Dead Days: Season 3 (Books 13-18) (26 page)

“We only get one shot at this,” Alan said.

Riley patted him on the back, but even stretching out his arm made him hurt and ache now. “That’s the‌—‌that’s the spirit.”

Another slight pause from Alan. Another sigh. “We…‌we should probably check the vehicles first. Check the keys are inside and there’s nobody in there. So who first? You or me?”

Riley stared at the green armoured vehicle nearest. Fifty metres away. Hopefully this wheelchair could move him fast enough. Damn, he’d become quite a runner these last few months too. Probably could’ve run an Olympic sprint with the amount of running he’d done.

The Olympics last year. Sat in front of the telly watching it with Ted in the stifling heat of his flat. The smell of cheesy nachos strong in the air as they cheered Victoria Pendleton on and on…‌

He shoved that memory away. It made his eyes water.

“I’ll go,” Riley said.

He grabbed the large black knob of the powered wheelchair and pushed it forward. Never used one of these things before, but they seemed simple enough. Better bloody had be simple enough.

Sure enough, he lurched forward out of the bunker entrance, up a little concrete ramp that led onto the grass.

“Good luck,” Alan whispered. “Just‌—‌just give me the thumbs up and I’ll be there as quick as…‌well. As quick as an old man with a gammy leg.”

Riley powered on in his wheelchair. He felt exposed all of a sudden. He’d got quite used to the claustrophobia of the tunnel‌—‌at least he knew where everything was in there, knew the boundaries and the limits. But here, as he got further out in the open, he looked around and saw tall trees, a wide expanse of fields. Blanket after blanket of darkness hiding all the horrors of the world.

But he couldn’t think about the what-ifs now. He couldn’t think about the what-might-happens. He was bitten as it was. Now was just about powering on. Powering on to this vehicle.

Thirty metres. Still no sign of movement.

Twenty metres. The torches of the people in the woods far enough away, their voices muffled by distance.

He breathed in deeply. He could do this. He was almost there.

It was when he got to ten metres that he heard something splutter beneath him.

And it was when he got to nine metres that he felt the powered wheelchair getting slower, and slower, and…‌

Nothing.

He was still. The vehicle had stopped. He was stuck in the middle of a fucking field, metres away from three army vehicles, and he couldn’t move.

He looked over his shoulder. Looked back at Alan, who mouthed something like, “What’s up?”

Riley looked at the woods. Looked at the lights.

Except there was something different about the torch lights now.

They were coming back in his direction.

He twiddled with the knob of the powered wheelchair. Tried to lift himself off the wheelchair, but that only wracked his body with pain. The voices were getting less muffled. The laughs were getting more comprehensible, closer.

He looked over at the armoured vehicle. He had to try and crawl. He had to throw himself off this fucking thing and try and…‌

He heard something else. Something shuffling to his right.

A shuffle that he’d not heard on the outside for some time, but a shuffling‌—‌accompanied with a stomach-turning smell‌—‌that he’d be able to tell from a mile away, that would stay with him for the rest of his life, however long or short that may be.

When he looked to his right, he guessed “short” was a more accurate assumption.

There were tons of creatures. Tons of them, all wandering out of the blanket of darkness.

All wandering towards Riley.

Chapter Seven: Chloë

Chloë stood completely still as Ursula stared at her, twiddling the beaded chain of keys around her neck. Even though it was dark, Chloë could see from the lines on Ursula’s head and the shaking lips that she was very cross with her.

She tried to talk. Tried to say something, but her throat felt like it had monster’s hands tied around it. Or like she was underwater and forgot to hold her breath and let the water inside her mouth.

She was stuck. She couldn’t move. Her arms and legs felt so heavy.

“You tell me right now what you’re up to, you little sinner,” Ursula said. She took a few steps across the creaky wooden floorboards, walked right in Chloë’s direction.

Chloë tried to back up. She tried to back up, but the wooden cabinet was behind her. She looked to her right, her head spinning. The door. She had to go through the door. She had to run. She had to get out.

“Don’t even think about running away.” Ursula’s voice snapped through Chloë’s thoughts and brought her back to square one, looking at this horrible lady in her scary eyes. She was twiddling with the keys still. Twiddling with Chloë’s mum’s necklace. “After everything I do for you. After‌—‌after running a bath for you, saving you from the heathens, letting you
sleep
in your mother’s own bed.”

“My mum, she…‌she died.”

Chloë’s voice was a whimper. She felt her face go warm right as she said it, and she wasn’t sure whether it was the right thing to say especially because now Ursula wasn’t saying anything either.

Ursula frowned. She let out a little laugh that sounded more like a cough. “Your…‌your mother died, did she?” Her voice was like she was making a joke. She tutted. Shook her head. “Your mother died?”

“That‌—‌the necklace,” Chloë said, pointing at Ursula’s neck with her shaky hand. “I bought it for her for a Christmas present. And‌—‌and it’s Christmas tomorrow. And I just wanted it back.”

Chloë watched and waited as Ursula frowned. Watched as she looked down at the necklace on her neck, moved her fingers away from the chain of keys. She muttered things to herself, like she was a crazy lady, which was funny because she smelled like a crazy lady too.

And then she looked back at Chloë. Looked back at her with narrow eyes.

“You…‌That’s all you were after? Just the‌—‌just the necklace?”

Chloë’s heart was going at the speed of light, even though it wasn’t because she knew nothing was faster than the speed of light, but it had to be close. She kept her mouth shut. Nodded. Nodded and hoped Ursula would believe her. Hoped she wouldn’t get mad at her.

Ursula shook her head, sighed, and half-smiled. “Oh, Beatrice.” She took a few steps towards her. Planted her cold, spindly fingers on the back of Chloë’s head. “Such a confused little girl.” She planted herself down on her knees, looked at Chloë right in her eyes. So close that Chloë could smell that nasty perfume again, that nasty sourness on her breath.

“I’m your mummy, Beatrice,” Ursula said. She grabbed Chloë’s hands now. Grabbed and squeezed them with her nails. Squeezed them so hard that Chloë wanted to pull away, but she couldn’t, she had to let Ursula do this, she had to. “I’m your one mummy and your only mummy. Hmm?”

She stroked Chloë’s hair with the outside of her hand. Chloë wanted so much to flinch away, but she knew she couldn’t, she knew it was the wrong thing to do.

“It will get easier,” Ursula said, stroking harder now. “All of this, everything will get easier. But you just need to trust your mummy knows what she’s doing, hmm? Need to trust we’ve got things under control here. Because we do. We really do.”

Every time Ursula said “mummy,” Chloë wanted to scream in her face. Her arms tightened up like they did when she’d been on the rope-ladders for too long in P.E. Gymnastics class.

But she didn’t scream at Ursula. She had to go with this.

Just for now.

“Come here,” Ursula said. She placed a heavy hand on Chloë’s back, then another on the back of her neck. “Give Mummy a hug. Then we can go back to sleep. Then we can wake up with a nice appetite for Christmas dinner, hmm?”

Chloë allowed herself to be drawn into the hug. She allowed her hands to rest on the soft material of Ursula’s nighty, the warmth of her skinny body coming through.

She allowed the beads and necklaces around Ursula’s neck to press against her own neck.

“It’s okay, honey,” Ursula said, tapping Chloë’s head. “It’s okay.”

Chloë gulped. She knew what she had to do now. She knew she had to try.

“Sorry, Mummy,” she said.

Ursula squeezed even tighter. “It’s okay, my darling. You don’t worry. You don’t worry.”

Chloë took a deep breath. Wished she was anywhere else but here.

But she wasn’t, and she knew what she had to do.

“We’ll be fine now. Fine for Christmas. Fine forever.”

Please let this be the right thing to do, Mum. Please let this not make me a bad person.

“It’s‌—‌”

Chloë grasped at the metal necklace, stuck her fingers under the leather beads and the chain of keys.

She twisted her hands around them.

And she pulled.

Ursula pushed Chloë away right, but Chloë held on. Pushing Chloë away only helped because now Ursula was away from Chloë and Chloë was leaning over her and twisting the necklaces and the beads even tighter, twisting them around Ursula’s neck.

Ursula tried to speak. She tried to speak but it only came out as gasps. She hit at Chloë, made her face and her arms sting with her sharp nails, scratched at her face and her eyes and everywhere, but Chloë held on as Ursula gasped and retched and choked.

Spit dribbled down Ursula’s chin. Her face was going purpler and purpler, like it was a balloon and it was going to pop. The whites of her eyes were getting watery, tearful, bloodshot, and then there were no whites, just reds.

A few of the beads snapped in Chloë’s hand as Ursula smacked her right hand across her face, knocking her dizzy.

Chloë felt herself tumble away. Felt herself roll onto her side, head spinning, disoriented.

But she still kept hold of some metal chains. Twisted them even further. Pulled them even harder.

Ursula lifted herself on top of Chloë now, stuck her nails right into her arms, bit into her fingers.

Chloë wanted to let go. Everything in Chloë’s mind told her to let go, as Ursula scrambled around for Chloë’s hair now. Chloë actually heard and felt her yank a clump of hair from her head, the sound like velcro coming apart.

And still she held on.

And then Ursula brought her quivering hands onto Chloë’s face. Pressed her knuckles against Chloë’s eyes, which made everything black and purple and really achey.

But she could feel Ursula’s thumb knuckles shaking, going weak. She shook her head, brushed them aside, kept on pulling and twisting on those chains, her knuckles sore from holding on.

When Ursula’s knuckles slipped away from Chloë’s cheeks, her body tumbled down on top of Chloë. She was shaking now. Shaking like a fish out of water, no real power left in her body. Saliva dribbled down her face‌—‌saliva with red, bloody bits, all onto Chloë’s fresh white nighty.

Her eyes were so bulging and red that Chloë couldn’t even see the blacks of the pupils anymore. And her face was so purple and veiny that she looked more like a random monster than Ursula.

Please let this be the okay thing to do, Mum. Please.

Chloë waited until Ursula had stopped moving completely, still twisting and holding those necklaces tightly.

She waited until Ursula let out a croaky gasp, then tightened and twisted some more.

She waited there, on the dark, hardwood floor of the bedroom, Ursula sprawled out on top of her, until Ursula went heavy‌—‌went completely heavy.

And she waited even longer, just so she couldn’t get back up, still tightening and tightening.

Then she yanked the keys off Ursula’s neck, yanked her mum’s necklace off Ursula’s neck, and she walked over to the wooden door of the bedroom, shaking all over.

She gripped her mum’s necklace.

“I’m back with you now, Mum,” she said, squeezing it. “I’m back now.”

Chapter Eight: Pedro

Pedro stared at Elaine. She clutched her baby tightly to her chest, its body and face hidden underneath the dirty blue towel.

“It’s‌—‌it’s
what
?” Barry said.

Tears ran down Elaine’s cheeks. Pedro could still hear sounds in the distance and was freezing as hell, but all of those senses were dulled by Elaine’s second revelation.

Her baby was bitten.

“He just‌—‌my John. He‌—‌he didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Elaine said. She looked at Pedro, at Tamara, at Barry and at Josh, like this was some kind of army interrogation or something. “He‌—‌please. Please don’t take my John away.”

Pedro brought his hand against his greasy bald head. Barry covered his face with his hands. Tamara inched away from Elaine slightly, inched away from the filthy blue towel.

“You know what this means,” Barry said, his voice shaky. “We can’t…‌we can’t take her in. We can’t take either of them in.” He spoke as if Elaine and John weren’t even there.

“You can’t say that yet, bruv,” Pedro said. Although he wasn’t sure what to suggest himself. Signing up for this leadership thing, it was a fucking ballache. “We…‌Elaine isn’t bit. And it’s‌—‌”

“That baby is going to grow up and it’s going to grow teeth and it’s going to bite us the first chance it gets,” Barry barked. Pedro wished he’d shut the hell up. He was just starting to come around to this fella too. “We can’t let it come with us.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Tamara asked, holding a hand on Elaine’s shoulder. Elaine was silent through this whole exchange. She just held little John tightly. The way her eyes fluttered open and closed though, she didn’t look completely conscious. “My John,” she kept on repeating. “My John.”

“I’m suggesting we do the right thing here. Do the difficult thing.”

Tamara frowned. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“Like I said,” Barry barked again. “Let the baby come with us, it’ll kill us the first chance it gets. And weeping mum over there hardly looks like she wants to let her kid go, so what choice do we have? We’ve got Josh. We’ve got bigger things at hand.”

Tamara stormed to her feet. She squared up to Barry. Held Josh’s hand tightly. “You’re suggesting we kill a baby.”

“No!” Barry said. He messed around with the tight collar of his white shirt. “No‌—‌I just don’t think we have much choice if the mother won’t come with us. And we can’t stay behind. Every second we stay behind we put Josh under more risk. We put the chance of‌—‌of finding a cure under more risk. A cure to save people like this woman’s kid‌—‌”