Dead Days Zombie Apocalypse Series (Season 6) Read online

  He wasn’t sure what time it was. Only that light was shining through the frosted bathroom window, which meant it must be sometime during the day. A sunny day, too. Another warm day. That much he knew from the sweat rolling down his forehead, sticking to his body.

  Another bout of tension in his gut.

  Another blast of a headache.

  Then…

  He threw up again. Right down the toilet. Mixed emotions about throwing up after boozing, really. On the one hand, it was horrible. An absolute nightmare combined with the spinning head, the wobbly legs, the gasping lungs.

  On the other hand, at least the badness was flowing out of his system.

  At least he was going to be okay again.

  Soon.

  He wiped some sick from his beard. Stayed perched by the edge of the toilet for a few moments until he was absolutely sure he wasn’t going to hurl again.

  He felt the stinging, burning pain right in the middle of his chest. Looked down. Saw the scar. The memory of the knife. The knife Mr Fletch had rammed into his chest as his final hurrah.

  The knife that should’ve killed him.

  “I’m guessing you won’t be joining your girlfriend at the ball tonight, then.”

  Jordanna’s voice sounded heavy, sharp, as it echoed against the bathroom walls. Riley stood. Turned around, legs still wobbly. Jordanna’s sweet perfume cut through the vomity stench in a way that wasn’t as nice as it sounded.

  She looked gorgeous. Didn’t dress up much, but she was wearing a tight, figure-hugging black dress. Her dark hair was curled. Earrings dangled from her ears.

  “You not feel funny about wearing that?” Riley asked.

  Jordanna’s eyes narrowed. “About wearing the clothes of a dead person? Or about wearing something slightly slutty?”

  “Both,” Riley said.

  “Why does it bother you anyway? Not like you spend time with me anymore. Too busy tonguing John Smith to notice me.”

  The acrid taste of booze and sick clung to the back of Riley’s throat. “Don’t mention John Smith’s. Please.”

  Jordanna started to walk into the tiled bathroom. Then she sighed. Turned away.

  “Thought you wanted to talk, anyway,” Riley said.

  “I did,” Jordanna called through. “But not while you’re in this state. Which probably means never considering you’re always pissed these days.”

  “I’m not pissed. I’m just—”

  “Moderately tipsy. Right.”

  Riley looked back at Jordanna and wondered where things had gone so wrong. They started off hating each other right at the start. Then they found each other again. Found each other at the MLZ. Things were good for a while, but not for long enough.

  And then the attack on the MLZ happened.

  Riley got stabbed.

  After that, things got… complicated.

  “I’d love to say ‘we used to be so good’,” Jordanna said, walking towards Riley. “But the truth is, we haven’t had a chance to be good. The potential was there. Then you got stabbed. And things went…”

  “I’m sorry for that. For getting stabbed. Really, I am.”

  “Oh, don’t fucking be like that, Riley. Grow the hell up. Please. Listen to yourself. Look at yourself in the mirror. You torture yourself because you couldn’t be the hero. You torture yourself because someone else is in charge of this place now. But look at you. You don’t want to step up. The last thing you want to do is step up.”

  “Like you?”

  Jordanna shook her head. Grabbed a leather clutch. “I stepped up because I had to. I stepped up at the same time I was visiting your bedside wondering whether you were gonna pull through. I stepped the fuck up because if nobody had, we’d be royally screwed right now. The lot of us.”

  “And what about Hassan?” Riley asked.

  Jordanna frowned. “What about Hassan?”

  Riley felt a slight dizziness from the booze still fuzzing around his head. Enough to give him the courage to say something he might regret.

  “Did he ask you to be his queen? Or was it the other way around?”

  Jordanna’s eyes narrowed.

  She gave Riley that look.

  That look she had when she was about to slap him.

  Instead, she shook her head.

  Turned around.

  Walked towards the door.

  “I’m going to the ball. To socialise. Socialise with our people. With our friends. Y’know. James. Tamara. The people we fought for. The people we care about.”

  “You enjoy yourself,” Riley said.

  “Oh, I will,” Jordanna said.

  She opened the door. Stepped out onto the apartment block corridor.

  “Y’know, I hope you find your purpose again someday, Riley. I really do.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “’Cause I know Ted wouldn’t stand for the self-pitying wreck you’ve let yourself become. Neither would Anna.”

  Riley tensed up.

  His cheeks heated up.

  He didn’t have a chance to shout back at Jordanna. To call her out for what she’d said. For bringing up Ted. Anna.

  She walked out of the door and slammed it behind her.

  Riley stood alone in the room.

  Alone, again.

  He loved Jordanna. He fucking loved her and he fucking loved every one of his friends.

  But with that love came loss.

  And with responsibility, attachment, came even more loss.

  So he listened to Jordanna’s high heels click against the apartment corridor, towards the stairs.

  He turned around.

  Walked to the mini fridge.

  Grabbed another beer.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Truth be told, Jordanna wasn’t such a big fan of social gatherings herself.

  But she’d be damned if Riley was going to stop her turning up for this.

  She sat at a circular table at the back of the old Piccadilly railway station. There were plenty of other locations around the MLZ that probably would’ve been more appropriate for a ball. Just a pity they were too close to the wall for comfort. Or destroyed by the missiles, by the explosions, during Mr Fletch’s attack five months ago.

  Jordanna looked around the room. Looked at the men dressed in suits moving on the dance floor. Looked at the women in their pretty dresses, their legs on show. But most of all, as cheesy music rattled out of a loudspeaker system that was surely on its last legs, Jordanna saw their smiles more than anything. The smiles as they all crowded on the dance floor. As they drank beer and cocktails. As they kept the illusion of normality rolling.

  Only it wasn’t normal.

  It so wasn’t normal.

  She took a deep breath. Felt tingling right in the middle of her chest. Truth be told, the event reminded her of a scene from one of her favourite books. The Shining by Stephen King. She liked the film too, but agreed with unpopular opinion that the book was where it’s at.

  The mental images that ballroom scene conjured up. The way it chewed away at her consciousness, wormed its way into the deepest recesses of her mind.

  It gave her the creeps.

  She saw Tamara and James at the edge of the dance floor. Tamara dressed in a loose white dress. Smile on her face, just like everybody. She held onto James—who brushed up nicely—and danced with him. She saw their happiness. Their real joy. Tamara’s baby would be with them in a matter of months. A thought that simultaneously delighted and terrified Jordanna. Not just because parenthood petrified her, full stop. But also because of Tamara’s fears. Her concerns.

  The baby.

  The baby that the Orions had followed.

  The way they’d allowed Tamara to lead them into the doctor’s office.

  Where Jim Hall shut the door and detonated the grenades.

  She didn’t bring it up much these days. Nobody did.

  But she could see the look in Tamara’s eyes whenever she or anyone mentioned her baby.

  S
he could see the fear.

  The fear that brought a bad taste to her—

  “You don’t look like you’re having much fun, sugar.”

  Jordanna’s stomach sank. She knew who it was right from the sour smell of his cheap aftershave. “Hi, Cal.”

  She turned. Looked at Cal. He was a chubby guy, bless him, with short greying hair and a dirty looking beard. He reeked of sweat—double bless him—but the worst thing was he always tried to cover it up with cheap aftershave. Cheap. Why cheap? He had all the options in the world and still he went for the cheap smells.

  He was wearing a scruffy white polo neck T-shirt with something orange splashed down the front. Probably the least well-dressed person in this entire building.

  And he was talking to Jordanna.

  “Fancy a dance?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure your wife would approve.”

  “She isn’t here.”

  “Well, I don’t dance.”

  “Nor do I.” He sat down in the wooden chair beside Jordanna. Leaned against the table, which creaked under his weight. “Everyone looks beautiful tonight, hmm?”

  Jordanna nodded. Just go along with it. Just go along with whatever he’s saying. “Sure do.”

  “Dancing. Enjoying themselves. It’s nice to see. Pleasant. You know?”

  Jordanna turned. Glanced into Cal’s eyes. There was something strange about the way he was speaking to her. Something… slurred, to his speech.

  She saw him staring back at her.

  “You okay yourself, Cal?”

  Cal’s left eyelid twitched.

  He kept his stare on Jordanna for a few seconds.

  Then, he smiled.

  “I’m just fine. Next to the prettiest lady in the building. What more could I wish for?”

  Jordanna looked away. Still the same old letchy Cal, then. Still the same old Cal.

  “Makes you wonder though, doesn’t it?” Cal said, after a few minutes listening to the music, observing the dance floor, Jordanna wishing she could leave but doubly wishing she didn’t have to go back to Riley.

  “What does?”

  “All this noise. All this joy. And there’s a whole world out there. A whole world of people. A whole world of… of badness. Just waiting to break inside. Just waiting to…”

  He stopped speaking. And this time, Jordanna stood up. Felt a quiver in her stomach. “Cal, how much have you had to drink?”

  Cal just gazed at the dance floor. Gazed, as another classic track played through the crackly speakers.

  Then he looked up at Jordanna. Smiled. “Goodnight, Jordanna.”

  He stood up.

  Walked away from the table.

  Disappeared out through the door on the side of the seating area.

  Jordanna stood there for a few moments, maybe longer. Stared at the door that Cal had walked out of. She thought about what he’d said. About how he’d acted. There was something wrong with his behaviour. Something not quite right.

  She thought about the whole world of people he spoke about.

  The whole world of badness.

  And the more she thought about it, Jordanna wondered about Chloë.

  About her place in that world out there.

  The world of badness.

  She hoped she was okay. Hoped she was alive. Hoped one way or another, she’d found a better life for herself.

  Then she felt a hand on her left arm.

  She jumped.

  “Hey, hey. It’s just me.”

  “Fuck,” Jordanna said, cheeks blushing.

  “Probably not the smoothest entrance I know. Shall we start again?”

  Jordanna glanced up at Hassan. Smiled. “I think that’s probably not a good idea.”

  Hassan smiled back at her. He looked good. Dressed in a fancy black suit. Soft smile on his face. Somehow, he looked better tonight than ever before. Jordanna knew why. Probably because of what’d happened back home with Riley. Probably because of just being sat with Cal.

  “You enjoying yourself?” Hassan asked.

  “Honest answer?”

  “Probably the same as mine.”

  “It’s just all this forced fun. I don’t know if I can just stand here and accept it when…”

  “When there’s people outside fighting to survive. Right.”

  Jordanna nodded. Hassan always seemed to have an answer for everything.

  He stepped beside her. Put an arm around her shoulder. Looked over the balcony, down at the dance floor, together. “But when we were out there, what did we want more than anything else?”

  “Not a ball, I can tell you that right now.”

  Hassan chuckled. “No. But we wanted normality. We wanted a return. To the old ways.”

  The old ways. The three words made a shiver creep up Jordanna’s spine. “I’m not sure we ever can return to the old ways.”

  “You’re starting to sound like your mister.”

  Jordanna rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”

  “What?”

  “You! Moaning about Riley. Worse than a bloody woman for your bitching.”

  “Hey,” Hassan said, lifting his hands. “If you’re gonna have a go at me, you can have a go at everyone else. It’s what everyone’s thinking.”

  Jordanna crossed her arms. “So everyone’s been talking about me?”

  “Not talking about you. Just—”

  “What happens between me and Riley is our business. You understand?”

  “Of course I understand.”

  “So think. Think before shoving your nose in in future. Please.”

  Jordanna’s skin tingled. She felt her cheeks flushing as she looked back at the dance floor. Vision blurred. Thoughts muddled.

  Hassan put his hand on her shoulder. “I think you’ve answered your own question,” he said. “Just know… just know we’re here for you. We’re all here for you. If you need us.”

  He cleared his throat, took his hand away then disappeared.

  He walked towards the door. Walked towards the same door Cal left from.

  And Jordanna wanted to call him back. She wanted to apologise for snapping. She just… oh fuck, he was right. She needed to stop moping. Needed to stop being so defensive about Riley. He was being a dick to her. He didn’t need her defence. He didn’t need her support. He needed to show a bit of self-support more than anything.

  But when Jordanna looked at the door, she saw Hassan was gone.

  She was alone with the smiling people.

  Alone with the suits and the ties and the fancy music.

  Alone with the feigned normality.

  Again.

  RILEY LOOKED out of the window at the dark night.

  He could see the Piccadilly train station in the distance. Could hear the faint sound of music emitting from it. And further in the distance, he could hear the groans of the creatures. The creatures pressing themselves up against the wall. Trying to push themselves in to no avail.

  Constantly trying to find their place in this new world. Just like the humans.

  He tasted vomit at the pit of his burning throat. The smell of booze was strong in the air of the flat. He knew he’d fucked up. He knew that much from his banging headache.

  And he wanted nothing more than to go down to that ball.

  To go down there and apologise to Jordanna for his behaviour. To pick himself up. To show he was still capable of being strong. Capable of attachment. Capable of… being the man he wanted to be.

  But the crippling negative thoughts swirled around his mind.

  Reminded him of the truth.

  He wasn’t tough enough.

  He wasn’t strong enough.

  He wasn’t the man he needed to be.

  So he closed the curtains. Turned around. Walked over to the bed.

  He collapsed onto it. Covered his face with his hands.

  And then he let out a cry.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Billy Warren always preferred the darkness to the light.


  But nowadays, more than ever before, he found himself particularly drawn to the envelope of nothingness.

  He stood at the edge of the wall. Stared up it. Looked right up to the top, right up towards the moon. It was a dark night. A cool night. A clear night. And as he looked up at the moon, he wanted to throw a rope up there. To drag it down to Earth.

  To swallow it whole and feel warmth and freedom and…

  His thoughts stopped. He frowned. Looked around. His heart picked up.

  He was outside. Standing right in front of the wall.

  Why was he outside?

  Why was he at the wall?

  He scratched his right temple. Tried to figure out why he was here. When he’d walked here, how he’d got here. He’d been somewhere. Been out for the night, that’s right. He’d been out at the… at the ball! Yes, it was all coming back to him now. Might be sixty-six, but his memory was as sharp as ever. Still a force to be reckoned with at the old Trivial Pursuit board game, even if his in-depth knowledge of the answers put him at an advantage. He was still quick at mental maths. Still perfect at spelling complex words that none of the kids of today had even an inkling about.

  He was mentally sound.

  So why was he here?

  He swallowed a lump in his dry throat. He could taste something on his lips. Alcohol. Booze. He’d had some champagne. Didn’t drink a lot nowadays. Nobody did. Maybe that’s why he’d gone walkies. Maybe he’d spent so long off the booze that he just couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t handle it.

  That had to be the truth. It had to be the only explanation.

  But for some reason, that explanation didn’t satisfy Billy.

  He turned away from the wall. Walked back down the cobbled street, towards the main road. He could hear voices to his right. The voices at the ball. So the dancing must still be going on then. The event must still be unfolding. A celebration, apparently. A celebration of their survival. A celebration of their lives.

  Billy had never heard anything quite as ridiculous in his life, that was for sure.

  He rubbed his bare arms. Short sleeved white shirt rolled up to the elbows. Freezing. Why had he come out in just his shirt? Had he blacked out, wandered out to the wall, lost track of time and place? Funny, really. Sherry would have a right old chuckle at him when he returned. She always made fun of him in a friendly way. Their banter was something to cherish, according to their daughter, Laura. She’d laugh about it too. She’d see the…