Chloe Zombie Apocalypse series (Book 2): The Journey

by Ryan Casey

  Gone, just like the rest.

  She took down two more. Her dad followed closely, fighting away more invaders.

  When Chloë reached the supermarket, she knew what’d happened right away.

  The entire exterior of the shop was covered in flames. Inside, bottles of water. Cans of beans and soup. And people. Charred bodies, now nothing more than ashy smoke in the air.

  “They took our fucking guns!”

  Chloë looked to her right. Saw Jackson running towards her. Instead of the usual rifle in hand, he was holding a crowbar. Which meant something bad had happened.

  “What?” Dad asked. “What d’you mean they took our guns?”

  “A group,” Jackson said, blood oozing from a nasty wound on his liny forehead. “Group came in here. Led the undead in. I… I tried to stop ‘em but—but there were too many of ‘em. Way too many of ‘em.”

  Chloë watched the flames engulf the supermarket. Saw the fear and horror on the faces of people like Dan, Anisha, Harvey. The optimism of earlier destroyed by an unbeatable sense of loss.

  “I heard them mention a transmission,” Jackson said.

  Chloë dry swallowed. “A—a what?”

  Jackson scratched his head. “A transmission. Some… some place they said they were heading to. Sounded Welsh, or something.”

  Chloë’s stomach sank. She looked up at her dad. Saw him shaking his head.

  “What?” Jackson asked. “What’s that look?”

  “We might know where that place they were heading to is,” Dad said.

  When Dad told Jackson about the transmission they found, Chloë saw the look of rage building in Jackson’s eyes, in the rest of the group’s eyes. And she understood why. She understood exactly why.

  She’d not been honest.

  She’d killed her people.

  She’d cost lives.

  Again.

  7

  SEVEN

  It wasn’t the sound of screaming that woke Chloë the following morning.

  But the sound of silence was just as bad.

  She opened her heavy eyes. Looked up at the ceiling in the first floor flat. She wasn’t sure she’d fallen to sleep. Wasn’t sure she’d be able to. But outside the window, beyond the blind, she could see the soft light of sunrise. She could hear the morning birdsong cutting through the silence.

  Not a good silence. Not the peaceful silence it could’ve been. The bad sort of silence.

  The silence of loss.

  Loss of people.

  Loss of hope.

  She got up. Looked to her left. Her dad’s sleeping bag was empty. He must’ve gone out. Gone to get some water or breakfast. Or to reassure members of the group that everything was going to be okay. That he was sorry.

  Apologising for the thing Chloë should’ve been sorry for.

  Lying.

  She wrapped her black cloak around her and looked through the blinds. The main street of Hopeforth was still. She couldn’t see a soul out there. And if she squinted enough, she could convince herself that nothing happened last night. That the conflict, the monsters, they were all just a part of a nasty nightmare.

  And then she saw the blood and body parts spread across the tarmac and the fantasy faded.

  She walked away from the blinds. Grabbed her knife. Headed towards the stairway leading down to the front door. The final casualty total was currently at three. Suzy, Andre and Lorna. Which brought the numbers of the group down to sixteen. And while losing three didn’t sound like a lot, Chloë knew it was even worse because of the secret she’d hid. The truth she’d concealed.

  The truth about the transmission.

  “Is anyone out there? I repeat, is anyone out there? Safe haven. Safe place. Safe community. Pwllheli. Pwllheli, North West Wales. Survivors welcomed. Survivors welcomed. Pwllheli.”

  She descended the stairs. Put her hand on the front door. She thought about the look in Jackson’s eyes when she’d told him about the transmission. When her dad finished her words for her.

  She saw the hate build in them. The betrayal. The distrust.

  And she saw it in the eyes of others, too.

  Chloë knew about a safe place. She knew all about it. And she’d kept it hidden.

  She swallowed a lump in her throat and lowered the handle.

  When she stepped outside, the first thing she noticed was the faint hint of burning in the air. The supermarket had been set alight in the bandits’ raid. Turned out a few of the other buildings had, too. A grocery store. A newsagents. Reminders that this place wasn’t safe. That nowhere was safe.

  The worst part? Chloë knew something wasn’t right. She knew it right from the moment she first got here. But she’d seen the way everyone had reacted. Seen the way they’d raided the supermarket. Seen the way they’d eaten together, laughed, like everything was normal again.

  She’d seen hope.

  And now that hope was gone.

  She heard voices to her left. Turned, and saw Jackson standing with three others. Hassan. Anisha. Dan. They looked back at Chloë. Stopped speaking. Stared her in the eyes.

  Chloë looked right away. Lowered her head. She needed to find her dad. Needed to talk with him. He’d told her he’d help her, and more than anything, she needed him right now…

  But no. She was supposed to be a leader. So how was she leading by turning her back and walking away from her people?

  She had to be strong. Even in times of crisis. Especially in times of crisis. That’s what Alice once told her.

  She stopped.

  Turned back.

  Walked towards Jackson and the others.

  “Got nerve wandering over here, kid,” Hassan said.

  Jackson raised a hand. “Leave it out, Hassan. She’s just a kid at the end of the day.”

  Chloë wasn’t sure whether to be startled at Jackson sticking up for her or insulted by him dismissing her. “Get everyone here in the next five minutes. We need to talk.”

  “Oh you’re fucking right about that,” Anisha shouted, scratching her arms. Her brown eyes were puffy, like she hadn’t slept much last night. “We do need to talk. We need to talk about you.”

  “Anisha,” Jackson said.

  “No,” Anisha said. She batted Jackson’s hand away. “She lied to us. She knew about that—that safe place and she kept it from us.”

  “We spoke with Pete about this,” Jackson said. “He told us why. Chloë and him had their reasons—”

  “And their reasons got us killed!”

  Jackson looked at Chloë. Shrugged.

  “Just get everyone here,” Chloë said.

  She turned around. Walked towards the supermarket.

  “Where are you going?”

  She didn’t respond.

  She just kept on walking.

  Walking, like she used to do when the buzzing noises built up in her head.

  Walking, like she used to do when her emotions bottled up inside.

  Walking, like she used to do to make herself feel like a kid again.

  THE GROUP WAS ALL TOGETHER ten minutes later.

  Chloë stood on the raised door of a shop step. She still felt like she was being looked down on, though. Like she wasn’t a leader.

  But she had to be.

  She had to lead these people.

  She’d saved them from the Church of Youth. They’d trusted her.

  She had to repay that trust.

  “The transmission,” Chloë said, cutting through the chatter. “The one I found. I didn’t tell you about it because I was worried—”

  “It wasn’t your choice to hide it from us!” someone shouted.

  “I know. And I’m sorry. But I did. I made a mistake.”

  “A mistake that got Suzy killed,” Harvey said.

  Hearing Harvey’s shaky, judging voice made Chloë’s insides go funny. Harvey was always okay with her. He never said anything bad to her. But knowing he blamed Chloë for his wife’s death… that took a lot to shake off. />
  “Yes,” she said. “I made a mistake. But I’ve gone to these safe places in the past. We all have. And we’ve all found the same things.”

  “Then what do you propose?” Hassan asked. “That we stay here? Wait for more bandits and undead to wander in and kill us?”

  Chloë swallowed. “No,” she said. “We… I think we should move on.”

  A collective groan from the group.

  “Move on to where?” Dave asked.

  “To Pwllheli. To the place where the transmission mentioned.”

  Silence amongst the group. A few sideward glances.

  “But I thought you just said it wasn’t safe?” Hassan said.

  “It probably isn’t. But neither is this place. But it’s the best hope we have.”

  “How do we know the transmission’s even recent?” Harvey asked.

  “We don’t. But it’s the only place we know of. We can go there. Check it out. And if it isn’t safe, then…”

  “Then what?” Alice asked.

  Hearing Alice’s dissent threw Chloë even more than hearing Harvey.

  She looked at these eyes. All of them watching her. All of them waiting for an answer.

  “We push on. It’s all we can do.”

  She waited for someone to say something. Waited for her dad to speak. Or for Alice to speak. Just for someone to speak.

  “She’s right.”

  It wasn’t Alice. It wasn’t Dad. It wasn’t even someone who liked her, like Harvey or Dan.

  It was Jackson.

  Jackson, again.

  He stepped forward. Stood beside Chloë. Looked at the rest of the group.

  “The kid made a mistake. But we’ve all made mistakes. And now the truth’s out and we have a choice. We push on to Pwllheli. Or we don’t. What option is there, really?”

  A few mutters amongst the crowd. A couple of nods.

  “I don’t agree with Chloë’s methods. But I understand why she did what she did. So we need to stick together. More than ever before. Ain’t that right, Chloë?”

  He looked at her. And for a moment, in his green eyes, she saw something unfamiliar. A look she couldn’t place. One that made her feel… strange.

  “But the bandits. The bandits pushing on to Pwllheli. They took our guns. What about them?”

  Jackson looked at Anisha. Then he closed his mouth. Turned back to Chloë. “That’s the kid’s call. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Shame they got a head start on us, but…”

  More grumbles and groans. More hard glances at Chloë.

  “Hey. Least we got a chance to catch up.”

  Jackson walked away. Everyone stared at Chloë.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  The crowd chattered amongst themselves. And then they nodded. Each and every one of them nodded.

  Chloë looked back at Hopeforth. Remembered the positivity of yesterday. The optimism.

  She shook her head. Looked at her dad. Caught him nodding. Smiling.

  And then she saw Jackson. Saw him standing beside Colin and Arnold.

  He nodded at her. Chloë nodded back.

  “Then we’d better get going,” Chloë said.

  They walked away from Hopeforth, all sixteen of them, towards a new hope.

  Towards a new safe haven.

  Towards fresh death.

  8

  EIGHT

  Jackson kept his eye on Chloë as they left Hopeforth and made for the hills.

  The morning was still bright. The birdsong teased promise. Hope. And as the sixteen of them made the long journey to Pwllheli, Jackson knew that hope would be tested a number of times. He knew it would be pushed to the limits, like it always was. He knew more people would fall. More people would die.

  But mostly, the weak would fall.

  And that was okay.

  Because this group didn’t need weak. It needed strong. Much, much stronger than it had now.

  He felt the gun banging against the outside of his thigh. One of the ones he and a few others had kept for themselves. He had a few of the sixteen on his side. And that would only grow when things collapsed even further. When people realised a crippled little girl wasn’t fit to lead.

  And the numbers of his group would grow even more when they recruited new members. When they militarised. Fully.

  Because only through direct action, only through violence, did anyone prevail in this world.

  He looked over his shoulder. Looked across the fields towards Hopeforth. It was a shame they’d had to leave there. It was decent. It was safe. And burning down the supermarket, that was a gamble. A risk. It meant losing supplies. It meant killing the hope of every single person in this group.

  But he’d done it because he had to.

  He had to do something to get this group moving.

  Something to get them out of their comfort zones, into a place where they needed leadership. Real leadership.

  Somewhere where their defences lowered. Where opportunity for recruitment would be booming.

  Somewhere he could lead his people.

  Because that’s what they needed. A real leader. A decisive leader. Not some one-handed little bitch with a daddy who constantly cleaned up her mess.

  He felt the sores on the bottom of his feet. Felt them on his arms, his shoulders, his back. He remembered the beatings. The beatings he’d got in the Church of Youth. He remembered the beatings he’d given out way before then. And he thanked Chloë. He really did thank her for getting him out of that hellhole. For saving his life. He was grateful. Truly fucking grateful.

  But her leadership stopped there.

  It was time for somebody else to grab the reins. For someone else to head the charge. For someone else to lead.

  He looked at Colin and Arnold. Meatheads. Idiots. But they agreed with him. They agreed with his vision for the future of this group. They agreed that a little girl wasn’t fit to lead. They agreed that without action—without recruitment—their very existence would collapse.

  They looked back at Jackson. He saw the outlines of the guns in their pockets.

  They’d use them when they needed to.

  Only when they needed to.

  He turned back to the front. Looked through the crowd at Chloë. She was walking alongside her dad and Alice. Leading this group. Leading this group even though she’d lied about that transmission. Even though she’d kept it from them.

  And still nobody was doing anything about her.

  Still, nobody was making a stand.

  Not yet.

  Jackson put his hand on the gun. Held a smile.

  When the ground opened up, Chloë wouldn’t know what hit her.

  And he didn’t know how exactly he was going to handle her yet. Didn’t know his exact method.

  But he would.

  And when he did, he’d be there to step in. To lead these people.

  He’d be there to provide for them. To encourage recruitment of outsiders. Or, failing recruitment, he’d be there to take weapons. Supplies. Whatever he needed. Whatever his people needed.

  But most of all, above anything, he’d be there to lead this group to Pwllheli.

  He’d be there to walk up to the gates of this supposed safe zone and lead his people inside.

  And when he got inside, he’d be there to pull the trigger and take it for himself.

  For his group.

  For now, he just smiled.

  9

  NINE

  They lost two more people in the two days that followed.

  Chloë rubbed her tongue against her dry lips. She rubbed her eyes. Squinted ahead into the distance. Across the field, in the baking mid-afternoon sun, she could see cars stacked atop an abandoned motorway. Between the cars, she swore she could see movement. And she knew she was probably right. Where there were rows of cars, there were always monsters.

  Monsters, strapped down in their seats.

  Monsters, bustling to free themselves from the confines of the m
etal vehicles.

  So much death.

  Chloë looked over her shoulder. She saw the rest of her group struggling along in pursuit. Fourteen of them. Fourteen of them, including her, Dad, Alice. All of them fighting. Fighting to reach Pwllheli. Fighting to survive.

  She licked her lips again. She hadn’t had much water to drink. Wasn’t much to go around. The bandits who’d attacked Hopeforth had made sure of that. They had no weapons either—nothing aside from some scrap metal, a few knives. No guns.

  Which left them vulnerable.

  Which meant they had to keep their heads low. Avoid bumping into anyone at all.

  Avoid trouble at all costs.

  She took a deep breath. Smelled body odour in the thick, humid air. She felt sweaty at all times. Felt it trickling down from her armpits, down the side of her body. Felt it clinging to her skin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good, proper wash. And she’d grown used to that fact. She’d grown used to being dirty. It helped her blend in. Blend in with the monsters.

  But right now, she wanted nothing more than to clean herself.

  She hoped Pwllheli had somewhere she could clean herself.

  “You okay, Chlo?”

  The voice came from her left. She looked up, saw Alice by her side. Alice also looked exhausted. Her fringe was plastered to her forehead in a way that she surely couldn’t like. She kept on sniffing, like she had a bad cold, only it was August so she shouldn’t have a cold right now. She looked at Chloë with tired, red eyes. She hadn’t spoken to Chloë much since the incident at Hopeforth two days ago. But Chloë knew how she felt about her keeping the news of the transmission from the rest of the group.

  She knew what she wanted to say to her.

  She was just doing her best to avoid speaking to Alice for that reason.

  “I will be. When we get there.”

  “Long way to go still,” Alice said. “Long way to go and a lot of exhausted people.”

  “We can’t stop. We can’t risk—”

  “No, Chloë, we can’t stop. We can’t stop because a bunch of bandits broke into Hopeforth and trashed it. We can’t stop because they destroyed our supplies, took our weapons. We can’t stop because they have a head start. But we could’ve avoided this.”