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

C
hloë heard
the gunshots split the silence and she knew it was happening again.

She opened her eyes. She was staring at something. A caravan site. Inside the caravan site, people. Some of whom she recognised. Riley. Anna.

Mum.

Someone had a gun to her mum’s head.

Pressed it against her skull.

Chloë tried to scream out. Tried to shout. Because she knew what was going to happen. It always played out in the exact same way. But she couldn’t open her mouth.

She could only look down at the gun in her own hands.

The gun she didn’t want to pull the trigger of.

And when the man holding her mum pulled the trigger, when her brains blasted out of her skull, Chloë couldn’t help herself. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she was alone, all over again.

So she felt her body turning. Felt it turning without really being in any control of it.

And she pointed it at Anna.

Anna, who’d looked out for her. Who’d been her friend. Who trusted her.

She saw Anna look into her eyes. Saw the shock on her face. Saw that glimmer of understanding.

She pulled the trigger.

She gasped. Lifted her head. Opened her eyes.

She was in the darkness. Lying on her bed. Cold sweat rolled down her body. It was silent outside. Silent, but for the sea crashing against the shore. The constant reminder of where she was, of the world she lived in now.

Chloë leaned forward. Rubbed her stinging eyes. Just a dream. Just another nightmare.

Another nightmare just like the ones she always had.

The day Mum died. The day she shot her old friend, Anna.

The day the world really changed. ’Cause it’d changed before then a bit. The monsters arrived weeks before that day.

But that was the day things really got different.

That was the day she found herself.

She looked over to her left. Squinted. She could see Dad’s chest rising and falling as he lay there in his sleeping bag. He’d told Chloë they’d get a separate tent one day, but that was a while ago and he hadn’t mentioned much of it since. Chloë didn’t mind sleeping in the same tent as her dad. She’d have liked a bit more independence, but at the same time
,
it comforted her being so close to her dad.

At least he was here. At least she was by his side.

She wasn’t alone.

She was about to lay her head back down on the pillow when she heard voices outside.

She lifted her head again. Moved closer to the entrance of the tent. People weren’t allowed out at night. Never usually heard anyone talking after about 11.

But Chloë could definitely hear voices right now.

She thought about just getting back into her sleeping bag. Because it had nothing to do with her. Dad was right—she needed to just live her life as normally as she could, as much as she didn’t want to. She wasn’t leading anyone anymore.

But those voices. Something about them made Chloë want to go outside. To find out where they were coming from. Whose they were.

She pushed aside the sleeping bag. Climbed out. She knew she was in the wrong. She’d sneaked out at night before and always felt like she was being watched, so didn’t do it so much these days.

She pulled at the tent opening. Unzipped it as gently as she could, doing everything not to distract Dad.

She heard him move. Froze.

When she turned round, she saw his eyes were still closed. But he was facing her now.

Chloë took another few steadying breaths. She carried on unzipping the tent. Unzipped it so there was a big enough gap for her to sneak out of. Hopefully Dad wouldn’t notice the breeze. If he woke up and found her gone, he’d go mad. He’d be worried. Chloë didn’t want to do that to him.

She lifted her leg out the tent. Then the other. And then she was outside. Outside in the cold.

She pushed her teeth together to stop them chattering. Tried to get a sense of where the voices were coming from.

And then she saw the dim light glowing from a tent a few feet away.

She crouched down. Crept towards it. The island was so quiet, so silent. Up at the top of the hill, the High Lord’s palace stared down at her, like it was watching all the time. It made Chloë feel worried. Uneasy.

But she had to keep going because she had to know what the voices were; who they were.

She stopped right beside the tent where the talking was coming from. Stayed still.

She could hear them, now. Hear them discussing something. Two, maybe three, maybe four people, all crammed into that tent. They were raising their voices. Arguing about something. She couldn’t make out what they were saying properly. But the fact that they were arguing made Chloë want to hear even more.

So she shuffled closer to the tent. Close enough to hear.

She leaned right up to the tent entrance and she heard the words. Heard exactly what they said. And it must’ve been a combination of that and the sound of footsteps a few metres to her left that made her slip. Fall against the entrance of the tent.

Everyone in the tent stopped talking.

Chloë backed up. Rolled away from the tent. Mud covered her shins, her white T-shirt. She ran across the grass. Ran towards her tent.

But then she saw the approaching person getting closer.

She hid behind another tent. Heard the zip of the tent she’d heard the discussion and fallen onto open up. Heard voices. Whispering voices.

“What if they heard us?” a woman asked.

“We can explain.”

“You really think so?”

Chloë waited for the footsteps to reach the front left of the tent she was hiding behind. And when they did, she took in a deep breath. Crept around towards her tent again. She didn’t know whether anyone had seen her. Didn’t know whether they were on to her. But she had to get back to bed. She had to get back to bed and pretend she hadn’t heard a word they’d said.

She crawled through the opening in her tent. The footsteps got closer. She climbed into her sleeping bag, Dad still snoring beside her. Squeezed her eyes shut.

“The tent there. It’s open.”

Chloë heard the footsteps right outside her tent. She felt the presence of someone right outside. The change in the draft as they opened it up a little more to take a look.

She felt their eyes burning into her.

And then the tent zipped shut.

The footsteps disappeared.

Chloë opened her eyes. She knew she should sleep. She knew she should rest. But she couldn’t. Not after what she’d heard the people in that tent saying. Not after what she’d heard them discussing.

“If we’re going to take this place, we’re going to have to take him out,” the woman had said.

They were going to take this place. Take Bardsey Island.

And Chloë knew.

C
hloë held
baby Kesha in her left arm and did her best not to drop her onto the floor.

A day had passed since she’d overheard the conversation in the tent, and she hadn’t really thought much of it since. Everything on the island was okay. They were enjoying a bit of warm, sunny weather, so many of the islanders were going down to the rocks and swimming in the sea. A lot of the kids were enjoying it, too, all playing together, crabbing, climbing, that kind of thing.

And here was Chloë, stuck in the nursery with eight babies all wailing around her, one of them in her arm.

“You’re a natural, Chlo. Dunno what you were so worried about.”

Chloë looked up from Kesha. Margery was walking towards her. She had a big smile on her jolly face. She was a plump woman, but that smile made her look nice. No matter how hard she tried not to like Margery, Chloë didn’t mind her at all. “I’m not.”

Margery stood beside Chloë. Smiled, as she looked down at baby Kesha, who was smaller than a lot of the other kids. “None of us think we’re naturals. In fact, the people who think they’re naturals are the ones who end up being the worst parents.”

“I think they smell funny.”

“What?”

“Babies. They… I don’t like the way they smell.”

Margery frowned. Chloë wasn’t sure what that look meant. Just that she was doing her best job of babysitting because it’s what Dad wanted her to do.

But she couldn’t deny she didn’t mind baby Kesha out of all of them.

“Kesha here’s taking a real shine to you, isn’t she?”

Chloë looked down into Kesha’s bright blue eyes. She always had a little smile on her face, even though she was probably too tiny to know how to smile. “She’s just a baby.”

“And?”

“Babies… babies don’t know. Whether they really like people.”

Margery laughed a little. “Oh really? And where did you learn that one?”

Chloë felt her cheeks flushing as she looked into Kesha’s eyes. She saw Kesha lift her little arms.

“Go on,” Margery said. “Give her a hug.”

Chloë felt her heart pounding. She didn’t want to. She knew it was a bad idea getting close to anyone at all.

But then she did it. She lifted Kesha closer towards her.

Kesha wrapped her arms around the back of Chloë’s neck.

And then she threw up all down Chloë’s front.

Margery laughed. Chloë smelled milky sick in the air. The front of her shirt was covered in baby gunk. She felt her cheeks flaring ever hotter.

“Come on, you. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Margery took Kesha from Chloë. Headed towards the door of the nursery. “You just keep an eye on the others, okay? Ben might need some milk.”

“But I—”

“Remember what I said about ‘buts’?”

The voice startled Chloë. She turned and saw her Dad passing Margery as she left with Kesha. He looked at her, a bemused grin on his face. “Nice to see you making friends.”

Chloë wiped some of the baby sick from her white T-shirt. “I hate them.”

“Then you feel the same way about them as you do everyone else. That’s progress.”

Dad walked up to her. Grabbed a towel and started wiping the sick from her front. “You’re doing alright though, see?”

Chloë shook her head. The annoying wailing of the babies was getting on her nerves. “I’d rather do anything but this.”

“That baby Kesha? Margery says you’ve got quite attached to her.”

Chloë looked down at Dad cleaning her top. She supposed she had got quite attached to Kesha. “That was before she barfed all over my shirt.”

Dad ruffled her hair. “That’s my girl.”

He turned around. Headed back towards the door. “Anyway, I’d better leave you to it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I do,” he said. “You’ve got responsibilities and so have I. I’ll see you again soon, anyway. Looking forward to dinner already. Stu’s caught some sea bass.”

Chloë nodded. But her guts turned at the thought of fish the way they cooked it here on Bardsey Island.

Dad smiled. Then he turned around.

“Wait.”

He stopped. Looked back at Chloë. “What’s up?”

Chloë thought back to two nights ago. The conversation she’d overheard. She knew she shouldn’t keep it to herself. There’d been talks of plotting to take this place. To take someone down. She knew that someone had to be the High Lord.

“Chloë?”

But nothing had happened. And people had a right to talk, didn’t they? It was late, too. Maybe she’d just heard them wrong. Maybe they hadn’t said what she thought they’d said all along. Or maybe they were on about something completely different altogether.

She forced a smile. “I should get back to it. Like you say.”

There was suspicion on Dad’s face. Just for a moment, after Chloë backtracked on telling him the truth. “You know you can talk to me. If there’s anything—”

A scream split the silence of the island.

Dad and Chloë stared at each other. Stared at each other as if trying to figure out whether it was real, whether they’d both heard the same thing.

And then there were more screams. More shouts.

Chloë rushed over to the door. Over to her dad’s side. She ignored the wailing babies. She just wanted to know what was happening. Needed to know what was happening.

She prayed it wasn’t to do with what she’d heard.

She prayed it wasn’t anything to do with the conversation.

“What was that?” Chloë asked, as she stood by her dad’s side.

Dad peered out of the window. “I’m not sure. But I—”

Something slammed against the window in the door.

Chloë fell back.

It took her a few seconds to realise it was only Margery.

Margery pulled open the door. Rushed inside the nursery, Kesha in her arms.

“What’s going on?” Dad asked.

Margery rushed over to the beds. She was crying. She looked totally spaced out.

“Margery!” Dad shouted. “What the hell’s going on out there.”

Margery stopped by the side of Kesha’s empty cot. Turned and looked at Dad, at Chloë, with terror in her eyes.

“The palace,” she said. “It’s—something’s happening.”

“What do you mean something’s—”

“It’s being overthrown.”

C
hloë stood
at the back of the nursery and tried to convince herself that everything was okay, really.

She looked through the nursery, past the baby-filled cots. Dad and Margery stood by the window in the doorway of this building—one of the few actual buildings on Bardsey Island. She could tell from the looks on their faces that something wasn’t right. And the worst part about all of it? She knew what that something was.

The island was being overthrown. Just like she’d heard was going to happen.

She heard the gunshots peppering around outside. Heard the screams. There was a smell of burning creeping its way inside the nursery. A sickness welled in Chloë’s chest. Because this wasn’t right. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This place was supposed to be safe. Peaceful.

She didn’t understand.

“We have to do something,” Dad said. He grabbed the handle of the door. Lowered it, started to step outside.

Margery reached out for his arm. “No. We’re safe in here.”

“Safe? It’s going to shit out there. I’m supposed to be island security. It’s my job to—”

“Your job is to look out for your daughter. You’re safe in here. We all are. They won’t hurt the children. Whoever’s doing this, they…”

Margery stopped. She turned. Stared at the cots.

“Margery?”

It took Chloë a few seconds to realise she was looking right at baby Kesha’s cot.

“They won’t hurt us,” Margery said. “I have to believe that. But if they do, there’s… Look, Pete. Chloë. There’s something you need to know about this place. There’s a way out. Out the back door, then run to the cabin past the next row of tents.”

“I know the cabin,” Dad said. “Dingy little thing covered in moss. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

“There’s a tunnel,” Margery said.

“A… a tunnel?”

“It was constructed years ago, apparently. Back in the mid-twentieth century. They used to do tours through it from the mainland, but it was deemed unfit and unsafe for purpose.”

“There’s a tunnel?” Dad said. “How didn’t I… Where’s it lead to?”

“The mainland,” Margery said.

The revelation of a tunnel right on the island made Chloë’s body stiffen. Because if there was a tunnel, it meant they weren’t so disconnected from the mainland after all. That something could find its way inside. Hurt them. Kill them. Destroy them.

“Why do you know this?” Pete asked.

Margery shook her head. She walked over to the side of one of the cots, where a baby called Jess wailed and screamed. “Ssh. Please. Just ssh.”

“Margery, how do you—”

“How I know doesn’t matter,” Margery shouted. “Just… if you need to leave this place, that’s the direction you go. The pair of you. You take the children and you leave.”

Dad glanced over at Chloë. The uncertainty in his eyes scared her. He usually looked so sure about things. So confident about his next move.

He looked like he didn’t have a clue what to do.

“Maybe that’s what we should start doing now,” Margery said, as the sound of gunfire and shouts got nearer. “Maybe… maybe we should take them. Get away from this place.”

“We can still solve this,” Dad said.

“We can? Are you sure about that?”

They exchanged a stare that scared Chloë.

Two people who were supposed to know what they were doing.

Clueless.

Stunned.

“I think they’re going to kill the High Lord,” Chloë said.

Margery and Dad both turned.

“What did you say?”

The words spilled out of Chloë’s mouth like oil, thick and hard to vomit. “I—I heard people speaking. The other night. About—about taking this place.”

Dad shook his head. “It won’t happen. There’s been minor revolts before.”

“Does this look like a minor revolt to you?” Margery asked.

Dad didn’t respond to that.

He and Margery walked over to the door. Peeked out of the window.

“We know what we have to do,” Margery said. “It’s not an ideal move, but it’s safeguarding the future of the world. The future of… of the island.”

“The palace,” Dad said. “It’s being attacked. How can this be happening?”

“I know why this is happening,” Margery whispered.

Before either Chloë or her dad could ask Margery what she meant, someone appeared at the window.

It was a man Chloë vaguely recognised. A man called Garth. He had narrow cheekbones and always looked ill. He always gave Chloë the creeps.

He was holding a gun.

“Garth,” Dad said. “What the hell’s—”

“Open the door,” Garth said. “And let me inside. Then, we can talk.”

The children in the cots cried.

Garth smiled.

Gunshots and screams filled Bardsey Island.