Dead Days: Season 3 (Books 13-18) (23 page)

But only for now.

He took in a deep, difficult breath.

He was going to make “for now” as lengthy a time as he could.

Chapter One: Chloë

It was so dark that Chloë couldn’t see the faces of the monsters properly, but she knew they were monsters because of the dead smell they brought into the already smelly room.

Chloë backed up against the wall of the dark room as the monsters wandered inside. The other scared people, who were tied up, started to shake at their handcuffs, scream as the monsters noticed them. Chloë wanted to scream too but she was too scared to scream, too scared to even move. All she could do was stay still. Stay still and pretend Mum’s necklace was still in her hand. She didn’t know where it was or who had it but she wanted it so bad.

One of the monsters crouched down opposite an old man with thin white hair. He struggled, wriggled his way away from its dirty, bloody hands and its sharp teeth, but it just got closer and closer, brought its mouth to his tummy and took a massive bite out of it. Chloë heard the blood squirt out of the man’s tummy. She heard it drip down onto the floor, watched it stain the man’s white T-shirt as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his screaming stopped.

And then she watched as another monster clamped its teeth into the dark hair of a girl a little older than her, brought the teeth further and further into her skull as she struggled and struggled, the life dripping out of her with the blood.

She wanted to hold Jordanna’s hand. She pushed herself closer to her so that she was resting on her warm black cardigan, which smelled a bit like off-milk but she didn’t mind. She just wanted someone to be there for her when they came for her. Someone to be friends with in the very last minute when the teeth bit into her and took her away. She was worried for a moment, as she listened to the monsters chewing, more blood and guts squelching and people screaming behind their gags. Mum and Elizabeth hadn’t been bitten by a monster, so maybe she’d go somewhere different than them. A different heaven. She hoped not. She really wanted to be with them. She really wanted them more than she’d ever wanted them in her life.

She clenched her eyes shut. Sobbed onto Jordanna’s cardigan.

“I’ll be there soon, Mum,” she said. “I’ll be there soon‌—‌”

“My daughter! My Beatrice! For heaven’s sakes, get her out of there!”

At first, Chloë didn’t know what the voice outside was talking about. But then she remembered.
Beatrice.
That was the name that the weird lady Ursula had given her.

Get her out of there.

Was she helping her? Why was she helping her?

She looked up and over at the door. There were about six monsters in the room now. She felt damp on her bum because blood from the chained up people had leaked onto her. But they hadn’t got her yet. They hadn’t got her. And maybe Ursula was going to help her. Maybe the weird lady that made her call her “Mum” was going to help.

Chloë looked at the door, listened as footsteps scraped against the stones in the darkness outside.

And that’s when a monster looked right back at her, started walking and stumbling towards her.

She held her breath. Every muscle in her body tensed. She backed against the wall. Backed against the hard wall so much it hurt her back and the back of her head.

“Please,” Chloë said, her voice shaky.

The monster kept on walking. Its smell was getting closer. It even had flies buzzing around a red bite wound on the side of its bitten-down leg.

“Please.”

But it wasn’t stopping. Course it wasn’t stopping. The monsters never stopped. That’s why they were so dangerous.

She waited for the feel of the teeth in her head or neck or tummy.

And then she felt cold fluid splash all over her face.

She heard a bang, too. One bang, then another then another.

“Away from my
daughter!”

Chloë teased her eyes open. Looked over at the door where the banging was coming from.

Ursula was standing at the door. She had her brown hair down so she looked less like a weird old lady, and she was wearing a long white nighty. She had nothing on her feet, but she was holding a big gun like the shotguns Dad used to shoot when he played Call of Duty, and she was blasting at the monsters.

Monster bits splattered all over the room. Pieces of smelly, salty skin and flesh hit Chloë in the face as showers of cold blood kept splashing over her. She listened to the bangs. Watched and listened as Ursula fired at monster after monster.

Fired and fired until all of the monsters were on the floor, all of their heads were blasted in, and all of them were down.

She lowered her gun. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, Chloë could just about see that.

“Oh my Beatrice,” Ursula said. She wandered barefoot into the room, her feet splashing through the blood that was not just coming from the dead monsters, but from the loads of people tied up in the room who had been bitten.

“I’m so sorry, my angel,” Ursula said. She wrapped her arms around Chloë’s neck, so tight that she couldn’t breathe for a few seconds. She smelled of perfume now, but not nice perfume that Mum used to wear. Perfume that made Chloë cough, tickled the back of her throat. “I thought my darling would be safe in here. I really thought she would.”

Chloë looked at Ursula. Looked into her weird, spaced-out eyes. Listened to the sounds of whimpering, of agony, surrounding her in the room. Agony that Ursula seemed oblivious to.

“Come on,” Ursula said. She reached around Chloë’s back and struggled with the cuffs. “Let’s get you inside. Let’s get you inside and bathed. Mummy’s angel.”

She unclipped Chloë’s cuffs. She didn’t seem to even notice Chloë’s gag was down. Chloë looked at Jordanna. Looked at Jordanna for her to tell her what to do, but Jordanna didn’t say a word. She just sat there, totally still. Sat there with a piece of brain or meat on her face that she couldn’t wipe away, so it just slid down her cheek.

Ursula lifted Chloë to her feet. Chloë had a clear view of the outside now. The road from the woods up the hill that she’d come down. She could run away. Run away, but she was so hungry, so weak. So sickly after the eye that Ursula had made her eat earlier.

She felt a nudge in her back. A sharp nudge that tapped against her spine.

She looked around and saw that the nudge was from Ursula’s shotgun.

Ursula smiled like Mum did when she was proud of Chloë or Elizabeth. “It’s okay, my sweet. I’m just making sure you don’t go running away. Wouldn’t want you to go running away into the dangers outside now, would we?”

Chloë turned back to the door. Felt her heart beating so fast that she could see it through her top.

“What about…‌what about the people in here?” Chloë asked. Her throat was sore, her voice weak.

Ursula frowned as she walked Chloë out of the miserable, smelly room. The room where so many people were bitten, in pain.

“People? Darling, these heathens aren’t people anymore.”

Now she was outside, in the cold, Chloë took a look back into the room. Looked at all the blood on the floor. Looked at all the people holding their bites, and the pile of blasted-apart monsters on the floor.

“What about my frien…‌What about the‌—‌the ones who weren’t bit?”

Ursula reached for the rusty handle of the metal door. She pulled it with her elbow, her gun still pointed at Chloë.

“Their turn hasn’t come yet,” Ursula said, closing the squeaky door. “But for most of them, it will come soon.”

Chloë stared into the darkness, stared into Jordanna’s brown eyes.

She knew what Ursula meant. She didn’t always know what adults meant, but Ursula meant that the bitten ones who were chained up would wake up. They’d find a way to eat, to bite the others, when they were monsters.

They’d find a way to get to Jordanna.

She stared at Jordanna for a few more seconds.

And then the door slammed shut and she was gone.

Chapter Two: Pedro

Before he heard the bang, Pedro actually got some damned good sleep.

His dreams were blurry. Blurry and fuzzy. Couldn’t feel his hands properly in his dream, and he was down some alleyway or another trying to run away from something. But then he realised he was carrying Josh. Carrying Josh, whose bite had got worse and worse. And he realised he was actually running
to
something.

When he looked over his shoulder, he saw the mushroom-haired kid from Afghan. Saw him, half his head blasted open from Pedro’s gun.

But he wasn’t chasing Pedro. He wasn’t chasing him anymore. Just watching, as Pedro got further and further down this alleyway, further and further into the light.

And then a bang.

The bang was so loud it woke Pedro up. He looked around, blinked in the darkness of the back of this green Mercedes van, wondered what the hell was going on for a few seconds. His teeth chattered with the cold, and he could hear the snoring of Barry not so far away.

He sat up and realised he was sweating. Could taste it on his lips. He rubbed a rough hand over his sweaty head. He had no idea how long he’d been sleeping. Could be light outside now for all he knew. But he still felt pretty groggy, in need of a good shower. Hell‌—‌he
always
felt in need of a good shower these days.

Shit. The bang must’ve been in his sleep. Just a dream, something like that.

He lowered his head back down onto the hard floor of the van when he heard the bang again.

He shot up. Shot up, and heard someone beside him gasp too. He looked around in the darkness. Squinted, listening for the sound again. A definite bang. So hard that it’d made the van shake.

“Did you…‌Pedro? Barry?”

Tamara’s voice. Pedro looked to his left. Could only just make her out in the darkness of the van.

“It’s…‌It’s me,” Pedro said, his throat sore with the cold. “Yeah. Yeah, I heard it.”

“Mummy what was that?” Josh’s voice, louder than Pedro and Tamara’s whispers.

“Sssh, Josh. We don’t‌—‌”

Another bang. A smack, right on the metal of the van. Only this time it sounded like it came from above. Or was it on the right of the van, or even in front?

This bang brought a halt to Barry’s snoring. “What‌—‌where‌—‌”

“Quiet, bruv,” Pedro said. He scuttled around the pockets of his filthy black trousers for one of the guns he’d found Dan’s crew carrying. Limited supply of ammo, but he felt safer with it. Always felt safer with a gun. “Someone’s rattlin’ this van. I need to have a look.”

“Pedro!” Tamara called, as Pedro made for the closed back doors of the van. He felt her soft hand grab hold of his wrist. He wanted so badly to stay inside this van with these people, sleep in their company, but they couldn’t let this pass. Not without knowing.

“Going outside could‌—‌it could attract them if it’s a zombie,” Tamara whispered.

Another bang. From the front, this time. Definitely from the front.

“Tamara’s…‌Tamara’s right,” Barry said, just about fighting through a yawn. “If it’s one of those things, they could‌—‌”

“If it’s a goon, I’ll lure it away.”

Another bang. Frigging bangs were beginning to give Pedro a damned headache now.

“I’ll just take a look. You wait here. Won’t be long.”

He didn’t hear any more protestations, so he figured that was a silent kind of approval.

He grabbed the handle of the door. Slowly brought it down, being careful not to make the damn thing squeak. WD40, that’s what he needed. A personal supply of WD40 to avoid all the squeaky-frigging-doors the end days had brought along with them. Someone could’ve thought to check for squeaky doors
before
the apocalypse started, surely.

The handle hit the bottom and Pedro held it there for a few seconds.

He clutched the gun in his left hand. Waited, listening out for any more bangs, or any signs that a goon might be waiting on the other side of this door.

And then he pushed the door open.

It was still dark outside, that was something. But the moon was bright, lighting up the entire motorway, trees on the embankments looking like monsters watching over this road.

He looked around. Looked at the cars ahead. Looked for a sign of movement, but there was nothing.

He lowered his foot. Brought his Doc Martens down on the concrete, being as quiet as possible.

And then he swung around the side of the van and pointed his gun at the front.

Up ahead, he couldn’t see anything either, not in the darkness. But he could hear something. Hear something shuffling around the front of the green van.

He moved slowly. Kept his eyes on the road. He saw things twitch in the corners of his eyes‌—‌things that made him turn from left to right, seeking these subtle movements in the darkness. But there was nothing there. Nothing but his imagination, that’s all this was.

Then he heard another bang, and he remembered that side of things couldn’t have been his imagination.

He tightened his fingers around his gun. Tightened his fingers and moved slowly, getting closer to the front of the van, closer to the banging. He had to be quick, had to be swift. Just had to pretend he was back in the army, going into a room to sweep it as quick as possible.

He shifted that army thought out of his head almost as quick as it came to him. Didn’t like to think about the bastard army too much, not anymore.

He slowed down even more when he reached the front of the van. The banging was definitely coming from there. But he could hear something else too.

A slight wailing.

Goosebumps pricked up on his skin. He knew that wailing all too well. Throaty songs of the goons, when they were all hungry and ready for a snack.

He steadied his gun. Steadied his gun and breathed a cloud of cold air out.

Three, two, one…‌

He spun around the front of the van and tickled the trigger.

But then he stopped. He stopped when the goon at the front of the van looked back at him, shock on her face.

Only she was crying…‌

She was wearing a checkered shirt, with a big black anorak over the top. Skinny tight jeans around her legs. Dark hair.