Dead Days: Season 3 (Books 13-18) (17 page)

Chapter Three: Chloë

Chloë remembered what Jordanna said about doing what they wanted her to do. She remembered what the nasty-faced man with the moustache said about not screaming.

But she couldn’t help herself when she saw what was behind the dirty window.

The first thing she saw was the blood. The red blood, spread all over the floor like the room was a paddling pool. It was dripping down a hole in the concrete ground.

And then she saw and heard the rest.

She didn’t understand at first. Didn’t understand what the monsters inside the room were going crazy about. There were six or seven of them, she couldn’t count, not now.

But then she realised. Realised they were tugging at something that was dangling down from a rope.

The scream came when she saw the blue hair, the lady with her neck in the rope and the creatures pulling the flesh away from her body, out of a hole in her chest, no eyes in her head.

“Sssh, ssh,” the moustached man said. Chloë felt his hands tug hard against her arms. But behind her gag, she could do nothing but shout out. Nothing but scream. Scream, as she tasted sick in her mouth. Scream, swallow it back down, then scream some more.

She wanted her mum. She needed her mum. She needed someone to be happy with at Christmas, not this.

As Moustache Man dragged her away, Chloë could still hear the monsters behind the dirty warehouse window tugging away at the blue-haired lady’s flesh. It sounded like wrapping paper being torn into shreds, and Chloë wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to open wrapping paper again, which made her sad.

“Thought you were a little toughie,” Moustache Man said. He’d pulled her right away from the window now and pushed her towards a red door to the right. Chloë shook, her throat sore from the sick taste and the screaming. She didn’t want to go in that door. She just wanted to go back to the dark, smelly room with Jordanna, and she didn’t even like that room.

Moustache Man pushed her closer and closer to this red door. As they moved, Chloë looked around outside. Looked at the bright sky, the evergreen trees in the woods. She thought she saw a rabbit running in the distance, and she wanted so bad to be running with that rabbit too.

But then Moustache Man pushed her against the side wall next to the red door and reached for the handle.

He grabbed the rusty metal handle. Looked Chloë in her eyes, creepy smile on his face. In his blue shirt and black trousers, he looked more like a police guard than ever before. “I’ll repeat my advice to you. No screaming like that again if you want to impress Ursula. I’ve give you your little warm up now. Given you your‌—‌your appetiser. Now you’d better be on your best behaviour.”

Chloë whimpered. Whimpered as she breathed in fast, going dizzy.

And then she slowed down her breathing. Slowed down her breathing and nodded. She had to be calm. This Ursula lady didn’t sound like a very nice person. It made Chloë think of the big purple sea witch in The Little Mermaid.

Moustache Man lowered the squeaky handle and pushed open the red door, taking a look over his shoulder as he dragged Chloë inside.

As he moved her, she expected to find another damp room. Another dark, dirty, bloody room.

But she was surprised to find something completely different.

The corridor through this door looked nice, like something from a normal house. There was a brown carpet, and cabinets with photo frames on. On the walls, as Moustache Man moved Chloë down the corridor, Chloë saw photo frames on the walls too. Photo frames of all different people, different families. Some of the photos were cracked, some of them were missing photographs. But they were family photos.

Which meant there were families here.

She walked past a big wooden cabinet and noticed a vase of nice purple flowers on the side. They smelled so good that Chloë leaned over for a sniff as she was pushed past. It was the nicest thing she’d smelled in ages.

They moved past a metal door on the right, which Chloë was pleased about because from the sounds inside, that was the room where the monsters were. But she wasn’t going there. Not yet.

She was going towards a big brown door at the bottom of this corridor.

“If I remove your gag,” Moustache Man said, pushing Chloë a bit more gently now. “You better promise me you won’t kick up a fuss.”

Chloë didn’t respond. She just stared at this brown wooden door. Stared at it, heart racing, hoping there wasn’t something bad behind it.

“Hey.” Moustache Man clicked his fingers, stopped Chloë. He looked in her eyes with those dead brown eyes of his. “You answer me when I’m speaking to you. You promise you won’t kick up a fuss.”

Chloë found it hard to look at this man in his eyes for long. But she nodded. Gulped down some thick saliva and nodded.

And then Moustache Man sighed, reached for the gag around Chloë’s mouth, and yanked it away forcefully.

It stung her head for a moment, and hurt her teeth, but she was glad to get the sweaty, spitty gag away. Moustache Man held it in between his fingers, dangled it in disgust.

And then he stuffed it into his pocket and reached for the gold handle of the wooden door.

He started to turn it, and then he stopped. Stopped and looked down at his feet.

“Call her ‘Mum.’ It…‌It might help.”

He didn’t look at Chloë when he said this. Not in the usual way he ordered and bossed her around. It was like he was trying to help her. But he was a nasty man so she didn’t understand why.

He turned the handle fully and pushed open the door.

Chloë held her breath.

But she released her breath the second she saw what was behind the door.

There was a woman standing with her back to her. She was wearing a white dress with big shoulders, like women Chloë had learned about in History from the Victorian or Tudor times. She wasn’t sure which, she found History boring. She had her dark but greying hair tied up into a bun. She really did look like someone from the past.

This woman was stirring something. Standing at a white hob and stirring a silver pan. The thing she was stirring smelled good. Like the gravy Grandma used to make when they went round for Sunday dinners before she went mad and started forgetting who Chloë even was.

Sunlight glared in through a large window that the woman was looking out of. As Moustache Man pushed her in gently, Chloë heard the woman humming, humming as she stirred at this nice smelling food.

Chloë looked around the kitchen. It just looked like a normal kitchen, only with metal work surfaces and worktops, like cookery class used to be. And the worktops were stacked with all nice things. Cake mixture. Pots of honey. Meat.

When she glanced back at the woman, she was looking right at her.

The woman looked even more from the old times from the front. She had weathered old skin, and her blue eyes were wide and bulging. But she had this nice smile. This kind smile. She was wearing a white apron too which said “World’s Best Mum.”

“So you’re our latest little lady,” the woman said, smile tugging at her cheeks as she held a big stirring spoon in her right hand.

Chloë gulped. She looked up at Moustache Man for help, but he just kept his eyes on the lady.

“Speak up, child!” the lady said. She had a stern, posh voice, like the old Victorian teachers used to have.

Chloë nodded. Struggled to find the right words. “Yes. Yes. I’m…‌I’m Chloë.”

The woman’s forehead twitched. “Chloë, are you? Is that your name, is it?”

Chloë nodded again. But she heard Moustache Man’s feet shuffle next to her. Shuffle like he was nervous and wanted to run away.

The woman stepped slowly towards her. She walked with her back arched right up. The pan of nice smelling food behind her started to bubble over with a thin brown sauce, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She stopped just opposite Chloë. Leaned down and looked right in her face. Chloë noticed that she smelled funny. Like sour milk mixed with strong perfume that Auntie Mel used to wear.

“How old are you, Chloë?”

Chloë gulped again. Struggled to keep eye contact with the lady. “I…‌I’m just a teenager. I‌—‌”

“My name is Ursula, but you call me Mum.” Her eyes widened some more. “And your name is Beatrice from now on.”

Chloë tried to look at Moustache Man again, but this time, when she did, Ursula grabbed her cheeks and squeezed them hard, her long nails digging into her skin.

“Would you like a bite to eat, my angel?” Ursula asked. Her voice was soft and sweet, but her grip was anything but. Chloë was stinging so bad, she swore she was bleeding.

“Yes…‌Yes please. Mum.”

Ursula loosened her grip when Chloë said “Mum.” She smiled, stepped back upright, loosened her shoulders. “Good,” she said.

She turned and walked back over to the sizzling over pan. Turned down the heat. Whatever it was, it smelled good. And even if Chloë didn’t like Ursula or anything about this weird place, her stomach was crying out for something nice to eat before they put her back in the nasty room.

If
they put her back there.

The woman moved the pan from the hob. Chloë was salivating at the thought of some nice beef stew. Maybe they’d have Yorkshire Puddings too. And maybe they’d have mashed potatoes, and peas, but not broccoli because Chloë didn’t like broccoli.

But then Ursula grabbed another dish from the side of the silver worktop. It was covered with a metal lid, like posh people were served food in restaurants in films.

She walked towards Chloë with this dish. Crouched down, placed it on the white-tiled floor.

“You’re in for a treat, my dear,” Ursula said, holding the top of the metal lid. “We need to keep your strength up, don’t we?”

Chloë looked back at the pan. Looked over at the food she thought she was getting. There was quietness in the room. Moustache Man shuffled his feet some more.

And then smiling Ursula lifted the lid and held out her hand, gesturing to the food.

“Eat heartily for Mum, sweetheart. You’re going to need the energy.”

Chloë stared at the plate of food in front of her.

Stared at the fist-sized piece of brownish, reddish meat with tubes poking out of the top of it. Stared at the bath of blood it rested on, on that flowery plate.

Stared at the two little round white marbles at either side of this lump of raw meat.

“To fight them, we must become them,” Ursula said. “And what better path to glory than through the heart and the eyes?”

That’s when Chloë fully realised. Fully realised what was in front of her. Where she’d seen the marbles before.

The blue eyes of the blue-haired lady.

And the hole she’d seen in her chest when the creatures had been tugging at her…‌

Her heart.

Chapter Four: Riley

Riley’s eyes stung like mad. He could see something‌—‌a light, just above him. Where was he? Was he dead? No. He couldn’t be dead or he wouldn’t be thinking. His head was hurting. He could taste metal in his mouth, like he’d been sucking on a penny.

And then the burning hit him in the leg and he remembered exactly what had happened.

He lurched up as the shooting pain stabbed right into his leg. He tried to move his leg, but he couldn’t.

“Woah! Hold that‌—‌hold that still if you want to keep it.”

Alan was sitting on a metal stool. He was wrapping something around Riley’s left leg‌—‌a clean-looking white bandage. Riley could smell medicinal smells, like Dettol, disinfectant, things like that.

“Just lean back. Take it easy. Damn you for waking up when you did. Almost cleaned the wound up, as well. Thought you were… were one of them for a moment.” He loosened the collar of a white shirt he’d changed into.

Riley leaned back. Realised he was lying on a metal table of some sort, like an operating table at a vet. He could hear the distant whirr of fans, of clicking, like the dodgy old hard drives used to do at work.

He blinked a few times, still woozy, still trying to understand his surroundings.

He was in a darkish room. A very metallic, industrial room with no windows. There was a desk just ahead of him, with two old computers back to back. Over in the corner, there was a dusty vending machine filled with Coca-Cola, snack bars, things like that.

And above a black metal door at the other side of the room, he saw the letters: B U N K E R #7 4 9. A U T H O R I Z E D P E R S O N N E L O N L Y.

Another shooting pain down his leg. More intense burning, like a hundred hot pokers were pressing against him.

“So this is…‌this is Lancaster,” Riley said. His speech was a little slurry. He felt like he’d just woken up after a wild night out in a stranger’s bed.

Ugh. Waking up next to Alan. Now that
would
be a nightmare.

“Indeed it is,” Alan said. He tied the bandage tighter around Riley’s left leg, making him wince. “It’s okay, by the way. I appreciate the ‘thank you for wheeling me here when I passed out.’ I really do.”

Riley rubbed his fingers and thumb against the bridge of his nose. He was still piecing things together. “Sorry, I…‌”

“It’s okay,” Alan said. He finished applying the bandage and sat upright in the metal stool. “You’re still here. That’s the main thing.”

Riley gulped away the constant lingering taste of blood, of vomit, of fear. “How long was I…‌was I out?”

Alan looked at his watch. Scratched at his rapidly regrowing beard. “Ahhh…‌just over an hour. Enough to worry me you were turning into an infected.” He patted at a small pistol he had clipped to his belt. “So excuse the precautions.”

Riley sighed. His head was killing, and he was so tired, so weak. He’d been out an hour. An hour and he hadn’t turned. That was a positive.

“The leg,” Riley said, not even bringing himself to look at the bandage. “How’s it looking?”

Alan frowned. “Bitten, is how it’s looking.” He scooted back in the stool, over towards the computer desks, which he leaned back against. “But not as bad as it could’ve been. I mean I’ve…‌I’ve no doubt the infection is spreading, Riley. But you’re here. You’re…‌you’re still here. And that’s the main thing.”