Dead Days: Season 3 (Books 13-18) (22 page)

Rob tutted. He lifted up his black wooly hat from his face and breathed onto his red-raw cold fingers. “Follow ‘em where? This safe place they were yanking on about? ‘Cause you and me both know there ain’t no‌—‌”

“We follow ‘em to this safe place of theirs, watch the hope grow, then we snip away any last bit of hope they have. We shoot it in the face, stab it in the neck.”

He slipped the gun into his pocket and checked to see his favourite, ultra-sharp carpet knife was still in there. It was, of course. Not lettin’ that go anywhere any time soon.

“We start with the kid. Then the girl. See if we can make pussy cry some more. For Dan.”

He patted Rob on the back and crept back from the edge of the embankment.

“For Dan,” Rob muttered.

Chapter Eleven: Riley

Riley lay still while Alan applied the second bandage to his right leg.

He winced and squealed with every little nudge of his tender flesh. Smelled the strong stench of disinfectant, which made stomach acid burn in his throat. His eyes were filled with tears, as he lay back on the cold hard floor of Bunker 749.

But the smell of disinfectant was better than death.

Better than the reminder of what he was going to become.

“Just keep that bloody leg still,” Alan said. He’d gone pale as a sheet. His grey hair looked like it’d got a lot greyer over the last half-an-hour‌—‌or however long it had been since the creatures had barged their way through that side door.

Before they’d sunk their teeth into Riley’s leg.

Again.

Riley couldn’t speak. He was in too much pain. His ears were ringing like a firework had just exploded right next to his head. He knew what this meant. Knew for definite what this meant. As if the first bite wasn’t bad enough, now he had a second.

He had hours left to live. Hours left as a human.

Manchester was still miles away.

Alan was going to be alone.

“J‌—‌just leave it,” Riley said, each and every word a struggle that made him dizzier, intensified the pain. He really had felt nothing like it in his entire life. When he was younger, he’d once been hopping up the steps of an old caravan his grandparents owned. He’d been hopping up on one leg for some daft reason. And then, as he made the jump over the top step, he tumbled forwards, sliced open his leg on the sharp metal doorway of the caravan, took a small piece of flesh out of his leg that left him scarred to the day. He remembered looking at it at the time. Remembered thinking how weird and cool it was that he’d
actually
lost a part of his leg.

Right now, with a massive, bleeding chunk of flesh on his right leg, and tender tooth marks on his left, he couldn’t even bring himself to look.

Alan leaned back. Brushed his bloody hands through his grey hair. He was dripping with sweat, and his eyes were glassy. “The…‌the disinfectant. And the bandage. They should…‌they should keep you clean for a few hours.”

Riley looked at Alan with stinging tears burning at his eyes. “You‌—‌you go. You must…‌You have to go.”

Alan shook his head. Let out a little gasp. “If you’d said that when we set off, I might’ve considered it. But I…‌I can’t leave you like this, Riley. You’ve brought me this far.”

Riley gulped down the burning acid in his throat. “But you…‌The wheelchair. You‌—‌Through the tunnel. The wheelchair.”

Alan looked over at the powered wheelchair. Half-smiled at it. “I got a good look out at the tunnel before I closed the door. It’s compromised. No idea how long it goes on like that until Manchester, but there’s no way we’re safe in there. Not anymore. Tunnel’s out of the question.”

Riley’s head rattled, like he had a collection of razors in his mind and they were scratching away at his thoughts. His comprehension was weak, off-balance. “What‌—‌what other way? What can we…‌What can you…‌”

Alan lifted himself up and limped over to the metal door at the opposite side of the bunker. He pressed a hand against it. Let out a shaky breath. “Through this door is…‌is the outside world.”

Riley’s insides churned up. “But you…‌the tunnel. You said we had to‌—‌”

“If I open this door, there’s a very good chance that the infected will be lurking on the outside, just like they were when they compromised this place. And in our condition, with fifty miles still to travel, there’s a very slim chance we’ll make it to Manchester. We’d need‌—‌we’d need a car. And even then there’s no guarantee we’ll…‌” He paused. Looked at Riley with terrified eyes. “Everything’s resting on my safe arrival. Everything. I just…‌You know what I have to do if you turn.”

This statement from Alan made Riley’s skin prickle with goose-pimples. He felt so weak, his throat so dry, as he lay there on the floor. But he understood. He’d failed at getting Alan safely through the tunnel system. So now it was plan B. Try their luck on the outside. Hope to God they found a car, and then hope to God they didn’t have any obstructions.

And then hope to God Alan got to Manchester okay.

But himself. His imminently dead self.

What could he hope for?

“Can you…‌” Riley started. “If you…‌If there’s‌—‌if there’s a cure. If there’s‌—‌if you’ve got something in you. Something…‌something to keep you immune. Can you…‌Is there a chance I’ll survive?”

Alan stared at Riley with pity in his eyes. With sympathy and pity. A look that gave Riley the answer in itself.

“For what it’s worth, I thought I was dying when I was bitten,” Alan said. “If that’s…‌if it’s any consolation.”

It wasn’t, but Riley appreciated the attempted gesture anyway.

Riley felt his tired mind racing as he lifted himself upright. He’d never felt the inevitability of death looming over him as intensely as he did right now. Not even when he’d ploughed his foot down on the accelerator of his car before this mess all started, driving himself into that solid brick wall.

And now he was staring death in the face, it terrified him.

“You should end it for me. End it for me…‌end it for me here,” Riley said.

Alan’s mouth opened. His eyes widened. He scratched the back of his neck. “Riley, I couldn’t‌—‌”

“It’s what I want,” Riley said. His eyes were blurred and his breathing was difficult. Every slight twitch of his leg sent a whole new bout of agony through him. “It’s…‌There’s nothing else for me. I can’t keep you safe anymore.”

Alan looked like he was going to protest again, but this time he didn’t. He looked resigned. Shoulders were slumped. He looked resigned to the inevitability of the truth‌—‌he was screwed on his own, but he was safer on his own.

Now he just had to grant Riley’s wishes. Because there was no chance for Riley. No way he was coming back as one of those things.

“I can…‌I can wait until I absolutely have to,” Alan said, his voice a quiet and meek shadow of its usual cocksure self.

“What’s the point?” Riley said. He raised his voice as he did, hurting his legs even more with the minor muscle shift. “I…‌I’d rather not go through the pain. I’d rather not go through…‌go through the turn.”

Alan looked at Riley. Looked at him, completely silent, and Riley looked back at him. Riley’s heart pounded. Adrenaline was making every part of his body shake. He didn’t even feel himself anymore, more like he was watching a film or looking through a lens into someone else’s life. That helped a little bit. Helped with the distancing. Helped with the detachment he needed for what was about to happen.

“Or if you can’t…‌If you can’t, give me the gun and let me.”

Another blank stare from Alan. Another shade of white engulfing his face.

“We can…‌we can try to go further. There’s still a chance. There’s still‌—‌”

“Not for me,” Riley said. “Not anymore.”

Alan hesitated for a few moments. Some red returned to his cheeks.

Then he sighed, reached into the blue rucksack, and lifted out a small black pistol.

He looked at it in his hands like it was a tarantula getting ready to bite him. Riley thought back to when he was three. Back to when he was at nursery, and the Bug Man had come around with his big box of bugs. He let the kids hold everything except the tarantula, which Riley innocently asked whether “people could hold.”

To which the Bug Man plonked the tarantula in the middle of his hands against his wishes.

Alan walked towards him with the gun. Lifted it with his shaky hands, wrapped his finger around the trigger, looked away.

Riley remembered the intense fear he’d felt. Remembered wanting to throw that tarantula to the other side of the room, remembered wanting to scream out.

But he didn’t. Instead, he just held the tarantula in his hand. Held it, and as time went on, every second died and a new second was born, and it got easier and easier.

Alan sniffed up. His lips quivered. “I don’t…‌I don’t want to‌—‌to do this. I don’t want to kill.”

“I’m dead already,” Riley said, completely constrained by fear. “You know it as well as I do.”

He took in a sharp shaky breath. Alan glanced at Riley, then back away again, pointing the gun at his head. “I’m…‌I’m really damned sorry about all this,” Alan said. “I…‌If I hadn’t made you come down here with me…‌”

Riley thought about saying something to comfort Alan, to reassure him, but he knew nothing he could say would solve his guilt.

He took a final look around the metal, damp-smelling bunker. Took a look at the metal walls, the hard tiled floor, and Alan, the last human he’d ever see.

And then he closed his eyes. Inhaled the dizzying smells of disinfectant, somewhat smoother now he knew it’d be the last scent he smelled.

He thought about that tarantula. Thought about the fear he felt. Thought about the fear drifting away with every dying second.

“Do it,” Riley muttered. It was only then that he realised he could taste salt on his lips‌—‌the salt of his tears.

He heard Alan sniff again. Heard him mutter a few inaudible words.

And then he heard the footsteps. The soft footsteps tapping towards him.

The cold barrel of the gun tapped against his head. Like the sting general anaesthetic gave you when it was about to take you under its clutches. The knowing that, although you’re about to wake up, you’ll never wake up the same person again.

Except this time, he wouldn’t wake up at all.

“Bye,” Riley said. He wiped away his tears. He didn’t want to die a sobbing mess.

“Bye Riley,” Alan said, his voice hoarse and slack.

Riley held that tarantula in his mind.

Held it, with Anna at his side. With Ted grinning away with his silly fat face. With Claudia, Chloë, all the others he’d loved and lost. With Gran. With his mum and his dad. With his kid. His kid he’d never met.

He smiled when he thought about them, and they smiled back at him.

And then he heard the bang before he felt anything.

EPISODE SIXTEEN

(FOURTH EPISODE OF SEASON THREE)

Prologue

Riley could still feel his hands.

He could still taste blood in his mouth. He could still feel the jagged edges of his teeth scraping against his bitten down tongue. He could still smell the disinfectant, strong in the bunker. Could still see the blackness, peppered with colours that came from squeezing his eyes too hard.

He could still feel the cold barrel of Alan’s gun against his head.

But he’d heard a bang. Heard an almighty thwack that could only have come from the sound of a gun.

He opened his eyes. Opened his salty, stinging eyes and took a peek back at the bunker, a peek that he never thought he was going to get again.

Alan was holding the gun to his head, but he was looking over his shoulder. Looking at the grey metal door and frowning at it, like there was something he didn’t understand.

He looked back at Riley. Looked back at him with his pale face, eyes widening as he realised Riley had his eyes open again.

“Did you…‌” Alan started.

And then the bang came again.

Riley let out an uncontrollable sob. Let out a gasp of air, planted his head against the floor. For the bang wasn’t from the gun. No‌—‌it was from outside. From right outside the bunker door.

He couldn’t even contemplate the ramifications. He didn’t know what someone or something being outside meant for him or for Alan. All he knew was that he was here. He was alive.

Barely alive.

Alan lowered the gun. Lowered it and hobbled over the tiled floor of the bunker. He stopped by the door. Slowly brought his right ear to it, frowned and squinted as he listened.

Riley’s head was spinning. The pain in his legs was intense and sharp, but not as bad as it had been. Probably the shock. He remembered a similar thing happening when he had a rock thrown at his head as a kid. Killed like mad at first, then just drifted away…‌only to return a hell of a lot stronger a day later.

At least now Riley wouldn’t be alive to witness another day.

“I think there’s‌—‌there’s someone outside,” Alan said. He looked at Riley. For all that had happened, he seemed more shocked now than ever before. His stubble and bloodied blue shirt made him look like a mad scientist or an escaped convict, not a world saver.

Riley didn’t know what to say to Alan. His mind was fuzzy. Hazy, like he was living a weird dream. “What do you mean there’s‌—‌”

The bang again. Right outside the door. Such a bang that it made Alan flinch away.

And this time, Riley heard something else beyond the bang. Heard something he hadn’t heard for hours, or was it days?

Voices. Multiple voices.

“There’s someone outside,” Alan said, looking back at Riley again, shock all over his face.

Riley shook as the bang sounded again‌—‌as Alan started shuffling and twitching around‌—‌as the voices got louder and more pronounced.

He shook as he realised how close he’d been to being a bloodied pulp on the ground.

Shook as he realised that he should be dead right now.

Shook at the fact that he wanted to live. He really wanted to live.

But he had no choice. Not looking at the state of his legs.

He was alive. He was actually alive.