Dead Days: Season 3 (Books 13-18) (37 page)

Josh was shot. Shot in the head.

Pedro had failed.

He took a step closer towards Josh, closer to Tamara, but he was dizzy. His hands were shaking. He wanted to say something to Tamara, who pulled the helmet away from her boy’s head, and…‌

Pedro had to look away then. A punch in the gut.

The wounds he had. The boy was dead. The kid who’d been bitten, who was a survivor, the kid who’d been immune, he was dead.

He’d died when Pedro let go of his hand and started walking towards Chloë and the greasy, blood-soaked woman.

Dom was looking around. Looking around, up at the tops of the abandoned shops and flats lining the streets. He was shouting stuff too‌—‌shouting at Pedro, as he lowered his gaze, looking lower. He was shouting things, but nothing mattered to Pedro. Nothing else mattered at all.

Chloë and the woman arrived at Pedro’s side. Chloë looked pale, her eyes wide as she stared at the body of Josh. Pedro had just wanted to greet her. He’d bumped into frigging Chloë again‌—‌Chloë, who
had
to be dead. He’d bumped into her. She’d found him. He’d found her.

He’d lost Josh.

Pedro flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked‌—‌saw it was the skinny, meth-faced girl. She looked sad for him too. Looked at him with those eyes that doctors and nurses and friends had looked at him with when Sam had died. The look everyone gave a grieving parent.

“We need to get off the road,” Dom said. His voice was stern, shaky. “We‌—‌you saw what just happened. We need to‌—‌”

“The shots. Where’d the shots come from?” Speaking didn’t feel right. Pedro’s mouth was dry. He could taste vomit lingering on his tongue. Vomit that was getting stronger, tangier.

Dom looked around. Sighed and shrugged. “I…‌I wasn’t‌—‌”

“Over‌—‌over there,” Chloë said. She pointed up the road, the direction the group had come from. “His…‌the boy’s head flew forward. So it came from over there.”

Pedro peered into the distance. Squinted down the empty road. Nothing. Nothing at all but abandoned cars, errant litter.

Tamara held Josh tightly. Sat on her knees and hugged him, sobbing into his chest.

Pedro swallowed the lump in his throat. “Can I…‌please. Just give me a‌—‌a minute,” he said.

Dom scratched the back of his head. “We need to get the fuck out the middle of the‌—‌”

“A minute,” Pedro shouted, squaring up to Dom.

Dom didn’t argue this time.

Pedro approached Tamara slowly. He crouched down in front of her. Crouched down, watched as she rubbed her hand down Josh’s little coat, as she supported his flimsy neck.

Pedro tried not to look at Josh’s face. He couldn’t look. He’d seen enough pain in his life.

“Tamara,” he said. Shit. He should be okay at this. He’d lost a kid of his own. He should be good at talking, counselling, whatever.

But he remembered back when he’d lost Sam. Remembered how no words could make a difference. Remembered wanting to die every moment of his waking life as his job, his friends, his wife, all disappeared and crumbled around him.

“I…‌” He cleared his throat. “Nothing anyone can say will ever make this‌—‌”

“Shut up,” Tamara said, then went back to crying and holding her boy. Blood from his head had splashed into her blonde hair. “Just…‌just please. Please.”

Pedro gulped again. He felt his eyes welling up, his vision clouding. “I…‌I lost a kid. I lost my boy. So I know…‌Tamara we need to get off this road. We’re…‌The Living Zone. We’re almost there. Then we can‌—‌”

“Fuck the Living Zone!” Tears and snot covered her cheeks. Her skin was flushed from crying. “What’s…‌what’s the point in a Living Zone when‌—‌when the only thing I care about in the whole world is‌—‌is‌—‌”

She burst into another batch of tears. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

Pedro sighed. Looked at the concrete below. Watched as his tears dripped onto the road.

He looked back. Looked at Dom, at Chloë, at this other woman who was holding Chloë’s hand. All of them looked shocked. All of them were wide-eyed, glassy-eyed, distant.

Pedro raised to his feet. He was going to have to do something. Because they’d lost Josh, yes. They’d failed. He’d failed. But they had to get off this road.

“Is there anyone that can…‌that can help bring them in?” Pedro asked Dom, nudging his head back at Tamara.

Dom blinked a few times, like he was still processing what had just happened. “We…‌There is, but it’s…‌” He gulped. Straightened his back. “Are you in any…‌any altercations with anybody? Is there anybody who might want to hurt you? Do serious damage?”

Chloë and Jordanna stared at Pedro, waiting for an answer.

He tried to think, but he couldn’t. “Too damn many people. But…‌but no. No-one…‌no-one who…‌why, anyway?”

Dom looked over Pedro’s shoulder. “I…‌We‌—‌we have rules at the Living Zone. Rules that we‌—‌”

“Can you get someone out your Living Zone to help us or not?”

Dom held his body upright. Blinked, gulped again, like he was a damned webpage that kept on refreshing. “That…‌that depends very much on‌—‌on your answer to the last‌—‌”

Dom was cut off by a whooshing sound over Pedro’s head.

A whooshing sound that Pedro knew all too well.

“Run!” Dom shouted.

He crouched down and jogged towards the looming Piccadilly Station. Chloë and the meth-faced girl followed as bullets continued to fizz over Pedro’s head, getting so close to his skull, his neck, his body.

But none of them were hitting. Pissing awful shots.

But then how’d they managed to hit Josh twice in the head?

Pedro turned back to where the bullets were coming from. It took him a few seconds to see, but then he saw little lights flickering from behind a smashed up blue Honda Jazz.

They were firing towards him. Firing around him.

But they weren’t firing
at
him.

Tamara was still on the road cradling her son, as if she hadn’t noticed what was going on, hadn’t noticed the chaos around her.

“Tamara, I need you to‌—‌to‌—‌” What did he need her to do? If she ran, she’d be putting herself at risk. And Pedro was paying these people that were firing around him a visit. He was paying them a visit and making sure the fuckers paid for what they’d done, whoever they were. He’d do it with his bare hands if he had to, even if it killed him.

He understood what sacrifice was now. Sacrifice was dying for something you believed in.

“Tamara, I want you to get on your feet and stay right behind me,” Pedro said.

This did cause a momentary stop in Tamara’s sobs. She stared up at Pedro with her tear-stained eyes.

“What?” she said. “You…‌you want me to‌—‌”

“These fucks are shooting around me, not at me. Either they’re shit shots, or they’re trying to get my attention for some bullshit reason. If you…‌if you stay behind me, they won’t shoot you. But I’m going to see ‘em. You have to understand that.” He paused. Felt more bullets whoosh past his face. “But if we go to see them I don’t think we’ll be coming back.”

Tamara’s lips shook. She held tightly onto her son, his green army helmet on the side of the road. She looked deep in thought, blinking her eyes, controlling her sobs. Initial stage of grief, that’s what this was. Realisation Josh was dead would come and go in waves. Waves of fucking brick and steel.

She took in a sharp breath. Placed the helmet back onto Josh’s head. Then she stood up, still holding Josh in her arms, and nodded at Pedro. “For my boy.”

Pedro nodded back at her. “For your boy.”

Pedro turned around. Prepared himself to take a step. Prepared himself to bring those fuckers to justice, to gouge their fucking eyes out of their sockets, or to die trying.

When he turned, the first thing he noticed was that the bullets had stopped.

He took a few more steps. Squinted at the Honda Jazz. Tried to look for movement, listen for the reloading of a gun, anything. They can’t have just gone. The bastards can’t have just…‌

Then, he saw movement.

Only it wasn’t the movement of people.

A crowd of power-walking zombies spilled out of a side road. They filled the road like sea-water in a sandcastle. Tons of them. Fifty, sixty at least.

They turned around and they walked fast up the road, gaining serious ground on Pedro and Tamara.

“I guess they got through the gate after all,” he said.

Pedro held his arm around Tamara as they ran away from the oncoming zombies as fast as they could.

Christmas Day. Christmas fucking Day.

Tamara was slowed down by Josh’s body, which she still held in her arms. Behind them, the sounds of the paceys were getting nearer. But Pedro just charged on towards Piccadilly Station. Dom, Chloë, the meth-face‌—‌they must’ve gone inside. Must’ve fled and gone inside the Living Zone the first chance they’d got.

Pedro tried not to look behind him. Instead, he just squinted for some kind of entrance. The tall metal walls that blocked off the road at the side of Piccadilly didn’t seem to have any openings in them. Even Piccadilly Station itself was fronted by a mass of barbed wire and spikes, like the highest security prison on the planet. Frigging “Living Zone”‌—‌what the hell was a Living Zone that didn’t let the living inside?

He turned to the left. Caught a quick look at the goons coming their way. They were definitely quicker than they used to be. Quicker and quieter. They didn’t groan, not like that dumbass way they used to.

A worrying thought sparked in Pedro’s mind.

Were they getting used to the way the world worked? Ironing out their weaknesses, like troops tested out different models of guns before settling on the best?

No. Don’t be a numbhead. They’re dead. They can’t think.

“Come on,” Pedro said, gasping for air. Like shit could he run the way he used to. “Just…‌we’ve gotta‌—‌gotta take a left. Gotta find a place to hide.”

Tamara seemed distant. Had those same glassy eyes that Elaine had when she’d lost her son, like the world was just buzzing by even though her life was under threat.

They took another left. Ran alongside the towering metal wall of the Living Zone. Pedro couldn’t believe it the more he saw of it‌—‌just how long it stretched on at the side of the street. Must’ve taken ages to build. Which posed the question: when had it been built? And who the hell built it?

The answers would have to wait. Only question that mattered right now was how the fuck they were going to get away from these pacey bastards.

They kept on running. Kept on running, but Pedro could tell Tamara was struggling to keep up. It was the weight of her boy. The weight of Josh in her arms. He knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up. Not carrying him.

“Tamara, give me…‌you’re struggling. Give me Josh. And‌—‌and I promise I’ll‌—‌”

“What?” she said as they kept on jogging away. “You…‌no. No. My Josh, he…‌he…‌”

She was panting so much she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Please,” Pedro said. “You’re struggling. I can…‌I’m not as fit as I used to be but I know how to carry a body.” He cringed with the last words. Great choice, dickhead. Great sympathy there.

Tamara slowed down some more. The footsteps of the goons clattered against the road, getting closer.

“Please, Tamara. Let me help you. Please.”

She looked at Pedro. Her eyes were totally filled with tears, and her bottom lip was quivering. Her hair was peppered with her son’s clotting blood.

And then she gently moved Josh away from her chest. Held him out to Pedro. Laid him in his arms.

Just grabbing hold of Josh brought too much baggage back to Pedro. He saw flashes of carrying that Afghan boy out into the desert, digging a hole in the ground and burying him under the sand.

He saw flashes of holding Sam one final time, the sound of his heartbeat thumping through the soft blankets in his hospital bed, his chest rising and falling from the ventilator.

Now Josh, still warm in his arms. Still warm but completely still.

He couldn’t hold him. He couldn’t‌—‌

The sound of the footsteps from the zombies, the smell of their rotting flesh getting nearer and nearer.

He blinked a few times. Saw they were about twenty metres away.

“Come on,” Tamara said to him. She kept her eyes on her son, who Pedro hadn’t even looked at. And then they ran.

Pedro could understand why Tamara was struggling so much running and carrying her son’s body. Shit‌—‌he wasn’t as tough as he used to be. Should’ve been, living in a crazy world like this, but he just wasn’t. The top of his back ached, and he was buckling at the knees. He needed a proper sleep. A proper bed.

Somewhere to hide for a few hours, days, weeks.

They kept on following the metal wall, went right down this long street. Pedro could see a turn up ahead. They’d turn down there. There had to be an opening to the Living Zone. And Dom and Chloë, they couldn’t have got far.

“No matter where it leads, we take a left around this next corner,” Pedro said. “You hear me?”

Tamara nodded. She was running, but all the time she rested a hand on Josh’s body as Pedro carried him, like she was comforting him in his sleep.

Pedro bit into his lip. Took in a few deep breaths.

And then he ran as fast as he could, even faster than he had been before.

Tamara did surprisingly well to keep up with him. Probably Josh’s body weighing him down. But they were almost at the turning now. The zombies, they weren’t as close behind. They could do this. They could shake them.

And then they could get in the Living Zone and they could work out what the hell they were going to do with their lives next.

“This is it,” Pedro said, nodding just ahead at the turning in the road, the wall running alongside it. “We go down…‌”

Pedro stopped speaking when he saw what was around the turning.

His run slowed.

The turn in the road happened, and the wall turned with it at first, but then after that, the road turned back. Went straight on.

Only the wall didn’t. It crossed the road and attached itself to some tall, brown-bricked flats.

The wall blocked the street.

It was a dead end.

“What‌—‌Pedro, what…‌”