Infection Z (Book 5) (21 page)
T
he sky
never returned to the same colour after that fateful day of bombing.
There was a constant brightness to it. Like the clouds themselves had been covered in glow-in-the-dark gunk. Even the cloudiest of days seemed bright, but not exactly in a nice way. The kind of bright you get when you’re in a hospital bed. Artificial brightness. Brightness that makes you squint.
And then there was the smell.
It was hard to believe the smell could possibly be any worse than the smell of the dead. But when you smelled the remains of a nuclear wasteland, you fast realised that was entirely possible. It was medicinal, almost. Like a hundred waste landfills mixed with sewerage, all dunked in chemical waste. It clung to your tongue as you breathed. Made you hurl.
But hurling was a sign of life.
Breathing was a sign of life.
There were no sounds anymore. No noises. Just the constant echo. The echo in the ears that reminded you of the day everything exploded. The day everything disappeared. It wasn’t a bad day. It was the day that saved Britain. Britain would take time to rebuild. It would take years, decades, to become safe enough to recover from the tons of nuclear chemicals pummelled into it, reshaping its landscapes.
But it would bounce back.
It would.
Because that’s what humanity always did.
He looked out over the empty, vast landscape. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the day of the bombing.
But he was sure of one thing.
The people he cared about most were safe.
He’d done the right thing, even if it had condemned him to a future in the wilderness.
He tightened his rucksack over his shoulder. Took a sip from a bottle of uncontaminated water. And then he looked out over the crater where one of the eleven nuclear bombs had fallen.
He looked further over the crater. Further over the horizon. Into the sun.
And then he smiled.
He turned around. Walked away.
There was nothing to be afraid of anymore.
Nothing to fear.
Not even the monsters inside his head.
There was just peace.
THE END
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R
yan 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.
C
asey 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.
T
he characters
and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any reference to real locations is only for atmospheric effect, and in no way truly represents those locations.
Copyright © 2016 by Ryan Casey
Cover design by Cormar Creative
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by Higher Bank Books