Chloe Zombie Apocalypse series (Book 2): The Journey

by Ryan Casey

  Lisa’s voice was grating on him. He rubbed between his eyes. Thought back to the events of the day. Arriving in Pwllheli. It all seeming so damned silent. Then Chloë, Alice and Pete disappearing into that building.

  The attack by Jackson’s group. Most of the fuckers wearing black. The kid called Ella recognising one of them as a member of the Black Army.

  What the fuck was Jackson playing at?

  Now Dean saw the truth, he wished he’d seen it all along.

  Wished he’d done something about it when he had the chance.

  He walked up to the side of the road. Looked over the edge. Down at the water, completely still. “We lay low. Until we’re absolutely certain Jackson’s groups gone.”

  “And when can we be absolutely certain?” Lisa asked, peering at Dean with those beady eyes of hers.

  Dean looked right at her. Looked right into her eyes. “We can’t. We… we can’t.”

  Dean listened to the cries amongst the group. To the fear in their voices. He saw their pain. Saw their frustration. Saw their loss. And all this damned time, he’d been unsure of Chloë. He liked the kid. She was good at heart. But he always thought maybe he could’ve done better. Or someone could’ve done better at least.

  Right now, he wanted her here with them more than ever.

  He wanted Pete by her side. Alice on the other side.

  Cause those three knew what to do.

  Even though this place looked like a dead fucking end, they knew what to do.

  But they were gone.

  So he took a deep breath.

  “Everyone on your feet.”

  A few of the group looked at him. Lawrence and his pale skin, his green eyes. Rajiv and his wavy greying hair.

  “Come on. We have to get out of here. We have to… to move on.”

  “To where?” Lisa asked.

  Dean looked back at Lisa.

  Then he saw everyone was looking right at him. Amazement in their eyes. Even Cassandra.

  “We… we find a place. We always do. We…”

  He saw the amazement was still in the eyes of the group. Saw their slackened jaws. Their tearful gazes.

  He wasn’t sure what they were looking at. Him? What had he said? Something bad? Something offensive? Another annoying knack of his. Always said stuff he didn’t mean. Always put the wrong damned words together. Speaking wasn’t his forte. Amazing he ever got by in customer services for a big mobile network before the world collapsed.

  And then he saw their eyes weren’t looking directly at him.

  They were looking behind him.

  He heard the footsteps.

  Dean held his breath. Felt his chest tightening. If it was Jackson, he’d shoot the fucker down. Put him in an early grave. He’d earned it. The slimy fucker had earned it.

  But when he turned, he didn’t see Jackson.

  He saw someone else.

  Two other people.

  A weight lifted off his shoulders.

  Chloë and Pete were walking towards him.

  Chloë was in front. She walked up to Dean. Nodded at him.

  Then she looked at the rest of the group. Pete waited just behind.

  “We’ve lost a lot of people today,” Chloë said, with the voice of a child but the intelligence of someone much older. Always freaked Dean out.

  “All because we came here,” someone muttered.

  “Maybe,” Chloë said. “But we came here for a reason. To find the safe haven. From the transmission.”

  “And did you find it?” Lisa asked.

  Chloë stared at the group. Dean looked into her eyes. Tried to figure out what her next words would be from the look on her face.

  “No,” she said.

  A collective sigh amongst the group.

  “But I think I know where to look,” Chloë said.

  A few mumbles. Mumbles of confusion. Glances back up at Chloë.

  “What do you—”

  “I thought the transmission was fake,” Chloë said. “I thought it was a trap. A trap by this Black Army. Now, I don’t think it is.”

  She cleared her throat. Wiped her stringy brown hair from her forehead.

  “There was a song playing. On the transmission. ‘Row, row, row your boat.’ You’ll all know it.”

  The words made a warmth build up in Dean’s chest. He used to sing that one to Miriam when she was just a little baby.

  Before the accident.

  “And what’s that got to do with anything?” Rajiv asked.

  “I thought that. I thought that and I ran away. I ran away because I was scared. Scared that I’d led you all to somewhere bad. That you’d hate me for it. At least I thought that’s why I was scared. But now I know… now I know why.”

  She looked at her Dad. They exchanged a smile.

  Then, Chloë turned back to the group.

  “I was scared because you’re my people. And I care about you. And I don’t want to lose you.”

  Everyone went silent. Stared back at Chloë, transfixed. Damn, the girl knew how to speak. Could teach Dean a lesson or two.

  “I watched Alice die earlier,” Chloë said.

  Dean’s stomach sank.

  Gasps erupted from the group.

  “I watched Jackson kill her. And that’s what scared me. Because I cared for Alice. She was a good person. And we should never forget her. People like her.”

  A few sniffles.

  “I thought we’d lost everything. I thought I’d led you somewhere bad. But now I think I know somewhere. Now I think I… I think I can see clearly. I think I know what we have to do.”

  A pause.

  An impatient sigh from Lisa. “What? Spit it out.”

  Chloë raised her hand. Pointed across the water, over towards the road they’d crossed to reach the promenade, the streams of still seawater either side.

  Dean looked across. Squinted. Tried to figure out what Chloë was looking at.

  “I don’t see anything,” Rajiv said.

  “That’s because it’s hidden. It’s hidden and it’s waiting for someone to find it. Someone like us.”

  “Alright, kid,” Dean said. “I love a mystery as much as the next bloke but even I’m getting sick of this cryptic bullshit right now. What you on about?”

  For a split second, Dean thought he saw Chloë smile.

  “The building we passed. On the way down. I didn’t notice it at the time, but it had Merrily written across it.”

  “That’s not helped with the whole cryptic vibe.”

  “The song,” Chloë said. “‘Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.’ The last words. They were playing out the speaker.”

  A few sideward glances of confusion amongst the group. Dean felt his body heat rising. “You gone completely batshit crazy?”

  “The first line. In that song. What’s the first line?”

  Dean blushed when he saw people looking at him, waiting to recite the poem. He scratched the side of his head. “‘Row, row, row your boat’?”

  “‘Gently down the stream’,” Chloë said. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t think Pwllheli is the safe haven. I think the safe haven is Haven. The holiday park, Haven. Across the stream.”

  Slowly, very slowly, the craziness started to click into place.

  “The building. The building with ‘Merrily’ written on it. It was right by the Haven holiday park. With the cabins. And it was right beside the—”

  “Water,” Dean said.

  Chloë nodded. “The stream.”

  Dean’s heart raced. His body tingled all over. It seemed such bullshit. It seemed crazy.

  But it made sense.

  It made fucking sense.

  He saw the spark of understanding in a few of the groups’ eyes. Saw them going along with what Chloë was saying. Saw them covering their mouths, raising their eyebrows.

  “So the building’s in the middle of Haven and it’s got Merrily written on it,” Dean said. “The
tape said the whole ‘life is but a dream’ thing. But what’s that got to do with…”

  He understood.

  In the space of two heartbeats, he understood.

  “‘Row, row, row your boat,’” Dean said.

  Chloë’s smile widened. Her eyes lit up. She nodded.

  “I think the Merrily building has boats in it. And I think those boats will lead us somewhere. Across the stream—the sea. To the real safe haven. Where—”

  “‘Life is but a dream’,” Dean said.

  Chloë nodded.

  Dean felt his jaw loosen. Let out an unavoidable gasp of excitement.

  “It really is a fucking dream,” he muttered, looking across the sea towards the Haven holiday park. Towards their safety. Towards their future. “Really is a fucking dream.”

  38

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Definitely saw her run up this hill, boss. Towards these trees.”

  Jackson followed Wilson up the grassy hill away from Pwllheli. He held on to his M40. Not the ideal close quarters weapon, but he’d beat someone to a pulp with it if he had to. He saw the trees looming in the distance, their leaves countering the grey afternoon sky. He could taste sweat and blood on his lips. His own sweat, the blood of others.

  Of those from Chloë’s group.

  The ones he’d killed.

  “Maybe we should just leave it,” Andy said. “Focus on saving our own necks instead of worrying about a little girl.”

  Jackson bit down on his bottom lip. Tried not to lash out at Andy. Tried to keep his cool. “We find her. And then we—”

  “Wouldn’t have this problem if you hadn’t lost the kid. In fact, we wouldn’t have any fucking problem at all if we hadn’t followed you to this shithole.”

  Jackson felt his pulse racing. He took deep breaths of the stuffy air in through his nostrils, out through his mouth. Loosened his fists, which he didn’t even realise he’d tightened. Waited for the warmth to seep out of his cheeks,

  He’d made a cock up. A huge cock up. There was no safe place at Pwllheli. No “safe haven” as that bullshit transmission promised. That was as much a surprise to him as it was to his army.

  He’d tried to reassure them. To promise the seventeen of them they could take any group they wanted.

  But he’d seen the doubtful looks. He’d heard the whispers.

  They were losing hope.

  He couldn’t falter. He couldn’t fail. He was their leader. They were supposed to trust him. Believe in him.

  He couldn’t become another Chloë.

  The group stopped when they reached the mouth of the woods. Jackson stared into it. Heard the branches rustling against one another. A vast expanse. Endless. Much like the one the Church of Youth camp had been perched on the edge of.

  “No fucking way I’m going through there,” Andy said.

  Jackson turned. Looked him in his green eyes. “You what?”

  Andy shook his head. “No fucking way I’m going through there. Not to chase some fucking little girl.”

  “She’s a threat. She needs eliminating.”

  Andy nodded. “Okay. I’ll take my chances back at Pwllheli. Thanks.”

  Andy turned. And Jackson saw the look in the eyes of the rest of the group. Saw the side glance from Wilson. Saw the concern on Hassan’s face.

  “You don’t just walk away,” Jackson said.

  Andy looked back at Jackson. “Or what?”

  “You’re a member of the Black Army—”

  “Bullshit to the Black Army,” Andy shouted. “Bullshit to all of this. All I want is somewhere safe. All any of us want is somewhere safe. We signed up for that. Not for some vendetta against a kid. That’s your business. It’s not mine. And it’s not anyone else’s.”

  Andy turned.

  Carried on descending the hill, back towards Pwllheli, back towards the place they’d just walked away from. The place with the false transmission. That weird recording setup.

  Course, he’d etched the message on the wall in the transmission room. Just to freak Chloë’s group out when they got there. Make it look like this was somehow the Black Army’s work.

  That worked. At least that worked.

  Now he just had to find Chloë.

  But Andy was walking away.

  So too was Melissa.

  And… Fuck. And even Hassan.

  Jackson felt his hands twitching. Felt his whole world crumbling around him.

  He couldn’t let them leave.

  He couldn’t let them just walk away.

  He was their leader.

  They were supposed to respect him.

  He couldn’t just lose them.

  So he lifted his rifle.

  Pointed it at Andy’s back.

  He heard a few gasps. A few shocked cries.

  Andy turned.

  Looked Jackson right in the scope.

  His jaw lowered.

  Jackson tickled the trigger.

  And then, in the distance, down by Pwllheli, Jackson saw something.

  He shifted the scope away from Andy ever so slightly. Focused on the movement down by the caravan park.

  People. People crossing some kind of bridge. Walking towards a road, an embankment at either side.

  He adjusted his scope. Focused on the leader of the group.

  He didn’t see her face, but he could see she was missing an arm even from this distance.

  “Jackson?” Colin asked.

  Jackson ignored Colin. Disregarded the rest of his group. He felt his skin tingling. Chloë. She hadn’t done a runner. She was there. There in Pwllheli.

  Leading her group.

  Leading them… somewhere.

  Jackson followed the road with his scope. He remembered crossing it now. Crossing it on his way down here. Some big grey building beside the water. That’s it—the one with the weird graffiti on it, the one that gave him the idea to etch the graffiti in the transmission room.

  “Merrily,” or something.

  But why were they going back there?

  What did Chloë want from that place?

  What did…

  It clicked.

  “Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily…”

  The song. The poem.

  “Row, row, row your boat.”

  And then the tune on the transmission.

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

  Goose pimples spread across Jackson’s skin. He lowered the scope. The rest of the group seemed out of focus. In the background.

  “Jackson?” someone asked. Wilson, maybe. “What’s wrong?”

  He squinted down at Chloë’s group as they got closer to the Merrily building.

  He couldn’t help but break a smile.

  “Little genius,” he muttered.

  He walked past his group. Away from the woods. Past even Andy, who he’d been moments away from shooting.

  He carried on down the hill. His walk became a power-walk, his power-walk became a jog.

  All the time, that song swirling round his head.

  The realisation welling up inside.

  “Jackson, where are you—”

  “Back to Pwllheli,” he said.

  “What? Why would you—”

  He turned round. Looked at the group. “Cause that’s where the boats are. The boats that Chloë’s group are heading for. The boats that they aren’t going to get. Because we’re going to stop them.”

  39

  THIRTY-NINE

  The rain lashed down on Chloë and her group as they hurtled towards the Merrily building.

  Chloë could see it just in the distance. Could see its grey exterior. Could make out the white graffiti etched across it. The water at the side of it. There had to be boats in there. The message in the transmission room, all the other little factors—they couldn’t just be coincidence.

  But there was only one way of finding out.

  Behind, Chloë heard the pants and yelps of her group. The old people.
They were doing their best to run. Doing their best to follow her, to keep up. But the pouring rain wasn’t helping. It made Chloë’s skin icy cold, so she dreaded to think how the old people with their bad legs and some of them with wounds must feel.

  Still, they had to keep going.

  Keep pressing on.

  The rainwater ran down Chloë’s face, making her body feel much fresher, her lips much drier. She could hear the sea crashing against the shore behind. A rough journey if there were boats. But she couldn’t complain. She’d figured out the message. Figured out its meaning. Now, she just had reach the Merrily building.

  She heard a shout from behind. Heard something solid hit the road, splash in a puddle.

  She turned around. Saw Rajiv face flat on the road. Blood rolled down from his nose. Looked like he’d hit the road with his face.

  She couldn’t risk losing anyone. Couldn’t leave anyone behind. Not with how far they’d come.

  Chloë ran back towards Rajiv. Held out her hand. “Come on,” she said.

  Rajiv shook his head. Panted. “I… I don’t have it in me. Don’t have it—”

  “You do,” Chloë said.

  She grabbed his hand.

  “You survived the water scare at the care home. You survived the journey here. You survived Jackson’s attack. You can survive these last few metres.”

  Rajiv studied Chloë with his big brown eyes. His wavy grey hair was plastered to his head by the rain.

  He smiled at her.

  Wiped away the blood from his face.

  Nodded, and stood.

  Chloë looked at her group. Looked at Dad, the gleam in his eye at Chloë helping Rajiv to his feet.

  “All of you,” Chloë said. “You’re still here because you’re strong people. We can do this. We can make it to the Merrily building.” She took a moment to catch her breath as a gust of rainy wind blasted into her. “We can make it across the sea.”

  “Still ain’t too sure what’s across that sea,” Dean muttered.

  “No. No we aren’t. But we’ll find out. We have to.”

  Chloë smiled at her group.

  Then she walked past Dad. Walked to the front again.

  Started running down the road towards the Merrily building.

  The rain didn’t seem to let up any. Neither did the struggled cries and groans from behind. She wished she could help more. Wished she could slow down. And even though there was no rush—technically—she was worried. Worried about something going wrong. Going wrong, like it always did.