by Ryan Casey
Kept on walking.
Eventually, after a few minutes walking, they reached a red-bricked road. It looked right out at sea. She saw a vast emptiness, a speck of land in the distance. Beach houses lined the promenade. But none of them looked lived in. They looked empty. Abandoned. Just like the rest of this town.
They walked the full length of the promenade. Looked at the white buildings. The grey sea. Chloë couldn’t even hear the seagulls anymore. The smell of salt filled the air. She could taste it on her lips.
Her heart started to race. The thought that maybe she’d got this wrong. That something was desperately wrong here. Something she didn’t understand.
Grumbles erupted amongst the group. Terrified questioning. They were exhausted. Not just the people from the care home—everyone. They’d put the last of their energy into reaching this place. They’d put all their faith in Pwllheli. Chloë had put all her faith in finding that transmission.
But there was nothing.
Nothing at all.
Nothing but…
She heard it crackling lightly on her right.
A noise. Something upstairs in the strange looking beach house, covered in dirty white paint and like no shape of any house from back in Preston.
“Might as well find some place to rest,” Dean said. “No more use in walking—”
“Ssh,” Chloë said. She raised a finger. Walked towards the door of the house. “You hear that?”
Dean frowned. The others frowned.
“Hear what?” Alice asked.
Chloë closed her eyes. The crackling. The mumbling. A transmission. Definitely a transmission, just like the one she’d heard back in Hopeforth.
“I can hear something. In this house.”
Alice and Dad ran to Chloë’s side. Dean and Cassandra stayed with the rest of the tiring group.
They listened for a moment. Closed their eyes like Chloë.
“Better ears than me, kid,” Alice said.
“I hear it,” Dad said.
Chloë looked at her dad. He turned to Alice. Then back to Chloë.
“I… I hear something.”
Chloë couldn’t stop herself smiling.
She turned to the thick black door.
Put a hand on the handle.
The transmission. It had to mean something. Maybe it was the source of the one in Hopeforth. Or maybe it would lead them to the safe haven directly.
She hoped it would.
She prayed it would.
But there was only one way to find out.
“Got your back,” Dad said.
Chloë took a deep breath.
Lowered the handle.
Pushed open the door.
33
THIRTY-THREE
Chloë tried not to think about the silence of the town outside as she climbed the steps of the house.
She could hear the transmission crackling away in an upstairs room, just like it had back in Hopeforth. There was something not quite right about it. Why was there another transmission playing? What was it playing? The transmission at Hopeforth. It said the safe place was in Pwllheli. And although all of them had prepared for bad news—just like they always did where “safe havens” were concerned—this couldn’t just be it.
There had to be something crackling through the static.
The secrets of Pwllheli—of why they were here—had to be behind that door at the top of the stairs.
“All looks clear.”
Chloë saw her dad and Alice following closely. The rest of the group were outside still, on the Pwllheli promenade. She still couldn’t get over how quiet the town was. She’d expected at least a few monsters, best case scenario.
Worst case scenario…
She wasn’t sure.
She didn’t even want to think about a worst case scenario.
She reached the top of the stairs. Heard the floorboards creaking underfoot. The house was dark. The windows were boarded up. Unlike outside, this place wasn’t neat or tidy. It was trashed. Paintings spread across the floor. Splintered pieces of wood sticking up from below.
Someone had already been here.
Someone had beaten Chloë to this place.
Jackson?
Chloë heard something over her shoulder. Swung around.
A door creaked.
She stared at it. Heart picking up. Knife tightly in her hand. She tried to see through the darkness. Through to the source of the noise.
Then, the door creaked again.
Just a draft.
Nothing more than a draft.
Chloë nodded at Dad and Alice, who nodded back in turn. They were pale, looking just as scared as her no doubt.
She just wanted to see what was in this room.
She just wanted to know why a transmission was crackling.
It had to mean something.
Good, bad, whatever.
There was a transmission in Pwllheli. Which meant there was something here.
That was something in itself.
Chloë walked a little further down the landing area. Walked past the bedroom door, the bathroom door. Both of them were wide open. Chloë could see inside. The bedsheets were turned upside down, clothes all over the floor. In the bathroom, water rested in the free-standing bath. It was still, like a swamp. No steam.
Chloë moved past the bathroom. The silence and stillness of this town was getting to her. She almost wanted something to show itself. A monster. Just some sign of life here. Some proof that there was… something else.
She reached the door and still nothing but silence, nothing but the crackling transmission.
She put her knife away. Reached for the handle. Turned back to Dad, to Alice.
They stared at her for a few seconds.
Then nodded.
Chloë swallowed a lump in her throat.
Turned to the door.
Counted down from three.
Three.
Two.
One…
She lowered the handle.
The moment the door opened, Chloë immediately reached for her knife. She looked around the room. First thing she noticed was just how lit up it seemed. The blinds were wide open. One of the windows was ajar. A few flies buzzed around the room. Cobwebs covered the greying ceiling.
She stepped into the room, knife in hand. She could hear the crackling static loud and clear now. And she could see the place it was coming from, too.
She could see the microphone lying across the patchy-carpeted floor.
She could see the speaker.
And she could see the tape recorder.
She looked back at Dad. Looked at Alice. Saw the confusion on their faces as they saw what Chloë saw, Dad bumping his head on the antique light shade.
“What… what is it?” Chloë asked.
She walked closer to the microphone, to the speaker.
Sat down beside it.
She lifted the microphone. It was just like one she used to have in an old Singstar set. She used to beat Elizabeth at it all the time, simply by humming the tunes.
“I don’t…”
And then she heard it.
The tune.
The familiar tune she’d heard back at Hopeforth.
“…Life is but a dream… Life is but a dream… Life is but a dream… Life is but a dream…”
It played on a loop. On and on. Broke off and started again whenever it finished the refrain. Her skin crawled. She’d heard a tune when she was back at Hopeforth, but it was too crackly and staticky to hear back there.
Now she heard it.
The familiar tune.
The song.
And then it faded away and a voice kicked in.
“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.”
The voice stopped.
The tune played again for another few seconds.
Then it cut away to static.
Chloë sat there for a few moments. Sat there, completely silent. She saw the tape reach the end of its reel. Heard a click. Saw it rewind all by itself, and then it started up again.
The static.
Then the tune.
Then the words.
And then the static and the ending all over again.
She stared at the microphone. Looked around the room. There was nothing in here. Nothing but this machine. Probably plugged into some kind of portable generator.
But there was no sign of a safe haven.
No evidence that the transmission led anywhere.
She felt her face heat up.
No wonder Jackson was gone.
This place was a dead end.
They’d travelled so far for a dead end.
“Life is but a dream… Life is but a dream…”
“Chloë,” Alice said. Her voice crackled. “I… I think we should.”
“No.”
Dad walked up to Chloë. “Come up. There’s people out there waiting for us. We should tell them—”
“No!” Chloë shouted.
Her body tingled. Her chest tightened. The speaker. The microphone. The big device they were both hooked up to, sending the transmission all the way to Hopeforth, all the way to…
Wait.
She stood.
Saw a map perched atop the big transmission machine.
It had dots. All over the country. Dots in Pwllheli. Dots where Hopeforth must be—Chloë always enjoyed Geography in school so she knew where the Lake District was.
She saw dots up in Scotland. All over Wales.
“Life is but a dream…”
“The transmission,” Chloë said. “It’s… it’s going out to the rest of the country.”
Dad walked over. Took the map from Chloë. His face was pale. Chloë knew why. He’d lost hope. He’d given up on this place.
So too had Alice.
“But why?” he asked.
Chloë heard the jingle again.
Heard the voice.
The static.
Then she remembered what Ella said.
Something about the Black Army.
An ache built in her tummy. She felt her throat tightening.
“Why would they bring us here?” Dad asked.
But Chloë couldn’t respond.
She couldn’t respond because she’d seen the writing on the opposite side of the room.
The writing etched on the wall in red.
There Is Nothing Here For You.
A smiley face drawn underneath it.
And a big black mark scribbled underneath.
“The Black Army,” Chloë said.
“What—”
Alice didn’t finish speaking.
Gunfire erupted on the street outside.
Gunfire and screams.
34
THIRTY-FOUR
Chloë ran out of the transmission room before anyone could stop her.
She flew across the landing area. Stormed down the stairs. The closer she got to the front door, the louder the gunshots grew. The louder the screams grew.
Someone was in Pwllheli.
Someone other than them.
The Black Army.
Chloë tried to etch the discovery upstairs out of her mind. The discovery of the microphone. The tape recorder. The gibberish message playing out. Life is but a dream.
And the words on the wall. Etched on the wall in blood red.
There Is Nothing Here For You.
A smiley face underneath.
Chloë lowered her knife. Grabbed the handle of the door. Behind her, she heard Dad and Alice approaching. They weren’t trying to stop her. Nothing they could say would draw her away from this door.
Because her people were outside.
She saw that now.
Her people needed help.
She waited for the gunfire to drift away.
When she was sure no more bullets were flying across the street outside, she turned the handle.
Pushed the door open.
Let go, grabbed her knife.
The first thing she saw on the promenade outside was Miriam. One of the people she looked after. She was standing right in the middle of the road, the grey sea behind her. Her eyes were wide. She was looking at something down the promenade towards the right.
“Miriam?” Chloë called.
Miriam turned.
Looked right into Chloë’s eyes.
She opened her mouth to speak.
And then blood sprayed out of her chest.
Chloë watched Miriam hit the ground. Heard her skull crack against the concrete.
The bullets kept on peppering towards them.
“Fuck,” Alice muttered. “We need to—”
But Chloë wasn’t listening.
She waited for the bullets to stop. Waited for that split second.
And then she threw herself out of the house and onto the street, towards a black Fiesta parked up on the kerb, untouched.
She planned on sprinting across. And maybe she did. But something slowed her as she moved. Something made her movement sluggish. Her vision distorted.
There were three more bodies on the road beside her. People she recognised. People she’d cared for.
One of them, Ruby, clutched her wrinkly neck as blood spurted out of it.
Still alive.
Chloë froze. She thought about going over there. About helping Ruby. Even if it meant putting her out of her misery, it was still helping her.
Then she heard the crackle of the gunshots in her direction.
Felt the bullets whoosh past her.
She crouched. Threw herself behind the Fiesta. She felt a nick on her left arm—looked at it and saw a cut. A bullet. A bullet must’ve hit her. Wasn’t such a bad wound though. Just a scratch.
If she’d been a second later…
No. No time to think.
Just act.
She turned back to the house she’d stepped out of. Saw Dad and Alice at the door. Every time one of them poked their heads around the door, the gunfire slammed in their direction. They were pinned down. Trapped.
Chloë looked down the alleyway at the side of the house. If they could get out of there, she could…
And then she saw movement down that alleyway.
Saw someone running behind the buildings.
Heading towards the one Dad and Alice were in.
Holding a rifle.
“The back door!” Chloë shouted.
Dad looked at her. Frowned. “Just—just go. Just find everyone and—”
He didn’t finish speaking.
The sound of gunfire ripped through the back of the building.
Chloë heard a shout down the street. Looked ahead. Saw Rajiv running down the side of the promenade. His skinny back oozed blood. His legs looked like they were about to give way any moment.
Another round of bullets hit the Fiesta. Sent glass crashing down over Chloë. She gripped her knife. Looked back at the door where Dad and Alice had stood.
There was no sign of them.
They were gone.
Chloë heard footsteps approaching. Heard them getting closer to the Fiesta.
“Step out. Hands behind your head. We’ll make it quick.”
She heard the voice to the left. She poked her head around the right of the car. Saw the gun men and women were facing the other direction, firing elsewhere.
Chloë held her breath.
Crept around the right side of the car.
The footsteps moving further around the left.
She reached the front of the car. Felt completely exposed. There were four people with guns right at the opposite end of the promenade. All it took was them turning round. Seeing her. And she was dead. No way around it.
She couldn’t let that happen.
“Where the fuck are—”
She swung around the side of the car.
Sliced the man’s lower leg with her knife.
Then jumped up, stabbed him in the neck repeatedly, then covered his mouth before he could make a cry.
She held him until he tumbled to the ground.
His blood running out onto Chloë’s hand, warm and sticky.
She pushed him away when he stopped gargling.
Turned back to the building where Dad and Alice were.
Ran as quickly as she could before anyone noticed her.
She reached the door. Pressed onto it. Pushed it aside with her leg. She held her knife tight, just in case anyone was around the corner waiting to attack.
But the building was silent.
Completely silent.
Chloë stepped inside. Squinted into the darkness. It felt like something was different in here. Something had changed, but she couldn’t work out what.
She took a few steps.
Felt like eyes were watching her.
Burning into her.
Another few steps.
And then she saw what was different.
Alice was standing on the landing area at the top of the staircase. The wooden railings had been kicked away in front of her.
She had a rope around her neck.
And someone stood behind her.
Chloë’s muscles tightened.
Those angry eyes.
That horrible smile.
Jackson.
“Good to see you again, Chloë,” he said.
He had a gun to Alice’s head. She stood right at the edge of the landing.
“Let her go,” Chloë said. It was all she could say. All she could think to say.
Outside, she heard footsteps marching closer.
Jackson smiled. Chuckled. “Poor choice of words.”
He lowered the gun.
Fired a bullet into Alice’s left foot.
She cried out. Hopped to the left. Rubble tumbled away from the balcony. Blood dripped out of her foot.
Chloë’s chest ached. Her vision blurred. “Just… just please. Please. Don’t—”
“Just go, Chloë,” Alice muttered.
“Please.”
Jackson smiled.
Pulled the gun away.
Then he turned it back to Alice’s right foot and fired.
Alice cried out.
She tried to hop onto her other foot.
Slipped.
Chloë thought she shouted out. She thought she cried something.
But everything happened in slow motion.
Alice lost her footing.
Tumbled off the side of the landing area.