days were forever at the end of the world.
“How can I trust you?” Riley asked.
Alan shrugged. “You can’t. You’d be a dense idiot to trust anyone these days. But I do have a hefty collection of guns over by the door, should you feel safer holding one to my head all the way. As long as you don’t get trigger-happy, we might just stand a shot at saving humanity together.”
Saving humanity. Alan’s grand claims were making Riley dizzy.
He brought his hand through his hair again. He thought back to Anna, as much as it pained him. Thought past the Anna that lay with blood leaking out of her fragmented skull, thought to the Anna back at the Fulwood barracks, using her expertise to study the origin of the virus—the reason everyone had suddenly started eating one another.
Her pursuit into the flu vaccine. Her knowledge—her suspicions—that something was wrong with it. She’d want him to go with Alan. She’d want him to trust him. Riley knew damn well Anna would go with Alan if she were here.
But she wasn’t. So now he had to honour her name.
He reached into his pocket. Pulled out Anna’s silver necklace, smeared with blood. He could barely look at it, it made his eyes sting too much and his throat well up, the memory of her death still too raw.
“I’m doing this because someone I…someone I loved would’ve done this. So I swear to God, if you even think about fucking me over for one minute, you’re fucking her over too. And I don’t give a shit if you’re the elixir of life, I will put a bullet in your arms and your kneecaps and make sure the creatures tear the flesh from your bones. Do you understand?”
Alan’s smile faltered, but only for a split second. He glanced at the necklace with his beady eyes, then back at Riley. “The things we do for love—”
“I asked if you understand—”
“Yes, yes,” Alan said, waving Riley off. “I’ve no reason to double-cross you. You’re doing me a great favour, and therefore you’re doing humanity a great favour.”
Riley walked around to the back of Alan. Grabbed the black rubber handles of his wheelchair, scooted him off towards the entrance to the tunnel. “Let’s just get to Manchester first before worrying about world-saving.”
Alan brought his feet down into the ground, and Riley almost lunged over the top of his wheelchair.
“What the fuck d’you think you’re stopping for?” Riley said.
Alan hobbled off the wheelchair, scratched at his thick beard. “We haven’t packed our bags, for one. And for two, I need to get rid of this beard and this hair.”
Riley’s eyes narrowed. He felt himself wanting to take his anger out on this old idiot once again.
“What?” Alan said, jovially. “Think I’m going to turn up to a government meeting looking like a tramp? They’ll shoot me on sight!”
Alan whistled away as he walked over to the cubicle in the back of the bunker, opening the silver door and running a tap.
Riley leaned forward against the wheelchair and stared into the damp-smelling, cold expanse of the tunnel.
He hoped to God he was doing the right thing.
Chapter Eight: Chloë
Chloë watched and the monsters watched her in turn.
They stood there on the snowy road, more and more of them turning to look at her.
More and more of them groaned and cried.
And then started to move.
She stumbled back as the mass of what must’ve been twenty monsters all moved in her direction, as the monster of the woman on the ground beside her shouted out at her. She felt sorry for them. Felt sorry for the sad looks on their faces, the cries. They must’ve been really hurting, with the cuts they had, the bits of bad meat dangling off them.
But she had no time to feel sorry for them. Not now.
She had to move.
Her heart pounding, the pooey smell getting stronger as the monsters got closer, Chloë ran down the side of the road and through the trees. She could feel the snow getting harder and
Learning to Kill: Stories