Blog of the Dead (Book 2): Life

by Richardson, Lisa

  ‘Hmmm, well, I guess that lot might have put any scavengers off. Looks a bit busy in there. We should’ve done the shopping online – beaten the crowds.’

  ‘Wait here,’ said Misfit, ignoring my joke.

  While the zombies slammed their rotten hands against the front entrance, I turned and watched Misfit as he strode back to the car. He climbed inside, fastened his seatbelt and started the engine. He reversed a few metres and, with his hands gripping the steering wheel, he drove straight towards the store’s big tinted floor to ceiling window about five metres to the left of the main entrance.

  As the car hit the window, I heard an almighty crashing sound. I watched as shattered glass dropped from the top of the window frame to land on the speeding car like the blade from a guillotine onto an exposed neck. In the dust settling silence all I could see of the car was the very end of its boot sticking out from the obliterated shop front.

  I darted towards the broken window, worried that Misfit would be hurt, and I crunched over broken glass to reach the side of the Mazda. I saw Misfit had crashed into the store’s café and I scanned the area for zombies but spotted none. I placed my palms against the passenger side window and peered inside the car. Misfit turned to look at me from the driver’s seat. He grinned a full toothy smile and raised his hand in a thumbs up sign, before reversing back outside, leaving my hands to fall to my sides while he parked the car.

  Misfit rejoined me and we stood in the café surveying the damage. Chairs and tables had been shoved towards the middle of the café by the impact of the car and dust motes swirled in the light beams that poured through the smashed window. The store itself was gloomy. It smelt musty and rotten. ‘The power’s gone,’ I said, noting that the overhead lights, as well as the lights in the refrigeration unit by the food counter were off.

  The caravans weren’t hooked up to the mains. We had a generator that we ran occasionally, though less and less because it was noisy and attracted zombies – that’s how I used to charge my laptop but I hadn’t done it since my last entry, a couple of days after the wedding. I hadn’t been able to face keeping it up since losing Sam, and now I knew with no electricity, there would be no point in updating a blog anyway.

  I heard a groan and a shuffling noise from further inside the building, reminding us we weren’t alone. Misfit tightened his grip on his hunting knife and we inched forwards through the café into the store itself. I saw three zombies staggering towards us from the aisle beside the cash tills; these were not the same ones that had been at the entrance.

  The first one wore a Sainsbury’s uniform and I read her name tag – Vanessa. I felt sort of awkward killing her, now I knew her name. But I did it anyway – blade between the eyes. The other two were customers, a young guy in a filthy dark grey suit that probably fit him nicely once but now hung on his emaciated frame, his white shirt covered with dried blood and ripped at the collar where half of his neck had been torn out; and a middle aged woman who must have worn too much make up in life, because I could still see smudges of blue eye shadow and a smear of peach blusher under the dried blood around her gaunt, grey face. I took out Suit-Zombie and Misfit took out Clown Face, stabbing her through the eye with his hunting knife.

  We walked to the left, away from the checkouts, and came out into the store’s wide entrance. My mission – the cigarette counter. But the crowd of zombies I’d seen earlier, still clawing at the glass doors of the front entrance, stood between me and it. They groaned when they heard me and Misfit approach, before turning and staggering towards us. Whatever, I thought, nine zombies aren’t going to keep me from my nicotine fix.

  I strode across the main entrance towards them with my knife raised. I’d only got halfway across when I saw another five or six zombies emerging from various aisles. More zombies lumbered out from all directions and staggered towards me and Misfit, crowding into the entrance and surrounding us as though we’d just been announced as ‘deal of the day’.

  One of the zombies wore a shirt and tie and had an orange badge pinned to the left of his chest, informing me he was the store’s manager. The others were a mixture of staff and customers, all withered and dried, and I guessed these zombies must have been sealed up in the store since the outbreak, probably a group of humans thinking they would be safe from the madness outside but not realising that someone inside was already infected. As the virus took its toll on all the survivors, they would have spent more than a year staggering around the store with no chance of a fresh food supply. Sucks to be them.

  I stabbed the store manager first – he’d obviously been a crap leader to draw his team into such a trap – but as I struggled to pull my blade from its dehydrated head, I noticed the others, at least twenty-five, maybe thirty had lumbered uncomfortably close. Misfit stabbed one as it lunged at him, then kicked another with a booted foot; it fell back against a zombie that had been on a lumber course for me. I stabbed a zombie through the eye and edged backwards as the unmanageable crowd approached, until my back pressed up against the electric doors Misfit had tried to prise open earlier.

  I saw Misfit grab a trolley from the shop floor and he charged at the zombies, knocking into their frail bodies. Once he’d cleared the crowd, he turned and rammed them again, scattering the zombies and giving me much needed breathing space. He abandoned the trolley and both of us drove our blades through decomposing heads to prevent the zombies from regrouping. Sweat trickled down my back as I stabbed and sliced.

  With the crowd thinned out, I could inch forwards, my knife darting in and out of zombie brains. I reached the section where the fresh flowers used to be and I grabbed one of the plastic buckets, the brittle remains of a bouquet still inside, and I threw it and its contents towards three zombies that approached me. The bucket wasn’t heavy enough to have much of an impact on them, so I grabbed another one and dropped it over the head of the closest zombie. It pawed at the dark green plastic that covered its rotten face, while it stumbled around aimlessly; but it couldn’t figure out how to get it off. I kicked another zombie back so I had time to stab the other one. Then, as the one I’d kicked righted itself, I was ready for it and I stabbed it between the eyes, before stabbing Bucket Head right through the bucket.

  ‘Woohoo!’ I said, looking around to see me and Misfit had managed to slay the whole lot. My gaze settled on Misfit as he stood on the other side of the flower aisle, surrounded by zombie bodies.

  He glanced up and smiled at me. ‘Great team, huh?’ he said.

  ‘The best.’ I smiled back at him. But then I thought of Sean and my smile dropped. He had done more than enough to be considered part of my team; he’d risked his life for me and Misfit. But I had allowed him to be taken and imprisoned and … and I hated to think what might happen to him.

  ‘You OK?’

  Realising I had been standing among zombie bodies while staring off into space, I snapped out of it and looked at Misfit. I squeezed out a smile and nodded to him, knowing where he stood on the subject of Sean. He shook his head like he wasn’t even remotely convinced that I was OK but didn’t want to push it, and grabbed hold of the trolley he’d used as a battering ram. Weaving it through the rotten bodies, he followed me as I turned and headed over to the left of the store, to the cigarette counter. Finally!

  ‘Nice,’ I said, seeing that the shelves still held a bountiful supply of tobacco. I jumped up to perch on the counter, knocking some chocolate bars to the floor, and swung my legs up and over and landed on my feet on the other side. I swiped baccy, Rizzlars and packets of cigarettes off the shelves and tossed them over into the trolley, while Misfit grasped handfuls of chocolate bars.

  I held onto one of the packets of baccy and opened it. I rolled a cigarette and lit it with a lighter I picked up from a box on the shelf. I slipped the lighter into my jeans pocket, then grabbed the whole box and threw it into the trolley. With the cigarette in my mouth, I climbed over the counter, to land on my feet beside Misfit. ‘Let’s shop,’ I said.

&nbs
p; We loaded the trolley, marvelling at how much stock remained on the shelves here.

  ‘What are you putting that in for?’ We had stopped in the seasonal aisle. The outbreak had started a year ago in November, so the stores had all been filled with Christmas stuff, creating a sort of reverse Narnia situation – always Christmas, hardly ever winter.

  ‘It’s almost Christmas,’ I said.

  ‘But it’s a Christmas pudding.’

  ‘I know. We could always use the generator as it’s a special occasion and we’ll be able to cook it in the microwave.’

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ said Misfit in all seriousness. ‘I mean it’s fucking horrible stuff.’

  ‘You don’t like Christmas pudding? Shit, I might seriously have to rethink our friendship, Misfit …’

  Misfit smiled at me sheepishly, holding eye contact, before turning his head to the left as though something on the shelves had urgently caught his eye. I stood by the trolley and watched him raise a hand and scratch the back of his head. His gaze flicked back to me briefly before he grasped the handle of the trolley and he wheeled it further along the aisle.

  We continued shopping, filling two trolleys to the brim, and by the time we had the car packed up, the sky had already started to gain its late afternoon dullness. ‘I guess I won’t be hunting today,’ said Misfit.

  ‘You don’t need to. We’re eating like fucking kings for a while,’ I said, smiling at him. He smiled back and we both climbed into the car.

  We drove in silence again, me smoking a cigarette, and Misfit casting sideways glances at me and smiling. I had enjoyed our little trip. But I still couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach … the feeling I’d failed Sean.

  As we drove over Radnor Bridge and into Wear Bay Road, I couldn’t take it any more. ‘Stop the Car!’ I yelled.

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘Just stop the bloody fucking sodding car, Misfit!’ Misfit hit the brakes and stopped in the middle of the road. I opened the car door, leapt out and ran down Wear Bay Road, turning into The Durlocks, not even caring if I ran into a zombie.

  Misfit caught up with me. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked but I ignored him and I ran to St Andrews. Shane stood on guard, baseball bat in hand, just inside the car park to the left of the huge old building, once an old convalescent home, but long since been converted into flats.

  ‘Sophie, what are you doing here?’ he asked, not unkindly.

  ‘I want to see Soph and Chris,’ I said, panting.

  ‘Sure. Hang on, I’ll let you in.’ Shane unlocked the gate and me and Misfit passed through into the car park. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about yesterday. None of us wanted to do that, but –’

  ‘I just want to see Soph and Chris. Where are they?’ I said.

  ‘Sure. Just go through,’ said Shane. ‘Someone inside will know where they are if you can’t find them.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said and entered the building. The hallway was empty. ‘Where do you think they’d keep a prisoner?’ I asked Misfit.

  ‘Sophie, this is none of our business. Let’s just go.’

  ‘No. Not until I find out what they’re doing to him. Not until I speak to Sean. If he tells me the truth, tells me what happened … who did it, I can help track the killer.’ I started down the hallway but Misfit grabbed my arm and forced me to stop.

  ‘He is the killer, Sophie. Why can’t you see that?’

  ‘Sophie … Misfit.’ I glanced behind me to see Kelly stood in the lobby at the end of the hallway holding Ella in her arms. ‘Sophie … how are you?’

  ‘I’m OK, Kelly.’ My throat tightened because I knew Kelly was referring to how I was coping after losing Sam. ‘You? You look tired.’

  ‘I am. Finding Lucy was a shock.’ With her left hand Kelly stroked Ella’s pale honey blonde hair. When she spoke again, her voice was muted as though hoping the young child wouldn’t hear, even though Ella’s head rest on Kelly’s shoulder. ‘It’s not like I’m a stranger to dead bodies but …’ Kelly shook her head. ‘I can’t believe a human did that to her. As if we don’t have enough to worry about these days. Thank god they’ve got the,’ Kelly mouthed the word ‘bastard’, ‘that did it. I’m still finding it hard to sleep though.’

  ‘Um … I’m looking for Soph and Chris, any idea where they are?’ I said, walking along the corridor towards Kelly until I stood in the lobby.

  ‘Well, they’re around some … ah …’ Footsteps on the staircase to my left preceded the arrival of Chris.

  He trotted up the steps from the building’s basement and stopped at the top. His eyes widened when he saw me but he countered the reaction with a smile. I noticed he fiddled awkwardly with the knife he held in his right hand. ‘Hey, Sophie … Misfit. What can I –’

  ‘Where is he, Chris?’ I asked.

  ‘Sean?’

  ‘Yes, Sean.’

  ‘Sophie, I’m really sorry about the way we barged in yesterday. I know it came across as disrespectful but, as you can imagine, feelings have been running high here … after Lucy.’

  ‘I understand that, I do. And that’s what I’m worried about, because I don’t think he did it,’ I said. ‘He told me he didn’t and I believe him. But he told me he knows who did.’

  ‘We found scratches on his arms, Sophie. Did you know he had scratches on his arms? Scratches that probably happened when Lucy was fighting for her life!’ Chris’s face turned as red as his hair as he spoke.

  I watched Kelly hug Ella tighter to her and I waited until she’d backed away through the lobby and around to the rear of the building before I spoke. ‘I know about the scratches, Chris. It still doesn’t prove –’

  ‘You knew about the scratches?’ said Chris and I guessed this wasn’t the time to mention the red blood on his hands. ‘You knew that Lucy had been murdered, that this stranger turned up on the beach the day of the murder and you didn’t think to tell us about the scratches?’

  ‘Can I see him?’ I asked, ignoring Chris’s question.

  ‘Sean?’

  ‘Yes, Sean.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I need to see him,’ I said.

  ‘Not now. He’s being questioned.’

  ‘Has he said anything about what happened?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What are you going to do with him?’

  ‘He quite likely killed one of ours, Sophie. He’s ours to deal with.’

  ‘Are you going to kill him?’ I asked. Chris said nothing. ‘Please,’ I took a step closer to him. ‘You have to let me see him. I think you’re making a big mistake.’

  ‘No. I’m sorry. Look, I don’t want to fall out over this.’

  ‘Fall out! This is a bit more than falling out, Chris. A man’s life is on the line here. And more lives could be in danger if you have this wrong! Is he down there?’ I said, nodding to the stairs.

  ‘Sophie, stop,’ said Chris, putting a hand up to prevent me going down the stairs.

  ‘No. Let me pass.’

  ‘Sophie, let’s go. Don’t do this,’ said Misfit.

  ‘No. I’m not leaving until I’ve seen Sean,’ I said, snapping my head around to look at him.

  The front door opened and Shane stuck his head inside. ‘Is everything OK in here?’ he asked.

  ‘Thanks, Shane. Sophie and Misfit were just leaving,’ said Chris.

  ‘No I’m not,’ I said, making another attempt at slipping past Chris. ‘I need to speak to Sean and I’m not going until I have.’ I got to the second step down but Chris grabbed my arm and pulled me up the stairs.

  ‘Hey!’ snapped Misfit, darting forwards. ‘Don’t touch her like that.’ He squared up to Chris.

  ‘I’m sorry. Sophie, I’m sorry for that,’ said Chris. ‘But please. I’m asking you both to leave. This is our business. How we deal with it is up to us.’ Shane now stood half a metre away, baseball bat in hand.

  ‘We’re going,’ said Misfit.

  ‘No we’re not,’ I said.
>
  ‘Yes we are, Sophie,’ said Misfit and he grabbed me by the elbow. ‘Chris is right, it’s their business.’

  I looked from Misfit to Chris to Shane. My cheeks burned and I clenched my fists into balls as I breathed deeply to contain myself. I pushed past Misfit and Shane. ‘There’s a murderer out there,’ I said, turning and walking backwards towards the door, ‘and you’re going to kill – murder – the only person who knows who it is!’ I turned and stormed through the door, out into the car park.

  Entry Ten

  That night, neither me nor Misfit spoke as I sat beside him on the sofa in his caravan and changed the dressing on his head wound. ‘It’s healing well,’ I said finally. ‘You’ll live.’ And I ticked off the compartment in my brain that displayed concern for him without showing it on the outside. I was too mad at him for not sticking up for me against Chris to let him know I cared. I packed the spare bandages, scissors and medical tape back into the first aid kit, stood and left the caravan.

  The others had all gone to bed, and I swept past the deserted glowing remains of the fire, and into my caravan. I slumped onto the sofa, releasing a big sigh. I slid my knife out of my belt and lay it on the windowsill behind me, before pulling my baccy out of my pocket. Sitting cross legged, I rolled a cigarette. I wasn’t supposed to smoke in the caravan but … fuck it, I thought. Sean, Misfit, Sophie, Chris, my Sam – all names that evoked a tight, anxious knot in my stomach. I pulled hard on my cigarette and flicked ash into a little pot on the windowsill that contained some loose change belonging to the caravan’s former occupant – whoever had been in the process of converting the Martello tower before the outbreak.