She’d have to make sure she didn’t attract…‌

When she heard the moaning, the crying, the groaning from the other side of the road, first one, then another, then another and another and another, she knew she was already too late.

All of the monsters weren’t bothering with poor little Mister Squirrel anymore.

They were stumbling in her direction.

Chapter Seven: Riley

Riley had been hoping to get the hell out of this damned bunker sometime soon, and as far away from the lunatic that was Alan as possible.

But the way Alan was sitting in that wheelchair opposite him, smug smile on his unshaven face. The wound on his leg that he claimed was from a creature bite a whole two weeks ago. A revelation like that had a way of changing things.

“I wasn’t lying to you,” Alan said, spinning his wheelchair around with some effort and moving back over towards the tunnel door. “I was studying for a cure. The viral infection, I’m almost certain it came through a rogue batch of flu vaccinations. Unfortunately it was too late to pull the vaccines. People were already pumped with them. It was spreading fast.”

Riley’s head thumped. He had a funny taste in his mouth, like he used to get before he had anxiety attacks. Anna. She’d said something about the flu vaccination. And the people at the ASDA pharmacy, right on the second day…‌It was the flu jab, then.

“I was here with two others. That’s how it worked originally‌—‌me and others. But then there was an accident. An accident, when I was patrolling the bunker one day. One of the infected, it caught me on the leg. Killed my colleagues. So I settled down. Settled down in the woods to die. No tearful farewells, nothing like that.”

Alan rubbed his ageing hands together. Stared up at Riley, although it was more like he was looking
through
him. “I felt myself getting weaker. Felt my breathing getting heavier, then my head dizzier. But then I noticed my breathing easing off. I noticed myself feeling better again, and before I know it I’m up on my feet‌—‌struggling with this blasted wound, but on my feet. So then I go back to the bunker. Go back, see if I can notice anything else deteriorating. God, for a moment, I thought I
was
one of those infected.”

He smiled again. Looked at Riley, not through him.

“But I wasn’t. I wasn’t, and I’m not. And that’s why I’ve been waiting, Riley. That’s why I’ve been so desperate to be alone, waiting for the right person to come along. I can’t die. Nothing bad can happen to me. Don’t you see that?”

Riley’s head throbbed at full pelt. Alan’s leg‌—‌that’s why he couldn’t walk back to Heathwaite’s, or get through the tunnel to Manchester. His colleagues dying…‌that’s why he was on his own.

“I’ve been waiting for the right person. And now you’re here. So you know what we have to do. Where we have to go.”

Riley’s eyes wandered over to the dark, looming entrance to the tunnel system. As much as he insisted to himself he didn’t like it down in this bunker, he liked the thought of going into that tunnel even less.

And the responsibility. The responsibility of escorting a man who claimed to be immune to the creature’s bites. He wasn’t the man who should be trusted with such a responsibility. What if he failed? He wasn’t just letting himself down‌—‌he could handle self-failure. If he failed, then the weight of humanity depended upon it.

Fuck. What had he done to sign up to this?

“I can understand your scepticism,” Alan said, cutting in before Riley could get a word out. “This all seems very sci-fi, indeed. But I might not be alone. There may be others like me out there. Huh‌—‌for all you know,
you
might be immune. The only ones we know for certain aren’t immune are the dead. Survivors…‌well. Would you be so keen to share news of a bite?”

Riley scratched the sides of his head. It was all getting too much. The shootout at Heathwaite’s, the way he’d driven a baseball bat through the skulls of those chavs who’d threatened him…‌the things he’d had to do were still heavy on his mind. He wasn’t sure he could handle another heaviness without breaking completely.

But maybe he’d just have to try.

“How long will it take us to get to Manchester through the tunnels?” Riley asked.

Another smile crept up Alan’s face. A slight flush invaded his beard-hidden cheeks. “A lot quicker than it would up top. Fifteen hours. Allow a couple of hours for the wheelchair. Few hours of rest. Two days, tops.”

Riley wiped the gathering sweat from his forehead. Two days. Two days ago, he’d been relaxing with a Budweiser in the Heathwaite’s reception area. Two days ago, he’d been thinking about Christmas, about how soon it was.

Two days were forever at the end of the world.

“How can I trust you?” Riley asked.

Alan shrugged. “You can’t. You’d be a dense idiot to trust anyone these days. But I do have a hefty collection of guns over by the door, should you feel safer holding one to my head all the way. As long as you don’t get trigger-happy, we might just stand a shot at saving humanity together.”

Saving humanity.
Alan’s grand claims were making Riley dizzy.

He brought his hand through his hair again. He thought back to Anna, as much as it pained him. Thought past the Anna that lay with blood leaking out of her fragmented skull, thought to the Anna back at the Fulwood barracks, using her expertise to study the origin of the virus‌—‌the reason everyone had suddenly started eating one another.

Her pursuit into the flu vaccine. Her knowledge‌—‌her suspicions‌—‌that something was wrong with it. She’d want him to go with Alan. She’d want him to trust him. Riley knew damn well Anna would go with Alan if she were here.

But she wasn’t. So now he had to honour her name.

He reached into his pocket. Pulled out Anna’s silver necklace, smeared with blood. He could barely look at it, it made his eyes sting too much and his throat well up, the memory of her death still too raw.

“I’m doing this because someone I…‌someone I loved would’ve done this. So I swear to God, if you even think about fucking me over for one minute, you’re fucking her over too. And I don’t give a shit if you’re the elixir of life, I will put a bullet in your arms and your kneecaps and make sure the creatures tear the flesh from your bones. Do you understand?”

Alan’s smile faltered, but only for a split second. He glanced at the necklace with his beady eyes, then back at Riley. “The things we do for love‌—‌”

“I asked if you understand‌—‌”

“Yes, yes,” Alan said, waving Riley off. “I’ve no reason to double-cross you. You’re doing me a great favour, and therefore you’re doing humanity a great favour.”

Riley walked around to the back of Alan. Grabbed the black rubber handles of his wheelchair, scooted him off towards the entrance to the tunnel. “Let’s just get to Manchester first before worrying about world-saving.”

Alan brought his feet down into the ground, and Riley almost lunged over the top of his wheelchair.

“What the fuck d’you think you’re stopping for?” Riley said.

Alan hobbled off the wheelchair, scratched at his thick beard. “We haven’t packed our bags, for one. And for two, I need to get rid of this beard and this hair.”

Riley’s eyes narrowed. He felt himself wanting to take his anger out on this old idiot once again.

“What?” Alan said, jovially. “Think I’m going to turn up to a government meeting looking like a tramp? They’ll shoot me on sight!”

Alan whistled away as he walked over to the cubicle in the back of the bunker, opening the silver door and running a tap.

Riley leaned forward against the wheelchair and stared into the damp-smelling, cold expanse of the tunnel.

He hoped to God he was doing the right thing.

Chapter Eight: Chloë

Chloë watched and the monsters watched her in turn.

They stood there on the snowy road, more and more of them turning to look at her.

More and more of them groaned and cried.

And then started to move.

She stumbled back as the mass of what must’ve been twenty monsters all moved in her direction, as the monster of the woman on the ground beside her shouted out at her. She felt sorry for them. Felt sorry for the sad looks on their faces, the cries. They must’ve been really hurting, with the cuts they had, the bits of bad meat dangling off them.

But she had no time to feel sorry for them. Not now.

She had to move.

Her heart pounding, the pooey smell getting stronger as the monsters got closer, Chloë ran down the side of the road and through the trees. She could feel the snow getting harder and heavier, its coldness scratching at her face. And her legs could hardly move‌—‌they were too cold, too tired. But she had to run if she wanted to live. There were too many of them. She had to run. That’s what Mummy would’ve told her to do. It was what everyone would’ve told her to do.

As she ran across the twigs and branches, she tried her best not to tumble over. The shouts of the monsters didn’t seem to be getting any further away, and she didn’t want to look over her shoulder in case one jumped out from in front of her and scared her like Daddy used to do only meaner. So she kept on going. Kept running at the side of the road, heart racing, knees aching and weak, cold.

She looked to her left for a way out, but the left of the road was just the same as this side‌—‌trees. And she didn’t want to go into the woods. The woods were dark and scary and she didn’t know what she might see in there.

But did many people live in the woods? Would many of the monsters have gone in there?

This time, Chloë did look over her shoulder, unable to help herself.

She wished she hadn’t, because the monsters were closer than she thought.

And they were moving quicker, too. Quicker than usual. Not running, but going as fast as Mum used to when she went power-walking. They must be hungry. So hungry that they want to run after Chloë, just like Chloë wants to run from them.

Trying her best to block out the cries and shouts from the monsters getting louder, Chloë looked up the road ahead. There was no point running. It just went on further than she could see, no turns or anything like that.

She looked to her right. Looked into the darkness of the woods.

She didn’t want to go in there. She didn’t
want
to, but what else could she do? She couldn’t shoot all the monsters. There were too many of them.

She looked back at the monsters again. So close now. Smellier than ever, too. She looked down at her map. Down at the map leading to Manchester. Manchester, where she wanted to be for Christmas, with the other children and nice people.

If she went into the woods, she might get lost and never get to Manchester.

And she was hungry already. So hungry.

She looked at the necklace. Looked at it, tried to imagine what Mum would do.

But she couldn’t hear Mum’s answers because the monsters were just being too loud now.

So she took a deep breath and she ran into the woods. Ran into the darkness of the trees. When she’d run a short way, she realised it wasn’t as dark in here as she thought. It was just that all the leaves had fallen off the trees, and they all looked the same.

She jumped around a few trees, criss-crossed, tried everything she could to lose the monsters following her, as the light from the open road behind her got further and further away, until she didn’t even know whether the road was still behind her or on another side.

She looked over her shoulder, still running, trying to see the monsters, but she couldn’t see them either. But she could still hear them crying. If they were crying, she knew they were still looking for her. And it was like a game of hide and seek‌—‌you played it until you found the other person, no matter what. But sometimes in hide and seek with her sister, Chloë used to cheat‌—‌she used to lock herself in bathrooms and pretend she wasn’t in there, until eventually her sister got sad and stroppy and gave up.