Chloe Zombie Apocalypse series (Book 3): Chloe (A New World)

by Ryan Casey

  And the hardest part of all this was, Chloë didn’t care. She didn’t care about the figures coming her way. She didn’t care about the darkness. She didn’t care about the fact that she was weaponless, that she was without food, trapped in the middle of nowhere.

  She’d let Kesha down. She’d let Dad down.

  She had no one left.

  She stood up. Wandered barefoot through the slushy mud. She’d tried walking back to the place her dad was buried. But she had no idea where that was. Just that it was in the woods somewhere.

  She didn’t know whether she was going in the right direction. She didn’t know where he was. How far they’d driven from him.

  But that was all Chloë had left. The hope that her dad was still out there, somewhere.

  She tried not to think about the figures she’d seen approaching him as they drove away from his buried body. Tried not to picture the monsters crouching down beside him, bursting the veins in his throat with their sharp teeth.

  She tried not to think about the things, either. Because if they found him, they’d put him through even more pain. Even more torture.

  One bonus? She hadn’t encountered any more Orions since the attack in the woods earlier.

  But she knew they were still out there, somewhere. Even if there was only one, they were out there.

  That was a reason to be terrified.

  She waded further through the trees and tumbled down into the dirt. She started punching at it. Splattering it all over herself. She started to cry. Didn’t like crying, but she was alone now. She was so totally alone.

  All this because she’d allowed herself to care.

  If she’d just handed Kesha over when Garth first stepped into Margery’s nursery, none of this would’ve happened.

  It was all her fault. All her stupid fault.

  But then something else dawned on Chloë. Something Dad had told her before the island collapsed.

  “You’ve got to learn to bond, Chloë. Humanity is important, but humans are more important.”

  She hadn’t understood that at the time. Not totally. Hadn’t really taken long to think about it.

  But as she lay there in the mud, rain lashing down onto her, the words started to make a real kind of sense to Chloë.

  She thought about the good times she’d had. The times she’d smiled. The times she’d genuinely felt happy since the world collapsed.

  All those times she’d been surrounded by other people.

  People she cared about.

  People she let inside.

  Her heart started to pound. She licked the dirt from her lips.

  She’d been looking at things wrong. All this time, she’d been looking at things wrong.

  She wasn’t alone. She never had been alone. It was only because she’d been too scared to lose anyone else that she only bonded with her dad in the first place.

  But people were always there. Maybe they weren’t the best people. Maybe they were people Chloë didn’t really want to be there for her.

  But they were.

  Humans were more important than humanity.

  She pushed herself to her feet. She still felt weak on the legs, shaky all over. She looked around. Back where she’d walked from. Wasn’t sure exactly which direction she’d come from, only that she’d been heading straight along.

  But if she could get back and reach the road, she could do what she had to do.

  If she could get back and reach the road, she could find them.

  She started to walk back. And it hurt. It hurt to walk away from searching for her dad. It hurt to give up on him.

  But deep down, Chloë knew she wasn’t giving up on him at all. She was doing what he wanted her to do.

  She was doing what she had to do.

  As she searched for the muddy tire tracks where the Range Rovers had driven away, Chloë started picking twigs up. She started searching the sticks on the ground. Started tearing the bark away from trees. She could see a plan forming. She could see it forming right in front of her.

  She knew what she had to do.

  It might kill her. It might not work.

  But it was the only thing she had left.

  She yanked away some bark from an old tree. Sharpened its edge, sharpened it right down until it was pointed, dangerous.

  And she did the same thing again and again with different pieces of bark, sharpening them all down, right down into hand-sized objects.

  Weapons.

  She stuffed the bark into her pockets. Up ahead, she saw the road. In the moonlight, she saw tire tracks.

  She swallowed a lump in her throat. Turned back. Stared into the darkness.

  “I’m coming back for you, Dad,” she said. “Kesha, I promise I’m coming back for you.”

  Then, after staring back into the woods for a minute, she looked back ahead.

  She took a deep breath.

  And she walked towards the road.

  There was only one direction she was heading in right now.

  There was only one thing left to do.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Kyle couldn’t pretend to be completely at ease about heading back to the island with Kesha in his company.

  But the further he travelled, the closer he got back to Bardsey Island, the more comfortable the whole situation became.

  The evening sun was low in the sky. They’d stopped a few times on the way back. A few times to take out a few infected. A few other times to take down those parasitic fuckers. Then they’d started having engine troubles. Might as well have walked for the amount of time it’d taken them to reach this point.

  But they were close now. They were getting closer and closer to Bardsey Island.

  They were getting closer and closer to home.

  He looked over his shoulder. Kesha was on the back seat. She hadn’t been fed yet, which probably explained her crying. He found it annoying, really. He’d never been cut out to be a dad. Way too much hassle to worry about for him.

  But Kesha needed protecting. Kesha needed keeping alive.

  Mostly because of what she had inside her.

  He looked back out of the front window as the car rumbled along the road. He couldn’t wait to see Bardsey Island up ahead. He hoped he’d see it soon. “How much further?”

  Alec checked the meter. Shrugged. “Not too far.”

  “Reckon we’ll be there by nightfall?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Fuck.”

  “We need petrol. If memory serves me correct, there’s a station on the left up here soon.”

  “I hope memory does serve you correct,” Kyle said.

  He started staring back out of his window. Thinking about what he had to do. It was his sister’s idea, originally, bless her. They’d heard rumours about Kesha spreading around. Rumours that she wasn’t just immune, but she was a cure, too. But they were just rumours. Nothing more than rumours.

  And then Kyle had been bitten, and he’d been left with a choice.

  See if the rumours were true. 1% chance of survival. 99% chance of death.

  Or don’t. Sit back and let himself turn. 100% chance of death.

  Funny thing happened when he injected a pinch of Kesha’s blood. He was still here right now.

  And so were so many others after putting themselves up to the test.

  He knew what he had to do. He knew what the whole island had to do. They had to use Kesha’s blood. They had to distribute it. Sure, it was a shame to hurt the kid. But the truth was, she was doing a greater deed for the good of humanity. For the good of his people. That’s where the High Lord had been wrong all along by dawdling along, keeping her safe, being half-arsed about the whole thing.

  Kyle wanted action. He wanted to make a change. Make a difference.

  And if it meant killing a kid to save the people around him—the people he cared about—well, so be it.

  If it meant hooking the kid up to a machine for life to extract her blood, so be it.

&n
bsp; Never thought he’d think that way. Used to always be his sister who thought that way.

  But now she was gone, someone had to take her place. To finish what she started.

  He felt the engine chugging away as the rain lashed down heavier. Felt the tires struggling in the mud.

  “No better route?” Kyle asked.

  “Not unless you fancy coming head to head with a shitload of infected.”

  Kyle thought about walking through the crowd. About taking each and every bite. He’d already been bitten again. That was the truth. He’d already been bitten and he hadn’t turned.

  He was starting to believe in the miracle of Kesha.

  He wanted that for everyone on Bardsey Island. Everyone in his community.

  The price a girl like that would cost…

  The things people would pay—the thing they’d do—for a little bit of her blood…

  He knew he could be the most powerful person on the planet if he just kept this baby safe, kept her to himself.

  He knew he could be the leader his dad always told him he was too weak to be.

  The car rumbled.

  Came to a halt.

  Kyle and the islanders in the second car were silent. Just for a few seconds.

  “What’s happening?”

  It took a few wipes of the windscreen for Kyle to realise why Alec had brought the car to a sudden halt.

  The car in front was stationary.

  “What d’you reckon? Infected?”

  Kyle stared out the rain-soaked window. He looked back. Looked at the three people sat around Kesha. Looked into her wide, bright eyes.

  And then he zipped his hood up and opened the car door. Gun in hand.

  “I’ll check it out,” he said.

  He squelched into the mud. The rain seemed even heavier now he was out in it. Visibility was dropping.

  He walked over to the side of the Range Rover. Its hazard lights were flashing. Maybe it’d broken down. Shit. Just what they needed. Another five of them squeezed into the back of his Range Rover.

  They were so close to home. So close to ending this.

  It couldn’t go to shit.

  Not now…

  Kyle stopped.

  He stopped when he saw what was in the car.

  The driver, Emma, lay face flat on the steering wheel. Her eyes were wide open.

  Blood poured out of an open wound on the side of her neck.

  The others were silent, too. All of them covered in blood. All of them wide-eyed. And Kyle didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand how something like this could happen.

  He looked and saw the storage flap at the back of the Range Rover was partly open.

  His stomach dropped. He knew what it meant. He’d used those flaps before. There was a way into the car from underneath. A way of sneaking inside if the flap—which doubled as a boot—wasn’t locked properly.

  Someone had got inside.

  Someone had killed his people.

  Someone had—

  He heard a bang. Then a cry. A wail. Back at his car.

  He looked around. Looked back at his car as the rain lashed down, blocking all visibility of anyone or anything inside it.

  He was still. Just for a few seconds.

  And then he hurtled towards his Range Rover.

  When he reached it, he found Alec choking in the driver’s seat. His gun was gone.

  There was a large, sharp piece of wood wedged in his throat.

  He spluttered something. Spit and blood dribbled down his chin. His eyes were wide, piercing white. He was looking right at Kyle. Looking at him like he didn’t understand. Like this was all some kind of mistake.

  But Kyle didn’t give a fuck about Alec.

  He didn’t give a fuck about the rest of the people in the Range Rover, all of them dead, all of them with pieces of wood wedged into their throats, one of them with a bullet between their eyes.

  All he cared about was the only person in his party who was gone.

  Kesha.

  She was gone.

  She’d been taken.

  He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. The horn blasted. How had this happened? How had someone sneaked into these two cars and taken Kesha away so silently? The kid, Chloë? Surely she wasn’t capable of this. Not on her own. Not without—

  He felt a sharp pain split through his right shoulder.

  It was hot. Hot and searing. Pins and needles stretched right across his body.

  He fell down to his knees, unable to escape the pain. He hit the dirt. Clung on to the Range Rover driver’s door, just to keep himself steady.

  When he turned, he saw her running away into the trees. He saw her through the pouring rain. Kesha in her arm.

  And as his head went light and dizzy, only one thing filled his mind. Just one.

  He had to kill Chloë.

  He had to get her and he had to kill her.

  Once and for all.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Chloë held Kesha under her arm and ran as quickly as she could.

  Night had fallen. The rain that started yesterday was still lashing down. Part of her didn’t mind it—it made it easier to escape, easier to get away with Kesha. It made her less visible.

  But she was looking forward to the feeling of not being drenched anymore. And she was going to do everything she could to make sure that was a feeling she was going to experience.

  She squinted into the darkness. She had a torch in her rucksack. She’d taken both the torch and the rucksack from one of the Range Rovers she’d attacked. Really, it’d been too easy. She’d just had to burst the front tyres with the sharpened bark. And then when they’d stopped to take a look, she’d sneaked inside the car. Picked each of them off, one by one. She’d used their own guns to shoot at them. She’d bitten. She’d fought.

  And then she’d carried on driving that first Range Rover. Pulled over, just long enough to freak out the islanders in Kyle and Kesha’s car.

  By the time Kyle finally clambered out of his Range Rover, she was already sneaking inside it, holding up Kesha, stabbing everyone in her sight.

  She didn’t like that she’d had to hold up Kesha. Use her as a shield.

  But fuck. That’s the kind of thing she had to do to survive. It’s the kind of thing she used to do to survive. And as fucked up as she used to be, she was a lot better off that way than the way she’d become.

  Soft. Weak.

  No. She wasn’t soft. She wasn’t weak.

  She was fucking crazy, she knew that.

  But crazy was saving her and Kesha’s lives.

  She didn’t stop running. She’d stuck a sharp piece of bark in the back of Kyle. Watched him fall down by the side of the Range Rover, writhing away. And she’d enjoyed it. She’d enjoyed watching him collapse like that. All these months cooped up on the island and she’d forgotten what she’d tried to bury all this time.

  She enjoyed making people who hurt her suffer.

  She enjoyed watching them writhe around in agony.

  And she was going to enjoy it a whole lot more now that she was free.

  She ran until she reached the road. She was out of breath. Her throat was dry and sore—about the only dry part left in her body. She could smell sourness coming from Kesha’s nappy, and she knew at that point that she should probably grow up and change it.

  “It’s okay,” Chloë said, checking either side to see she was clear. She didn’t have any spare nappies with her, but she could at least turn the old one round. Make it so Kesha wasn’t lying around in her own filth.

  It was the new world. The rules of the old world didn’t apply here anymore.

  She crouched down. Lowered Kesha into the dirt. Holding her breath, she undid her nappy. Pulled it away, squinting just like she had when she’d washed Kesha, doing everything she could not to look at the source of the smell beneath her.

  But when Chloë went to turn Kesha’s nappy around, she noticed something. Something she’d ne
ver noticed before.

  There was something on the top of her right leg. Right at the top, in the crease of the nappy. She must’ve missed it last time. And she only just saw it this time, shining in the moonlight.

  She rubbed her fingers across it. Tried to understand it. What it was. When it’d happened.

  But she didn’t have to wonder for long.

  The reality dawned on her.

  “You… you were bitten,” Chloë said.

  She stared down at the wound on Kesha’s leg. It’d healed over. It wasn’t that big as it was. But there were four little scars. Four definite little red scars right there on her thigh.

  She knew what they were. She didn’t have to ask anyone to know what they were. And as she looked at them, Chloë started to understand. She started to understand why Margery had been so desperate for Chloë to take Kesha away to safety. She started to understand why even Dad wanted her to flee to safety.

  She understood why the islanders wanted Kesha so much.

  Kesha was bitten, but she was still alive. She hadn’t turned.

  Chloë cleared her throat. Wiped her wet hair out of her eyes. Something still didn’t make sense. There were immune people. There’d been some people bitten who hadn’t turned in the past.

  What made Kesha so different to those?

  There were still things she didn’t understand.

  “Come on,” Chloë said. She washed Kesha a little, then she strapped her nappy back on—which wasn’t as bad as it smelled. She lifted Kesha, then she headed further towards the road. She knew she was nowhere near the MLZ now she’d had to make the journey back. She knew she’d run way more than she thought was possible in the last few days.

  She needed a car. She needed a bike.

  She needed something.

  It was another hour until she saw a car.

  It was parked up. Parked right by the side of the woods. Chloë slowed down. Crouched. She wrapped her fingers around the gun she’d taken from the islanders. If she saw anyone, she’d put a bullet through them. Didn’t care what their intentions were, didn’t care who they were, she’d finish them.

  She didn’t want to be harsh. Didn’t want to be cruel.

  But sometimes you had to be to protect the ones you loved.

  When Chloë didn’t see anyone around the car for a good ten minutes, she climbed up the hill. She could feel herself getting closer to safety. Getting closer to a way out. She just had to pray for the best with this car.