Dead Days: Season 3 (Books 13-18) by Ryan Casey Page A

hills, the woods, sprinkled with snow on top. Listened to the stillness of the day, smelled the freshness that always came with a cold winter’s morning. He wondered if anyone had got out of Heathwaite’s. Anyone like Riley.
    But no. He had to stop himself now. Just worry about survival. He needed food. Proper shelter.
    Company.
    He shook his head and turned to the left. Looked past the abandoned cars and down the motorway. He could see the lorry up ahead where he’d encountered the goons yesterday. He could even see it was clear beyond it. Goons had obviously wandered off in search of easier game.
    Maybe it was time for him to do the same.
    Pedro looked down at his hands. Looked down at the wrench in his right hand. He was shaking. Shaking, and he couldn’t stop it. Usually, he wouldn’t notice the shaking. Wouldn’t bother him, ‘cause he was always with someone or another these days.
    But now, hands were shaking in full flow.
    He knew he really needed to find people. People to talk to. People to be with.
    But beggars couldn’t be choosers in this world.
    Nor could‌—‌
    He heard metal creaking up ahead. The sound of a door opening, or someone leaning against a car. He squinted. Squinted to see where it was coming from. Raised his wrench, just in case.
    And then it clicked. The woman in the Range Rover. That’s who it was. That’s where the sound was coming from.
    He lowered his wrench. Lowered his wrench and crept in the direction of the Range Rover. He’d finish the woman off. Finish her off and put her out of her misery now he had the chance.
    As he got closer, he could hear the creaking metal getting louder, more prominent.
    “Alright, lady,” Pedro muttered as he approached the Range Rover, wrench elevated above his shoulder. “Time to shut you up.”
    But when he looked in the front seat of the Range Rover, the woman had gone.
    He frowned. Frowned, and tried to work out what he was looking at. There was a bloody patch on the seat. A bloody patch, and then a seatbelt, still buckled in. That woman, there’s no way she could’ve got away. She had half a body. She was‌—‌
    Then Pedro realised that the clanging sound was still coming from the Range Rover.
    And the next thing he knew, he felt something wrap round his ankle, and he went flying onto his ass.
    He hit the hard concrete right on the back of his head. Heard something crack, let out a little grunt. Something was on his foot. Something was tugging at it. He lifted himself up, colours in his eyes, yanking his foot away, but this thing was too strong, it was…‌
    Underneath the Range Rover, he saw her. Saw her brown hair, and those sharp blue-painted nails digging into his black trousers.
    He tried to kick at her, but she was gripping too tightly. She was closing in on him with her teeth, getting closer to the bite. He swung at her, but he was fucked because his leg was stuck under the car. No way could he get to her.
    “Fuck. Fuck.”
    He struggled, kicked, did everything he could, but he knew it was pointless. He was screwed. Fucked.
    He waited for the piercing of his flesh.
    Waited for the sound of raw meat being chewed.
    Instead, he heard a thump and felt cool liquid cover his right leg.
    He rubbed at the back of his stinging head, his eyes still blurry and coloured. He yanked and kicked again, but he realised he didn’t have to ‘cause the goon had backed off. He’d dealt with it. Dealt with the bitch somehow. Sorted her out.
    He pulled himself from under the car. Winced as he tried to stand, so dizzy, hands fully shaking, taste of metal in his mouth.
    When he saw who was standing at the other side of the Range Rover, bloodstained metal baseball bat in hand, the shaking stopped right away.
    Tamara walked from behind the Range Rover. Her blonde hair looked greasy, but the nicest damned hair he’d seen all day.
    Behind her, Barry followed.
    And beside Barry, Josh emerged. Josh, with his curly dark hair, that cheeky little gap-toothed