Dead Days: Season 8 Part 36

He pressed the machete right through Mattius.

So far that it pushed out of his back.

And then, he let go of the handle, stood up, and walked away.

Mattius tried to move, but he couldn't. He tried to talk, but he was too much in pain, too much in shock.

So all he did was think about his wife, his Ca.s.sandra.

All he did was think about holding her withered hand.

Kesha, resting on her lap.

The pair of them smiling, happy, all over again.

He thought these nice thoughts as the darkness surrounded him and the blood filled his lungs.

But the last thing he saw was the dead eyes of the girl and the woman he'd killed. Chlo. Jordanna.

And as much as he resisted, that terror chased him into the darkness, and...

Riley walked away from Mattius' body.

He felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Not because he'd killed Mattius. Not because he'd got his own revenge. But because he'd settled the score. He'd made things right with Jordanna and Chlo.

And now, when he looked around at Mattius' blood-soaked, dying body, he saw Jordanna and Chlo by his side.

They looked back at Riley, and they smiled.

Riley looked back at them, and he smiled too.

He felt a twinge in his right arm. He looked down and saw he was bleeding from the bite wound. He'd have to get it seen to fast. He wasn't for using Kesha's blood to heal himself. It didn't seem morally right.

But h.e.l.l. He was going to have to survive. Because he had a duty now.

To protect Kesha.

To protect her, no matter what.

When he stepped outside the hatch, he saw Melissa and Carly. Carly had Kesha in her arms, and she was looking down at her with a smile on her face.

But there were two more people, too.

He stopped. Stopped right in his tracks.

One of them was one of Mattius' people. The guy with the dark curly hair. Ricky.

But there was someone else by his side.

When Riley saw her, he thought of the ghosts he'd let go of. He thought of the weight that had lifted from his shoulder when Chlo had disappeared, and when Jordanna had disappeared. He'd felt the finality to that, when he'd killed Mattius. Like they weren't going to haunt him anymore.

But she was still standing opposite him.

"Riley?" she said.

As the seconds pa.s.sed, Riley's heart started racing. Reality started to disintegrate, somewhat. He couldn't process what he was looking at. He couldn't understand what was happening.

Only that this wasn't a ghost in front of him.

This wasn't a ghost at all.

This was real.

This was...

She stepped towards him, and Riley saw her eye. He saw the small hole by the side of it, where she'd been hit.

He saw her dark hair.

He saw her shocked, ajar mouth, just like it used to be.

He saw it, and he dropped to his knees.

He dropped to his knees because she wasn't a ghost.

She was real.

She was here.

She hadn't died at Heathwaite's. Somehow, she hadn't died.

She was alive.

He watched her walk towards him, as if in slow motion, and he searched his mind for all the things to say.

But in the end, there was only one word he could manage.

"Anna?" he said. "Anna?"

Chapter Eleven.

Cody looked out of the door, Michael by his side, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"How..." he started. He actually felt pretty faint. Just like Michael told him he would. It was all too much to take in. All too much to accept.

"Welcome," Michael said. "Welcome to the new world."

The last things Cody heard was the laughter of schoolchildren making their way back home. The barking of dogs chasing one another around a nearby park.

And the buzz of traffic as it rushed by...

This wasn't the new world.

This was the old world, just how it used to be.

And Cody was standing right in front of it.

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About the Author.

Ryan Casey is the author of over a dozen novels and a highly successful serial. He primarily writes post apocalyptic fiction, and also has a series of mystery novels. Across all genres, Casey's work is renowned for its dark, page-turning suspense, unforgettably complex characters, and knockout twists.

Casey lives in the United Kingdom. He has a BA degree in English with Creative Writing from the University of Birmingham, and has been writing stories for as long as he can remember. In his spare time, he enjoys American serial television, is a slave to Pitchfork's Best New Music section, and wastes far too much of his life playing Football Manager games.

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