Chloe Zombie Apocalypse series (Book 1): Chloe (19 page)

S
tu Peterson couldn’t contain
the anger bubbling inside when he saw the lorry smashed against the Church of Youth walls.

Rain lashed down, heavier than before, making the ground slushy and hard to balance on. The wind was enough to knock a few of the weaker shits to their asses. This storm really wasn’t letting up. Which was a problem. A big fucking problem.

He wanted to make his stand tonight.

To skin the prisoners alive.

Hang their bodies around the walls to feed the zombies, to ward off any strangers.

Cause they couldn’t risk strangers. Couldn’t handle new recruits. Not anymore. Not under his rule.

They were gonna do things his way now.

“I get there’s a fucking big storm,” one of the guards said. Twenty or so of them were gathered around the lorry. “But surely a storm ain’t gonna drag a big bitch of a lorry down this way and smash it into our walls. Right?”

Peterson looked up at the hills. Looked into the darkness of the woods. He looked for a light. Looked for a sign of life. Nothing. “Have you checked the front?”

A few of the guards muttered. One of them—Barry—shook his head. “Haven’t been able to. Best option’s probably to crawl through the back. Take a peek into the cabin from there. Ain’t no way any of us is squeezin’ into this wreck.”

Peterson examined the cabin. Completely crushed. Windows shattered. Whoever was in there … well, there was very little chance they were alive. Some idiot, no doubt. Or one of the escapees. Church of Youth didn’t have many escapees, but he wouldn’t put it past one or two of those nuts pulling a stunt like this.

“Check the back. I’ll go back inside and make sure the walls are secure.”

“What about the girl?”

Peterson’s fists tensed when he heard the guard’s voice. He turned around. Saw a short-haired black guy called Marv he’d made a fucking good point of not speaking to staring back at him.

“Sorry. What?”

“The girl,” Marv said. “The one the Holy One spoke of. Could this be her?”

Peterson looked around the group of guards. Looked at the concern in their eyes. “You’re serious?”

“Well, she killed—”

“You seriously think a fucking prepubescent bitch could pull a stunt like this?” He laughed. And as he laughed, a few of the other guards loosened up, too. Good. Fucking good job.

If they didn’t, he’d make sure to deal with them.

Deal with them in the only way he could.

“I’ll check the inside,” Peterson said. “You take a look in the back. If I’m not here in five, Bride of fucking Chuckie’s probably sinking her teeth into me.”

A few sniggers from more of the guards. Relief spreading across them.

That was better. That’s what Peterson liked to see.

Smiles. Happy faces.

Happiness made him very fucking warm inside. Tingles, all that.

He turned away. Staggered alongside the wall. The mud was deep and thick, covering his Timberlands. Shame, really. Expensive boots. He’d bought them for himself when he’d stole money off his wife’s dad back in the old world. Always wanted a pair, so wasn’t gonna skip the chance of a tasty bit of inheritance cash.

He put a hand against the wall. Eased himself along. Rain and wind pushing him back. Loose twigs hitting his face.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered. He saw the tips of the trees shaking in the distance. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a summer storm like this. Something to do with the new world, perhaps? ’Cause of course, he knew about the zombies. Knew about the beasts.

But what if they weren’t the only things that’d changed?

Anything was possible in a world where the dead ate the living.

He turned the wall and was making his way to the entrance when he saw something moving ahead.

At first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks. Just something drifting in the wind.

And then he saw the bone sticking out of the figure’s right arm.

Saw the eyeball dangling down its right cheek.

A zombie. A motherfucking zombie.

He lifted his machete. Walked closer to it. No point wasting ammo on a drifter. Besides, hand to hand was always more fun. Made him feel alive. Like he was really down to primal instincts, fighting the way his ancestors used to fight.

He smiled. “Come on, pretty. Come to papa.”

He watched the zombie edge closer.

Pulled back his machete.

Then, just over the zombie’s left shoulder, something caught his eye.

Another zombie was moving towards the wall.

And another after that.

Another after that.

Only they weren’t walking up to Peterson. They weren’t noticing him, heading towards him for a skull-crushing.

They were disappearing.

Disappearing into the wall.

The realisation settled in Peterson’s stomach. A sense of dread weighed heavily in his guts.

“Fuck,” he said. “Fuck!”

He slashed the side of the zombie’s head. Pushed it away. He’d deal with it later. Didn’t have the time to deal with it now. Didn’t have the time for anything.

The zombies were getting inside the stronghold.

Someone had opened the gate.

Someone had…

He reached the entrance.

Saw the grounds.

Just moments ago, he’d walked away from these grounds. At least ten guards had stayed behind on watch.

All of them lay in the dirt.

Throats slashed.

Zombies perching beside them and finishing them off.

“Fuck. Guards! Guards!”

Peterson started running back towards the truck.

Pushed past three, four, five zombies on his way.

And then he heard a cry.

A cry from the lorry.

A cry. Gunfire.

“Back out! Back the fuck out!”

He sprinted back around the wall.

Saw the back of the lorry was open.

Zombies were pouring out.

Ripping the throats out of fallen guards, who fired bullets recklessly.

Sinking their sharp, bony fingers and razor-like teeth into fresh torsos.

Fuck. Someone had done this. Someone was attacking the Church of Youth. Someone was—

He felt something hit the back of his neck. Hard.

He looked down. Looked down, staggering from side to side, losing his balance.

There was something in his neck.

Something poking out.

A knife.

A…

He toppled backwards. Hit the ground.

The knife split right back through his neck.

He clutched the mud. Tried to get up. Tried to call out for help. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t allow it to happen. He couldn’t fail the Church of Youth. He was their new leader. The man they turned to. The man who ushered in a new era.

And then he saw the girl standing above him.

Dark hood pulled over her head.

Staring down into his stinging eyes.

Behind her, zombies got closer.

She reached down.

Pulled the knife out of Peterson’s neck.

He tried to reach out for her. Tried to drag her to the ground. Strangle the little fucker to death.

But then she walked away.

Disappeared.

And all that was left were the zombies.

He tried to shout. Tried to scream. Someone would help him. Someone always helped him. Someone always came to his res—

“Oh.”

The zombies stuck their teeth into his belly.

Bit down.

Ripped away his skin.

Stripped back his flesh with their vice-grip fingers.

Pulled out his intestines and feasted on them.

All Peterson could do was watch.

All Peterson could do was witness his own death.

All Peterson could do was hope he choked to death on his blood before the infection could set in, turn him into one of those things.

He’d never know.

All he’d know was agony.

All he’d know was terror.

All he’d know was the horrifying thought that after everything he’d fought for, a little girl had torn it all apart.

C
hloë ran
through the gates of the CoY camp.

She clutched her knife. Stabbed at the temples of any monster that came close. She didn’t look at the surrounding bodies. She knew what they looked like already. Throats slit. Slashed open in that way that always killed people easily. Always.

Not a quick death. A painful death.

But that was okay.

These people were fucks.

They’d taken her dad away from her.

They’d taken Alice away from her.

They’d caused so much pain. They deserved a little pain in return.

Chloë looked around the CoY grounds. She kept her hood over her head as the rain lashed down. Outside the walls where she’d driven the lorry, she could hear gunfire. Shouting. Crying. Luring them out of the grounds had turned out easy after all. Enough of them outside to make her entrance simple; enough of them inside for her to enjoy killing.

And she had enjoyed killing them.

She’d enjoyed jamming open the gates and luring the monsters inside.

She’d enjoyed slicing the throats of the distracted guards who waited eagerly for news outside the walls.

She’d enjoyed every second of the massacre.

And now the monsters were finishing her job for her.

She looked up at the red-bricked building. Looked at the steps that led up towards the main door. She could go in there. Find her dad. Find Alice. Save them both. They could get out of here. She didn’t think CoY would be getting organised any time soon. That man—The Holy One—he wasn’t here anymore. She didn’t know where he’d gone. Must’ve died after Alice shot his hand off. Blood loss. Something like that.

But without him, they didn’t seem as strong. They didn’t seem as organised.

They seemed weak.

That weakness was just what Chloë needed.

She ran towards the stairs. The grounds looked empty. The air was rich with the smell of decay from the monsters that’d breached the walls. She knew there’d be guards on the loose in here. But she wasn’t afraid. The storm helped. As did the darkness. And she knew her small stature and slight figure worked in her favour.

Shocked men long enough for her to run towards them.

Leap on them.

Cut their throats.

She kept her head down. Ran past a monster. It’d been feasting on a twitching, fallen guard. But now it looked up at Chloë. Watched her as she passed. Followed.

She didn’t want to kill the monsters. Not yet. The monsters were here for a reason. A distraction. A way of killing people when Chloë wasn’t even looking.

A weapon.

And Chloë knew that the CoY stronghold was a stronghold no more. She knew she’d damaged a potential safe haven. A home.

But she’d done what she’d had to do.

There were other safe places out there. She’d seen that for herself.

Ones like this deserved to rot.

She reached the bottom of the steps and saw two men standing at the top.

She crouched down. Slipped around the side of the steps.

The men hurtled down the steps. Guns in hand.

Chloë watched them descend. She gripped her knife. She’d kill them if she had to. Stab them in the backs. She could’ve taken a gun from a fallen guard long ago. But for now, she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself.

She wanted to be silent.

She wanted to be invisible.

She wanted to use the knowledge from the forest to fuel her fight.

The guards reached the bottom step.

Turned around towards Chloë.

She lifted her knife.

Readied to dive at the first man and rip his chest apart.

But he didn’t even look at her.

Neither did the second man.

They ran past Chloë. Ran towards the monsters. Fired at them.

Chloë watched. Watched to make sure they were still preoccupied.

Then she turned around the steps.

Climbed up them.

Fast, but quietly.

Nerves began to build up in her chest when she reached the top of the steps. The door to the cell blocks was unlocked. Always unlocked. She’d seen it when she watched the camp from a distance these last two days through her binoculars. Risky, she knew. But there was always two armed guards manning it. Always someone watching, so no need for a lock.

Except those armed guards were now fighting the monsters in the middle of the grounds.

Just what Chloë needed.

She rushed towards the door. Put her hand on the handle. She thought about her dad. Thought about what she’d say to him when she saw him. What he’d say to her. She’d never been away from him for this long. And even though she was covered in sticky blood, even though gunshots and groans echoed through the valley, Chloë couldn’t contain her excitement.

She was seeing her dad.

She was saving her dad.

She was getting him out of this place and she was…

She turned the handle.

Pushed the door.

It didn’t budge.

She frowned. Looked at it. Squinted. She’d watched this place. Scouted it out for hours. The guards never locked the doors. They just walked in and out. Maybe her memory failed her but … No. She was certain. They never used a key for this door. They never—

“Looking for these?”

Chloë spun around.

A man was standing opposite. A man with long blond hair. A narrow face. Brown eyes.

He was holding a set of keys in one hand.

He was holding a gun in the other.

Pointing it right at Chloë.

“
I
f you want
me to hold fire, you’d better lower that knife and get on your knees. Now.”

Chloë looked at the man standing opposite her. His blond hair was soaked by the pouring rain. Long blond hair, which meant he must’ve been in the CoY for a while. She’d figured that out herself. The ones with the long hair always seemed more willing to do the bad stuff. The ones with the shorter hair were always more … scared.

Or dead.

The man held the keys to the cell block in one hand.

In the other, a pistol.

Pointed right in Chloë’s direction.

“I won’t ask you again,” he said. “Don’t make this any more painful than it has to be.”

Chloë saw the flashing of gunfire from the grounds below. She saw the rain splashing against the wall. Down the stairs, she could hear monsters approaching. Groaning. Getting closer.

“Those other guards’ll be up here soon,” the man said. “And believe me. They’re the ones you have to worry about. Not the zombies.”

Chloë looked away from the approaching monsters. She turned back. Looked the man in his eyes. She still had her knife. She could try throwing it. Or reaching into her bag for the sharp wire when she got to her knees. She could—

“Don’t try a thing,” the man said.

He lifted his gun. Took a few steps closer to Chloë.

His finger tickled the trigger.

Chloë thought about her options. She couldn’t run because she’d be shot. She couldn’t steal the keys ’cause she’d be shot. She couldn’t get to her dad because … she’d be shot.

“There’s nowhere to go,” the man said. “Just … just get down. Make it easy for both of … make it easy for yourself.”

A lump swelled in Chloë’s throat. Stinging tears welled up. She wanted to fight. Wanted to keep on fighting.

But she couldn’t.

There was no way out of this situation.

There was no way of fighting.

So she got down on her knees.

Loosened her grip on the knife.

“I just want my dad,” Chloë muttered.

She glanced up. Saw the man looking at her. His eyes were wide. Not in that manic, predatory way the rest of the CoY men seemed to have. But more a look of fear. A look of uncertainty.

“I just want my—”

“We all want something we can’t have, kid. Now put your knife down.”

Chloë held the knife loosely. She sniffed up tears and rain. “What’s happening here, you can’t think it’s right. You—you can’t all think it’s right for people to die. For people to be … to be tortured.”

“Just be quiet,” the man said. He stepped closer to Chloë. Kept the gun pointed at her head. “If you’re lucky, the guards won’t realise it’s you. I know you’re Chloë. Pete’s kid. But I can make sure the guards don’t find out. You’ll just…”

He stopped talking. Looked away. Closed his eyes, just for a split second, then turned back to Chloë.

“You’ll just die like the rest of the prisoners,” the man said.

Chloë felt his hand grab her hair. And before she could do anything in return, he booted the knife away. Pulled the rucksack from her shoulders.

She looked at him. Tried to meet his eyes. “Please. I … I don’t beg. But I’m begging you. Just—just let my dad and my friend go. Just let us leave. And we’ll never come back. Ever.”

“Just like you never came back this time?” the man said. He lifted Chloë up. Started to pull her over his shoulder, the gun pressed against her forehead now.

“I never said I wouldn’t come back this time. And … and I always will come back. As long as my dad’s in here, I’ll always come back.”

The man sighed. “Kid, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your dad ain’t gonna be here much longer. So even if you did somehow get away from this place, you’ll have no one to save. Not with the new way of doing things.”

“You don’t understand what I’m saying,” Chloë said, wanting to scream but knowing she couldn’t if she wanted to keep attention away from her. Rain peppered her face. “If you hurt my dad, I’ll come back here and hurt every one of you until there’s none of you left to hurt.”

The man stuck a key in the prison lock. Turned. “And that’s exactly why I can’t let you leave this place.”

He opened the door. Started walking inside.

The immediacy of Chloë’s situation dawned on her the second she got inside the prison area. A long, dark corridor leading down to the cells. From down there, she could smell wee, poo, all kinds of nasty smells.

She was going to be reunited with her dad.

But not in the way she wanted.

Not in the way she needed.

“Do you—do you have kids?” she said, desperately trying to scramble free of the man’s grip.

“Don’t even bother with the sob story crap,” he said. “Ain’t gonna work on me.”

“I—I’ve killed people. I’ve done bad things to people. Just like your people have. But … but that doesn’t mean you have to kill me. That doesn’t mean you have to let me die.”

“I’m not killing you—”

“If you lock me up I’m dead.”

The man stopped. He lowered Chloë. Kept the gun pointed at her.

“Look at me,” Chloë said, stretching out her arms. “I’m just a girl.”

“You’re a murderer. You’re the daughter of the First Dissenter.”

“You’re right,” Chloë shouted. Her skin prickled with heat. “I am a murderer. I am a killer. I’ve done bad things. I’ve killed so many people. Good people. But I’m still just a kid inside. I … I feel older. I feel like I see the world like a grownup now. I feel like I act like a grownup. Like I speak like a grownup. But that’s what the world’s done to me. That’s the badness the world has done to all of us. But if you kill me, if you don’t let me go with my dad, that badness just … that badness wins again. Please. Let me go. I’m begging you.”

Chloë saw the cloudiness to the man’s eyes. Saw the gun quivering in his hand.

“Give me my bag,” Chloë said. “Let me go. Please. You can just … you can just walk away. You can walk away and pretend you didn’t see me. If they catch me, I won’t mention you.”

“And how can I believe that?”

“You can’t. But I promise.”

The man held the gun. Kept it pointed at Chloë. Chloë wasn’t sure how long she stood there staring back at his pistol. She wasn’t sure if he was willing to just shoot her down right here.

She just had to wait.

Just had to hope.

He lowered the gun.

Let out a shaky breath. “Go,” he said.

“Thank you,” Chloë said. “Thank you. I owe you. I—”

He tossed the bag into Chloë’s hands. Dropped the bundle of keys to the ground. “I’ll say I was down fighting the zombies. They won’t even have to know I was up here. Just—just do me a favour and ditch those keys in the grounds when you’re done.
If
you’re done. Please.”

“Thank you,” Chloë said. “Thank you so—”

“Just go,” the man said. He turned. Walked back to the cell entrance. “Through the door at the back of the main cell block. We don’t have all night. And I need to get as far as fucking possible from you. Fuck. What the fuck have I done?”

He grabbed the handle to the door.

Started to open it.

For a moment, in a flash, Chloë had an image of throwing a knife at him. Piercing his neck. Making sure he didn’t double-cross her, all some part of his plan.

But she didn’t have her knife.

For now, she’d just have to trust someone.

Trust.

That wasn’t something she was used to.

But it was something she could
get
used to.

Something she had to adapt to.

She watched the guard walk out the door. He turned back. Looked at her, standing there in the torrential rain, gunfire and lightning flashing through the darkness.

“Thank you,” Chloë said.

He opened his mouth as if to speak. Then he just nodded. Half-smiled. And Chloë saw the humanity in him. The person underneath the monster CoY had turned him into—turned everyone into.

He slammed the door shut.

Silence filled the corridor.

Chloë turned around. Looked down the corridor. Towards the big metal door that led to the cells.

She took a deep breath.

Swallowed a lump in her throat.

Pulled her rucksack over her shoulder.

She was finding Alice. Finding her dad.

She was finding them and she was getting out of this place.

Now.