Chloe Zombie Apocalypse series (Book 1): Chloe (6 page)

C
hloë read
the diary from cover to cover a thousand times.

And not once did her shock diminish.

She sat in the middle of the thick trees. Right where she’d crouched when the CoY member called Dan tossed the diary in her direction. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sat here, only that the sun was on her left now, so it must be getting later in the afternoon. The clouds had parted. The wind had picked up. The burning corpse had stopped flaming, but the taste and smell of barbecued flesh was still strong in the air.

But none of that mattered to Chloë.

None of it seemed … important.

Not with the diary.

Her dad’s diary.

She held the diary in her shaking hands. Looked at the pages. January 11th. The first date he mentioned her by name.

I miss Chloë. I miss Elizabeth. I pray they’re okay. I pray Claudia’s okay.

Chloë felt tears build up every time she read those words. Because she’d been doubtful at first. Doubtful, when she’d discovered the diary. When she saw her dad’s name on the front of it. Even though she saw the Warburtons logo—the company he worked for—she remained doubtful.

But when he named her, her sister and her mother, she knew that this was no coincidence.

This was her dad’s diary.

She flicked through more of the thin pages. Most of January was missing, torn away by Dan. She remembered what Seth said. Something about taking the diary from a prisoner.

Did that mean what Chloë thought it meant?

Was her dad a prisoner?

Why was he a prisoner?

She flicked back to the last entries. The end of February. The last time he’d ever written in here.

I don’t know if the people here all want the same thing anymore…

I’m worried about the lengths they are going to. I wanted it to be peaceful. I’m sure many others wanted it to be peaceful too. But things are falling apart.

And, finally, marking the end of the book:

I’m worried what will happen if Jonas and his people get what they want.

And then that was it.

Nothing else.

Chloë sniffed. Wiped her eyes. She flicked back to the start of the diary. It was one of those that had the end of one year and another full year. She wasn’t sure why. Something to do with business, or something.

She went back to October. The end of October. The day the outbreak started.

Something’s happening on the streets. Tried contacting my wife but no response. I’m afraid.

Then she flicked through more pages. Through November. December.

Talk of a cold, harsh winter.

Talk of friends. Colleagues. People working together to build a new society.

But then…

She looked at November 23rd again. Looked right back at it.

Got back to Preston. No sign of wife or children. House empty. Unlived in. Wherever they are, I pray they’re safe.

November 23rd. That must’ve been just after Chloë and her old group left her hometown of Preston.

They must’ve missed him by days.

Chloë felt a lump swell in her throat. Her breathing stuttered. Tears dripped down her cheeks as she clutched the diary with her shaking hands. The words weren’t making sense. They were all blending.

All she knew was that up until February 26th, her dad was alive.

He was alive and he was worried about something. Worried about someone called Jonas.

And now people were walking through the woods and burning people alive.

Etching CoY wherever they could.

She wanted to stay here. Read the diary forever. Pretend she was there with her dad. He must’ve been so lonely. So scared. So afraid about Chloë, about her sister and her mum. And Chloë felt bad for him. Bad for him going back home and finding it empty.

She felt the pain he must’ve felt inside. The same pain she felt every day when she thought about him. When she wondered whether he was still alive.

Except now she had proof that he was alive.

No.

No, it wasn’t proof that he was alive. It was proof that he had
been
alive.

Something had happened at the end of February.

Something stopped him writing.

She remembered what Seth said. About the prisoner. Taking this diary from a prisoner.

Was the prisoner her dad?

And if he was, then why had he stopped writing?

She had to know more.

She had to understand the truth.

She had to know what was going on with her dad.

She needed to.

She stood up. Stumbled across the dry grass. Walked over towards the charred remains of the body. The biker. She saw his remains, but she didn’t really take the scene in. Didn’t really comprehend the melted skin. The look of an anguished scream on his crumbling lips.

All she wanted were the pages.

The pages Dan had ripped away.

Maybe they’d help her understand.

Maybe they’d reveal the truth.

She crouched back to the ground, head spinning with a rush of blood, eyes filling with purple shapes. She looked around the grass. The pages. The fucking pages had been here. She’d watched Dan tear them out then throw them to the ground. She’d watched them
fall
to the ground.

They had to be here.

She had to know where they were.

What they said.

She had to—

She saw a page.

Saw it right over at the tree behind the body. The tree that the burned remains tied to the metal pole lay in front of.

Chloë’s stomach fluttered. She rushed over to the tree. Grabbed the page. Lifted it. Flipped it over.

There wasn’t a diary entry on the page.

But there was something.

She read the words.

Look Behind You, Darling.

She didn’t understand. Not at first.

And then she heard the footstep crack through the fallen branches.

Her stomach sank.

She held her breath. Head spinning. Heart racing.

She turned around, slowly.

In the middle of the thick trees, she saw Dan. He was holding a knife in one hand.

In the other hand, he was holding the fallen pages.

He stepped out of the trees. Smiled at Chloë.

“Looking for something, sugar?”

“
C
ome on
, sugar. What you looking for here? Why don’t you let me give you a hand?”

Chloë watched Dan walk towards her. His footsteps crunched through branches, snapped underfoot. She could hear more movement in the trees. In the corners of her eyes, she thought she saw something. Twitching.

She could feel eyes on her body.

Invisible eyes.

Dan smiled. Revealed a wide grin full of yellow teeth. His topless body was covered in bruises and scratches. In one hand, he held the diary entries. He must’ve picked them up when Chloë hadn’t been looking. When she was too engrossed in her dad’s diary. Fuck. He must’ve known she was watching all along.

In his other hand, he held a knife.

She took a step back. Felt the burning pain of another burst blister lance through her bare foot. The air was rich with Dan’s sweat. Specks of rain fell from a new covering of cloud.

She looked at Dan and Dan looked back at her.

Each of them waiting for the other to make a move.

She moved her hand behind her back. Lowered her head, like she was just a sweet kid, nothing else. “I … I’m scared out here,” she said.

She put her hand on the butt of the knife.

Dan frowned. But he was still smiling, which gave away how he really felt about stumbling upon Chloë. Chloë knew what people like him did to girls like her.

She’d experienced it.

Tried to forget it.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing, princess,” Dan said. He moved slowly towards her, like a hunter approaching a deer. “It’s only me here. My friends have gone back to camp. You’ll like it there. We’ve got plenty of books. And plenty of kids your age, too.”

For a split second, Chloë imagined living in a world like the one Dan described. A world where kids lived. Children her age. She’d lived in a world like that before. Before the world collapsed, and once, after the world collapsed too.

She hadn’t really fit in either time.

“Those scars on your face look bad. Want me to take a look at them?”

Chloë tightened her grip around the handle of the knife.

Nodded.

She watched Dan’s feet get closer.

Held her breath.

Waited for the moment.

The smell of booze and sweat grew thicker the closer he got. He licked at his lips, licked away a scab in the corner of his mouth. His dark eyes scanned every inch of Chloë’s body.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing,” he said. “Just give me your hand. Give me your hand and I’ll—”

Dan didn’t finish speaking.

Chloë swung the knife around.

Swung it at his hand.

She waited for a spurt of blood. Waited for the knife to pierce the middle of his palm.

But it didn’t.

He grabbed the sharp end of the blade.

Squeezed it tight. So tight that it yanked Chloë’s arm forward, sent pain shooting through her right shoulder.

The smile slipped from Dan’s face. Blood covered the papers in his hand. Dripped down to the ground. “Not a way to say hello, honey. Not a way to say hello at all.”

Chloë didn’t want to let go of the knife.

She didn’t want to let go.

But she had to.

She let go.

Turned around.

Ran.

She wasn’t sure where she was going. Wasn’t sure where
to
go. Only that she had to keep on running. She had to get away from Dan. Because he was chasing her. He was chasing her and he was stronger than her.

She had to get away.

She had to hide.

She thought she saw movement everywhere she looked. Between the trees. In the trees. Behind the bark. But she just kept on running. Kept on racing forward. Agony crippling her blistered feet. The sound of footsteps getting closer and closer behind.

She panted as she ran. Reached into her rucksack. She had to have something else in there. The gun was empty. But she could use it to hit him. Or the wire. She could use the wire. She could use it to cut him. Use it to slice through his skin. Use it to strangle him.

No. He was strong. He was strong and he was angry.

She’d seen what he’d done to that man. The burning man tied down to the metal pole.

She had to get away.

She kept on hurtling through the trees. The hunger that groaned inside her had faded, only to be replaced with nausea. Crippling nausea. She didn’t want to look back. Didn’t want to look over her shoulder. But she had to. She had to know he wasn’t close. She had to know she was okay.

For now.

She turned around.

Not a sign of anyone behind her.

Just the swaying branches.

The fluttering leaves.

She turned back ahead. Ran through a thick set of conifers. She could hide. Climb a tree and hide. She had some ground on him. Had some distance. He wouldn’t find her. She wouldn’t let him find her. She wouldn’t…

She stepped through the conifers and she saw them.

There were two dozen people standing right in front of her.

Different ages.

Different genders.

All of them looking in her direction.

All of them gazing with vacant eyes.

All of them groaning.

Monsters.

She stopped. The monsters saw her right away. Staggered in her direction.

The snapping of teeth echoing against the trees.

Thick clumps of muscle and flesh turning blue with decay.

Chloë looked to her left. A tall conifer. But she couldn’t just climb up it. Not now the monsters were on to her. They’d just surround the tree. Lead Dan right towards her.

And then he’d cut her down.

Or worse.

Burn her down.

She looked to her right. Saw the expanse of the thickening forest. She had to go that way. She had to keep on running. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all she had. She didn’t have her knife. She didn’t have time.

So she started running through the thickening trees.

She made it ten steps before a force crashed into the right of her body.

Knocked her onto the forest floor.

She struggled. Twisted. Tried to scratch out at the monster holding her. Tried to reach for her rucksack for something, anything.

But then she looked up.

Saw it wasn’t a monster at all.

Not of the undead kind.

Dan looked down at her. His bloodied hand held her chest, pushed her to the forest floor. His thighs held her in place. A wide, yellow-toothed grin stretched from cheek to cheek.

“Better make this quick, sugar,” he said, moving his bloody hand down her body as the sound of the oncoming monsters grew louder. “Probably be best if you don’t scream.”

In his other hand, Chloë saw the knife.

He lifted it.

C
hloë felt
Dan’s blade slice open the front of her cloak.

She felt surrounded by the thick, dark trees. The echoing groans of monsters approached. Dan’s bloodied hands moved up and down her body, making every inch of her skin burn.

Burn with memories.

Memories of what had happened to her on the road.

Of what those men had done to her.

She tried to struggle free from Dan. But he was just too strong. His body weight pressed down on her stomach, made her feel like she was going to hurl. The air reeked of his sweat. Tasted of his boozy breath.

The sound of the oncoming monsters grew louder.

She felt Dan move his beefy, rough hands up her body. She knew what this was. She might be young, but she knew exactly what he wanted. What men like him wanted.

She knew because she’d experienced it before.

She thought back to the day. Worthington’s Bike Emporium. The way the group of bikers kidnapped her. Took her away from her old group.

The things they did to her in that dark room.

The things they made her do.

She tried not to think about it. Because not thinking about it was like denying it had ever happened.

And maybe that was what led her to hang herself in the woods a week later.

Maybe that was why she tried to end her life.

That denial of what had happened.

The slow acceptance of what those men had done to her.

What they’d taken away from her.

Trust. Trust in humanity. Trust in anyone.

And it was happening again.

Right here.

She felt Dan’s mouth against her neck. She wanted to scream, but she was frozen. She tilted her head back. Let his damp lips squeeze against her neck. She saw the monsters. Saw them traipsing through the dirt. So many of them. Just a matter of feet away. They’d be here soon. They’d kill them both.

“I’ll be quick,” Dan whispered. “Real quick.”

He moved his hands down to Chloë’s legs.

A part of her just wanted to curl up and die. A part of her wanted the monsters to get here fast so they could finish the job.

But as she felt Dan’s hands grab the top of her trousers, she knew she couldn’t just give in.

She lifted herself up.

Kissed his cheek.

Then she moved around the side of his head.

Got his ear in her mouth.

Bit down.

Hard.

She heard Dan scream. Felt his fists pound into her back. The dull ache of being winded crippled Chloë’s body, stilled her breathing.

But she kept on biting down.

Biting down as the warm blood filled her mouth.

Biting down as Dan grabbed the sides of her head. Squeezed tight.

“Little bitch,” he muttered. “Little fucking bitch.”

Chloë knew she didn’t have much time. She knew he’d grab the knife again soon. She knew he’d kill her if he had to.

So she let go of his ear.

As she moved, she felt a stream of blood pool down her lips.

His ear dangled by a thread.

The smile had gone from his face. He looked angry. The whites of his eyes were red.

“Bitch,” he said, scrambling for his knife as Chloë crawled away. “You’re gonna regret that. You’re gonna fucking—”

He was so busy looking for his knife that he didn’t see Chloë grab the rock beside her.

Lift it.

Throw it at his face.

She heard it thump against his head. Saw the confusion in his eyes.

Then she saw his eyes flutter. Saw him stumble, side to side.

But he was still on his feet.

He was still awake. Conscious.

The groaning monsters just feet away.

She looked over her shoulder. Looked back at the monsters. She had no chance of getting through them. There were too many of them.

Which meant she had to run past Dan.

She spotted a gap between him and the trees just to his right.

Dan still swayed from side to side, confused, disoriented.

Chloë took in a deep breath.

Gripped her rucksack.

Ran.

She didn’t look at Dan as she hurtled past him, the burst blisters searing her foot. Her arm ached from where Dan had pinned her down. She couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop shaking from the memories of Worthington’s. From the feel of his rough hands against hers.

The knife against her bare skin…

NO!

She ran through the gap at Dan’s side.

Saw freedom ahead as the monsters lurched forward.

She saw a chance to escape.

And then she felt something.

Felt something grab her backpack.

“Gotcha.”

She fell back towards Dan. Heard the echoing snarls of the monsters. Smelled Dan’s boozy breath, which was hot against the back of her neck.

She felt the cold, bloodied blade of the knife touch the top of her back.

“You’re a tough little runt. I’ll give you that. Maybe you’ll fit in just nice back at our place. See what our Holy One has to say.”

She tried to scramble free of Dan’s grip but it was no use. He had hold of her backpack. And he was reaching round for her arm.

The monsters were just four feet away.

“Come on,” Dan said, his hand closing on Chloë’s right arm. “Come with me. Come back to camp. I’ll look out for ya. You’ll be just fine.”

Chloë did the only thing she could do.

Not something she wanted to do. Something that’d probably get her killed in the long run.

But the only thing.

She pushed her arms back.

Stretched out so the rucksack slipped away from her back.

And then she ran.

She felt a weight lift from her shoulders as she hurtled through the trees, cloak ripped open, a cool breeze brushing against her.

But she knew what it meant.

She knew what letting go of her rucksack meant.

No supplies.

No weapons.

No nothing.

She turned around. Looked back at Dan. Rucksack in one hand. Knife in the other. A big bloody bruise on his head where the rock had hit him.

She watched the monsters approach him. Watched their hands grab him. Watched them swarm around him.

She saw that yellow-toothed smile.

And then Dan disappeared into the crowd of hungry monsters.

Chloë’s rucksack disappeared under a mob of decaying flesh.