Chloe Zombie Apocalypse series (Book 1): Chloe (13 page)

C
hloë pulled back the knife
.

Blood dripped down her hands.

It was dark and cool. She’d led the CoY man out deeper into the woods. She wanted to be further away from the CoY camp. Wanted to make sure he couldn’t scream, or make some kind of signal.

She wanted him to be alone.

She wanted him to
feel
alone.

And then, she’d get her answers.

She’d learn the truth about her dad.

She looked back at the man. She’d tied him to a large rock in the middle of the forest. He’d struggled a few times. Attempted to flee.

Now, he had two bullet holes in his kneecaps to show for his attempts.

She crouched down opposite him. Pressed the knife into the bare skin on his left leg. There were already tonnes of marks on that leg. Tonnes of marks she’d carved into his skin. She hadn’t even given him a chance yet. She wanted to make sure he knew she was serious before giving him a chance to open his mouth.

She wanted him to know just how fucking psycho she was.

That way, he’d know not to lie.

Because if he lied, the torture would be even worse.

“I know you’ve murdered people,” Chloë said, digging the knife deeper into his flesh. “I know you’ve taken people prisoner. And I know people have reasons for doing that. But I need you to help me. I need you to tell me how I can get inside. How to save someone I care about. How to get away. Safely. Can you help me with that?”

Chloë saw the blank stare in the man’s eyes, which were illuminated by the stars.

She saw the gag around his mouth. Dripping with sweat.

She felt his warm blood trickling through her fingers.

And she sliced his left thigh again.

He clenched his jaws together. He didn’t scream. Chloë wasn’t sure what to make of that. Part of her figured it’d be a good thing—it’d show he was trying to contact his group, which meant he was worried and he needed their help.

But he wasn’t.

He wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t fighting back.

And that just made her want to hurt him even more.

She moved closer to the man. Her face was warm, the skin she’d torn from the other CoY man’s face sliding down her skin every few seconds. She’d tied some of his skin in a knot; attached it to her fringe to keep it in place.

She looked through the holes where his eyes used to be. Looked into the face of his friend.

She felt insane.

No. She
was
insane.

But insanity was going to keep her alive.

It was going to find her dad.

One way or another.

She shoved the knife under the gag. Snipped it away.

The man instantly spewed up. Puked green goo all down his bare chest.

That was a good thing. Showed he was worried.

Chloë wanted him to be worried.

“Your name,” she said.

The man coughed. Spluttered puke and blood out onto the forest floor.

Chloë slapped him with the outside of the knife. “Hey. I asked you a question. Your name—”

“Fuck you, little bitch.” He spat a vomity lump of gozz right at Chloë.

She let it run down his old friend’s face. Looked him in his bloodshot eyes. Breathed rhythmically. Kept her cool.

As much as she could.

“I need to know how I get in and out of your camp.”

The man tutted. And then he started laughing. Leaned back against the tall rock and laughed.

Chloë pressed the knife to his chest.

Sliced.

He shouted out. Shouted out so loud that Chloë had to cover his mouth, crack him across his face with the knife again to quieten him.

She pulled away when his breathing eased. Pushed the knife up to his neck. “I need to know how—”

“You want to know how you get in, hmm? You want to know how you’ll get in?”

Chloë didn’t say a word in return. She just waited.

“You get in by showing them what you did. To me. They’ll welcome you. Welcome you with open fucking arms, you little bitch—”

Chloë pulled the knife away.

Stuck it through his cheek.

He moaned again when Chloë pulled the knife away. Blood drooled down his face, chest, arms, legs. And as Chloë looked at him, she wondered whether maybe this was wrong. Whether she was crossing a line.

No. There were no lines. Not where survival was concerned.

She reached into the man’s mouth. Grabbed the tip of his tongue. Yanked it out as far and as hard as she could.

And then she rested the blade against it.

“I’m about five seconds from slicing your tongue away. The only way you’ll save it is if you speak. How do I get in? How do I get to Pete Baines?”

The man just started chuckling again. Chuckling, as Chloë pushed the knife against the flabby weight of his tongue.

“Answer me,” Chloë said. “Answer me or I’ll cut it. I’ll cut—”

The man mumbled something. Made a few grunts that sounded like he wanted to speak.

Chloë pressed the blade against his tongue anyway. Sliced the top of it. Just to scare him.

And then she pulled the knife away.

The man moaned. Moaned as dark, rich blood dribbled through his teeth, down his chin.

He looked back up at Chloë. Smiled. Let out a nervous laugh. “So you’re Pete’s kid?”

Chloë felt exposed. Her cheeks heated up under the mask of skin she wore. “I’m the one asking—”

“You want to save your dad? Then you wander on through those gates.” His words were distorted and slow, as more blood oozed out between his lips. “You wander on through. Cause your dad wants to be there, kid. Your dad wants to be there. And I don’t think he’ll be too happy with his little bitch of a—”

Chloë rammed the knife through the man’s right hand.

He screamed.

She punched him right in his teeth to shut the fucker up.

She perched atop him. Stuffed the knife into his mouth. Pushed it so far back he was on the verge of swallowing it. She looked into his eyes. Tasted the sweat emanating from his body. The sweat and the piss.

“I won’t ask you again,” Chloë said. “This is your final chance. How do I get in? How do I get to my … to Pete Baines? And how do I…”

She heard the groans behind her.

She loosened her grip on the knife. Turned around.

Five monsters waded through the trees.

Three of them were missing a hand.

One of them had wire wrapped around its ankles.

Chloë turned back to the man. Looked him in the eye. He smiled. Smiled, like he had this under control. Like she’d have to back away.

She saw the look in his eyes. The look that said “You need me.”

“You’re wrong,” Chloë said.

She pushed the knife down his throat.

Pushed it down into his neck.

He choked blood.

Gargled vomit.

She pushed the knife down his throat until it disappeared. Until she lost her grip. The man coughed. Coughed and spluttered blood. Eyes turning red. Face going blue.

But the knife didn’t resurface.

It just kept on sliding down his oesophagus.

Towards his stomach.

Tearing him apart from within.

Chloë stepped away from the man. Put the rucksack over her shoulders. Held the gun.

She waited in the trees. Watched him bleed out from within. Watched him squeal like a pig.

Watched the monsters rip him apart; bite into his arms, his legs, his neck and his chest, finishing him off.

When they’d finished—a whole twenty minutes later—Chloë returned to the scene of his death. She sneaked past the monsters. Cracked the butt of the gun against the heads of the ones she needed to.

She sat opposite the man. His neck had split open. His half-eaten guts were hanging out of his torso.

In the middle of the man’s insides, she saw the knife.

She pulled it out.

Wiped it on his twitching leg.

And then she pulled the face of his friend away from her head and rested it on top of him.

Chloë didn’t return to finish off his friend.

His friend without a face.

The monsters would get to him too.

Or he’d bleed out.

Eventually.

For now, she had work to do.

And she knew exactly where to start.

W
hen Alice Waters
heard the shout, she wanted to keep her eyes squeezed shut and pretend she hadn’t heard a thing.

She lay flat on the tent floor. It was the middle of the night—had to be, cause it was still pitch black. Even under her insulated sleeping bag, Alice was pretty cold. The sickly taste that always reared its ugly head when awoken unexpectedly was strong. The charred remains of a cooked rabbit filled the air, adding to the nausea in Alice’s stomach.

But most of all, that scream.

It echoed around her mind.

Bounced against the walls of her skull.

She took a few breaths, tried to calm herself down. It was Aiden or Trev. Something had happened to them. One of them was on watch, and something had happened.

She had to stay quiet. She had to hide. She had to—

No. She didn’t hide. That’s not what their group did.

She had to fight.

Or at least, she had to see what was going on.

She opened her heavy eyelids. The tent was pitch black. The echo from the scream had settled. In its place, groans.

Groans beyond the walls.

Groans getting closer.

Closing in.

Alice lifted herself up. She crept over to the tent entrance. Her heart raced. She still couldn’t remember who was on duty. Aiden or Trev.

Not that it mattered.

One of them screamed.

One of them—

She heard something else.

Heard rattling.

Things crashing against the forest floor.

Alice turned. Turned to look at the supply tent.

Saw the movement inside.

Someone was in there.

She went back inside her tent. They’d split the tents up into two— one for the women, one for the men. The cabin was a decoy. The natural first place bandits would search for people. The creaky door and chiming alarm gave the group enough time to wake up, to figure out their plan of action.

As the only woman left in this group, Alice had a tent all to herself.

Sometimes, that wasn’t as much of a blessing as it sounded.

She pulled the knife from under her pillow. A long hunting knife she’d looted from a store before she hit the woods. Seemed like forever ago.

Because it was forever ago.

She moved back to the tent entrance. Pulled it aside, gently. From beyond the walls, Alice could hear the groans so clearly. She looked up the ladder at the side of the wall. It was still raised. Hadn’t been dragged down.

Nobody was on top of it.

Nobody was on watch.

She thought about going over to that ladder. Making sure it was all clear outside. Because there were concerns. She’d heard Trev mention them a few times. His doubts about the sturdiness of the fence; his fears over how few zombies it was able to take.

Alice wanted to go check.

But then she heard struggling inside the supply tent.

A gasp.

Then, silence.

She turned to the supply tent. Lifted her knife. Walked slowly towards it. She’d check the men’s tent first, but it was situated at the other side of the supply tent. Just another way of drawing a gendered line in the sand.

So it made sense to check the supply tent first.

Made sense to see what the hell was making the noise.

Alice walked slowly towards the supply tent entrance. She thought about the people her group had lost. Thought about Barry. The way they’d found him burned alive. Thought back to Charlotte. To Hailey. To David and Wendy.

She couldn’t take another death. The group couldn’t take another death.

Because another death brought their numbers down to two.

Two wasn’t a group.

Two was just a couple of people doing their best job of surviving.

Alice stopped right in front of the supply tent. Listened for a voice. All she could hear was her racing heart, and the oncoming snarls beyond the walls.

She pictured walking in there. Finding Trev splayed across the floor. Two zombies feasting on his insides.

Or Aiden. Aiden lying there with his crossbow by his side.

Throat slit by an intruder.

Or maybe neither of them was in there.

Maybe it
was
just an intruder.

Maybe it was a zombie.

Maybe—

She heard a sound again.

Lifted the knife.

It took her a few seconds to realise what the sound was.

Sobbing.

Alice lowered the knife. Shivers crept up her skin. She wasn’t sure what freaked her out more—the thought of finding some undead intruder rooting through their supply tent, or finding someone crying in there.

Who were they?

Why were they crying?

What was going on?

She swallowed. Her dry throat stung.

She grabbed the tent opening.

Lifted her knife.

Just to be sure.

And then she counted down from three.

Two.

One.

Pulled open the material.

She saw right away that someone was in there. Right in the middle of the tent. Lying face flat, shaking their head.

“Everything okay?”

Alice jumped. Turned. Saw Trev walking out of the men’s tent. His eyes were wide. “I … I saw Aiden was gone and I…”

His gaze shifted to the empty ladders.

“Shit,” he said, running over to them. “Shit.”

As Trev sped up one of the ladders, fired at the approaching zombies, Alice turned back to the figure in the supply tent. She saw now that it was Aiden. Aiden lying face flat on the ground. Crying about something. Crying about…

“They took it,” he spluttered.

Hearing his voice—usually so calm, so emotionless—filled with grief was startling in itself. “What … Who took what?”

He turned around. In the glow of the moonlight, Alice saw his bloodshot eyes. “All of it. All our weapons. All our food. All of it. They fucking took it.”

He turned back to the ground. Punched his fist into the dirt. Trev’s gunshots filled the night.

Samantha lowered her knife. Stepped into the tent. She looked around at the empty boxes. The vacant spaces where weapons they’d worked so hard to acquire once rested. “I … I don’t understand how this could happen.”

“I didn’t doze off if that’s what you’re fucking saying.”

“I didn’t say—”

“I … I was looking out into the woods. I saw the undead approaching. Picked a few off. And then … and then I hear noises. From the tent. When I go down to check it out, the stuff’s already gone.”

Aiden shook his head. Rammed his fist into the dirt.

“Maybe I did doze off. Fuck. Maybe. No. This can’t be fucking happening. This can’t be fucking happening.”

Alice went up to him. Crouched beside him. She was always wary of Aiden. He seemed too calm. Too unaffected by the most harrowing of events. But seeing him like this, spilling out emotion, it just made her even more cautious. More than ever before.

“We’ll … we’ll find something else.”

“Find something else?” Aiden shouted. Flecks of spit peppered Alice’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“We can’t give up.”

“No. No, that’s where you’re wrong. We’ve lost too many. Lost too many fucking people. We’re dead. This is it. It’s over. It’s—”

“Guys?”

Trev’s voice caught Alice by surprise. It seemed to snap Aiden out of his angered trance, too.

“Not now, Trev,” Aiden said, his voice quivery. “Not now—”

“Yes, now,” Trev said. “Seriously. Right now.”

Alice turned. Looked up at Trev. She couldn’t figure out his facial expressions with the moon behind him. But she could tell from his voice that something was wrong.

She stood up. Walked over to the tent opening. She wasn’t sure if Aiden followed.

“What’s up?” she asked.

She needn’t have bothered asking the question.

By the gate, she saw a darkened figure.

Short. Slight. Wearing a hood over their head.

A girl.

A girl Alice recognised.

A girl—

“I know where your supplies are,” Chloë said. “I know where your guns are. Where your food is. Where your water is.”

Movement behind Alice. Aiden shuffled out of the tent. Pushed her to one side. “It’s her. It’s
fucking
her.”

Chloë lifted her hands. “You can kill me. Or you can help me. But if you do kill me, you’ll never find your supplies. I’ve made sure of that.”

Aiden stormed towards Chloë. Picked up his pace. “Fucking little shit!”

Chloë kept still. Kept her hands in the air.

“Kill me or help me. Which will it be?”