Dead Days: Season Four (Dead Days Zombie Apocalypse Series Book 4) by Ryan Casey

Author:Ryan Casey [Casey, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: zombie action horror series, zombie apocalypse horror, apocalypse adventure survival fiction, zombie thrillers and suspense, series, dystopian science fiction, post apocalyptic survival fiction, british zombie series, British
Publisher: Higher Bank Books
Published: 2015-01-24T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

A part of Riley wondered whether he’d ever open his eyes again after the blow to the head.

But the very fact that he was wondering whether he’d ever open his eyes again told Riley one thing: he was alive.

His head stung with pain. It started on the right side, right on his temple, then radiated through his skull and over to the left. He felt like he had after a few too many boozy nights before the Dead Days. The nights when the depression hit. When he couldn’t face the reality of living day by day without anyone by his side, with no purpose beyond some writing crappy music reviews for a local paper.

And now, looking back, he realised just how good he’d had it. That stasis, that nothingness … what he’d give to have that back.

The MLZ had given him that stasis again for a few months, while it lasted. And he’d made the most of it. Savoured life. Enjoyed it.

But now that was gone, too.

And soon, if he didn’t get to the Birmingham Living Zone, he’d be gone. His friends would be gone.

Everything would be turned to ashes.

He squeezed open his eyes. The searing light made him shut them right away, tighten his eyelids together as hard as he could. He couldn’t remember what exactly had happened, how he’d got wherever here was. Only that he’d been down in that sewerage tunnel leading to Worthington’s Bike Emporium. Crossing it with Gus.

And then the explosion.

Running from the rising tide of water.

Someone lowering their hands down and trying to save him …

He tried to see the man’s face. He knew he’d seen it at some point, recognised his voice, but the memory was cloudy and fuzzy.

He crinkled his eyelids together. Tried to think. Tried to focus.

“Mister?”

The voice made Riley’s skin crawl. A high-pitched voice, belonging to a little girl from the sounds of things.

Riley turned over in the direction of the voice. Peeped through a crack in his eyelids. Realised just how quiet the room was. Just how … out of place the girl’s voice had sounded.

He saw her standing by the door. She was thin, a pink jumper dangling loosely from her shoulders. Her freckled face was dirty, and her dark hair looked stuck to the sides of her head, unwashed and unkempt. In her hands, she was holding a can of tuna.

Riley opened his eyes some more and tried to get a sense of his surroundings. He was in a room—a bedroom. The walls were yellow. Paintings of old villages and towns hung to his right, a poster of The White Stripes to his left. He was lying on a double bed, the fabric soft under his fingers. He could almost smell fresh washing of the MLZ, and of the time before. Funny, really. He always used to complain about doing the washing, Ted never volunteering to do it.

But now… what he’d give to just go back and do some more frigging washing, to surround himself in those clean smells.

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