Dead Days: The Complete Season One Collection (Books 1-6) Read online

  “Oh, of course you did! Oh, I’m so proud, Riley. Knew you’d get the job. Me and Bernice always love reading all your music stuff. Oh, you know who would be proud of you? Grandpa. He’d be so proud.”

  Riley saw his block of flats emerging a few hundred yards ahead. More and more people rushed past, shouting and looking over their shoulders. That expression on their faces. It wasn’t a look of exertion from a mere fun run. It was a look of fear. Of panic.

  “I’ll have to treat you. Have to get my friends round and all celebrate.”

  “Don’t be silly, Grandma.” Riley keyed in the code for the gate of his block of flats. The high street was completely empty of people now. Cars were lined up at the opposite end of town, queueing to get on the bridge that led out of Preston and towards the surrounding areas.

  “Well, if I don’t treat you, who will? That imaginary girlfriend of yours? The fat housemate? No — I’ll treat you. I’ll—”

  The gate closed behind Riley. “Seriously, Grandma. Have you checked the news today?”

  There was a pause on the line as Riley walked through the courtyard and towards the parking area. The main elevator had broken recently, so there was no option but to take the stairs, accessed through the parking area.

  “Grandma?”

  He walked into the darkness of the parking area. Usually, it was packed with cars. The Milners. The Watsons. The four or five cars belonging to town workers who slipped them a few quid for daily access to a parking spot.

  They were all gone, except for a white Fiat Punto, right in front of the stairway door.

  “Speaking of news, I did see something on the news this morning. Some riots in town. But everywhere’s rioting these days, aren’t they? Joan said she had to hit a boy with her brolly when she was in Manchester. Tried to steal her purse, he did.”

  Riley approached the Fiat Punto. There was something stretched across the white paint of its exterior. A light flickered intermittently above. An unfinished attempt at a paint job. Deep, dark red paint. Strange. The car belonged to Andy, who always defended the beauty of the white car. Must’ve finally seen sense.

  It was as he got closer to the car that he realised it wasn’t a paint job at all.

  Blood dripped down from the bottom of the car boot. It echoed through the parking area as it hit the ground and pooled onto the cold concrete.

  Riley gulped. What sort of shit had gone down here? “Grandma, when were these riots? And did… Was anyone seriously hurt?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Probably. Anyway, Riley, I have to go. Somebody’s at the door. Probably one of those salesmen. Always coming at this time. Get round soon. I’ll get the neighbours over and we’ll celebrate with some cake.” The phone cut to silence.

  Riley continued to move around the car. In the flickering of the light, he could see smaller patches of blood leaving the main pool at the boot of the car. Almost as if they were in a pattern.

  Footsteps.

  When he moved around the side of the car, his phone dropped from his hand.

  It took a moment for his eyes to process the scene. Bloody handprints were spread across the side of the white Punto. The door was slightly ajar.

  And on the floor, at the end of the trail of footprints, Andy’s body. Chunks of his neck were missing. His bloodshot eyes stared up at the ceiling in fear, completely lifeless. His chest had been torn completely open, his ribcage on display. Intestines and innards were spread out on top of him.

  Riley turned away and heaved. Fuck. He’d have to tell Ted. Tell Ted and call the police. Something bad had happened here. Fuck. They couldn’t stay here. Not after this. Not after—

  Something groaned somewhere behind him.

  He frowned. The groan came from the side of the Punto. Maybe there was still somebody in the car. Maybe there had been an attempted double murder and one of them had survived.

  He looked at the Punto again as the groaning continued, low and raspy, and he realised that there was no second survivor after all.

  The groaning was coming from Andy’s butchered dead body.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Riley tensed his fists. He staggered forward, then backwards again. He couldn’t quite interpret what he saw. Andy was dead — had to be dead. The way his ribs protruded out of his flesh. His intestines stretched across the floor in front of him, laced with small tears. The blood on the car door, drip, drip, dripping to the floor. He was dead. He couldn’t possibly be alive.

  And yet, he let out another groan. Arched his neck upright. His eyes were as glassy as they were when Riley arrived, but it was as if he was trying to see something. Trying to see Riley.

  “Andy.” Riley shook. He had to help him. He must’ve been hurt in the riots. That’s what it had to be. Clinging onto his last fragment of life. He had to help him, somehow.

  Riley grabbed his phone with his shaky hand and tried to open up the contacts list. His screen had cracked on collision with the floor. A white line ran through the usual interactive display. Fuck. Another repair he’d have to pay out for.

  Andy continued to groan. His bitten down fingernails dug into the concrete beside him. Riley could see his was tensing every muscle in his upper body. Blood dribbled out from his mouth and down his chin.

  “Andy, you can’t… You have to stay still.” Shit. What did he do? What did anybody do with a man who should be dead groaning and struggling on the floor?

  Riley crouched down and moved his hand towards Andy’s head. He had to try something. Arch his neck upright, or whatever they’d taught him in that Health and Safety lecture a few years back.

  As he reached for his neck, Andy growled and snapped his teeth at Riley’s wrist.

  Riley yanked his arm away and stumbled back. There were teeth marks in his blazer material. Fuck. He’d have to get that checked when he got back to the flat. Yes — get back to the flat. That’s what he needed to do. Borrow Ted’s phone and get some help.

  Andy continued to gnash his teeth. He was almost arched upright now. The guts. The blood. None of it even seemed real anymore. It was like a waxwork in Madame Tussauds. A bad dream that he still hadn’t quite adjusted to.

  Riley stood up and started to stagger to the stairway door at the side of the Punto. As he did, Andy stretched up, still clicking his teeth against one another.

  But Riley didn’t notice the teeth for long, as Andy’s upper body tore itself free from his legs.

  Andy’s innards slid free of his lower body as he moved onto his stomach. He dragged himself with his hands, his fingers bleeding from digging into the ground. He groaned and groaned as, slowly, he started to get closer to Riley.

  “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Riley turned from Andy and grabbed the handle of the stairway door. Andy continued to groan behind him. A dead man in two halves. A dead man alive. This wasn’t real.

  This was the stuff he read about in books. Things he watched and cheered on in films and television shows. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

  He opened the door into the darkness of the stairway and slammed it shut behind him. Andy continued to groan. He could still hear him as he dragged his body against the floor, getting closer and closer.

  Riley rushed up the stairway without looking back. He thought he heard moans crying out from the walls. The dust that covered the tiny window at the top of the first set of stairs had the print of a hand pressed against it.

  The bloody handprint.

  Andy’s dead body pulling itself in two.

  No. There was a logical explanation for it all. Andy couldn’t have been dead. And when he’d snapped his teeth at Riley, he was just having a seizure, or something.

  The shuffling against the floor. The tapping against the stairway door.

  Three floors to go. Two floors to go… Keep calm. Deep breaths in and deep breaths out.

  When he reached his floor, he yanked his keys out of his pocket and rushed towards his flat. The door was on the left of a long, dusty corridor. Mould grew on th
e walls beside the bathroom at the bottom. There were six flats on each floor. All the doors were locked shut.

  Riley struggled to slip the key into the lock. Something made a sound outside the flats — a whirring noise, like a helicopter. A crashing sound. Screams. The riots that Grandma had mentioned. That’s all it was — a set of riots. Hooligans.

  He pushed his door open and barged into the room.

  Ted was sat in his usual spot — on a beanbag in front of the sofa. There was a permanent crater in the beanbag from where he spent his days, perfectly moulded to his fat ass. He had a greasy Xbox controller in one hand and a nacho in the other. He barely looked up at Riley as he entered the room, turning back to his videogame and cursing at the screen.

  “Ted,” Riley shouted. He stepped in front of the television.

  “Hey, mate, watch yourself.” Ted swung his head either side to get a better look at the television. “In the middle of something he… Holy shit, man. What the hell happened to you? Interview go badly?”

  Riley rolled up the sleeve where Andy’s teeth had pierced. There were a couple of marks from the impact, but his skin hadn’t been torn. Could get by without a plaster or a bandage. The blazer could be fixed.

  “Seriously, you’re pale as fuck. And you’re shaking. Which must mean… You’ve not got the job. We’re going to lose the flat. We’ll be selling our bodies on street corners in no time.”

  Riley disregarded Ted and walked to the window. He pulled open the red curtains. The streets were empty. Three helicopters hovered overhead. The doors of cars that had been trying to cross the bridge were open now, people disappearing into the distance on foot. Something had happened down by the river. Something bad.

  “I’ve got the sickest thing to tell you. There was this dude from America on Call of Duty and we teamed up and—”

  “Ted, have you seen the news today?”

  Ted frowned. “Me? Seen the news? What do you think?”

  Riley sighed and grabbed the remote control beside Ted, almost knocking a half empty bottle of Coke over in the process.

  “Hey — what do you think you’re doing?”

  The sound of rifles from the videogame gave way to a rolling news bulletin. Fighting in the streets. Screaming as women held the hands of their children and sprinted away from an invisible oncoming enemy. The headline, “Violent Riots Continue to Grip Nation”. There was no news commentary. Just a rolling headline and rolling footage.

  “Ah man, that’s boring. Everyone’s rioting these days. Rioting is the new peace. Damn, man, what happened to your phone?”

  Riley worked his finger across the cracked screen of his phone. He saw his reflection. Bags underneath his eyes. Completely pale face. Fingers crossed he hadn’t looked that bad in the interview.

  Even if he had, he got the feeling it wouldn’t matter quite so much anymore.

  “Wait,” Ted said. He waddled to his feet, the beanbag clinging around his wide arse. “Wait — don’t tell me you’ve been rioting? Is that why you’re acting all weird?”

  “Ted, I…” His throat was croaky. Speaking seemed alien. Andy, tearing himself in two and dragging his upper body towards him.

  “Mate,” Ted said. He placed a hand on Riley’s shoulder. “What’s up? You… It isn’t Grandma, is it?”

  Grandma. Her planned celebrations. Oblivious. Unaware of what was going on.

  He looked down at the tear in his blazer. Thought of the glazed, dead eyes. He’d seen this before. In films. Read it in books.

  No. That was fiction. There was a logical explanation for this.

  “I… Andy. He’s… he’s dead.”

  “Andy? Well, erm… that’s a shame. But I, erm… I didn’t realise you cared so much about the guy.”

  “I found him. Downstairs in the parking bay. I found his body. He’s… He’s torn in two.”

  Ted lowered the nacho from his mouth and widened his eyes. “What the fuck? In two? Why didn’t you say?”

  “And he’s still alive.”

  Ted blinked rapidly. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and cleared his throat. “Mate — I love you, and everything. You’re my bro from another… another ‘mo’, right? But you really are beginning to creep me out. You’re talking like a… like a crazy, or something. You aren’t having problems again, are you?”

  “He’s dead and he’s in two and he’s… he’s dragging his upper body along. I can’t… Something’s happening. The riots and the cars and the helicopters. Something terrible is happening and I don’t think anybody realises how bad it is yet.”

  Ted picked up his Coke bottle and took a swig. He offered some to Riley, who ignored his gesture. “Listen. How about we go downstairs and we check up on this… this situation you’re talking about. Okay? I’ll come with you. Hold your hand and all that.”

  Riley shook his head. “I don’t think you understand. I saw a dead man move. I…” He held his blazer sleeve up. “He tried to bite me.”

  Ted laughed. “Dude, he took a fair nosh out of that, didn’t he? You sure you didn’t, y’know, just catch it on the stair railing or something?”

  “I know what I saw. We need to go back down there. We need… You need to see it for yourself.”

  Ted looked at the TV and gritted his teeth. Then, he tossed his Xbox controller onto the cushionless sofa and licked his fingers. “Okay. Try me. Let’s do this.”

  Riley took a deep breath and grabbed the handle of their flat door.

  The bulletin continued to roll across the television. No voiceover. Repeated images. An automated warning.

  “So you’re with me?”

  Ted rolled his eyes. They stood beside the door into the car park. The shuffling and the groaning — it had disappeared. The only sound was that of a helicopter somewhere far in the distance. The screams down the high street had receded. No engine sounds. It felt empty. Dead.

  “Don’t roll your eyes,” Riley said. “This is serious. It’s—”

  “A hungry dead Andy without any legs. Right. I mean, excuse me for being sceptical but it’s hardly on my list of things I expect to see every day. Have you been stealing my weed again?”

  Riley gripped tighter hold of the handle. “We go out there, you look at him — you look at him so you can get it in your stupid head that I’m serious — and then we get back to the flat and figure out what the hell we’re going to do about it.”

  Ted shrugged. “Lead the way, sir. No need to be so… offensive about things. I happen to have a rather clever head, I’ll have you know.”

  “You won’t be joking when you see it. Believe me, you won’t.”

  Riley held his breath and opened the door. The dim lighting of the parking area flickered through into the stairway. The white Fiat Punto was still beside the door, painted in blood.

  But something was missing. Andy was missing. Both halves.

  “Holy shit.” Ted staggered towards the car, wide-eyed. He reached out to touch the blood, but pulled his hand back. “We need to report this. Get the police down here right now. Maybe he’s—”

  “Shush,” Riley said. “Keep quiet. Something’s missing. The body, and the legs. They’re both gone. He was here, and now he’s gone.”

  “Okay, okay. But let’s forget about your crazy talk and focus on what we can really see right now — a shit load of blood.” He lifted his phone to his ear.

  “Who the hell do you think you’re calling?”

  “The police. Who else? Hello, can I… Oh.” He put the phone back in his pocket and stared at Riley. His face had lost its colour. “Voicemail.”

  “Emergency services on voicemail. Now do you believe me that something’s going on here?”

  Riley and Ted glared at one another. The blood reflected the light as it twinkled above. The parking area was completely silent. Completely void of life.

  Ted crouched down and looked at the blood. “You say… You say this is Andy’s?”

  “Andy who was here ten minutes ago, y
eah. Andy whose body was in two.”

  “Then… then where is he now?”

  Riley looked around the parking area. Just the one car. Andy could be behind a concrete pillar. Or outside — he could’ve gone outside. Or perhaps Riley was just going crazy. Startled by the amount of blood and projected a vision, or something like that.

  “The fact of the matter is, we need to get back into that flat and decide what we’re going to do here.”

  Ted slammed Andy’s ajar car door shut. “Like, a crisis talk, or something?”

  “Yes, a crisis talk. My Grandma — she… she’s on her own. She has no idea about any of this. And your rents—”

  “They’re in Gran Canaria sunning it up. They’ll be safe as houses.” He started to walk towards Riley.

  Somewhere in the distance, Riley thought he heard a shuffling.

  “Two weeks in the land of the sun. Lucky gits—”

  “Shush, one second. Do you hear that?”

  Ted squinted. “Hear what?”

  At first, there was no sound other than the pair of them breathing. Ted shrugged.

  But then it happened again. A movement somewhere in the distance. Somewhere outside the parking area.

  A nausea welled up in Riley’s stomach. Ted looked over his shoulder at the doorway leading outside. He had to see it. He had to show Ted so he understood. They both needed to know what they were dealing with.

  They started to creep away from the Punto. The movement was growing closer. A groan, somewhere up ahead. The hairs pricked up on Riley’s arms. The groan from before — croaky, lifeless. It was Andy. It had to be.

  When they reached the entrance area of the parking lot, Riley covered his mouth with his finger. Ted nodded, and the pair of them peeked out at the courtyard.

  There was a trail of blood on the floor. It was roughly as wide as a human body. Riley held his breath and dug his teeth into his lips as he began to follow it outside. It swerved to the right of the courtyard, towards the main gate. The shuffling had stopped, but the groaning was louder than ever.

  Riley stalled at the corner. The groaning was so close. He looked at Ted and nodded. “One look. That’s all you’ll need,” he whispered. Then, the pair of them poked their heads around the corner.