by Ryan Casey
Chloë opened her eyes. Saw that suddenly, she was out on the water. On the sea.
She looked behind her.
The wall at the side of the water was flapping. Like it was made out of nothing more than plastic.
“Velcro walls,” Dad said. “Should keep the rats away.”
Chloë watched the surprise on the faces of Dean’s group as he paddled his way out of the building. She watched Cassandra follow, the boat almost capsizing with panic, then laughter. Relief.
They floated along. Floated across the sea, gentle now, the rain only light. Up above, Chloë saw the clouds parting. She felt the warmth of the sun on her skin.
In the distance, she could see a mass of land stretching out. From the map, Chloë knew Bardsey Island was beyond it. She knew it would take a while to get there. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. She knew the butterflies would never leave her tummy.
But they were on their way.
They were on their way to the safe haven. The real safe haven.
They were on their way to—
Chloë heard the crackle of gunfire.
She turned around. Looked back at the grey building.
Then she saw them standing at the shore of the embankment.
There were lots of them. About twenty.
All of them were wearing black.
All of them were pointing guns.
Pointing them at the boats.
“I wouldn’t paddle another inch if I were you,” a voice said.
Chloë’s muscles went numb.
She knew the voice.
She’d recognise it from a mile away.
Jackson.
42
FORTY-TWO
“There’s two ways this can go. You try paddling away and you die. Or you bring back the boats and you live.”
Chloë heard Jackson’s words clearly. She stared across the water at the shore. It’d all seemed so positive just moments ago. They were getting away. They were escaping.
But now Jackson was back.
He wasn’t going to let them escape.
The guns his group pointed at Chloë’s group told her that much.
“It’s over, Jackson,” Dean shouted. “Just give it up. Plenty of room for you here and for us—”
“You’re not making the terms here, Dean,” Jackson said. He didn’t look away from Chloë for a moment though. Kept on staring at her. Staring right into her eyes. Shaky smile on his face. “You heard what I said. You paddle away and we open fire on every single one of you. Or you swim back here and you live.”
“Really expect us to trust you?” Cassandra shouted. “After what you did? To Alice? To our people?”
Jackson glanced away briefly. Looked at Cassandra. Studied her, just for a moment.
Then he looked right back at Chloë.
“You don’t really have a choice, do you?”
Chloë’s heart pounded. She heard the water crashing up against the side of the canoe. She just wanted to go. Get away from here. Risk it. Because Bardsey Island was their safe place. It wasn’t Jackson’s. He hadn’t found it.
“Gotta say,” Jackson called, his gun pointed right at Chloë. “I’m impressed. ‘Row, row, row your boat.’ I mean I won’t take credit. You caught on to that quicker than me. You brought us here. Brought us all here.”
He chuckled.
“Well done, kid. You brought the lot of us together. Just a pity it can’t last.”
Chloë didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak. She just looked over at Jackson’s group. Looked at Hassan. And the others. Faces she didn’t recognise. All of them wearing a black piece of clothing of some kind. Jackson’s Black Army.
She looked at them and for a moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of humanity in their eyes.
The blast of Jackson’s gun into the sky snapped her out of the trance.
“Okay. We don’t have all day here. You swim back here or you don’t. Really can’t make it any clearer than that.”
“You won’t shoot us,” Chloë said.
The panic amongst the three boats calmed. Everyone looked at Chloë with wide, puzzled eyes.
Jackson frowned. “I won’t?”
“These boats,” Chloë said. “You need these boats. Just as much as we do. You won’t shoot them. You won’t risk shooting them.”
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. His cheeks reddened. Chloë saw the guns of a few of his group members lowering. Saw the confused side glances between them.
“You need them just as much as us,” Chloë said. “You won’t risk losing them.”
Silence between them. The only sound was the waves against the shore. The rain sprinkled down again, pattered against the boat.
Jackson peered into Chloë’s eyes.
“You don’t think so, do you?”
He smiled.
Lifted his rifle.
Fired at Chloë’s boat.
Chloë felt her dad drag her down. Felt him pull her to the floor of the boat for shelter. She heard the bullets crack the side of the canoe. Felt water splash through it. Felt the boat tipping sidewards.
The next thing she knew, she was underwater.
She tried to hold her breath, but the water was just too icy. She tried to swim, but her muscles were tense, shocked by the cold. She opened her eyes. Let go of her breath. She could see light above. See movement.
She tried to swim. Tried to swim with her one hand.
Felt herself sinking.
Felt herself drifting below.
And then a hand grabbed her and dragged her to the surface.
She gasped as she rose above the water. Coughed the cold, salty fluid out of her lungs, so much she felt like she was being sick. Her eyes stung. Her vision was blurred.
“Come on,” Dad said. “Let’s get to Dean’s boat.”
“Remember the rules,” Jackson called. “Remember them very clearly. You swim back to shore and you live. Or you paddle away and you die. The boats get wrecked. None of us get away. None of us.”
Chloë looked back at the canoe she’d been inside. It was on its bottom, gargling water through the bullet holes. She had no idea if everyone got out of it. No idea.
The only thing she knew?
Jackson was serious.
He wasn’t giving up.
“Come on,” Dad muttered. “Just paddle. Just like that. I’ll lift you onto the boat.”
Chloë reached the side of Dean’s boat. “I—I dunno if it’ll take all of—“
“It’ll have to,” Dad said. “Come on Chlo. We can do this. Just climb up. Don’t have to die here. Don’t have to do things on his terms.”
Chloë looked back at Jackson. Saw his rifle pointed right at her. His gaze on her. He wasn’t giving up. He wasn’t going away.
And that’s something they had to deal with.
“You climb on first,” Chloë said.
“Chloë, I’m lifting you—“
“Pull me up. When you’re on the boat. Please.”
Dad sighed. He tightened his grip on Chloë’s upper arm, which stung at the stump.
And then he let go.
Climbed onto Dean’s boat, which wobbled from side to side with his weight.
He climbed over the side. Turned. Reached out for Chloë. “Now. Grab my hand.”
Chloë floated in the sea.
She floated, staring into her dad’s eyes.
“Chloë, quick! We don’t have much time.”
“I’m sorry,” Chloë mumbled.
She looked past Dad.
Looked at Dean.
And she knew Dean understood.
She knew from the way his eyes widened that he understood what Chloë was doing.
What she was asking of him.
Chloë turned around and swam back towards the shore.
“Chloë!”
She heard her dad struggling. Pictured him trying to leap out the boat, Dean holding him back.
“You need to go,” Chloë shouted, not looking back at
the boats. “As quick as you can.”
“Let me go! Let me go!”
“It’s me he wants,” Chloë said, looking up at Jackson, “He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about the boats.”
“Chloë! Angel! Come back—let me go, let me go!”
She heard the boats wading away.
Heard the paddles splash against the water.
And she saw Jackson standing still.
Gun pointed at her.
Holding his fire.
She reached the shore. Shivered, soaked from head to toe.
Pulled herself to her feet.
“Hello, Chloë,” Jackson said, Chloë’s dad’s screams growing gradually more distant. “Nice of you to join us.”
43
FORTY-THREE
Chloë told herself not to be afraid as she walked up the shore towards Jackson and his army.
But she couldn’t stop the shaking all over her body.
The sky was grey with cloud. The rain fell heavily again. Because of the soaked condition Chloë was in, every blow of the wind felt icy-cold. Made her shake even more than she already was shaking.
Saltwater coated her lips, made them feel dry. In the distance, as she walked up the dirty sand, she could still hear her dad shouting. She tried not to picture his pain. To picture how he must feel right now.
All she cared about was that he’d got away.
That the rest of the group had got away.
She smiled when she thought of them arriving on Bardsey Island. She wished she could be there to celebrate with them.
But she couldn’t. Not now.
Because she had something else to do.
“Stop,” Jackson said.
Chloë bit her lip.
Then she stopped. Just like he asked.
“Your weapons. Drop them.”
Chloë paused for a moment.
Then she reached for her knife.
Pulled it out of her pocket.
Held it out in front of her.
She imagined running up to Jackson. Imagined his gun jamming. Imagined the sound of him spluttering as blood spurted out of his neck.
“Drop it,” Jackson said.
Chloë released the breath she’d been holding in her chest.
Then, she dropped the knife into the sand.
“Good,” Jackson said. “Now kick it into the sea.”
Chloë took a step towards the knife. Felt the eyes of Jackson’s group watching her. Felt their guns pointed at her.
She reached the knife.
Turned around.
Thought about crouching. Picking it up. Throwing it at Jackson and ending his life. Even though she knew his group would open fire on her, at least he’d be dead. Even though she knew it meant the end of herself, she knew he’d be gone too.
But no.
That wasn’t what she was here to do.
She booted the knife down the sand. Watched it tumble towards the water. Splash into the sea.
She stared at it. Her knife. The knife that’d gone so far with her. The knife that’d kept her alive, time after time after time.
Gone.
“Now turn around. Hands behind your head. Sorry. Hand.”
Chloë heard a few chuckles. She put her hand on the back of her head. Held her breath. Turned around. Looked Jackson in the eye again.
She saw the way he looked at her. Eyes bloodshot. Smile larger than ever. He looked at her like her Nan’s old cat, Mr Biggins, used to look at birds in the garden. Or mice it’d cornered.
He looked at her like she was his prey.
And like Mr Biggins, he was just toying with her now.
“I appreciate you coming back here. Really, I do. Brave move. Giving yourself up for the good of your people. You’ve changed.”
“They’re not my people. We’re a group. We’re all together. We help each other.”
Jackson nodded. He looked around the beach. “Right. Of course. Which is why you’re on your own now, and why the rest of your… sorry, the merry-fucking-altogether group aren’t here now. It’s why they’ve abandoned you.”
“They’ve done what I wanted them to do.”
“And now we’re going to do what I want to do.”
He started walking down the shore. Walking towards Chloë.
Chloë looked around at Jackson’s people. “I came back because I wanted to offer you something. My dad calls it a truce.”
A few tuts. A few shakes of the head.
“Your dad’s got a vivid imagination,” Jackson said.
“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here because… because I’m fed up of fighting. Fed up of—of not trusting other people. I’m fed up of people not getting on. Going against each other like we’re the enemies. But we’re not. We all have one enemy. And we have to be strong to fight them.”
Jackson kept on walking. “If these are your famous last words, I’m disappointed. I think I’d rather hear you scream.”
Chloë lowered her hand. Ignored Jackson. Kept her focus on Jackson’s group. “There… there was a map. With the boats. A map pointing us to a place called Bardsey Island. I think that’s the safe place.”
“Bullshit,” Jackson said.
“We can get there. All of us.”
“And how’re we s’posed to do that? Swim?”
Chloë didn’t want to say the next words. She didn’t want to give it away.
But she had to.
“There’s another boat in the building.”
Some of the group members turned. Glanced at the building.
Jackson kept his focus on Chloë. “She’s lying.”
“You can go in there and you can see for yourself.”
“She’s trying to trick us.”
“Believe that. Believe it if you want. But there’s one more canoe in there. It won’t fit loads in. Maybe five or six with a squeeze. But… but we can use it. We can all use it. We can go in a few groups. Take turns paddling back here to pick the rest up. It can work. It can really work.”
Jackson stopped. Stopped just a few metres away from Chloë. He tried to hold his smile, but it was quivering now. Growing uncertain. He didn’t like the change of power. Chloë knew how that felt. She used to feel that way herself.
“We can do it however you want to do it,” Chloë said. “You… you can leave me back here if you want. But please. Just… just let’s end this. Let’s end this and start again. Let’s trust each other.”
Chloë looked only at Jackson now. Looked at him, gun lowered by his side, so close she could smell his breath.
“Please, Jackson. I’m sorry for the things I got wrong. I’m sorry for the people that died. I’m sorry for the people I didn’t let in. But we can end that here. We can end it. Please.”
Jackson’s eyes clouded over, greyer than the sky above. The rain fell down heavier, making the sand slushy.
And then his dazed eyes refocused on Chloë.
“Yes, we can,” he said.
He lifted his rifle.
Pointed it at Chloë.
Squeezed the trigger.
44
FORTY FOUR
“Wait!”
The sound of Hassan’s voice split through Jackson’s consciousness. He had his finger squeezed on the rifle’s trigger. Had Chloë firmly in his sights.
But something about Hassan’s voice threw him off.
Something about the desperation in Hassan’s voice made him stop.
He turned. Looked at Hassan. “The fuck’s wrong?”
Hassan’s gun was lowered. Hanging by his side. He shook his head. Stared at the ground.
“Hassan,” Jackson said. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of something quite serious here, so—“
“Maybe she’s right,” Hassan said.
Jackson frowned. He couldn’t process Hassan’s words. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I caught that properly.”
Hassan looked up at him. “Maybe… maybe Chloë’s right.”
Jackson’s skin went cold. Even though it was getting chilly, he started to sweat profusely. He tried to smile, but he knew there was no point. Not with what Hassan said. Not with what those words meant. “She’s right? You think she’s right?”
“I think she’s got a fair point. About fighting. About our enemies. We’re all people at the end of the day. All people just… just trying to survive in our own ways.”
“Did you think that way when you stormed into all those houses back in the last town? When you killed people? Left kids without families?”
“I guess I… I guess I thought we were working towards something.”
“And now you don’t?”
Hassan glanced up at Jackson. Lowered his head. Shook it. “I’m sorry. But I… I’m with Chloë.”
He walked down the side of the beach towards the shore.
Chloë stared on, silent. Looked shocked. Probably in just as much disbelief as Jackson himself. Fucking scheming little bitch.
Jackson’s neck pulsed. He turned. “Anyone else? Anyone else have a sudden change of heart? Anyone else want to just—just abandon everything we’ve been working for?”
“What have we been working for, exactly?”
Wilson’s voice was like a blade to the heart.
The questions. Jackson couldn’t cope with the questions.
They were supposed to follow him. They were supposed to trust him. Just him. No one else.
He couldn’t just let them slip away. Out of his grip.
He took a deep breath. Smiled at Wilson as confidently as he could. “We’ve been building an army. A strong army.”
“To fight what?”
“To—to fight our enemies.”
Wilson shook his head. “No. No we’ve not. We’ve been fighting your enemies. What happens when Chloë’s gone? What happens then?”
“We—we move on.”
“To where? To that island? The one you were more willing to destroy the boats for than head over there?”
“We’d find another way.”
“Face it,” Wilson said. He lowered his gun. Walked up to Jackson, his glasses steamed. “You put your interests before ours. All along you’ve been screwing us over. I can see that now. We can all see that now. So fuck you.”
Wilson walked down the sand. Walked towards Chloë.
Jackson could barely speak. His skin tingled all over. His thoughts jumbled. He saw more of his group walking away. The weak ones. The wishy-washy fuckers. Andy. Of course Andy was walking away. He’d never liked him. Should’ve killed him when he got the chance. Should’ve…