by Ryan Casey
She slowed down. Approached the woman.
Clung on to the knife in her hand, held on to Kesha further up her arm.
She stepped closer to the woman. The rain was easing. A final surge of light filled the late afternoon sky as sunset approached.
Chloë stepped closer to the woman.
“Hel… Hello?”
The woman didn’t move. Didn’t twitch. Not at first.
And then she lifted her head.
Turned to look at Chloë.
It was then that Chloë realised something was wrong. Because this wasn’t a woman. This wasn’t a woman at all.
It wasn’t even a monster.
It was…
She didn’t get to finish her trail of thoughts.
The thing stood up and hurtled in her direction.
FOURTEEN
Chloë didn’t know how to react when she saw the thing launch itself at her.
She stood there completely still for a few moments. Stared at this creature. Where its head should be, there was a big lump of pink flesh. The head looked wobbly like there was jelly inside it.
It was completely faceless.
It wasn’t a monster. Well. It was a monster. Just not the kind she knew. Not the kind she was used to.
Used to be used to.
How much had the world really changed while she’d been on Bardsey Island?
She threw herself to the right as the thing hurtled in her direction. She ran into the trees, still clinging on to Kesha. As the thing got closer to her, she swore she could smell a weird sweet smell coming from its body. Like flowers, but going a bit sour. Chloë didn’t like the smell. It made her feel bad.
She wanted to get away from it. To get back to the island. Anywhere but here.
She skipped between a few of the trees. She knew it wasn’t looking good for her. Whatever that thing was, it was doing a good job of keeping up with her. She thought about it. Thought about the way that fleshy bubble had sprouted out of its neck. The neck where a woman’s head once sat.
She didn’t want to turn. She didn’t want to face the thing.
But something made her look anyway.
When she turned around, she froze.
The woods behind her was empty. It was getting darker, harder to see anything. She could still smell that strange tang in the air, though. She thought for a second it might just be Kesha needing a nappy changing, but she remembered from how her little cousin Ida used to smell when her nappy needed changing that it probably wasn’t that.
She adjusted her grip on the handle of the knife. Scanned the woods behind her, closely. Slowly. She swore she saw movement twitching around between the trees. Things creeping towards her in the long, damp grass.
But the thing had gone. She wasn’t sure where, but it’d gone all the same.
That was something to be pleased about.
Something to be relieved about.
She turned around and fell back when she saw what was in front of her.
The thing pushed her down. It had such strength as it jumped on top of her, as it moved its fleshy head towards her. The closer it got, Chloë saw things along its body. Along its chest.
Teeth.
Little mouths.
Chloë tried to push back, doing all she could not to get bitten by this thing. It was strange: it definitely wasn’t a person anymore. But it had the strength of someone stronger than a monster. Like it knew what it was doing all along.
The more Chloë pushed back at it, the larger its bulging head grew. The more purple it got. If she could just reach her knife. If she could just…
She saw one of the little mouths wrap around Kesha’s tiny arm and she knew right then she had to do something. Just a sense deep inside that she had to act.
So she let her grip on Kesha loosen.
Twisted the knife around.
Stabbed it into the side of the thing’s head.
What happened next surprised Chloë.
The thing stopped twitching. It stopped moving altogether. The mouths on its body stopped snapping.
And then its fleshy head burst all over Chloë and covered her in cold, thick gunk.
She took a few seconds to catch her breath. To wipe the fluid away. Push the dead weight of the woman away from her.
And then she wiped the goo off Kesha. Cleaned her up as best as she could with some muddy rainwater from the ground below.
She still couldn’t comprehend what she’d just seen. The thing she’d just killed. Couldn’t get her head around it.
She started to walk away. She had to get back. Get back to the tunnel entrance. But she’d lost track of where she was while fleeing the monsters, distracting them. Shit. She wiped off her knife. Looked back at the lifeless body of the…
Wait.
She looked around the grassy floor of the woods. Blinked a few times. Her chest tightened. This couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.
There was a damp mound where the thing had laid dead just a matter of seconds ago.
A damp mound that was now empty.
She looked at the trees again. Thought she saw twitching. No. She definitely saw twitching now. Things edging her way. Little movements in the grass.
She held on to Kesha and she knew what she had to do.
She had to run.
She had to keep on running.
She had to—
The thing stepped out of the trees to Chloë’s left. It was definitely the same thing she’d killed before. She could tell from the black dress on the woman’s body. From the empty bag of flesh resting on its shoulders.
Only now, it was lurching forward with its chest spread out.
Something was ripping out of its chest.
Tearing through the woman’s ribcage.
Another fleshy bag exploded out of the woman’s body.
The mouths on her skin started moving again.
And then in the corner of her eyes, Chloë saw more of these things edging towards her. Worse than the monsters. Far worse than the monsters.
Most of them still far enough away not to worry about. But not this one. Not this fucker in front of her.
She put Kesha down by the tree.
Raised her knife.
Saw her dad in her mind. Her dad who’d been taken away from her. The only person she had left.
And she wanted to make someone hurt.
She wanted to make someone hurt for taking him away.
She pulled back the knife. Felt her hands shaking. Felt her fear turning into rage, her sadness turning into anger.
She waited for the thing to step within a few inches of her.
Then she rammed the knife into the new fleshy bubble on its chest.
Again and again and again.
The thing stumbled back. Didn’t fall, just tumbled a little. Footsteps got louder as more of them sneaked through the trees towards Chloë.
The thing tried to fight back. But Chloë just kept on swinging that knife at it. Stabbing it in every one of its mouths. Stabbing its belly. Stabbing the places where more of those fleshy bags sprouted up. Stabbing places they hadn’t yet sprouted in just to stop the inevitable.
She thought about Garth when she stabbed.
She thought about the gunshots.
And she kept on going and going and going as the anger built up inside, as it took over her.
She finally stopped stabbing when the body below her went completely still.
A bloodstained body. The smell of rust in the air.
Rain pouring down from above again, diluting it.
Chloë crouched there, completely still for a while. She stared down at the body. She felt her old self returning. The self she’d had to become to survive back when she was all alone.
A self she didn’t like. A self no one liked.
But a self she needed.
She looked up. Readied herself to take on more of these things.
The trees were empty.
/> Nothing but the sound of rain on the leaves.
She stood. Kept her eyes on her surroundings. Wiped off the knife. They couldn’t have just disappeared. Couldn’t have just… gone. Like that.
But they had.
They really had.
“Come on,” Chloë mumbled. “We should…”
When she turned around to the place she’d put Kesha down, her heart sank.
Kesha was gone.
FIFTEEN
Chloë stared at the spot where she’d put Kesha down to rest and felt her stomach sinking even more by the second.
The sky was getting dark. Soon, it’d be completely pitch black, and she wouldn’t be able to see a thing. She’d be completely alone out here. Completely alone in the darkness.
And Kesha was gone.
She took a shaky step towards the spot she’d put Kesha down. She felt sick. She listened for a sound amidst the trees, but nothing other than rain, than the slight breeze rustling the branches together.
No cries. Nothing.
She felt her breathing intensifying. Her head started to spin. She searched the spot where she’d put Kesha down. No. She can’t have lost her. She was there, just a few seconds ago. She couldn’t even walk. She was just a baby. A really young baby.
She had to be here somewhere. She just had to be.
She crouched on the ground. Searched through the mass of dirt and soil. She wasn’t thinking straight and didn’t really believe that Kesha could’ve buried herself. But what else? How else had she snook away?
She tried to think back to what’d happened. She’d put Kesha down by the tree while she went to take on the thing that attacked her. Could something else have taken her? Could something else have been watching her all along, just waiting to make its move?
She didn’t know. She couldn’t think.
Her heart pounded.
Her head spun even more.
She punched the ground where she’d put Kesha down. Gritted her teeth together. And as she crouched there, Chloë wondered why it was hurting her so much. Why she was so lost without Kesha.
And she knew why. She saw why now.
With Kesha, there was still somebody there for her. There was still somebody by her side. Somebody to keep her company.
Without Kesha, Chloë was alone.
She didn’t care much about Kesha. Not really. She preferred her to the other babies, sure, but she knew caring about people was dangerous and she couldn’t afford to live dangerously anymore.
But Kesha was company. Kesha was somebody who made her feel responsible. Who didn’t make her feel so alone.
Kesha was all she had left out here in these woods.
Kesha was the only thing between the person Chloë had become on the island after leading her people towards it and the life of loneliness before that.
And now she was gone.
She searched the ground around some more trees. Her eyes were growing heavy and tired. The light was diminishing. She knew she didn’t have much light to find Kesha. And she knew that by the time morning came round—if it came round at all—Kesha could be anywhere.
She knew she had a matter of minutes to find Kesha. To know she was okay.
But maybe she didn’t even have minutes anymore.
She was about to look behind the next tree when she heard a branch snap to her left.
She turned around. Looked over at the source of the movement.
And then she heard another branch snapping.
She lifted the knife. Edged towards the source of the noise. It could be anything. It could be a monster. It could be Kesha. It could be another person.
Or it could be one of those things…
She held her breath. Stepped closer towards it. Sweat trickled down her forehead. Her heart pounded. Hunger churned in her stomach; hunger she knew would never go away if she went back to the life of living alone in the woods, never knowing where the next meal was coming from.
She stepped further through the branches, further towards the source of the noise. She thought she saw movement in the corners of her eyes. Thought she heard voices in the trees.
She had to keep moving.
She had to hold her breath.
She had to know what was ahead.
As she stepped around the back of a tree, Chloë had an image. A horrible image that filled her stomach with dread.
An image of finding Kesha. Only she wasn’t Kesha at all. She was undead. Blood dribbling from her neck. Snarl on her face. Unable to even feed herself because of her lack of teeth.
But when she turned the corner, Chloë didn’t find Kesha in this way at all.
Kesha was crawling along through the twigs. She was completely covered in mud.
“Kesha,” Chloë said. She felt her shoulders relax. Felt the bubble burst in the middle of her chest. She crouched down beside her. Lifted her. Pulled her close. Her warmth felt so good on her arm. Chloë couldn’t stop herself crying. She thought she tasted tears on her lips.
She turned around. Looked back at the woods. She knew what she needed to do. The goal was still the same. She had to get Kesha back to the island. It wasn’t ideal. The people there weren’t ideal for her. But anyone was better than this world out here. Anything was better than the way Chloë would have to live her life if Dad was gone.
She started to walk in the general direction of the tunnel.
Then she heard gunshots.
Close by. Not too far behind her.
Definite gunshots.
And after the gunshots, Chloë heard a scream.
She swallowed a sickly tasting lump in her throat. Pulled Kesha closer. “Come on,” she said.
Chloë caught her breath and then she ran back towards the tunnel, Kesha by her side.
Darkness closed in.
SIXTEEN
Darkness finally spread across Bardsey Island, but Kyle hadn’t been able to see anything but clouds over this place for hours.
The door to the nursery in front of them was partly ajar. He could just about see in through the crack in the door as Laura shone her torchlight in there. He could see the odd pool of blood illuminating. And it made him feel sick. Sick, right to the pit of his stomach.
But he had to do what he had to do. This was war. Bad shit happened in war.
He’d answer to God when he finally found his way above the clouds.
Finally.
The island was quieter now. There was still the occasional scream, the odd cry. Even infrequent peppering of gunfire. But nothing matched the chaos of earlier. Nothing competed with the conflict they’d already fought.
“Come on,” Laura said. “Can’t wait around all day.”
Kyle swallowed. His mouth was dry. He knew he should probably eat seeing as he hadn’t eaten all day. But hell, he wasn’t hungry. Stomach felt like shit.
The things he’d done. The things he’d had to do.
All of them welled up in his mind. He knew he’d have nightmares about them. About the looks of terror on people’s faces as he fired bullets through their chests. About the cries of grief, so much louder and less theatrical than the movies always made them out to be.
And all of it was for nothing if they didn’t find exactly what they’d come for in this building right ahead.
Kyle took a deep breath. Nodded. He followed Laura inside the nursery. Beside the door, a man crouched with his guts in his arms. Garth, he was called. He looked like he’d been shot leaving this place, walking away from it. Rest in peace, Garth. Thanks for fighting for the good cause.
Kyle kept on following Laura inside the nursery. And as he moved into it, he wondered if perhaps he could get away with squinting. With narrowing his eyes so he wouldn’t see as much in front of him. He’d done it before. Done it when he was a kid and his parents died in the fire. Done it when beating up Kimmy Harper back in high school, his friends all egging him on to do it, but him not really wanting to.
But not being able to stop the violence inside him.<
br />
Not being able to stop himself from ramming that fake Rockport boot into her chest.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He’d spent a whole lifetime of squinting when there was something ahead of him he knew he wouldn’t really like to see.
He knew that now was the time to stop squinting.
The tiled floor of the nursery was covered in blood. Dark blood. Thick blood. Again, not like the kind you see in the films. Not that thin stuff that trickles out your nose when your allergies kick in. Not like any of those at all.
This was proper blood.
As Kyle looked around the room, he realised where the bulk of the blood came from. It made the taste of vomit intensify in his mouth, not helped by the faint smell of metallic blood filling the air.
This nursery. This nursery was so quiet. Too quiet for a nursery.
When he looked at the cots, he saw exactly why.
He couldn’t help himself any longer. He leaned forward. Puked up his guts—the little that was inside them—all over the floor. Strong, acidic stomach acid burned his throat. A cheesy taste from breakfast he’d had just this morning covered his lips, made him want to vomit even more.
“Jesus Christ,” Laura said. “You really want to get that queasy shit sorted out, brother.”
Kyle wiped his lips. “Dead kids. And you’re walking around here like it’s just normal. I’d say it’s you that needs to get something sorting out.”
“Don’t pretend for one minute you’re innocent in this.”
“I don’t. And neither should you.”
Laura turned. Smiled at Kyle. “I never do.”
The smile on her face—a smile he’d seen on his sister’s face throughout their lives—made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Kyle had always had worries about his sister. Concerns about her. It started with the bedwetting. Some rumour he heard from a friend about psychos wetting the bed. Serial killers.
Kyle never really thought much of it until he found his sister snipping the feet off her pet hamsters.
“The girl,” Kyle said, changing the subject. “Is she there?”