Dead Days: Season 3 (Books 13-18) (20 page)

“And the wrench. The wrench in your fucking belt,” the man said. “Or we blast your brains out, starting with the boy.”

Pedro thought about grabbing the wrench and smacking this bloke in his chops. But that mention of Josh. The mention of what he’d do to him if he didn’t comply. No. Fuck. He could talk his way out of this somehow. Prove to these bastards that they were no threat. That they were all brothers in these shitty end days.

Pedro gulped away a sickly bubble in his mouth. The thought of Salt and Vinegar crisps wasn’t as appetising all of a sudden. He grabbed the wrench from his belt, held it for a few seconds, the barrel of the gun pressing harder against his skull.

Then he let go of the wrench. His stomach sank as it rattled against the ground, echoing off the sides of abandoned vehicles.

“Good,” the deep voice said. “Sorry for the tense measures, but there’s plenty of fuckers on the road. People worse than zombs, if you get my drift.”

Pedro nodded. Nodded, went with what this guy was saying. “I hear you, bruv. But we’re just on our way somewhere. Just surviving. Just‌—‌”

“You three get ‘em checked,” the deep voice called out to his companions.

The three masked people behind Barry, Tamara and Josh pushed the three of them to the road forcefully. Pedro winced when he saw Josh’s face hit the ground.

“Checked?” Pedro asked.

The deep-voiced guy behind Pedro pushed him to the ground. Pedro went with the push as the sound of shuffling and struggling and whimpering came from Barry, Tamara and Josh.

“Checked for bites,” the deep-voiced guy said, as he started to pull Pedro’s trousers down.

Pedro’s muscles tightened. He tried to look across at the others as the three masked men behind them tore their clothes away.

Josh’s arm. Josh’s fucking arm.

“You look fresh, you pass the test,” the deep-voiced guy said, cold metal of the gun pushing against the back of Pedro’s head. “Simple as that.”

Chapter Nine: Chloë

As Moustache Man opened the metal door back to the smelly room with all the people, Chloë wasn’t sure she’d ever get the taste of human eye out of her mouth.

It was bitter and she could taste it all the way across her tongue, right to the back of her throat. When she brushed her tongue around her teeth, she could still feel gooey little pieces of it wedged in between, still warm like a hard-boiled egg. But she didn’t want to pluck the pieces out because doing so just made her feel sicker.

Moustache Man pressed on her back and pushed her into the dark room, where all the other scared people sat, all tied up, all cuffed up. They were rattling about on their cuffs, and let out a few quiet mumbles and whimpers when Chloë re-entered.

She’d been out of the room for long enough that she’d just about forgotten the smell, but now she was back it just made her head hurt even more, made her stomach growl. Sweat. Wee. Poo. All mixed together with a fishy, deathy smell.

Moustache Man pushed Chloë towards the far wall, shoving her down next to Jordanna. She didn’t even try to run away. She couldn’t because she was too shaky. Too weak. The feel of that round eye rolling against her tongue just wouldn’t go away from her head, would never go away.

Her cuffs were clipped on, and she was pushed back against the wall so hard by Moustache Man that her head and her back hurt. Moustache Man looked pale. He hadn’t looked at her or said anything to her since Ursula made her eat blue-haired lady’s eye. Like he thought she was different, or something else. Like she was a monster herself.

He clipped her to the pipe, tightened her cuffs, then backed away.

He looked around the darkened room at all the people. It was going to get even darker soon, with the sun nearly being down. Darker and colder. All Chloë wanted was sleep. To get some sleep so she could forget everything that had happened, just for a short amount of time.

But she knew she wouldn’t be able to forget. The nightmares and the bad dreams would be just as bad, maybe worse.

“All on your best behaviour,” Moustache Man said, looking around at everyone but Chloë. “Another big day tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”

And then he walked over to the door, grabbed the handle, and started to close it.

Just before the door slammed shut, his eyes met Chloë’s, only for a brief second.

And for a brief second, Chloë thought Moustache Man looked at her like he felt sorry for her.

And then the door slammed and he was gone.

The second he’d gone, Chloë couldn’t help herself. She let the tears flow free and fast from her eyes. Coughed and spluttered, getting the bubble of sad out of her chest. She sobbed, sobbed some more. She could hear Jordanna muttering things to her after slipping her gag, as saliva dribbled from her lips, but she couldn’t listen. She couldn’t hear. She couldn’t think.

“It’s all over now. It’s all over. You’ve been so brave, kid. Well done.”

She heard these words. Heard them, and felt herself feeling warmer inside. Jordanna was friendly. At least she had Jordanna here. She didn’t know Jordanna well, didn’t know anything about her, but she seemed nice and that’s all she wanted, all she needed. Someone nice to look after her. Someone nice to…‌

To spend Christmas with.

It was Christmas tomorrow.

Christmas, locked away in this dark room.

Christmas, with the taste of gooey eye-gunk in her mouth, freezing cold and smelling of wee and poo.

“Whatever they made you do, it…‌it’s over now. Whatever they did to you, they‌—‌”

“They made me eat blue-haired lady’s eye,” Chloë sobbed.

Jordanna didn’t say anything to this. She just held a blank, wide-eyed face. Some of the other people in the room gasped behind their gags, which were clearly a much tighter fit than Jordanna and Chloë’s. The few who heard looked at Chloë like they looked at Moustache Man‌—‌like she was some kind of monster, some kind of evil.

And then Jordanna sighed. Sighed and leaned her head back against the wall. She closed her eyes, shook her head. “Fuck, kid. Just…‌fuck. That’s off. But they didn’t…‌” She looked at Chloë again. “They didn’t…‌
do
anything to you?”

Chloë shook her head slowly. She wasn’t really sure what Jordanna meant, but she knew it was a bad thing. They’d made her eat an eye. That was bad enough. How could it get worse than that?

Jordanna half-smiled and nodded. “You’re a tough kid. You’re…‌You’re gonna be okay, I just know it.”

“It’s Christmas tomorrow,” Chloë said. She couldn’t hide the sadness in her voice.

Jordanna laughed. “Really? I…‌Wow. I didn’t know there were people out there still counting the days. Hey, d’you reckon Santa’s a zombie now? Or d’you reckon he’s sliding away from the zombies with his reindeers?”

Chloë found this image disturbing. But also quite funny. “Maybe people have to‌—‌have to leave out people-mince pies instead of actual mince pies.”

Jordanna laughed even louder. Chloë was quite proud of this one. She wasn’t usually very good with jokes, people said, but this one really did seem to have Jordanna laughing.

She liked Jordanna. She hoped she could spend a long time with Jordanna.

She hoped Jordanna didn’t go away like all the others.

“Where are…‌” Chloë started. “After we get away from this place. Where are you going?”

Jordanna’s smile dropped. Chloë could see her eyes going red and bloodshot, and she sniffed up. She looked so sad all of a sudden. So, so sad. “Somewhere far away. Somewhere where I don’t ever have to worry about‌—‌about anything again.”

Chloë didn’t know why Jordanna looked so sad about this nice place she wanted to go to. “Can I…‌I mean would it be okay if I…‌Can I come with you?”

Jordanna’s eyes glistened some more in the darkening room. A sudden smell of wee washed over Chloë, strong and sickly, which meant someone had just had one.

But all she could do was stare into Jordanna’s eyes. Stare into her eyes and wait for her to stop looking so sad, wait for her to answer.

A slight smile came to Jordanna’s face again. The tears stopped flowing. “Course you can, Chloë. Course you can. Our own little‌—‌”

“Demons! Fucking demons!”

The shout came from somewhere outside, somewhere through the metal door. It sounded like Moustache Man, only more scared than Chloë had ever heard him, more worried.

Jordanna swung her head around. Swung to look at the door, to look at the little light peeking under it. Others in the room shuffled around. Shuffled and shook. The wee smells got stronger, as did the poo smells.

“How the fuck did they‌—‌quick! Watch the fucking main door!” Another voice. Muffled and distant, again.

“What’s demons?” Chloë asked. She could see Jordanna was staring, wide-eyed, at the door. Staring, completely quiet, completely still, as the rest of the room erupted into terrified, desperate panic.

“Jordanna, what’s…‌”

But then she heard the footsteps outside. Heard the fast footsteps.

She saw the small amount of light quivering under the door too. Saw it quivering as someone made their way to it.

Listened to the people in the room shuffling around, watched them holding themselves tight.

“What’s demons?” Chloë asked, but she said it so quietly that it was to herself more than anyone.

And then the door swung open. The door swung open, clattered onto the side wall.

Moustache Man was panting. Sweat was running down his face. He looked terrified. From elsewhere outside, in the kind-of-dark, Chloë could hear shouting, too. Shouting and screaming.

Moustache Man looked around the room. Looked around with panic on his face.

“Sorry,” he said. “Looks like today’s gonna be your big day after all.”

And then he ran away from the open door, back in the direction he’d taken Chloë earlier.

A stillness came over the room. A nervy, shaky stillness.

Chloë heard heavy footsteps. Heavy footsteps, shuffling closer.

One set. Two sets. Three sets.

And then she smelled them. She smelled them and she knew what the “demons” were. Smelled them, even smellier than this horrible, damp, nasty room.

They appeared at the door. Three monsters. Four. Maybe other ones just out of sight.

More shakiness in the room. More whimpering, more screaming.

Chloë prayed for the monsters to turn away. Prayed for them to turn back.

But they entered.

Chapter Ten: Pedro

Pedro felt the cold air creep up his thighs as the hat-faced man yanked his trousers away from him. Felt the freezing cold creep up his leg, cooling his arse even more than it already had been.

But all he could do was look over at Barry and Tamara. Look over at Josh.

These guys were checking for bites.

They were going to find Josh’s bite.

They were going to kill him.

Pedro’s fists tightened. His hands shook. And even though he was freezing as fuck, gun pressed to the back of his head, coat being yanked away from him now, he wasn’t worried about himself. Long past the time when he gave a shit about self-preservation, all that crap.

But Josh. Josh and his mum. Fuck‌—‌even pig-face Barry. He cared about them. Cared about them getting to Manchester. He could hear them struggling, hear Tamara whimpering, like she knew what was gonna happen, and he just couldn’t lie on the ground here and let it.

He had to do something.

“Where you guys headed, bruv?” Pedro asked, as the deep-voiced man threw Pedro’s coat across the road, stripped his T-shirt away. His belly was freezing as hell on the cold, hard concrete now. Hands were tense, breathing was hard. Brought back too many memories, being stripped down like this. Too many memories of that cellar, the things they did to him down there.

The things he’d done afterwards, as means of revenge.

“Scars. Pre-apocalypse, I’m hoping?” Deep-voiced guy ignored Pedro’s question.

Pedro’s face heated up. “Yeah,” he grunted. He didn’t like other people seeing his scars. Didn’t like burdening others with his own shit.

Didn’t like having to explain the scars, because when he explained the scars, the memories came back.

And when the memories came back, the boy came back.

“We…‌We’re heading just down the road to Manchester. There’s‌—‌they’ve got a place there. Somewhere safe.” Pedro could hear the desperation in his own voice. He took a peek over at Josh. They were moving on to his black coat. They were gonna find the bite. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Deep-voiced man laughed. “Safe. Safe, ey? Mate, if there’s anywhere safe, the last fuckin’ place in the world’s gonna be safe is Manchester. Have you ever even been to Moss Side?”

Pedro shook his head. “Yes. No. It’s‌—‌there’s a place there, though. A place that takes people like…‌like you and me in.”

He felt a sharp smack against the back of his head. The gun, pushing closer into his skull.

“No ‘you and me,’” deep-voice said. “Not until I know we ain’t no different. Now roll onto your back.”

Pedro stared over at Josh. They’d taken his coat off now. Moved on to his blue wooly jumper. Tamara was down to her bra and knickers, goose pimples across her skin. Barry was fully naked, fully flabby, holding his arms over his man-boobs and shaking like mad.

But Josh. They couldn’t find the bandage. There had to be a way.

Pedro rolled onto his back. The cold of the concrete sent a shivery chill through his body. He stared up at the darkening grey sky. Stared up at the black-dressed man with his wooly-black hat covering his eyes. Stared through those slits and into his brown eyes.

The brown eyes scanned Pedro’s body. Looked at him, head to toe, gun pointing at his head.

Still no cry from a few feet away. Still no cry from Josh, or from any of the hooded people.

Pedro peeked back over at them. One of the men had his hands all over Tamara, which made Pedro’s skin get even hotter. Another was nipping at Barry, knocking him on his bald head with the gun.

And another was pulling Josh’s T-shirt off, as the curly-haired little boy’s bandage came more and more into view.

“I’ll give you a choice, bruv,” Pedro said. He peered over at the wrench he’d dropped. Out of reach, but there. He could do something. Do something if he was quick.