I heard a thump as Sam’s body fell, but I couldn’t see any more than a vague outline of him in the gloom of the cellar.
‘I love you, Sam. Rest in peace.’ I dropped to my knees, my free hand clinging hold of the blue bars and my body shook with violent sobs.
Later that morning, I stood on hard, wet sand with my hands in the pockets of my jacket, trying to keep the chill out. The bodies of our recently fallen friends – all apart from Lucy and Josh who had already had a similar send off – had been laid out in a small fishing boat that Misfit had sailed out of the harbour and onto the Sunny Sands beach. He stood beside the boat, soaking the bodies with petrol from a can, while the rest of us gathered in respectful silence close to the shore.
When I returned to the house that morning, shortly before we headed to the beach, Misfit asked me where I’d been, his eyes flitting between me and the shotgun in my right hand. ‘I owed a friend a favour,’ I had replied, my grief – a grief I couldn’t explain to Misfit – making my words sound hostile in a way I hadn’t intended, and he questioned me no further.
Once the boat’s passengers were saturated, Misfit poured petrol onto rags wound around the end of a stick that Soph held out before her. He used my lighter to set the rags alight. Soph touched the burning end of the stick to the bodies, moving to the next as each one caught alight. Then, with the blaze taking hold, and the smell of petrol and burning flesh in my nostrils, I watched as Shane, Misfit, Clay and Soph pushed the boat out, its nose rising and falling against the gentle waves. When they were about knee height in the sea, they let the boat go.
Once they had waded back to shore to stand with the rest of us, Flick began to speak, ‘I’d like to say a few words, if I may?’ I gave her a nod and she continued. ‘As our friends leave this life and begin their journey to the next, let us take a moment to remember Jordan, Tracey, Elsie, Patrick, Cleo, Max, Amy, Stewart, Sean and … Sara … with joy.’ Flick’s voice cracked and tears fell freely as she spoke. ‘Remember them for their bravery, their strength and their achievements in this life. While we mourn their absence, we also celebrate their lives and what they meant to each one of us. We can honour their lives by continuing to fight for our survival and our humanity.’
We had wandered the short distance back to the house in sombre silence, broken only by Kay stopping to brain a couple of zombies with her axe that she had been reunited with after the battle at the bowls club. Everyone gathered in the large kitchen, apart from the youngest children who disappeared into the living room, where I could hear the sound of tiny hands rooting through the big wooden toy box.
Flick pulled a bottle of whisky, two thirds full, from a selection of bottles that nestled in the corner of the kitchen worktop. She placed it in the centre of the kitchen table with a thud. Charlotte and Clay gathered glasses from the shelving above the sink and arranged them on the table in front of the bottle.
I lifted the bottle of whisky, twisted off its cap and poured the amber liquid into the glasses, passing them around until everyone held one.
‘To friends,’ said Flick with a small smile.
‘To humanity,’ I added. I stood on Misfit’s left side and I slipped my fingers between his, feeling him squeeze the back of my hand.
‘So,’ I said, looking around the room. ‘Who fancies a road trip?’
***
Blog of the Dead (Book 2): Life Page 26
