by Ryan Casey
Chloë’s stomach churned. She wasn’t sure what to say to Alice. “Anisha tried to kill me.”
“Too bloody right she tried to kill you!”
Alice’s shout made Chloë turn away even more. Alice didn’t usually shout. But right now, Chloë knew she was mad. She could tell from the way she shuffled her feet, twiddled her fingers together.
“I just… I just had to defend myself.”
“You left her to die.”
“No.”
“Yes. Yes you did. And the sooner you accept it, the better. You left her to die because she attacked you. That’s fair enough. That’s completely fucking fair enough. But you need to look at why she attacked you, Chloë. You need to take a big fucking look in the mirror and look at why Jackson’s broken away. Why people respected him more than they respect you.”
Chloë stared at her feet. “I’ve… I’ve always tried to just do the right thing.”
“Bullshit. Complete fucking bullshit.”
“I have—”
“That’s it, again. Not taking responsibility for your actions. It’s exactly that kind of attitude that’s got us in this fucking mess in the first place. Killing other people. Avoiding other people. Searching for safe places I’m not all that convinced you even want to find.”
Chloë’s cheeks went hot. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No!”
“Then why turn away from everyone we’ve encountered? Why move on from all these places we’ve come across with one, two, three people. People who look okay. People who look safe.”
“Because we can’t trust—”
“You’re right. We can’t. We can’t trust a soul. But we have to try. We can’t just walk away from every person we come across. We can’t just fucking kill someone for pointing a gun at us. We have to adapt. We have to grow. Or we’re all going to die out here, Chloë. We’re all going to die. And I’m sorry to say this, but it’ll all be on you.”
Heaviness built in Chloë’s eyes. She wanted to speak, wanted to defend herself, but she could hardly speak.
Alice shook her head. Started to walk back to the rest of the group. “Y’know, people followed you because you gave them hope. Hope that there was still some goodness in this world. Still some innocence. They didn’t follow you because they wanted another Church of Youth. Another Jonas.”
Chloë’s mind flashed back to Jonas. His long hair. His bright eyes. The way he made her skin crawl. “I’m—I’m not like Jonas. Jonas was evil. Jonas was—”
“Distrustful. Of anything that wasn’t his. Just like you.”
Alice walked away. Back towards Dad, Cassandra, Dean.
She stopped. Looked back at Chloë. “Be careful, Chlo. Be really careful. Because some paths we can come back from. Others, we can’t. No matter what.”
She half-smiled.
Then she turned away.
Chloë stood alone at the summit of the hill, the long road to Pwllheli stretching ahead.
22
TWENTY-TWO
Jackson couldn’t help but smile as he gazed at his rapidly growing group.
The clouds parted a few hours ago, bringing a strong period of sun over north Wales. Fitting, really. The sun shining down on his new quest. His new journey.
His new people.
His.
“Now we don’t know what awaits us in Pwllheli. Only that there’s something there. Something there that someone figured fit to send out a transmission about. Radio it across the country.”
He looked down at the group from the top of the mound of concrete. All ten of them, not including himself. Arnold, Colin, but also Hassan, too. He’d caught up with them in the night. Said something happened to Anisha. Killed in the woods. Something to do with that bitch Chloë.
Shame to lose Anisha. She was really convinced she could join Jackson. Be a part of his group.
But she’d played her part.
The ultimate sacrifice.
A sacrifice Hassan didn’t need to know about.
As long as he was angry with Chloë.
As long as he trusted Jackson.
“Some of you are new here. Some of you haven’t travelled with me before.” He looked at the seven new faces. Five of them men, two of them women. Which helped, of course. They wanted men, mostly. Strong people. People willing to fight for him.
Mostly dumb as fuck, from what he’d gathered.
Which was even better.
He looked at each and every member of the new, growing group. Andy. Jamal. Wilson. Donna. Holly. And he looked at his old group members, too. Arnold. Colin. Hassan. The ones who’d stayed loyal to him. The ones who wanted a change.
A new way of doing things.
“Now if you aren’t familiar with me and my old friends, we can tell you one thing. We were in a group. Before this one. Only that group had a different way of doing things. A reckless way of doing things. Killing outsiders. Putting the leaders before the followers. I can promise you, right now, that I’ve no intention to do things that way. I have your best interests at heart. I have your lives at heart. And I can promise you right now that our sole focus is on growing. Becoming stronger. More united. More of a group.”
A few nods amongst the newer group members.
Nods that arose a fluttery feeling in Jackson’s chest.
“Now I know it’s hard. I know it’s difficult trusting the words of someone you’ve only just met. But I’d like to assure you that I have full faith in you, and you should have full faith in me. Only then can we succeed. Only then can we grow. Only then can we be strong. Truly strong. Arnold, give them their weapons.”
Arnold lowered a big black rucksack. Jackson smiled. Chloë had been clueless. Clueless about her own people. Clueless about the weapons they’d held on to. And although it was risky—although they’d come close to death on a couple of occasions; occasions where guns could’ve come in handy—Jackson was playing the long game.
This right here was the fruit of that long game.
Arnold unzipped the rucksack.
Pulled out two guns.
A couple of the people gasped. Donna and Jamal.
“Now, don’t fret,” Jackson said, raising a hand. “We have no intentions of hurting you. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
Arnold handed the guns out to Donna. To Jamal. To Holly, Andy, Wilson.
“Of course, ammo is limited, so we should only use it when we absolutely need to. The undead can be dealt with hand to hand. If you’re short of a sharp or heavy weapon, there’s a couple of knives and spanners in the bag.”
Andy and Wilson searched the bag. Andy pulled out a wrench. Wilson, a hammer.
“But we need to be aware of when the right time to use these guns is. Of course, we’ll be approaching other people. That’s part of our journey to Pwllheli. A large part of it. Recruiting other people. Trusting other people. Because there’s no need to keep these guns to ourselves. Not when we can add other people to wield them.”
Jackson saw the soft glow in the eyes of the group. The steady eye contact.
His muscles tightened in readiness.
“But sometimes we will need to use those guns. On others. People who stand against our goals. Bandits and thieves who try to block our path. And more than anything, my old people. The girl. The girl with one hand and a scarred face. Don’t let her looks deceive you. She’s highly dangerous. Crafty. Manipulative. And she’ll kill you without a moment’s hesitation.”
Jackson stepped down from the mound of concrete. Looked at the long, cracked road ahead. Took a deep breath of the warm morning air in through the nose, then exhaled out the mouth.
“What d’we do when we see the little lady?” Andy muttered.
Jackson turned. Looked at Andy. Smiled.
“We shoot on sight.”
23
TWENTY-THREE
After two days of walking down the long, never-ending road, Chloë wished she’d worn some shoes after all.<
br />
The mid-afternoon sun beamed down on the group. The familiar sound of panting and footsteps echoed behind Chloë. The rest of the motorway was silent. Empty. Not a sound, apart from the occasional caw of a crow, the crack of a vacant car in the heat.
Chloë swallowed, but there was no way she could get her throat wet. She’d been swallowing for days, doing what she could to dampen her throat, to trick herself into believing she’d drank plenty of water. But it was pointless. Completely pointless.
She was thirsty. Very thirsty.
It was about time she just accepted it.
She squinted into the sun. She’d seen a sign for Pwllheli a few miles back. Thirty something miles to go. Dad told her that meant they should be there by night, or tomorrow morning at the latest if they decided to camp out. Chloë wasn’t sure which idea scared her more—the thought of arriving at a stranger’s safe zone in the middle of the night, or spending another night out here in the wilds.
She wasn’t sure she’d survive another night.
She looked back at her group. Looked back at Dean, Cassandra, Alice, Dad. Just the five of them now. From thirty-three to five. And Chloë had thought a lot about what Alice said. About her becoming like the CoY people. And that idea scared her.
So she had to do what she could.
She had to listen.
She had to try and trust.
“Surely can’t be much further,” Dean said, grunting with every step. “Not sure my legs can take it.”
“Oh, give over,” Alice said, striding along, standing as upright as she could. “You’re still a young man.”
“Young?” He puffed his lips out. “Call fifty-one young?”
“You’re fifty one?” Alice asked.
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. I look in my thirties. I hear that a lot. Or at least, I used to.”
Alice frowned. “Fifty-one. You’re pulling my leg. Right?”
“Nope. Fifty-one years. A sixties child.”
“You’re old enough to be Chloë’s granddad,” Alice said.
Dean smirked. “For both mine and Chloë’s sakes, thank the lord things didn’t work out that way.”
The group laughed. And Chloë found herself smiling, too. She couldn’t deny there’d been a better atmosphere amongst them these last two days. More joking between them. More laughter. And even though they were thirsty, hungry, ready for a rest, they were happier. That was something. It had to be.
“You’re right about that,” Dad said. “I’m her father and I find her hard work enough.”
“Well there’s something we can agree on,” Dean said. “I’m not her father and I find her a bloody handful.”
“I can hear you, you know?”
Dean raised his hands. Dad smirked.
Chloë shook her head. Sighed.
And then she saw it.
She saw the movement in the distance.
Behind her group.
Watching them.
“Chloë?”
“There’s—there’s someone…”
And then the figure disappeared over the top of the grassy embankment.
Vanished.
The rest of the group turned round. Frowned at the spot Chloë was looking at. “I don’t see a thing,” Dean said.
“There was someone there.”
“Sure it wasn’t just a mirage?” Alice asked. “Your lips do look pretty dry. Could be a bit of sunstroke—”
“I saw someone,” Chloë said.
She pushed past her group. Walked over towards the side of the embankment. She needed to go up there. Climb up. See who was watching her.
She looked around at the silent motorway. The cracks in the concrete. The crows swooping down in the distance.
The tall embankments either side of them.
She felt like the embankments were watching her.
Like they were closing in.
Swallowing her whole.
“Probably not wise darting up there,” Dean said, following Chloë up the side of the embankment. “Come on, Chloë. You’ve gone two days without any balls-ups. Now’s not the time to—”
“I saw someone. I saw them watching us. They were right…”
She reached the top of the grassy embankment.
Looked down the hill.
The fields were empty. Stretched on for miles. Not a house in sight. Not a tree in sight. Nothing.
Alice and Dad stepped up beside Chloë. Cassandra followed closely behind.
“See?” Dean said. “Nothing. All clear. Now are we moving on or…”
Chloë kept her gaze on the fields. Looked around for a sign of something. A sign of movement. A sign of anything.
“I saw someone,” Chloë said.
The rest of the group descended the slope back towards the motorway.
Chloë scanned the field one last time.
And then she took a deep breath.
Turned away.
She swore she saw movement in the corner of her eye as she climbed down towards the motorway.
DEAN STARED down into the massive crack across the motorway bridge.
“So,” he said.
Alice also stared down at the lengthy drop. “So indeed.”
After forty-five more minutes walking, the figure Chloë saw was nothing more than a distant memory.
But there was a new problem now.
A crack in the motorway bridge.
A section of the road completely caved away for about four metres.
Not far. Not really far at all.
But one-hundred metres above ground, it was pretty high.
“I guess we just turn around,” Dad said. “Go back. Take our chances across the field til we reach the other side.”
Chloë nodded. She couldn’t think of a better option. There was a stretch of metal that connected the two separated parts of the bridge, but it wasn’t enough. Not really.
Wasn’t worth taking a risk. That was for sure.
“We turn back,” Chloë said. “Go down the ground level. Rejoin the motorway at the other end.”
“Erm,” Cassandra said. She was staring in the opposite direction. “I—I think maybe that might be difficult.”
Chloë didn’t see what Cassandra was talking about at first.
But when she did, her entire body sank.
At the bottom of the bridge, clawing their way up, a mass of monsters. Lots of them. Way too many for her group to handle.
And they were moving fast.
Groaning.
“Fuck,” Dean said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“So…” Alice said.
Chloë turned back to the bridge. “Only one way.”
Alice’s gaze darted towards the loose, rusty panels of metal Chloë was looking at. “You’re not seriously suggesting we crawl across those metal panels are you? Oh. Oh shit. You are.”
“What else do we have?” Dad said, backing towards the edge of the bridge.
Alice snorted. “Umm, we could run down there to our death. Get it done with quicker. Or perhaps we could just plunge off the bridge. Get it done with even quicker. Or… Chloë!”
Chloë was already reaching down. Leaning across the metal. She could hear the groans echoing in the background; hear them getting closer.
Dad rushed towards her. “Chloë, you need to—”
“It feels solid,” Chloë said, pressing down on the metal. “For my weight anyway.”
Dean shook his head. “Oh. Oh that’s great. All four stone something of you.”
“Only one way to find out whether it’ll hold your weights,” Chloë said.
She moved away from the metal panel.
Held a hand out.
The rest of the group looked at her with wide gazes.
“Umm, I think ‘ladies first’ is the saying,” Dean said.
“You need to go. All of you. You need to cross.”
“And leave you behind?”
“I can handle some of them.”
Dad did
a double take. “You… you can not—”
“Cross. All of you. While you have the chance. I’ll hold them off. For as long as I can.”
She started to walk towards the monsters. Knife in hand. Holding her breath.
Dad grabbed her arm. His eyes were watery. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“Then stay with me. Help me.” She looked at the others. “But the rest of you, go.”
There was a silence between them. A momentary hesitation.
“Fuck it,” Alice said.
She rushed towards the metal panel.
Started dragging herself over.
Chloë could barely watch. She had images of Alice falling. Hearing her bones split on the ground way, way below.
So she didn’t.
She turned around.
Lifted her knife.
And together with her dad, she ran.
When they reached the first of the oncoming crowd, Chloë realised there were way more monsters than she’d even first thought. She stabbed them in the head. Stuck the blade into the roofs of their mouths.
One by one, she took them down.
Beside her, Dad swung the car wrench at their heads.
Split their skulls.
“Made it!” someone cried.
Chloë turned. Saw Alice at the other side. Jumping and waving. Smile on her face.
Cassandra was crossing the metal now.
The metal was creaking.
“Chloë!”
Chloë heard her dad’s shout.
But when she turned, it was already too late.
A man clutched the side of her body. He was fat. Muscles dangling from his neck and upper chest. He was wearing a bloodstained reflective jacket, and a hard hat on his head.
Chloë instinctively swung the knife at his head.
It bounced off his hard hat.
His mouth got closer.
“I’m coming,” Dad shouted. He whacked the wrench into the chin of a monster, smacked another away. “I’ve got you.”
But time was running out.
The monster was getting closer.
So Chloë lifted her knife.
Stuck it into the monster’s wide mouth, which barely dangled on by a few threads of muscle.
She pressed upwards. Pushed as far as she could, cool blood rolling down her hand.
