Chloe Zombie Apocalypse series (Book 2): The Journey (5 page)

J
ackson kept
his eye on Chloë as they left Hopeforth and made for the hills.

The morning was still bright. The birdsong teased promise. Hope. And as the sixteen of them made the long journey to Pwllheli, Jackson knew that hope would be tested a number of times. He knew it would be pushed to the limits, like it always was. He knew more people would fall. More people would die.

But mostly, the weak would fall.

And that was okay.

Because this group didn’t need weak. It needed strong. Much, much stronger than it had now.

He felt the gun banging against the outside of his thigh. One of the ones he and a few others had kept for themselves. He had a few of the sixteen on his side. And that would only grow when things collapsed even further. When people realised a crippled little girl wasn’t fit to lead.

And the numbers of his group would grow even more when they recruited new members. When they militarised. Fully.

Because only through direct action, only through violence, did anyone prevail in this world.

He looked over his shoulder. Looked across the fields towards Hopeforth. It was a shame they’d had to leave there. It was decent. It was safe. And burning down the supermarket, that was a gamble. A risk. It meant losing supplies. It meant killing the hope of every single person in this group.

But he’d done it because he had to.

He had to do something to get this group moving.

Something to get them out of their comfort zones, into a place where they needed leadership. Real leadership.

Somewhere where their defences lowered. Where opportunity for recruitment would be booming.

Somewhere he could lead his people.

Because that’s what they needed. A real leader. A decisive leader. Not some one-handed little bitch with a daddy who constantly cleaned up her mess.

He felt the sores on the bottom of his feet. Felt them on his arms, his shoulders, his back. He remembered the beatings. The beatings he’d got in the Church of Youth. He remembered the beatings he’d given out way before then. And he thanked Chloë. He really did thank her for getting him out of that hellhole. For saving his life. He was grateful. Truly fucking grateful.

But her leadership stopped there.

It was time for somebody else to grab the reins. For someone else to head the charge. For someone else to lead.

He looked at Colin and Arnold. Meatheads. Idiots. But they agreed with him. They agreed with his vision for the future of this group. They agreed that a little girl wasn’t fit to lead. They agreed that without action—without recruitment—their very existence would collapse.

They looked back at Jackson. He saw the outlines of the guns in their pockets.

They’d use them when they needed to.

Only when they needed to.

He turned back to the front. Looked through the crowd at Chloë. She was walking alongside her dad and Alice. Leading this group. Leading this group even though she’d lied about that transmission. Even though she’d kept it from them.

And still nobody was doing anything about her.

Still, nobody was making a stand.

Not yet.

Jackson put his hand on the gun. Held a smile.

When the ground opened up, Chloë wouldn’t know what hit her.

And he didn’t know how exactly he was going to handle her yet. Didn’t know his exact method.

But he would.

And when he did, he’d be there to step in. To lead these people.

He’d be there to provide for them. To encourage recruitment of outsiders. Or, failing recruitment, he’d be there to take weapons. Supplies. Whatever he needed. Whatever
his
people needed.

But most of all, above anything, he’d be there to lead this group to Pwllheli.

He’d be there to walk up to the gates of this supposed safe zone and lead his people inside.

And when he got inside, he’d be there to pull the trigger and take it for himself.

For his group.

For now, he just smiled.

T
hey lost
two more people in the two days that followed.

Chloë rubbed her tongue against her dry lips. She rubbed her eyes. Squinted ahead into the distance. Across the field, in the baking mid-afternoon sun, she could see cars stacked atop an abandoned motorway. Between the cars, she swore she could see movement. And she knew she was probably right. Where there were rows of cars, there were always monsters.

Monsters, strapped down in their seats.

Monsters, bustling to free themselves from the confines of the metal vehicles.

So much death.

Chloë looked over her shoulder. She saw the rest of her group struggling along in pursuit. Fourteen of them. Fourteen of them, including her, Dad, Alice. All of them fighting. Fighting to reach Pwllheli. Fighting to survive.

She licked her lips again. She hadn’t had much water to drink. Wasn’t much to go around. The bandits who’d attacked Hopeforth had made sure of that. They had no weapons either—nothing aside from some scrap metal, a few knives. No guns.

Which left them vulnerable.

Which meant they had to keep their heads low. Avoid bumping into anyone at all.

Avoid trouble at all costs.

She took a deep breath. Smelled body odour in the thick, humid air. She felt sweaty at all times. Felt it trickling down from her armpits, down the side of her body. Felt it clinging to her skin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good, proper wash. And she’d grown used to that fact. She’d grown used to being dirty. It helped her blend in. Blend in with the monsters.

But right now, she wanted nothing more than to clean herself.

She hoped Pwllheli had somewhere she could clean herself.

“You okay, Chlo?”

The voice came from her left. She looked up, saw Alice by her side. Alice also looked exhausted. Her fringe was plastered to her forehead in a way that she surely couldn’t like. She kept on sniffing, like she had a bad cold, only it was August so she shouldn’t have a cold right now. She looked at Chloë with tired, red eyes. She hadn’t spoken to Chloë much since the incident at Hopeforth two days ago. But Chloë knew how she felt about her keeping the news of the transmission from the rest of the group.

She knew what she wanted to say to her.

She was just doing her best to avoid speaking to Alice for that reason.

“I will be. When we get there.”

“Long way to go still,” Alice said. “Long way to go and a lot of exhausted people.”

“We can’t stop. We can’t risk—”

“No, Chloë, we can’t stop. We can’t stop because a bunch of bandits broke into Hopeforth and trashed it. We can’t stop because they destroyed our supplies, took our weapons. We can’t stop because they have a head start. But we could’ve avoided this.”

Chloë knew what Alice was referring to. Finally, she was confronting her for hiding news of the transmission. “I did what I thought was right,” Chloë said.

“Yes. That’s exactly it. You did what
you
thought was right. But it wasn’t your decision to make. Not solely.”

“I know what I did. I made a mistake.”

“And that mistake killed Harriet and Ainsley yesterday,” Alice said.

The words made Chloë’s throat tighten, made her eyes sting. She looked ahead at the fields. At the oncoming bridge stacked with cars. She couldn’t see any movement except for someone—or something—struggling around in a passenger seat. A silhouette of another dead, trapped, forgotten.

“We’ve all made mistakes.”

Alice tutted. Nodded. “You’re right. We have. But you can’t pretend you want to be a responsible leader in one breath and then act out of pure self-interest in the next.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I think you kept the transmission a secret because you wanted a backup. For yourself. In case everything fell apart.”

Chloë couldn’t look at Alice. Not anymore. She was supposed to be her friend. She turned. Looked at her dad. Saw him walking alongside Dan. He didn’t look back at Chloë.
“You need to learn to fight your own battles, angel.”

He was right. She did need to learn to fight her own battles.

And this was just the start of the fight.

Chloë stopped. Turned to face the rest of the group.

“I want you to listen to me,” she said.

Heads lifted. A few cynical glances in her direction from Hassan, Anisha, Colin.

“I’m sorry. For what I did back at Hopeforth. I’ve said it a few times. But I really mean it. And—and if you’ve got a problem, now’s the time to tell me. Now’s the time to open up. Because we need to be strong. We need to be together. And… and my mum used to tell me, if we can’t be together, we can’t be strong.”

She saw Harvey half-smiling. Saw Jackson nodding.

“We need to be honest,” Chloë said. “Starting—starting now. Okay?”

She saw Dave nod. “The girl’s right.”

Chloë saw more of the group nod. Heard the chatter erupting. The positivity building.

She saw her dad smile.

Then she heard something splat into the ground behind her with an immense thud.

She saw the group’s faces turn.

Swung around.

A monster lay on the ground. At least, something
resembling
a monster. Its arms were missing. Its back had snapped in an impossible angle that Chloë swore she’d learned the name of in Maths once.

But it looked up at her. Cracked its teeth together.

“How… Where did…”

She heard another splat.

Saw a monster crash into the grass beside it.

And then another.

And another.

“They’re coming from up there!” Anisha shouted.

Chloë lifted her neck.

Saw the monsters tumbling down from the side of the motorway bridge.

Six, seven, eight of them, all crashing down to the ground, all their dead weight hurtling from above.

“Run!” Chloë shouted.

The group ran away from the falling monsters. Chloë stabbed the monsters in their cracked skulls as she passed. She could still hear them splatting down into the grass. Could hear their bones cracking on contact with the ground.

She rushed under the motorway bridge. Turned, panting.

Saw Harvey at the back of the group.

Limping along.

Fallen monsters clutching out at him with broken fingers.

“Wait here,” Chloë said.

“Chloë!” Dad shouted.

Chloë ran from under the bridge. Jumped over the monsters.

“Harvey!” she shouted. “Grab my hand!”

She instinctively stuck her right hand out… then realised it wasn’t there. Of course. Shit.

She heard another zombie crash into the ground to her right.

Then another just behind her.

Cold blood splattering onto her legs.

She put her one arm around Harvey. Tried to help him limp along. He was too heavy. Way too heavy for her to support.

But she could do this.

She wasn’t losing him.

No way was she losing anyone else.

She dodged the monsters on the grass. There were so many of them now. So many, and still more tumbling down.

Harvey panted. Sweat poured down his cheeks. “I… You go.”

“No,” Chloë said. “I’ve got you.”

“You’re younger than me. I’ve had my innings.”

“No!” Chloë said.

She pulled Harvey as hard as she could away from the minefield of monsters. So many guts and cracked bones were splayed out along the grass.

She got within feet of the motorway bridge. Saw the others edging towards her. Dad and Alice running to try and help.

And then she heard the creaking noise.

The creaking from above.

She looked up.

Saw three more monsters tumbling down through the sky.

And then she saw the car.

It was edging off the side of the motorway bridge. A big car. Land Rover type thing. Dad called them Mountain cars.

“Chloë!” Dad shouted.

She saw the car turning over the edge of the motorway.

Saw it right above her.

Ready to fall on her.

Ready to fall on Harvey.

“Chloë, just—”

And then she heard the metal above snap.

Heard the creaking noise give in.

Looked up.

Saw the Land Rover pummelling towards her.

Seconds away from crushing her.

From crushing Harvey.

“You go,” Harvey muttered.

“I’m not leaving—”

“You go!”

He pushed Chloë forward.

She hit the grass, face first.

“Harvey!”

She swung around.

Saw Harvey standing there in the middle of the fallen monsters.

He smiled at her. Opened his mouth to say something.

And then the Land Rover landed on top of him and crushed him.

Chloë heard his old bones crack. Heard them echo against the inside of the motorway wall.

As much as she didn’t want to cry, as much as she didn’t want to show her weakness, she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. Tears, as she stared at the pool of blood growing from under the Land Rover. Harvey was good to her. Harvey believed in her.

Harvey was one of the good ones.

And now he was gone.

Now, there were just thirteen left.

Chloë crouched in the grass. Listened to the monsters groaning, unable to slurp their way towards the group with their snapped bones and broken bodies. She clenched her eyes together. She wanted the darkness to swallow her up. She wanted to go back to two days ago and just tell the group the truth. Or to be awake. Awake enough to fight for Hopeforth. Awake enough to stop the bandits.

“Chloë.”

She heard Jackson’s voice. Lifted her head. Sniffed up.

The bloody puddle was still in front of her.

The smashed Land Rover was still on top of it.

Through the back seat, perched on a bumper seat, she saw a little baby.

Growling.

Groaning.

Trying to get out.

She swallowed a sickly taste. Took a deep breath of the sweaty air.

“Chloë,” Jackson said. “I—I think you’re gonna wanna see this.”

She looked at him. Saw the frown on his head.

“What…”

And then she saw the rest of the group. All standing by the back of the motorway bridge. All looking at something in the distance.

She got up. Walked over to them with wobbly, jelly-like legs.

“What is…”

She didn’t see it at first.

But when she did, fear filled her body.

More fear than the monsters could ever create.