Chloe Zombie Apocalypse series (Book 1): Chloe (10 page)

C
hloë held
her breath as the four child monsters staggered out of their cave and towards the cage.

She looked around the wooden cage. Looked for some kind of escape. But no. No chance. No way out. Wooden spikes on the outside, and on the inside. The whole contraption too heavy for her weakened muscles to lift.

Pain filled her chest from the stab wound as her heart picked up in pace.

As the stench of decay grew closer.

The taste of death, thicker.

She tried to shuffle to the back of the cage. Felt the sharpened edges of the wood split her skin. Shit.

She watched as the monsters edged closer. A young boy, probably no older than her. Ginger hair. Glazed eyes. Beetles crawling across his dirty skin.

And a girl. A black girl. Completely naked. Bleeding from a wound on her inner thigh.

All of them snapping their teeth as they approached the cage.

As they approached Chloë.

Chloë curled up into a ball. All she could think of. Because there was no way out. She just had to hope someone would get here and find her. Just had to hope the collective mass of the zombies wouldn’t split through the wood, break into the cage.

She had to pray.

She pulled the rucksack Aiden gave her closer. And then she remembered the knife.

The knife.

She could use it.

She could use it to cut her way out.

She reached into the bag. Glanced up. The ginger kid was just a few inches away. Chloë wagered a guess that he wouldn’t be able to fit his face between the openings in the wood.

But she didn’t want to take her chances.

She pulled out the knife.

Tightened her grip around it.

Started sawing at the wood.

The knife barely made a dent.

Fuck. It’d probably work, eventually. But it’d take forever. And she didn’t have forever. Not if those monsters reached the cage. Then, she’d have to keep her eye on them. Watch them at all times.

Watch them to make sure they didn’t reach through.

Didn’t crack through.

Didn’t—

A throaty groan.

Then a hand on her shoulder.

She yelped. Spun around. The ginger monster had its pale, skinny arm right through the opening in the cage. The poor kid’s neck was right up against the spike, pushing down on to it; the monster was snapping its teeth as it got closer to Chloë. Behind, its friends kept on coming.

Chloë lifted the knife. Pointed it at the boy’s head. She’d have to reach out. Reach out of the cage if she wanted to stab him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to risk it. Not with the other monsters so close. Not with—

Another hand on her other shoulder. A growl right in her left ear.

She spun around.

Her stomach sank.

More monsters were approaching from the left.

Surrounding her.

Engulfing her.

She pulled the knife away. Made herself small again. Her pulse rattled through her skull. The monsters piled on to the side of the cage, one by one. And every time another one forced itself up against the spikes, more of the mid-morning sun faded away.

Darkness prevailed.

Chloë looked around the cage. Looked at her captors. Felt cold blood dribbling down onto her as one of the child monsters climbed right on top of the cage, spikes stabbing through its decaying insides and spilling the contents down on to Chloë. Some of the monsters were dead—again. They’d accidentally stabbed their heads on the spikes.

But not enough.

Not enough had stabbed themselves.

And there were still too many to deal with.

Chloë thought about her dad. She thought about his diary. The way it’d just ended. The way he’d worried about her. Cared about her.

Then she thought about Aiden. Aiden and Alice and Trev.

She thought about them and she wished they were here right now.

Here to help her.

But they weren’t.

Nobody was here because that’s how she’d made it.

That’s the life she’d forced herself to live.

That’s—

Gunfire echoed through the trees.

It took Chloë a few seconds to place it. To figure out which direction it came from. Didn’t help that the cage was completely covered in monsters.

She looked around. Heard the groans die down. Saw disinterest building in the already-detached eyes of the monsters.

And then she heard another gunshot.

And another.

It was only when Chloë felt the blood splatter down onto her in thicker droves that she realised somebody was shooting at the monsters.

She watched the monsters struggle. Watched their attempts to pull themselves free of the spikes. All the while, the gunfire grew louder. More rapid. And … yes. From multiple directions. Not just one gun. Which meant not just one person.

Somebody was here for her.

Somebody was here to help her.

She stabbed at a few of the monsters still clinging on to the cage. Split the knife through their weakened skulls. Fed the blade into the backs of their throat.

The gunfire continued.

The shower of rancid blood kept on falling onto her.

Someone was here for her.

Here to help her.

Here to get her out of here.

When light seeped through the openings of the cage, Chloë thought about opening her mouth. About shouting. Letting whoever it was know she was in here. She needed help.

Yes. That’s what she needed to accept. She was trapped and she needed help.

She couldn’t do this on her own.

But as she opened her mouth, as the words started to sneak out, she remembered something.

CoY.

The symbol etched into the trees.

The same symbol etched into the chests of the people who’d tortured and burned Barry alive.

CoY.

The same symbol drawn in the dirt outside the cave entrance.

She heard footsteps getting closer. Heard muffled voices. And a part of her wanted to believe that this was okay. That these people really were here to help her, to set her free.

But something wasn’t right.

Something didn’t feel right.

Chloë gripped the knife. Blood from the monsters dripped down into the cage, bathing her. Phlegm built up at the back of her throat. She had to focus. Had to be on her guard.

She had to do what she had to do.

One of the monsters tumbled away from the cage to her left.

And then another to her right.

She saw them falling. Saw them falling away, one by one.

And she knew what was happening.

The people. The people who’d killed them.

They were pulling them away.

They were here for her.

A face pressed up to the cage. Curly brown hair just long enough to cover the man’s ears. A long beard. A thin face that looked pale and hungry. Very hungry.

Bloodshot eyes.

He stared at Chloë. His eyelids twitched as he scanned her body. Chloë could smell the sourness on his breath. Mixed with the icy blood and opened insides of the bloated monsters, the offal that filled the cage, it was enough to bring her to the point of heaving.

And then she saw the others.

Saw the other men in the background.

Guns in their hands.

All of them in dirty, torn clothes.

All of them gaunt.

All of them looking at her.

“It’s alright, m’love,” the man opposite her said. He reached for the bottom of the cage. Winced as he lifted it. “We’re here to get you outta there. Don’t have to worry about a thing no more.”

An opening appeared at the foot of the cage.

But Chloë was too busy looking down the man’s loose cotton shirt to think about anything else.

At the CoY logo etched into his skin.

“
C
ome on
, kid. Get the fuck outta there. We don’t have all day.”

Chloë crouched on the ground. The cage still surrounded her. One false move and—bam. She’d be impaled on a spike.

One false move by the CoY man right in front of her and he’d be on a spike too.

She looked at the opening. A gap had formed where he’d lifted it. She could tell the cage was heavy from the way the guy’s skinny legs were shaking.

She could ram the knife into his shin. Tear his torso with her knife. Push him onto the spiked cage and leave him to rot.

But there was the small problem of the gun he had by his side.

And the guns of the other five CoY members watching from a distance.

“Don’t have to worry, kid. We ain’t gonna hurt you. We killed them zombies for you, right?”

Chloë opened her mouth. She wanted to talk. Wanted to tell this man she knew it was a set-up. That his group had set these traps. That she’d walked right into one.

But perhaps feigning ignorance was the very thing that’d keep her alive.

For now.

She made her teeth chatter together. Felt tears building up in her eyes. “I … I want my mummy.”

The man tilted his head to one side. A spider wandered through his curly locks. This guy didn’t seem to mind. “I am sorry about your mummy, kid. She get bit?”

Chloë lowered her head. Nodded. “The monsters got her. I’ve got no one.”

She moved the knife slowly behind her back.

Stuck it down her trousers.

She felt a clammy hand on her hair. Felt skinny fingers working their way through it. Felt long, dirty fingernails against her tender scalp. “You have got someone, sweetie. You’ve got me. Me and my friends. I … How rude of me not to introduce myself. Name’s Harvey.”

Chloë glanced up at Harvey. When she looked into his bloodshot eyes, stared right into them with feigned love, she reached for her rucksack. Closed it. “I’m … I’m Dara.”

“Dara?” Harvey said. “That’s a nice name you got. Dara. Never heard that name before.”

“My dad picked it,” Chloë said. “My mum wanted to call me Elizabeth. But she didn’t…”

For a moment, Chloë realised her error. She’d said her sister’s name. If her dad was a CoY prisoner, then he’d have mentioned Elizabeth at some stage. He mentioned her in his diary, after all.

Chloë just had to hope. Just had to pray.

Harvey studied her for a moment.

Then he smiled. “I think your dad’s got good taste. Now you gonna roll outta there or what?”

Chloë took a deep breath. The taste of stale innards and drying blood made her want to hurl. But she kept it together. She kept it together because she had to.

She didn’t want to go with this man. She didn’t want to go with any of these men.

She wanted to kill them. She wanted so much to kill them.

But she knew they’d lead her to her dad.

She knew they might be the only chance she had left to find her dad.

She crawled out from under the cage. Stayed on her back, so Harvey didn’t see her knife. Kept her rucksack in her right hand.

“That’s it,” Harvey said, studying her body as she moved under the cage. “That’s a good girl. A real good girl.”

She thought she saw him lick his lips.

Tried to erase that thought from her mind.

When she was out of the cage, Chloë stood. The pain from the bolt wound stung her chest. She’d moved too much. Couldn’t have helped the stitching. She just had to make sure she held on to the pills. Just had to make sure she—

“Want me to carry that bag for you, Dara?”

Chloë looked up at Harvey. Seeing him outside of the cage, she realised he was a tall man. But his figure was hunched over, like he had a dint in the middle of the chest that was forcing him to walk funny. His arms were long. His fingers were bony. He looked like no man Chloë had ever seen. And that made her uncomfortable.

She thought about Harvey’s question. About his offer to carry her rucksack. There were two ways this could work. She could say no and risk him taking the bag from her, suspecting her of tricking him or something.

Or she could say yes. Earn his trust. Show him she didn’t really value the rucksack—even though she did.

That way, she’d earn his trust right away.

But it also meant giving up the bag.

Giving up the last of her supplies.

Risking everything on a—

“Dara?”

Chloë snapped out of her trance. She looked down at the rucksack.

She took a deep breath.

Then, she handed it to Harvey.

She thought she saw a glimmer of surprise in his eyes. Amazement that she trusted him so damned much without him having to earn it, not really.

She thought he was about to look in the bag. Find her pills. Find the water and the chocolate and then start asking questions.

But he didn’t.

He tossed the bag over his shoulder.

Held out his dirty hand.

“Shall we walk?” he asked.

Chloë swallowed a lump in her throat.

Took Harvey’s hand.

Nodded.

A
s Chloë walked
with the CoY men, she swore she saw the other members of the group looking at her funnily.

They’d been walking for at least an hour. The group hadn’t uttered a word to one another. They’d come across a few monsters on the way, but nothing the heavily armed group couldn’t handle.

All the time, Harvey held on to Chloë’s hand. And if Chloë let her mind drift far enough, she could convince herself for a few seconds that she was holding her dad’s hand. Walking down the promenade at Blackpool. Smelling the fish and chips. Hearing the seagulls cawing overhead. Tasting the salt from the sea crashing against the pier.

And then she felt Harvey’s long fingernail move down the back of her hand and the illusion snapped.

The pain in her chest wasn’t easing off. But Chloë figured that could be something to do with all this exercise. Aiden told her to rest as much as she could, and she hadn’t rested for a minute since he’d pushed her out of his camp.

But the fever had eased. The nausea was gone.

All that remained was the fear.

The fear of walking with these people.

The fear of what she’d find.

“Y’know, there’s other kids like you where we’re goin’,” Harvey said, breaking the stretching silence. “We value kids. Kids are the future, after all. So we gotta make sure they’re strong. Not just to survive in this new world, but to thrive, y’know?”

Chloë nodded. She kept a blank expression on her face like she didn’t totally understand.

“Dara, if you don’t mind me asking, how’d you get those scars?”

Chloë slowed down. She thought back to the source of her facial scars. The enemy of her old group. They way he’d pinned her down to the road. Sliced away at her skin. Taken her beauty away from her and made her at one with this ugly world.

She looked up at Harvey. “I … I got them when I was just a little kid.”

“So you’ve had ’em since before the outbreak?”

Chloë nodded. She started conjuring up some story in her mind. Something about an accident. A car accident. Yes, a car accident. That’d explain the scars. That’d keep his suspicion away. That’d keep her Dara personality going just a little longer.

Harvey nodded. He didn’t say anything else. Just tightened his grip on Chloë’s hand. “Hold up. You can see our place just ahead. Love the view from here. Why don’t we go first, guys? Wanna show Dara here her new home.”

The CoY guards nodded. A couple of them grunted.

Harvey pulled Chloë ahead of them. Jogged towards the trees. Chloë couldn’t work out how there’d be a good view ahead. It didn’t seem like they were on a hill. And it didn’t make sense that a group this big would just have a camp on flat ground in the middle of the woods.

She couldn’t hear anything. Not the chatter she’d expected from a society like the one Harvey spoke about.

Not the sound of children playing.

Nothing like that.

“Just up here,” Harvey said, pulling the leaves of a conifer away. He let go of Chloë’s hand. Pointed ahead. “Look.”

Chloë looked at him. Then she looked at the small opening in the trees. Made her way towards it.

She looked ahead. Couldn’t see a camp. Couldn’t see anything but trees. Behind, silence. No sounds but a breeze. A few birds singing far away.

“Where…”

And then she saw it.

Not a camp.

But a photograph.

A Polaroid photograph pinned to a tree.

A photograph of her and her sister when she was younger.

And then a page.

A page of a diary.

Just like her dad’s.

Underneath it, writing.

Writing etched into the tree.

Chloë?

Her muscles tightened. Her body went cold. She reached behind her back for her knife.

“You looking for this?”

Chloë turned. Saw Harvey had the knife in his hand. Behind him, the five other CoY men had their guns pointed right at Chloë.

Harvey smiled. Lifted his gun. “About time we taught you a lesson, Chloë. A lesson about what happens to liars in the new world. Hold still, pumpkin. This won’t take a moment.”

He squeezed the trigger.