“You won’t survive behind the walls,” Hassan said.

  The moustached man slowed down. Smiled. “We’ll find a way. One way or another, we’ll find a way.”

  They carried on their walk. The walls of the MLZ got ever closer. Hassan didn’t know what to say. He could play dumb. Pretend it’d been breached while he was away. But truth be told, he’d been hoping to have a plan by now. To have some kind of escape method lined up. Some way of going back to Cody, saving him.

  He didn’t have a thing.

  And time was running out.

  The roads thinned out like forests filled with fallen trees as they descended the hill on the road. The MLZ grew more visible. Hassan knew how it was. Soon, the CoY people would see the state the MLZ was in. Soon, they’d make him pay for leading them here.

  Unless he could use it to his advantage.

  Unless he could use the state of the place to positive effect.

  He heard a splutter. Saw one of the CoY people—a skinny blond guy they called Damon—with his hands on his knees. He was coughing up thick phlegm. Someone stood behind him punching his back.

  “You just lead us to the gates,” the moustached man said.

  “And then what?”

  “Hmm?”

  Hassan cleared his throat. “When I lead you to the gates. Then what?”

  The moustached man’s eyes glazed over. Narrowed. “Well you find a way to let us in.”

  He said it like it was just common sense. But Hassan could tell from this guy’s own lack of planning that he was just as desperate for survival as anyone. Only in his own brutal ways.

  That scared Hassan.

  The CoY were just as reckless as anyone. They didn’t really have a plan.

  Which put Hassan in more risk.

  “They aren’t just going to let you walk inside,” Hassan said.

  “They will, if they value your life.”

  “I’m not sure they value it enough to let me—”

  More coughing and spluttering from Damon. He fell to his knees. Choked up vomit.

  “Jesus Christ,” the moustached man said, side-glancing at the rest of his companions. “Someone get him a fucking Strepsil or something?”

  The urgency built as they stepped beyond the last of the buildings in the area surrounding the MLZ. As the view down the hill towards the MLZ was revealed.

  At first, Hassan noticed a look of surprise on the faces of the CoY. He noticed a spark in their eyes. An astonishment at the town that rested in front of them.

  And then he saw the anger building.

  The anger and confusion upon seeing the walls, collapsed.

  The anger and confusion as the zombies—the masses of zombies—walked around the town.

  As they paced over the fallen bodies of their companions.

  All of them still standing.

  All of them walking.

  Their groans and stench filling the early morning air.

  The moustached man turned around. Looked at Hassan. His eyes were bloodshot. “You.”

  Hassan raised his hands. “I didn’t—”

  Hassan felt a sharp pain in his lower left back. He fell forward. Another of the CoY people rammed a boot into his ribs. Then there were more boots beating his chest, his neck, his face.

  “You fucking set us up,” the moustached man said.

  Hassan lifted his hand to try and argue back, to try and fight his case. But the boots kept on flying at him. His vision blurred. His mind spun.

  He tasted blood in his mouth. Felt one of his teeth snap away. And he knew this was it. He knew the end wouldn’t be far. He’d tried. He’d tried his best to fight. Tried his best to think of some way of saving himself, of going back and saving Cody.

  But he didn’t have that way.

  He didn’t—

  He heard a scream.

  The boots stopped. Just for a split second.

  They stopped as the owners of those boots all looked in the direction of the scream.

  Hassan tilted his head. Joined the CoY people in looking.

  There were two men on the ground just a few feet away. Both of them were CoY members. One crouched on top of the other.

  The one doing the crouching was Damon.

  He had his fingers in the eye sockets of his companion.

  Blood drooled down from every orifice in his pale face.

  The man below him squealed like a pig.

  There was a moment of shock. A moment of silence.

  Silence, but for the man’s screams.

  And then there was the sound of a head bursting.

  Of a skull caving in.

  Damon looked up.

  Looked up at the rest of the group with blood-soaked thumbs.

  And then he threw himself at the moustached man.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jordanna couldn’t help noticing James’ limp worsening as they ascended the grassy hill towards the sound of flowing water.

  The first signs of daylight ignited the sky. And to look at the rising sun, to look at the orange clouds, you could be forgiven for thinking it was beautiful. In a sense, it made it feel like nothing else mattered. Nothing but the sun. Nothing but the daylight.

  Nothing but that privileged sense it ignited within.

  The sense that, yes, you’d made another day. Survived another night.

  It might be the shittiest day and night on earth, but it was one you’d survived.

  One to tick off.

  The closer they got up the side of the grassy, open hill towards the flowing water, the more Jordanna built with concern. James often spoke of a place he visited with Tamara. A beautiful spot by a reservoir way out in the middle of nowhere. They had some good times together. Some intimate times together.

  If that’s where James had brought Jordanna, then why?

  Or was the answer in that gun in his hand?

  “You okay?” Jordanna asked.

  James stopped. Jordanna could tell he was struggling. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. You’ve been limping for miles.”

  “I’m…”

  James stopped speaking. The pain in his voice overshadowed anything he could possibly say.

  He turned around. Looked into Jordanna’s eyes. The gun dangled from his right hand.

  He put it down. Put it on the grass. Rolled up his right trouser leg.

  When Jordanna saw what was there, her stomach sank.

  There was a wound on James’ leg. Blood seeped out of it. Thick blood, way thicker than blood on the movies used to be.

  There were piercings on his thigh, too.

  The unmistakable piercings of a bite wound.

  Of zombie teeth.

  “It happened back in the apartment at the MLZ,” James said.

  “James, you could’ve—”

  “I couldn’t let it get in the way. Of this. Of what I want to do. Of what I… what I have to do.”

  His voice went croaky. He didn’t look down at that bite wound. Not once.

  He rolled his trousers back down. Picked up his gun. Limped down the grassy hill. “Now come on. We’re almost there.”

  Jordanna knew she had a chance now. A chance to run. A chance to get away. James told her himself that he’d only got a bullet or two left. And he was limping.

  But still, something kept her in James’ company.

  Call it naivety. Call it stupidity.

  James was her friend.

  No matter what, he was her friend.

  She wasn’t going to let him die out here alone.

  He didn’t deserve that.

  “You could’ve at least told me,” she said, catching up with him. “It would’ve been nice to know I’m travelling with a biter-to-be.”

  James didn’t laugh. And Jordanna figured now wasn’t the best time to be cracking jokes. But what did she say? What did anyone say?

  She sighed. Swallowed a lump in her throat. She was alongside James now. Right by his side. Sickness in her belly. The smell of sweat from her and James ripe in her nostrils. “James, I won’t beg anymore.”

  “Good.”

  “But I won’t just back down. What happened to Tamara.”

  “You killed Tamara.”

  “No. No I didn’t. And you know damned well I didn’t. I… I know you need vengeance. I know you need to punish someone for what happened. But that someone isn’t me. That someone’s this fucking world. That someone’s these fucking undead. That someone’s whatever these parasites are. But not me. Not fucking me.”

  A silence followed Jordanna’s words. James looked at her, his face getting lighter by the second in the rising sun.

  “Don’t do this to yourself,” Jordanna said. “You’re…” Her voice cracked. “You’re bitten, James. You’re bitten and you’re dying. Don’t die like this. Please.”

  Tears filled James’ bloodshot eyes. He studied Jordanna some more. Looked closely at her like he was trying to read right into her soul.

  And then he turned and faced the opening into the woods. Faced the open water.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Hassan watched the blood splatter from the fallen CoY member’s broken skull and knew he had to take his opportunity.

  Another CoY member was on the road. They were pinned down by Damon—or whatever the fuck Damon had become. He had his hands wrapped tight around his friend’s neck. His face turning blue. His fingers so tight all the blood had drifted from them.

  And the remaining three CoY members didn’t have a fucking clue what to do.

  Only Hassan had a clue what to do.

  He stood. Backed away from the group, who were all pre-occupied by the chaos around them. The Manchester Living Zone loomed large in the distance, its broken walls and masses of zombies all in an existence of their own. It seemed a world away from right here, right now.

  Hassan needed to be even further than a world away if he wanted to survive.

  If he wanted to try—at least try—saving Cody.

  He turned around. Looked up the hill he’d come down. The buildings thickened; the potential shelter of a concrete jungle not far away. He started to run. Running wasn’t easy. Fuck, it was difficult. His legs ached from all the walking he’d done this past night and morning. His feet were blistered. And his severed fingers just kept on throbbing. He wasn’t sure how quickly he’d die of blood loss, or infection.

  Well fuck. That bridge was burned now. Nothing he could do to reverse that.

  Hassan needed to find his own way.

  He legged it up the hill. Listened to the shouts behind. He didn’t want to look over his shoulder. Because looking over his shoulder meant accepting they were still there. Something inherently childlike inhabited everyone’s consciousness when it came to hiding, or running away. If you can’t see your pursuer, a belief prevails that somehow, they can’t see you either.

  His hopes and naivety were swiftly interrupted when he heard the panic erupt even louder behind him.

  He looked back. Instantly regretted it.

  The moustached man had his machete in the skull of his friend, Damon. The one who’d turned. Just like the people of the MLZ had turned for no apparent reason.

  Something was seeping out of Damon’s mouth. Something pouring out with a waterfall of blood. Something thick. Blood-soaked. Fleshy.

  The parasite.

  Hassan looked back ahead. A building on the left. He could hide behind it. Could even hide inside it for now. He needed to find somewhere to lay low. Just somewhere to shelter until the CoY people moved on.

  But fuck. Where would they move on to? Why would they move on?

  He’d brought them to this place. Brought them to this town of dead hope.

  Why would they ever let him go?

  Still, he ran. Even though he swore he heard chasing footsteps, he ran. He couldn’t take much more. Couldn’t move much further. So as he ran, he tried to think about his family. About his niece, Amani. About the good times they’d had together before her life was cut sadly short. His whole family had been close. And that family unit was always the strongest thing about Hassan. He was energised by his brothers and his sisters. He loved his mum and dad to pieces.

  Ironic that they were now nothing more than pieces.

  He reached the top of the road. Shouting continued behind. But it was far away. Muffled. Distant. He could do this. He could get away. He could escape.

  When he turned the corner, he stopped immediately.

  The road was full.

  Full of undead.

  All of them staggering out of abandoned houses, of parked cars.

  All of them disturbed by a rare presence of life.

  All of them ambling slowly towards Hassan.

  His mouth went dry. He looked back. Looked towards the remaining three CoY members.

  They were all running up the hill, machetes in hand.

  All pacing towards him.

  Hassan swallowed a lump. He looked back at the zombies. One of them, a middle-aged man with dark hair and a fair bit of grey flab dangling from his bones, had been torn apart at the waist. From inside his punctured stomach, fresh human meat tumbled out. No nutrients from their food. Nothing to keep them fuelled, to keep them going.

  Just pure insatiable hunger for flesh.

  He started to move towards them. ’Cause he had to get through them. He had to get around them and away from this place somehow.

  “Wait!”

  The footsteps of the CoY people got closer. And Hassan knew he had a choice. Run into the crowd of zombies and surround himself in near-certain death. Or stand his ground and wait for near-certain death.

  He turned. Faced the CoY people.

  Took a deep breath.

  But just before he could run, the MLZ’s walls caught his eye once more. The compromised buildings stood out.

  Jordanna.

  He’d left Jordanna behind.

  Guilt gnawed at him. Jealousy or envy, perhaps. But Riley had gone back for her. He’d gone back for her and he’d fought for her. He wished he’d had the guts to fight for her. He fucking loved her, after all.

  But he’d never had the courage to do a thing like that. Mum always told him he was the weakest of her children. That he was Mummy’s boy. Dad rolled his eyes. Shook his head. Ruffled Hassan’s hair and told him not to listen to a word his mother said.

  But Hassan knew from the look in his dad’s eyes that he knew he was different. That he treated him different.

  He was a mummy’s boy. He was a spineless coward.

  He wasn’t strong enough to go back and save anyone.

  So at least Jordanna was in good hands right now, providing Riley made it.

  Riley making it being the sticking point…

  “On your knees. Don’t move another fucking muscle.”

  Hassan snapped out of his thoughts. The footsteps of the approaching zombies got louder the closer they got.

  The CoY people were right in front of him now. Stepping closer. Machetes in hand. The moustached man stood in the middle. His two long-haired compatriots were either side of him.

  All of them were smiling with those awful rotting teeth.

  “You lied to us,” the moustached man said. “You brought us here and you knew damned well what this place was.”

  Hassan opened his mouth to protest. To argue.

  And then he found himself taking a deep breath.

  Smiling.

  “Yeah. Yeah I did.”

  The grins drifted from the faces of the CoY people. They looked puzzled by his defiance. Confused, somewhat.

  “I knew what this place was like. And I knew you’d get surrounded when we got here.”

  The moustached man wiped his machete on his torn, dirty-white shirt. “You just signed your own death sentence, dumbass.”

  “Maybe so,” Hassan said. “But if it puts you numb-skulled inbred cunts six feet under, I really couldn’t give a shit.”

  The moustached man looked at the long-haired ginger man to his left.

  And then to the dark-haired man on his right.

  “We’re gonna have some fun with you, boy,” the moustached man said.

  The smile returned to his face.

  The three of them lifted their machetes.

  Ran.

  Something happened.

  A flash. A change in the light. Hassan couldn’t figure it out. Not at first.

  But then his eyes adjusted to the surprise and he realised exactly what it was.

  The ginger guy’s head was bleeding. Split in half. He wasn’t running. Not anymore.

  There was a fire axe wedged into his skull.

  The fire axe swung away and the ginger fell to the road.

  And then Hassan saw the figure.

  The man.

  He ran at the dark-haired CoY man with his axe lifted. The dark-haired guy didn’t even see him coming.

  He didn’t see the attacker swing the axe at the back of his thigh.

  He didn’t understand why his Achilles tendon snapped away, why he fell to the road.

  He didn’t understand a thing as the axe smashed open his skull.

  The moustached man slowed his run. He looked back, realising what was happening. He turned around. Faced this man. One of the hybrids, no doubt. One of the ones with the parasites inside them.

  Hassan knew he had another opportunity. Another chance to escape.

  He had to get away.

  He had to…

  The hybrid stood opposite the moustached man. His face was soaked in blood, his hair drenched in sweat. He had his fire axe by his side. The moustached man’s machete was raised, ready to stab.

  “Come on, brother. Leave two men to sort their own battles.”

  Hassan heard the zombies just metres away. He saw them in the corner of his eye. He knew they’d be on him in a matter of seconds. That he needed to get away. Needed to take this opportunity to escape.

  But he could see the face of the hybrid now.

  No. Not a hybrid at all.

  Riley.

  “This is my battle,” Riley said.

  He lifted the axe.

  Threw it at the moustached man.

  The moustached man’s eyes widened as the axe hurtled towards him. It smacked him right in the middle of his chest. Sent him flying back to the road.