Thomas smiled back. He scratched the back of his ginger mane. Specks of dandruff clouded above him. “Well… fifteen, twenty minutes? Maybe?”

  Hassan swallowed a bloodied lump in his throat. Felt the blood trickling down the back of his mouth, clotting up his chest. Fifteen, twenty minutes. What had he been doing in here for fifteen, twenty minutes?

  Whatever. It didn’t matter.

  He had work to do.

  “I’ll be right out,” Hassan said.

  He nodded at Thomas. Smiled.

  And Thomas gave him that wary look again. That look of uncertainty. Like he knew something was wrong.

  Then he smiled and nodded in turn and headed out of the bathroom door.

  Hassan wasn’t sure how much longer he spent in that bathroom.

  Only that he focused on the mirror.

  Focused on the blood rolling down his face.

  On the pressure building inside his head…

  WHEN HASSAN finally did emerge from the bathroom of the Westhone apartment complex just off Main Street, he’d forgotten just how bad the crime scene actually was.

  He used to think it was just some kind of bullshit old crime mystery cliche when cops said the “smell” of the body was always what hit first. What clung to the insides of the nostrils, embedded itself in the nasal cavities. And weirdly, even though he’d witnessed more than his fair share of dead bodies since the world went to shit last year, he’d still not believed that the worst thing about a crime scene was the stench. That the worst thing was what happened to the human body after it died. The new life it took on. The life of rot, the life of decay. A life lived through the sense of smell.

  And to be honest, now he was leading the investigation into Tamara Rutherford’s murder, Hassan knew the cliche really was just a cliche.

  The smell was fucking awful, sure.

  But nothing compared to the sight of the crime scene in front of him.

  The midday sun shone down on the Manchester Living Zone. They’d cordoned off a large area of the street with tarpaulin and whatever they could find, making sure the general public kept themselves well away. Not that they needed any extra encouragement. There was fear in the MLZ since the events last night. Panic.

  There was extreme paranoia.

  And it was Hassan’s job to put an end to that paranoia. Fast.

  He covered his mouth with his sleeve. Walked over to Tamara’s body. Around the side of the crime scene, makeshift forensic examiners took a look at the surrounding area for any kind of evidence, any kind of clues. Truth was, they didn’t have the technology of the old world. They didn’t have the education. Well. The tech probably existed somewhere. He’d seen the capabilities of these Living Zones after his time at Birmingham and here. And it wouldn’t be difficult to train a few people up as officers.

  He just never thought he’d see the day where there’d be such a crying need for a murder investigation again.

  A cloud of flies flew up into Hassan’s face as he crouched beside Tamara’s body. He tried to hold back the burning sensation in his mouth. Tried to take deep breaths through his nostrils to quell the nausea, but the smell just made the sickness even worse.

  And the taste.

  The taste of death was awful.

  That sourness in the air.

  Like off milk.

  A taste that would wake him well into the night.

  A taste made even worse by the fact he knew this woman.

  And the fact he knew she was pregnant.

  He examined her flesh. The way her skin had been ripped away, like some sort of animal had been at her. He tried not to look into her glazed eyes. Tried not to see the fear inside them. Because that just made it more real. That just made this woman Tamara Rutherford. Tamara Rutherford, mother to be. Tamara Rutherford, the woman who fought through everything, who battled against all odds, who survived.

  Tamara Rutherford, ripped to shreds with her unborn child inside her.

  Reduced to nothing.

  “Any news on James?” Hassan asked. Opening his mouth nearly triggered his gag reflex.

  A woman called Maya who was aiding the investigation turned. Shook her head. “Not a peep.”

  “And what about Cal?”

  “Cal Jenkins?”

  “He hasn’t been seen since the ball.”

  Maya scratched at her dark, curly hair. “I dunno. I didn’t know Cal was even—”

  The rustling of the tarpaulin snapped Maya and Hassan out of their conversation. He looked back. Saw Thomas again.

  Thomas’ face went pale the second he saw Tamara’s body.

  He looked fit to puke.

  “What’s up, Thomas?”

  Thomas gulped. Glanced dreamily from Hassan to Maya and back again. “It’s—it’s Holly.”

  “Holly?”

  “Holly Parsons. She… she—”

  “Wait,” Maya said. “Holly Parsons lives next door to Tamara and James. Right?”

  Thomas nodded. “Right. And she—she says she saw something. Last night. She says she—”

  “Slow down, Thomas,” Hassan said. “Just slow the fuck down. What’s wrong? What did she see?”

  Thomas stared right into Hassan’s eyes.

  Gulped heavily again.

  “Holly Parsons saw somebody staring through Tamara and James’ bedroom window in the middle of the night.”

  Hassan frowned. “Who? Who did she see?”

  Thomas glanced at the ground.

  “Thomas! Who did she—”

  “It was Riley,” Thomas said. “She saw Riley Jameson staring into Tamara and James’ bedroom window. Right before Tamara was killed.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Riley stared down at the pile of unopened beer bottles and resisted the urge to crack them open and bathe in their deliciousness.

  The mid-afternoon sun peeked through the curtains, which he usually kept closed when he was in. It was nice. Made the apartment much more airy, much less stuffy. Shit, if he could muster up the courage to shave his beard, he might actually feel fresh.

  Now that was a thought.

  He looked at the final bottles on the work surface. Four bottles of Cobra beer, a personal favourite of his.

  And then he looked back at the bin bags on the apartment floor.

  The bin bags he’d tossed his stash into.

  The bin bags he was going to dispose of. For good.

  He heard the voice whispering in his left ear. Telling him he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t get rid. That he wasn’t tough enough; wasn’t strong enough.

  “Fuck off,” he told the voice.

  Then he reached for the Cobra bottles.

  Crouched beside the bin bags.

  Went to put them inside, with the rest of his poison.

  When he heard the clinking of the bottles, he had a memory. One of his first memories after arriving at the MLZ. Celebration. Celebration with Chloë, Pedro, Tamara.

  People he cared about.

  People who’d gone.

  All gone.

  His hands started to shake. He felt the softness of the glass bottles. Imagined the smooth taste of beer on his tongue. The wheaty smell of the booze.

  He put the bottles back on one side.

  Maybe he’d keep a few.

  Just in case he really needed them.

  He headed into the bathroom. Flicked on the light. Looked himself in the mirror.

  Seeing himself in the state he was in right now was like seeing himself for the very first time all over again. Big bags under his eyes. Spotty skin. A thick bushy beard hiding his face underneath. Greasy hair.

  He felt a sense of shame building in his chest. “What have you done to yourself?”

  And then he opened up the mirror.

  Reached for his razor.

  Started shaving it all away.

  The more of the beard that fell away, the more confident Riley grew. Just a sense inside him that told him he was stronger than he’d acted over the last few months. That he was a better human being than the one he’d descended into. This caricature. This self-loathing, self-pitying bag of shit who didn’t appreciate the goodness in his life.

  Tamara was dead.

  Tamara was dead and he hadn’t even had the chance to say a proper hello to her in the last few months, let alone a proper fucking goodbye.

  And James…

  He felt his throat tightening. Remembered his conversation with James just yesterday.

  James had asked Riley to be the kid’s godfather. He’d given him that opportunity, and Riley had refused.

  What kind of a shitty human being did that make Riley?

  He shaved at more of his beard. Felt the sharp razor nicking his chin. Burst the little whiteheads that’d formed between his top lip and his nostrils.

  Already he was looking better.

  Already he was looking like himself.

  Not his old self. But the self this world required.

  The self the MLZ required.

  To find out what’d happened to Tamara.

  To find out what’d happened to Billy.

  To find out about the blood moon, the blackouts, and everything else crazy that was going on.

  He finished shaving. Looked at his nicked cheeks. Better. Much better. Didn’t care that beards were getting in fashion when the world had died. He’d never suited one. Always made him look grubby, feel grubby.

  A beard wasn’t a part of his identity.

  He couldn’t let it become one again.

  Because he knew what it said to people.

  Riley’s lost it again.

  He looked into his eyes. Didn’t really recognise himself, not totally. But he recognised the shaven self more than the self beforehand. He recognised the person in the mirror, just for a moment.

  A moment enough to walk out of the bathroom.

  To walk towards the remaining beer bottles.

  To toss them into the bin bags, tie them up, drag them towards the door.

  When he reached the door, Riley looked back. Looked at the patch on his worktop. The spot where the blood had been.

  He thought about it. Thought about the weirdness of last night. Of the last few days.

  Billy’s exploding head.

  Tamara’s body…

  He thought about it and he knew he was going to have to be straight. He knew everyone was going to have to be straight.

  Because something was happening in these walls.

  Something much more terrifying than the monsters outside.

  He grabbed the handle of the door.

  Went to walk outside, dragging the bags of bottles along with him.

  He didn’t get outside his apartment.

  Hassan stood outside his door. His left hand was raised like he was ready to knock.

  In his right hand, a pistol.

  Riley frowned. “What…”

  “Riley Jameson, you’re under arrest on suspicion of murder—”

  “The fuck? You know I didn’t—”

  “—of suspicion of murdering Tamara Rutherford. Billy Warren. And Tamara’s unborn child.”

  Riley’s hands tingled. His heart raced. “I swear to you. I swear I haven’t done a thing.”

  He waited for a turn in Hassan’s expression.

  For a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

  But there was none.

  Nothing of the sort.

  “Come on,” Hassan said. “Let’s get you down to the station where we can talk. Oh, and bring a toothbrush and a change of clothes along. We might be there a while.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He wasn’t sure where he was, how he’d got there, or even who he was.

  But he knew one thing for sure.

  He needed to get away from this place.

  Away from this hellhole.

  Away from himself.

  The burning sun beamed down on his scalp. Made it feel all heavy, like it was filled with lead, or like someone was pouring water into it.

  It felt like it was gonna burst.

  Felt like it was gonna explode.

  He just needed to be okay again. He just needed to be fine.

  He walked down the middle of a street he didn’t recognise. Past buildings. Past people. It was quiet. Like the street was dead. Like nobody lived here. Only it was sprawling. It was familiar, somehow. And the walls. The walls around the outskirts of this city. He recognised them from somewhere. Like he was trying to pin down the source of his dreams, trying to figure out the deepest recesses of his mind, but just couldn’t…

  He tasted something. Tasted it on his lips.

  A familiar tang.

  A metallic tang.

  Blood.

  He felt the pain soon after. Felt the sharp pain in his mouth. His tongue. His tongue was bleeding. Shit, it was bleeding badly.

  He just needed a hospital.

  He just needed help…

  But how could he get help if he didn’t even know who he was?

  He’d heard voices on his way down this street. Nightmarish cries outside the walls. Like something from a horror movie. But again, they too seemed vaguely familiar. Like he’d encountered them in his life at some stage before.

  But what even was his life?

  Who was he?

  And what was he doing here?

  He felt tightness in his chest. Felt his heart racing as frustration set in. He’d had a breakdown. He’d lost his mind. Lost all sense of identity. Of time. Of place.

  He wasn’t well.

  Something was happening.

  The pain in his head intensified, the pressure grew stronger.

  Like something was crawling around in there.

  Something just waiting to…

  “Cal?”

  He heard the voice. Heard it from his left. And something about the name rang familiar. Cal? Was he Cal? Was that his name?

  He looked at the woman on his left.

  She wasn’t familiar. Not like the rest of the jigsaw pieces he’d been slowly fed. She had long grey hair. Wearing a pink dressing gown even though it was the middle of the day—seemingly. She looked worried. Tired.

  From the look on her face, Cal wondered if he was supposed to know this woman.

  If he was supposed to care about her.

  “Cal? What… what happened? Where’ve you been?”

  And then she was walking towards Cal. Walking quicker. And as Cal stood there—because that must be his name, had to be his name—he realised this woman must be his wife. She must be the woman he loved. The woman who loved him.

  But he didn’t know her name.

  He didn’t even know her face.

  She landed in his arms. And then she looked down at him. Scanned his body. “You’ve… you’ve got blood on you.”

  Cal looked down.

  So he did.

  Blood smeared his white shirt. It felt dry, though. Definitely not fresh. He’d have noticed fresh blood. He’d have noticed himself bleeding.

  The bitter tang of blood swirled around his mouth.

  The woman looked Cal in his eyes. “Cal, what… I’m worried about you. You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

  Cal didn’t know what to say. All he could do was observe the fear in his wife’s eyes.

  All he could do was feel the fear building underneath his own skin.

  “I… I think I need a lie down,” Cal said.

  He wasn’t sure what else he said after that. Just that he started sobbing. Started sobbing as his wife—if she even was his wife—held his hand, led him back home. She said stuff. Stuff about bad things that’d been happening. Stuff about questioning. Stuff about being worried, about being concerned.

  But the main thing she said was just how happy she was to have him back.

  Just how happy she was that he was okay.

  He stopped when they reached the front door to what must’ve been their house, in this weird quiet city. He stopped because he saw a man being led through the streets. A man in handcuffs.

  A man he recognised.

  Riley Jameson.

  The name brought a staggering flash of images to Cal’s mind.

  The moon.

  The blood red moon.

  Watching her.

  Smelling her skin.

  The blood.

  And as Riley looked at him, Cal remembered.

  He remembered the opening in the wall. Seeing that man walking through it.

  He remembered wandering aimlessly through the dark streets.

  He remembered staring up at the bright moon.

  So many others in the streets.

  All of them just standing.

  All of them just staring.

  But above anyone, he remembered Riley Jameson.

  He remembered the look in his eyes as he looked down at the blood trickling across the pavement.

  The blood that came from the screaming woman’s body.

  Her body.

  Cal didn’t understand these images. He couldn’t decipher them. Couldn’t make sense of them.

  But he knew one thing.

  Riley Jameson might’ve seen him.

  So Riley Jameson was dangerous.

  He’d have to deal with him.

  Somehow.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  If Riley said he didn’t expect to be back in the interview room at the makeshift MLZ police station again, he’d be blatantly lying.

  But he didn’t expect to be met with the scene ahead of him.

  The room was dark and gloomy as ever. A faint metallic tang hung in the air, as did the smell of mustiness, of sweatiness. The chair that Riley sat on was hard and uncomfortable, digging right into the bottom of his spine.

  He couldn’t stop shaking.

  Not because he was scared about being arrested. Not because of anything like that.

  But because he was scared that Holly Parsons might just be telling the truth.

  “Can you repeat your testimony, please?” Hassan asked. “From the beginning?”

  Holly Parsons looked into Riley’s eyes for the briefest of moments. She was a short, plump woman, who definitely hadn’t had to do much surviving outside of the walls of this place. She had dark curly hair and a pale face that looked uncharacteristically unhealthy for a usually cheery woman.

  A look of a woman who’d not had to fight for her life. For her survival.

  A woman who’d had it all on a plate, right from the very start. And now that was all up in arms.