Chloe Zombie Apocalypse series (Book 1): Chloe (11 page)

C
hloë squeezed
her eyes shut as Harvey pulled the trigger.

“Wait!”

The voice came from behind Harvey. And at first, Chloë thought she was hearing things. Her heart raced. Her breathing wavered. She should be dead. She should be dead right this second.

But she wasn’t.

She was still alive.

She opened her eyes. Looked ahead.

Behind Harvey, a man approached. A man with slightly shorter hair than Harvey. One of the CoY men. He walked up to Harvey. Put a hand on his shoulder.

Harvey kept the gun pointed at Chloë.

“Man, don’t do this. You know what the Holy One would want you to do.”

“I’m doing this in
service
of the Holy One—”

“But remember…”

Chloë didn’t hear the rest of what the man said to Harvey. He leaned in to Harvey’s ear. Whispered.

And as she stared into Harvey’s eyes, his gun pointed at her, everyone else’s guns pointed at her, she saw a flicker of light. A glimmer of understanding.

The man stepped away from Harvey. Pointed his gun back at Chloë.

“Don’t move a muscle,” Harvey said. “Or I’ll shoot you.”

But Chloë could see his arm wavering. She could see he looked less poised to fire. Besides, something had stopped him shooting. Something his friend whispered into his ear stopped him firing that gun and ending Chloë’s life.

Which meant she had a chance.

She looked over her shoulder. Saw the Polaroid picture. The one of her and her sister from the beach a year or two ago. She saw it and she knew that for them to have it, her dad must be in their camp. He must be imprisoned.

“Turn back around,” Harvey said. “Get on your knees. And don’t move a fucking muscle.”

Chloë turned back around. The heat of the early afternoon sun made sweat pour down her face, washing away some of the blood that’d crusted on her cheeks. The pain from the bolt wound throbbed.

But she knew she had to do something.

One way or another, she couldn’t give in to the pain.

She watched Harvey step closer towards her. Kept the gun pointed at her. In his left hand, he had the knife Aiden gave Chloë. Over his shoulder, the rucksack. She needed that knife. And she needed the rucksack, too. Supplies and medication were in there. She had to get them back.

Somehow.

“Get down on your knees,” Harvey said, stepping closer. “I won’t ask you again.”

Chloë looked down. Looked around for something—anything—she could use as a weapon.

And then she looked back up at Harvey.

She knew she was in trouble. She was weaponless, again. She was without supplies, again. And she needed those meds. The meds to stave off any infection in her chest.

But Harvey was holding everything.

Getting closer, sure, but holding everything.

He got within a few steps of her. Chloë was still standing. Harvey’s face was red, his cheeks flushed, his eyes even more bloodshot than usual.

He pulled the gun back. Pulled it back like it was a baton. “I said, get on the—”

He didn’t finish what he was saying.

If Chloë had learned one thing since the end of the world arrived on her doorstep, it was that men were particularly sensitive between their legs.

Which was why she rammed her leg right up between Harvey’s legs.

Hard.

She heard him yelp. Saw him lower the gun to his side.

And while she had a chance, while she was protected by his winded body, the other CoY men still behind him, Chloë grabbed the rucksack.

Pulled it from his shoulder.

Turned.

Ran.

She didn’t make it far.

A hand grabbed hold of her ankle. She fell face first, flat into the dirt. A tingling sensation filled her mouth. The wound on her chest burned.

“Little bitch. You don’t run away from me, you little bitch.”

He flung her over with surprising strength.

Booted her between her legs.

So hard it made her feel sick all over.

And then he pulled back the knife.

Chloë swung the rucksack at him. Smacked it right across his face.

Watched the contents of the bag fall out.

The chocolate bars.

The water.

The tablets.

She grabbed the tablets. Grabbed them in her shaky grip and started to run again.

But as she ran, she felt something hard hit the back of her head.

And she was back on the ground again within seconds.

Harvey swung her back around. Put his weapons down. Pinned her down by her wrists. Behind him, the other CoY guards looked on. Harvey’s eyes looked maniacal, like he was a bloodthirsty lion who’d just escaped a zoo.

He smiled at her. Smiled, lines of saliva drooling down from the side of his mouth. “I’m gonna make you bleed, sugar,” he said. “I’m gonna make you bleed from places you didn’t even know you—aaaarrghhh!”

Chloë did the only thing she could.

She reached her head forward.

Grabbed Harvey’s long, spotty nose between her teeth.

Bit down.

He screamed. Screamed as Chloë tightened her teeth around the flesh. The flesh of the nose was spongy. It tore pretty easily.

Which made Chloë keep on biting as warm blood filled her mouth.

Waiting for Harvey to let go.

To flail.

She felt his left hand go loose.

And then it was back on her again.

She wasn’t sure what the surrounding guards were doing. Only that there was shouting. A few shots fired.

She kept on biting until her teeth split right through the middle of the tip of his nose.

Still, Harvey held her down.

Shook.

Swore.

But every time he struggled, the tip of his nose only grew looser.

And then he moved his hands away.

Moved them away and reached for the side of Chloë’s head.

He grabbed her hair.

Stripped a chunk away.

Pulled at another chunk at the back of her head and pulled that away.

Then smacked Chloë’s skull down into the dirt, again and again and—

She lifted his knife.

Swung it up.

Into his neck.

She rammed it hard into the soft flesh. Pushed deeper, as blood fell down onto her, covering her in another layer.

She saw the look in Harvey’s eyes as she worked the blade underneath his Adam’s apple. Saw the look of fear, of defeat, as he gargled and choked on his own bodily fluids.

She felt dampness spreading across her waist, and she realised Harvey was pissing himself.

“Fuck you,” she said.

She pulled the knife back.

Hard.

Harvey’s throat opened up completely.

His windpipe and arteries, sliced.

Bleeding out all over Chloë.

Still wheezing.

Chloë shuffled away before Harvey’s body weight fell on her.

She looked around. Readied herself to fight off the other men. To run for her life…

But they were gone.

She looked around. The woods were empty. No sounds. No footsteps. Not a trace of them. Nothing.

It was like they’d disappeared into thin air.

And Chloë didn’t like that.

She didn’t like it one bit.

She wiped the loose flap of flesh from Harvey’s knife onto his shirt. Reached for the rucksack. Tossed her supplies back inside it. Her chest felt like it was on the verge of exploding. Her head spun. Her muscles were weak.

But she had to push on.

She had to fight.

She grabbed Harvey’s gun. Stuck it inside her pocket. It weighed her trousers down so much that they almost collapsed, a sure sign of how much weight she’d lost out here in the wilderness.

She put the bag over her shoulder. Checked again that she was still free.

Harvey spluttered out his last breaths on the forest floor.

She walked away from his body. Walked up to the tree. Grabbed the Polaroid. Her sister. It was the first time she’d seen her since she’d died last November.

Her lovely sister.

She’d bickered with her that day, she remembered. Argued with her, like they always did.

But her sister. Her beautiful smiley sister.

She’d do anything to be with Elizabeth right now. Anything. They’d find a way to make a game out of what was happening. Find a way to make some fun in this fun-less world.

But at least she had a photograph now.

At least she had something.

She ignored the image of herself. Didn’t want to look at it. Didn’t want to remember how much prettier she’d been before she got the scars, before she got thin, before the weight of the world crushed her hope.

She put the Polaroid into her pocket. Kept careful not to bend or crease it in any way.

She looked over her shoulder once more. The woods were still empty. Still quiet. The CoY members had gone. Something had happened to them.

She didn’t know what. And she wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

But she had a chance. She had a chance to walk away and she had to take it.

Chloë walked on in the direction the CoY group had been taking her. Because she had to push on. Her only option was to push on. It was her only chance of finding her dad. Only chance of seeing where they’d taken him.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking when she heard the voice.

The familiar voice.

The voice that loosened her entire body.

Brought her to her knees.

C
hloë dragged
herself towards the trees where the voices came from.

No. Not
voices
. The other voices didn’t matter.

What mattered was the voice.

The voice she recognised.

The voice she hadn’t heard for nearly a year.

She heard it.

She knew she heard it.

She crawled to a thicker group of trees. She could feel the hill sloping down. They were down there. She knew they were down there.

And even if it didn’t add up—even if she knew she
shouldn’t
be able to hear his voice—she crawled to it.

Because she had to.

There was no other way.

She stopped when she reached the thicker trees. She could definitely hear a few voices now. One of them sounded like they were laughing. Another sounded scared. She couldn’t make the words out properly. Just mumbled chatter.

But she knew what his mumbling sounded like.

She knew exactly what it sounded like.

Her heart pounded. A hint of blood filled her mouth after the scrap with Harvey. She reached up. Grabbed the branches. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see. A part of her just wanted her search to go on forever.

Because if she found him that might mean finding him in pain. Suffering. Tortured.

And she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she found him in that condition.

She took a few deep breaths. Colours filled her vision, distorted her sense of surroundings. She was in the woods. It was afternoon. Warm. She was here. She was okay.

She had to see what was beyond the trees.

She had to see
him
.

She pulled the branches away.

At first, Chloë didn’t understand what she was looking at. Not exactly. Beyond the trees, there was an open space. The grass looked like it’d been mowed, maintained. Tree stumps covered the area. Beyond it, there was another little dip. Through the trees, Chloë could see movement. There were more people in the woods. She had to be on guard. Had to be careful.

There was a red metal hangar just ahead. Rusty and old. It looked out of place in the middle of these woods. Like nothing Chloë had seen. Good idea for a camp though. Metal kept the monsters out.

But it’d also keep the campers locked in.

The main thing that caught her attention was the man.

He was topless. Tied to the door of this metal hangar. He had a band of material around his mouth. His hair was scruffy. He was crying.

It took Chloë a few moments to realise it was the man called Seth.

She’d seen him back when she’d first encountered CoY. He’d been the one reading her dad’s diary. He’d seemed more twitchy than the others—Dan, Percy. Like he was worried about something.

And now he was tied up.

Surrounded by three people.

All of them holding knives.

Chloë shuffled closer to the ground. She clutched her knife tighter. The gun pressed through her pocket onto her inner thigh. She didn’t want to have to use it. Not yet.

She just wanted to watch.

No. She didn’t
want
to watch. She needed to watch.

Because these people all had CoY etched on their bare chests.

So these people could lead her to…

She thought back. Something wasn’t right. She’d come this way because she’d heard a voice. A familiar voice.

But as she looked around, she couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see the source of that voice anywhere. Couldn’t—

“You disappointed us, brother,” a voice said. Squinting, Chloë could just about see the source of the voice. A man with longer hair than the others. Gingery. Wearing a black coat, unzipped at the chest. Looking right into the terrified eyes of Seth.

“You had a task. A simple task. And you failed. And for that, you must be punished.”

Seth struggled. He pulled at the cuffs tied around the hangar door. He shouted out as loud as his gag would allow. Tears stained his bruised cheeks. Chloë could just about see his jaw was shaking.

The speaker reached into his black trouser pockets. Pulled out a long, sharp blade.

When Seth saw it, his eyes widened. He kicked and screamed some more.

The speaker walked towards him. Put a hand on his shaven head. “Quiet, brother. You have served us well. The afterlife will be rewarding to you.”

He pressed the blade to Seth’s neck.

Seth’s eyelids slammed together.

Chloë waited. Waited for the sound. The gargling. The struggling.

She waited.

But nothing happened.

She looked at the knife. Looked at it as it rested against Seth’s neck.

The speaker held it there. Stared at Seth, whose eyes were still shut.

And then he lowered the knife and walked away.

When the speaker turned, Chloë got a first look at his face. He was cleaner than the others. Well-shaven. And he had dark eyes that Chloë kind of wanted to keep on staring into even though she knew how bad he was.

He walked up to the man who he’d stood beside just earlier. The man with the long hair. Almost as long as the speaker’s.

He looked at him. Smiled. “I think this is a job for you, brother.”

He held out the knife.

Chloë couldn’t see the man that the speaker held the knife out to. But she could tell he wasn’t sure. She could tell there was something going on between him and the speaker. Something bad.

“Peterson,” one of the other men said, “are you sure that’s—”

“Yes,” Peterson said. “Yes, I do.”

He kept the knife held out.

Kept it pointed at the man opposite him.

After a few moments, the man took the knife.

He walked over towards Seth, whose eyes were open again. He’d started struggling. His begging had intensified. His face was completely red.

The man stopped right opposite Seth.

And then he turned round.

Chloë saw his face.

She didn’t recognise him at first. Not under all that long, dark hair.

Not with those narrow cheekbones.

The cuts across his face.

But it was his eyes that did it. Those striking brown eyes that Mum always said she’d got from him even though Chloë never used to be able to tell one shade from another.

Dad.

Dad.

Chloë seized up. She wanted to run down there. To scream him name. To fly into his arms. Her heart raced. Her mind spun.

Dad was here.

Dad was alive.

Dad was okay.

Dad was—

“I’m sorry, brother.”

Dad pressed the tip of the blade to Seth’s neck.

And he sliced.

Seth struggled. His body shook as blood drained down his chest. Dad stepped away. His body looked rigid, like it went when Grandma had died.

Peterson put a hand on his shoulder. Looked into his eyes. Smiled. “Good,” he said. “Good. You’re learning. You’re getting there.”

The CoY group walked away.

Walked away through the trees as Seth bled out onto the grass.

As he gargled and choked on his own blood.

But Chloë couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t go down there, make death more comfortable for him.

She couldn’t even follow the CoY members.

Her dad.

All she could think about was the way her dad sliced Seth’s throat.

The way he’d taken the knife.

Killed a man.

And the way Peterson looked him in the eye and congratulated him for it afterwards.

But most of all, more than anything, as a breeze started to pick up and silence fell around the woods, Chloë couldn’t get the image of her dad’s chest out of her mind.

The CoY symbol etched into it, just like the others.