Dead Days [Season 11] Read online

  Dead Days: Season Eleven

  The Final Season

  Ryan Casey

  Higher Bank Books

  Contents

  Bonus Content

  1. Episode Fifty-Seven

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  2. Episode Fifty-Eight

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  3. Episode Fifty-Nine

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  4. Episode Sixty

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thank you for reading Dead Days!

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  Episode Fifty-Seven

  Ghosts

  (FIRST EPISODE OF SEASON ELEVEN)

  Prologue

  Daffodils in the summer were always such a tragic sight.

  It was a beautiful day. Sun beaming down. Luscious blue skies up ahead. A reminder of the beauty of the world. There was something about this weather that just brought everything back. The old days. The childhoods. The smell of ice cream. The sound of laughter. The feel of the water from swimming pools splashing against you. Something primal. Something instinctive.

  And there were the memories of later in life, too. The later months of high school. Sitting on the field, sweat forming under your armpits. Staring across the grass at your crush while she twiddles buttercups between her fingers.

  And the long summer nights of the later teens, too. Staying up late, cans of beer, friends over while you watch another shitty movie right til the early hours. Waking up late and doing it all again. Those long summers. Those endless summers.

  But it was the daffodils that really struck him today.

  The daffodils that really sparked an unexpected emotion in him, he had to admit.

  It was a combination of emotions, really. A whole bundle of feelings. There was sadness. But there was satisfaction there, too. An understanding. Because weirdly, even though the dead had been walking for four years, he’d never really viewed them like he was viewing them right now. He’d never really seen them in the way he was seeing them right now.

  And that was because of the daffodils.

  He would’ve smiled at the absurdity of it all if he’d had the opportunity. But he couldn’t. Because he’d lost control of his body long ago now. He’d lost agency of himself. He was like an on-rails video game. A first-person march towards the inevitable.

  He wasn’t the controller anymore.

  He looked at the fields ahead of him. Felt the dead buds of those daffodils brush past his legs. He wondered whether he’d lose all feeling when the curse took over him. He always figured that he probably would, for some reason.

  But right now he realised there was no loss of feeling. If anything, everything felt even sharper. Even more attuned. Even stronger.

  And that was the cruellest joke of all, really.

  He wasn’t in control.

  But he still had to feel everything that this new agent, this new controller, was responsible for.

  Every footstep on something sharp.

  Every tumble to the ground.

  And it made him feel something else.

  Sympathy.

  Total sympathy.

  Because he’d seen the dead for the last four years. He’d seen the way they’d walked towards him. He’d seen the way he’d dehumanised them. Seen them tortured, bodies in total states.

  And that was just it. He’d dehumanised them. Mostly because they were attacking him. They were harmful. They were a threat.

  But now he felt a deep compassion for them.

  Sadness within.

  Because they were suffering.

  They were victims.

  They didn’t only see the horror of what they had turned into.

  They weren’t only locked into this body, driven by the most horrific urges.

  But they had to feel everything too.

  The emotions.

  The sensations.

  All of them.

  He heard something over his shoulder. He wanted to look around. Wanted to see. All these years of looking over his shoulder had put him on edge. He was always wary of what might be coming. Always cautious of what might be closing in on him.

  But in a sense, the tables had turned.

  His biggest fear wasn’t the dead anymore. They weren’t his allies per se. But they were the victims. They were the pursued. The hunted.

  His biggest fear had to be the living.

  Because he was the living not long ago.

  And he knew just how little compassion he’d had for the dead, too.

  And that terrified him.

  It would terrify every one of these beasts.

  These monsters.

  Like daffodils in summer.

  Still yellow. Still out. Still trying to cling on to some kind of prominence. Some kind of existence.

  But withered.

  Flaky.

  Decaying.

  Their beauty hidden beneath their new form.

  And all he could do was walk through this field.

  All he could do was allow his new controller to take him through the sun-drenched field.

  All he could do was allow his body to walk.

  One foot.

  Another.

  Left.

  Right.

  Left.

  Right.

  He thought about the idea of the self a lot these days. If he wasn’t in control of his body, then what was he? Who was he? Was he this voice inside his head? Was he responsible for his actions? If someone flicked a switch and everyone returned to their old selves, would he be absolved of the awful things he’d done—from the taste of blood that would cling to his lips?

  No.

  He would live with the nightmares.

  The trauma.

  And that was the truth.

  The sad, inevita
ble truth.

  He might not be responsible for what he was doing. He might not be responsible for what he was now.

  But he would still have to live with the fallout.

  He would still have to live with the guilt.

  The pain.

  The memories of what he’d done.

  He could try to cling on to his humanity. Oh he could try.

  But he would fail.

  Everyone would fail.

  Because this was who they were now.

  Whether they were in control or not.

  He headed further through the field when he heard the movement behind him once again.

  When he heard the steps crunching through the grass.

  He felt fear.

  Total fear.

  He wanted to look around.

  Wanted to turn.

  But at the same time, he wanted to get away.

  At the same time, he wanted to run.

  He tried to scream at his legs to move.

  Tried to beg them to take off.

  Tried to open his mouth and say something—anything.

  Because he knew it was possible.

  He’d seen it.

  Seen what the virus could do.

  Seen how it could evolve.

  But then he found himself stopping.

  Then he found himself turning around.

  Groaning.

  That sound bringing the hairs on his arms on end.

  That sound that he still couldn’t accept responsibility for.

  He looked over his shoulder and saw a man standing there, crowbar in hand.

  Looking at him like nothing.

  Like dirt.

  He wanted to beg him for his help.

  But all he could do was stagger towards him, teeth snapping, hunger and craving rising.

  And then the man pulled back the crowbar and cracked him over the side of the head.

  He fell to the ground.

  Fell amongst the crisping, fallen daffodils.

  Chapter One

  Riley looked into Alison’s eyes and tried to come to terms with this entire clusterfuck of a situation.

  The evening sun shone brightly over the horizon. Summer was in full bloom. There were still clouds in the afternoon sky. Clouds that reminded Riley of the things they’d had to deal with. Of the events that had unfolded over these last few days. Of all the chaos, all the loss. Ricky. Carly. So many.

  But weirdly, all that had drifted into the background now. It didn’t feel relevant, in a crazy kind of way. It felt like it was false. Like the memories weren’t real. Like everything that had happened hadn’t really happened. Not really.

  Because this was another impossibility.

  It was another crazy impossibility in a life that was beginning to become littered with impossibilities.

  Alison was standing opposite him.

  She’d got out of that helicopter.

  With Melissa.

  And with Ted.

  He couldn’t say a word to Alison as he stood there, trying to wrap his head around the situation, trying to understand. He just kept looking at her. Blinking. Trying to get his thoughts together. Trying to understand.

  And then he looked at Ted, and things got a whole lot weirder.

  The questions piled up.

  The exact same questions.

  “How are… how are you here?”

  It was all he could say.

  It was then that Anna stepped forward. And Riley saw the surprise on her face, too. He saw the shock. The tears. Like she couldn’t understand either. Like she couldn’t wrap her head around any of this.

  “Ted,” she said. “I… We…”

  She was clearly just as lost for words.

  Melissa stepped forward. Confusion on her face, too. She looked at Riley. At Kesha, who mumbled questions, asked what was going on in that little voice of hers. She looked around at all the people standing there. “Can somebody tell me what the hell’s going on?”

  And Riley knew someone was going to have to. And that someone was going to have to be him.

  “Ted. Ted’s… Ted’s my old friend.”

  He looked over at Alison, then.

  “And Alison. She’s… she’s the mother of my child.”

  Anna looked around, then. Her eye wide. Her mouth agape. Like this whole situation was getting all the more chaotic. All the more baffling.

  Melissa looked similarly stunned.

  “Wait,” Melissa said, shaking her head. “I thought you said Ted was dead? That he died right at the beginning or something?”

  “I thought so,” Riley said. There was still a distance between him and these people from his past. They were like images on a screen. Memories. Ghosts.

  Melissa sighed. “Looks like you people have an annoying knack of not checking if people are really fucking dead or not. Anyway. Where’s Ricky? I need… I need to tell him something.”

  Riley’s stomach sank. He knew what’d happened to Ricky. He’d sacrificed himself to protect Carly… who had fallen now, too.

  And both their bodies were accounted for.

  There was no coming back where they were concerned.

  Riley knew he had to break the news. He had to tell Melissa the truth about what’d happened to Ricky. About how he’d died.

  But he didn’t feel like he was in the position to right now.

  He didn’t feel in the position to do a fucking thing.

  Not with Alison standing here.

  Not with Ted standing here.

  Anna stepped forward. She put a hand on Melissa’s arm. “I’ll leave you all to… catch up.” She sounded stunned. Like she was just as spellbound as this whole sequence of events as Riley was.

  But Riley knew that Anna had another goal where Melissa was concerned.

  He knew she had news to break, as she led her away, Kesha alongside them both.

  He looked back, then, and at Ted. At Alison. There were so many questions he had for both of them. But at the same time, he didn’t know who to speak to first. Who to turn to first.

  It was Ted who broke the silence.

  “You left me.”

  When he said those three words, Riley felt a void opening up inside. Because that was the worst possible thing anyone could say to him. It went right back to Jordanna, right at the start. Leaving her behind. Turning his back on her. Abandoning her to save himself.

  And now his best friend—his best friend who his grief over had spawned so much pain—was accusing him of doing the exact same thing.

  “Ted, you… you died—”

  “Ivan cut my throat,” Ted said, walking towards Riley. And that’s when Riley realised he wasn’t the same man anymore. Not just skinnier. Not just longer haired. But the look in his eyes. The things he’d seen. The things he’d been through. His eyes told a story. “He cut my throat, but I didn’t die. And you walked away. You—you left me!”

  “Ted!” Alison shouted.

  But Ted wasn’t listening.

  He was just hurtling towards Riley now.

  Hurtling towards him like a man possessed.

  And Riley supposed that’s exactly what he was.

  “You left me,” Ted said, tears rolling down his face. “You—you turned your back on me and left me. All these years. All these years.”

  Ted pulled back his fists.

  Riley braced himself for whatever was coming.

  Whatever it was, he deserved it.

  And then something else happened.

  Ted didn’t hit Riley.

  His arms wrapped around him.

  Tightened.

  And he held on to Riley with his bony, malnourished body, and he cried.

  “You’re here,” Ted spluttered, snot and spit splattering everywhere.

  Riley’s throat welled up. He felt tears falling down his face, too. “I’m here, Ted.”

  “You’re—you’re still here.”

  And then as Riley stood there, Ted’s arms wrapped around his bod
y, holding on to Ted in turn, Alison watching, he heard a cry. Melissa’s cry. The devastation of the news.

  And as he held on to Ted, as awful as it all was, as much as his tears were falling, he felt happiness deep within.

  He felt all the pain he’d been through, and he felt him in his arms, and he knew how lucky he was.

  How damned lucky he was, all over again.

  “I’m here, Ted,” he said, voice cracking with emotion. “I’m here.”

  They held on to each other, best friends, in the setting sun, and they cried.

  Chapter Two

  Riley sat in one of the empty houses by the sea, Alison opposite him, and tried to wrap his head around all this crazy shit.

  He wasn’t doing a very good job.

  It was dark, now. A respite from the chaotic day that had preceded it. The district wasn’t safe by any means. How could it be now the virus had shown traits of going airborne? There were still creatures wandering around. Some of them were still growling, still making words that sounded vaguely… well. Human. Most of them were confined to the area near the Main Building, which had been cordoned off. But still, their presence was always a cause for concern.

  A problem they’d deal with.

  Eventually.

  Riley couldn’t help thinking about what Peter Hillson—the leader—had said about this place when they’d last seen him. Island 47. It was a testing ground. A testing ground for the virus. A testing ground for the people still here to see how they reacted. A way of devising a cure, one way or another.