Chloe Zombie Apocalypse series (Book 2): The Journey Read online

  The rope around her neck stretched.

  Stretched as she fell to the ground floor.

  Stretched as she—

  Snap.

  A crack.

  Alice’s body twitched.

  Her eyes widened.

  Then she went still.

  “Now,” Jackson said, turning the gun on Chloë. “How about you come up here and…”

  Chloë didn’t hear the rest of what he said.

  She heard the gunshots he fired at her.

  She heard the footsteps sprinting down the promenade in pursuit of her.

  But she couldn’t think.

  Couldn’t process anything.

  All she could do was run.

  Run away from the promenade.

  Run away from Pwllheli.

  Run away from everything.

  35

  THIRTY-FIVE

  She watched the squirrel crawl across the branch.

  She held her breath. Held her knife tightly. Sweat dripped down her forehead, the shade of the trees doing little to dampen the warmth of the sun. She could taste blood on her dry lips. Blood that brought the memories flashing back. The images of what she’d witnessed.

  Of what she’d run away from.

  Chloë lifted her knife. Crawled through the grass. Got closer to the squirrel. She might’ve been in company for weeks now, but she could still hunt. She could still provide for herself. Find her own way. Just like she used to.

  A branch snapped underfoot.

  The squirrel raised its head.

  Before Chloë could swing her knife into its neck, the squirrel darted away.

  Chloë’s stomach sank. She looked at the grass. She’d been trying to catch some food for hours now. Ever since she’d run away from Pwllheli. She wasn’t hungry. She felt sick. But she knew she needed food to survive.

  And she knew nobody else was going to provide food for her. Not anymore

  She stood. Wiped her forehead. Carried on moving through the woods. The fresh smell of the trees was welcoming, homely. It reminded her of the times she’d been alone. All the time she’d spent on her own in the woods, just surviving.

  Nobody to care about.

  Nobody to worry about.

  Life was better that way.

  She listened to the birdsong above. Birdsong was always a good sign. Usually, when monsters or people were around, the birds went silent. It’s as if they were learning how to live in this new world too, just like the monsters were adapting.

  The birdsong was loud.

  But nothing was louder than Chloë’s memories.

  The pain in Alice’s eyes.

  The stumble over the edge of the balcony.

  The snapping of her neck as she fell.

  The memory of that snap gave Chloë goose pimples. Not just because it sounded bad—which it did, it sounded terrible—but because of who it happened to. Alice. Alice who’d been by her side for longer than her dad. Alice who’d helped her save her dad. Who’d stood by her, even when she didn’t agree with her.

  Alice was gone.

  And so too were too many of Chloë’s other people.

  The people from the Snowdonia Care Home.

  The people she was supposed to care for.

  She cleared her throat. A bitter taste swelled in her mouth. She wasn’t good enough to look after anyone. Those people from the care home needed someone, and she wasn’t it. She wasn’t strong enough. Jackson was right about that. She couldn’t care about anyone else.

  And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  Because caring about other people meant losing other people.

  And losing other people meant pain. Weakness.

  She couldn’t be weak in this world. Not anymore.

  So she just had to do her best to survive.

  Alone.

  She walked further through the tall grass. Felt the soft dirt on the soles of her feet. She tried not thinking about Dad. Dad, who she’d saved. Dad, who’d cared for her. Dad, who she’d been reunited with after everything. She thought that’s what she wanted. She thought she wanted them to be together again. Because he was the only person Chloë had left.

  But she saw the truth now. She couldn’t be with her dad. Because he cared about her too much, and she loved him too much.

  It was better if they weren’t together.

  At least that way there was still hope.

  At least that way there wasn’t as much pain.

  She wiped the corners of her stinging eyes. Looked ahead at the vast expanse of the woods. She wasn’t sure where to go. Wasn’t much point heading back to north England. Everywhere was the same, anyway. She guessed she should just stay around Snowdonia. Move from place to place. Settle down whenever she could.

  There were no better ways of living.

  No pain.

  No attachment.

  Nothing.

  She started to move when she saw another squirrel up ahead.

  It was perched on the ground. Looking right at her. Acorn in hand.

  Chloë knew what she should do. She should keep an eye on it. Track it. Hunt it. But somehow, she didn’t even want to do that anymore. She didn’t want to kill anything.

  She didn’t want to lose anything, even if it might keep her alive.

  She felt tears rolling down her cheeks. Felt the eyes of the forest watching her.

  She was alone. She was alone because she’d run. She’d abandoned her people. Left them to Jackson.

  She’d given up.

  She cried for a while. She wasn’t sure how long exactly. But she just let the memories of the day fill her mind. The memories of what had happened. Of what she’d lost.

  And then she took a shaky breath and she stood.

  The squirrel was still watching her, acorn in hand.

  Chloë swallowed a lump in her throat. She felt her heartbeat picking up. She walked towards the squirrel. Crept towards it, knife in hand.

  She had to kill it.

  She had to kill it because she needed food.

  She needed food to stay alive.

  And that’s all that mattered anymore. That’s all there was anymore. Staying alive.

  She got within a few steps of it.

  Couldn’t believe it still hadn’t moved.

  She pulled back her knife.

  Heard a rustling behind her.

  Footsteps.

  The squirrel dropped its acorn and ran.

  Chloë turned. Looked behind her. She’d heard something. She’d definitely heard movement.

  She crouched into the tall grass.

  Crawled through it, just like she used to. Only it was harder now. Harder with one hand.

  Survival with one hand wasn’t going to be like it used to be.

  She heard the movement again. Heard the rustling. And footsteps. Definite footsteps coming her way, coming towards her.

  Chloë pulled back the knife.

  Waited for the person or the monster to arrive.

  She held her breath.

  Watched their silhouette walk past the tall grass.

  And then she threw herself at them.

  “Woah!” the man shouted as Chloë crashed against him.

  She pointed the knife at his neck.

  Hovered it just a millimetre away from his throat.

  But she couldn’t stab him.

  She could only stare at the man.

  Listen to her rising heartbeat.

  “Chloë,” he said, pushing her away gently. “It’s okay. It’s me. It’s your dad, Chlo. It’s your dad.”

  Chloë didn’t know what to do.

  Didn’t know what to say.

  So she just grabbed hold of her dad.

  Held him tightly.

  Cried.

  36

  THIRTY-SIX

  “So you were just planning on hanging out in these woods? Hoping for the best?”

  Chloë’s face burned. She wanted to run. Run through the trees. Run away from her dad.
Not because she didn’t want him here. She wanted him here more than anything.

  But because him being here meant he was in danger.

  Him being here meant she had something to lose.

  “Just run away. Run away from your friends. Run away from the people who rely on you? Run away from me?”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? Whenever something gets too hard, you run away. You bury your head in the sand. Well I’m sorry, young lady. I’m sorry but I’m gonna say it as it is. You’re selfish.”

  Chloë’s throat swelled up as she walked through the woods with her dad. No real direction. No real end goal in mind. Why was he being so cruel? He was never cruel. He was always kind. Always had been kind to her. Treat her like a grown up, that’s what he used to say when Mum fussed over her. Treat her like you’d want someone to treat you.

  Right now, Chloë didn’t feel like a grown-up.

  She felt like a little girl again.

  Dad walked alongside her. Kept his focus on the trees. “Run away from the people who need you. Run away from the people who care for you.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

  “Well you did. You did, Chloë. Don’t you see it? Don’t you see what you’ve done? You’ve proved that… You’ve proved Jackson right. He always said you weren’t a leader. He always said you were just a scared kid underneath that tough exterior of yours. And he’s proved it.”

  Dad’s words echoed in Chloë’s ears. Jackson never thought she was good enough. Always thought he’d make a better leader. And who was Chloë to argue? She’d run away. She’d abandoned her people.

  She’d let Jackson win.

  Again.

  “How… how did you—”

  “Oh they never caught me,” Dad said, as they pushed through some long conifers. “They chased me but no way was I stopping. Not when I saw you running.” He looked at Chloë. Eyes glassed over. “I think they got to Alice, though. I think they got her.”

  Chloë’s stomach hardened. Alice. The cracking of her neck. Dad didn’t know.

  “I mean I don’t think they’d kill her. She’s young. Probably more recruitable than the old—”

  “He killed her,” Chloë said.

  She didn’t have to say any more. And Dad didn’t have to ask any more. Jackson killed Alice. That was it. That was a fact.

  Jackson killed Alice, and Chloë ran away.

  “The others,” Chloë mumbled. “How… Are they—”

  “Those who’re left? They’re distraught. They dunno what to do. Where to go. They’re in a strange place a long, long way from home. And they need a leader. They need their leader.”

  Chloë shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  “I can’t!”

  “You don’t get to pick and choose these things. You don’t get to fucking lead everyone to Pwllheli then suddenly decide you’re hanging up your boots ‘cause it didn’t go well. Right now, those people need someone. They need you. And you need people, too.”

  Chloë felt her head throbbing, her pulse racing in her temple. “I… I can’t lose anyone else.”

  “Losing people is just a part of this world. Grow up. Deal with it.”

  “How can you say that?”

  Dad took in a long inhale. Looked down at Chloë. “Your mum. Your sister. I miss them every single minute of every single day. But I don’t give up on other people. I don’t give up just because I’m worried about what might happen to them. What kind of a life is that?”

  Chloë wiped her eyes. “Anything’s better than losing more people.”

  Dad crouched opposite. He took Chloë’s hand. Stroked it with his hard palms. A smile lit up his face. “Remember when we used to play Fortune Teller?”

  Chloë laughed. The memory invaded her senses. “That silly turban you used to wear.”

  His mouth widened. “That turban was not silly, madame!”

  Chloë giggled some more as Dad tickled her palm. “It was. It was so silly.”

  The pair of them were silent for a few seconds. Silent, just enjoying the moment. And it was just that—a moment. A moment before Chloë realised she’d forgotten about all her worries. She’d forgotten about the group. About the fake transmission. About Jackson being a part of this “Black Army”.

  About Alice.

  But it was a moment.

  “We still have our memories,” Dad said, closing Chloë’s hand. “We still have the good times to look back on. And that’s what we should do. When we’re scared. When we’re worried. We look back at the good times. We laugh. We smile. But we should do that together. Me. You. The others. Not alone. Nobody deserves to be alone. Not in this world.”

  Chloë felt a breeze brush against her. She let her hand rest in her dad’s. Pushed away all her thoughts. Just her and her dad. Just her and him. Together. No worries.

  And the rest of her group following.

  “They won’t trust me anymore.”

  “That’s right,” Dad said.

  “Then—then how do I make them trust me?”

  Dad shrugged. He let go of Chloë’s hand. “You’ll figure out a way.”

  He turned. Started walking in the opposite direction. The way back to Pwllheli. The way back to Chloë’s people. To the failed safe haven.

  “Where are they?” Chloë asked.

  “Saw Dean and Cassandra lying low with a few of the care home folk. By the stream we crossed on the way to the promenade. I know the way.”

  “And Jackson?”

  Dad half-smiled. “He’s gone, Chlo. I watched him leave. Watched his people leave with him. He’s had his say. He’s sent his message. Now he’s just as done with this place as we are. Now come on.”

  Chloë started walking.

  And then she stopped.

  Stopped, suddenly, a memory filling her mind.

  The tape.

  The tune.

  “Life is but a dream… Life is but a dream…”

  She’d heard it. Heard it somewhere before.

  A song.

  “Chloë? What—”

  “Ssh,” Chloë said.

  She tried to recall the words.

  Tried to add them up in her jumbled thoughts.

  Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…

  Her heart picked up.

  She remembered the words on the transmission.

  “Is anyone out there? I repeat, is anyone out there? Safe haven. Safe place. Safe community. Pwllheli. Pwllheli, North West Wales. Survivors welcomed. Survivors welcomed. Pwllheli.”

  The way the static gave way every time the voice mentioned Pwllheli.

  The way the tune kicked in.

  Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream,

  Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream…

  Merrily.

  The building.

  The building on her way down to Pwllheli.

  The grey building by the water’s edge.

  “Chloë, you’re freaking me out. What’s—”

  “The—the transmission,” Chloë said, growing breathless, her pulse racing.

  “It was fake. The Black Army used it. We established that.”

  “No,” Chloë said. Her thoughts swirled around her mind. Her heart just kept beating faster and faster. “The song. On the transmission. ‘Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.’”

  Dad narrowed his eyes. “Yes. It is a song.”

  “The stream,” Chloë said. “The—the stream. By Embankment Road. And the grey building we passed on the way there. The building.”

  “What building?”

  “It had Merrily written on it,” Chloë shouted, barely able to contain her excitement. “Like the song. Like the song. It has Merrily written on it.”

  Chloë saw Dad’s eyes gradually widen. She saw the dazed look on his face.

&nbs
p; “Do you… do you think it means…”

  “Only one way to find out,” Chloë said.

  She walked in front of her dad.

  Faced towards Pwllheli. Towards her people.

  And then she held out her hand.

  “You coming?”

  Dad smiled. His eyes beamed.

  “I’m coming,” he said.

  He took her hand and the pair of them ran.

  The song replayed on a loop in Chloë’s mind.

  She knew what she was looking for.

  She knew what the transmission was saying. All along, it was trying to tell her something.

  Now she knew what it was.

  She knew exactly what it was.

  And it was going to save her life.

  Save everyone’s lives.

  Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream,

  Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream…

  37

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Dean looked around at the empty town and wished he was back home in Manchester.

  He listened to the cries of the wounded. Smelled blood in the air. They’d managed to run away from Jackson and his thugs, him and Cassandra. They’d led a few of the people from the care home along with them. Six of them. More dwindling numbers.

  But Alice was gone.

  Pete was gone.

  Chloë was gone.

  “What’re we supposed to do now?”

  Dean turned. Saw Lisa looking back at him with those small, dark brown eyes. Her short greying hair was flat on the side of her head. Specks of blood rolled down her dark skin.

  Dean cleared his dry throat. Looked at the rest of the survivors. At Rajiv, blood flowing out of his right ankle. At Lisa, tears covering her face. He looked at Cassandra. Saw her pale skin. Saw her tired eyes.

  They couldn’t do this.

  Neither of them could handle this.

  He’d always been bad at dealing with situations like these. Always been a bad leader. Stemmed right back to school, when he was made group leader in those silly class exercises. He never liked being the one to speak up. He never liked being the one to represent other people. He just did it back then because he had to.

  He knew he had to right now. He knew he had to step up. Be a leader.

  But he couldn’t.

  Because he was scared.

  Shitting hell, he was scared.

  “If there’s nothing here then what do we do?”