Blog of the Dead (Book 3): Lost

by Lisa Richardson

  Last night wasn’t the most comfortable night I’ve ever had. Mal offered up the sofa but none of us would take it. He’d helped us enough by saving our lives, so we couldn’t turn him out of his bed, too.

  Clay slept in the armchair. He did offer it to me, Kay and Charlotte first, but it wasn’t that comfortable and, besides, none of us could get to grips with sleeping sitting up. The rest of us found a space on the laminate floor and made do. Kay and Charlotte sprawled out on one side, and on my left, Misfit settled down. He lay on his side, his head resting on his elbow, his eyes on me. I rolled over so I lay on my side facing him. Neither of us spoke, we just gazed into each other’s eyes for a while. I smiled. Misfit smiled back, a half smile, spreading into a full grin.

  Misfit straightened out his arm, extending it towards me. I slid myself over, my head finding his shoulder and, as he wrapped his arm around me, I nestled into his side.

  I lay on a cold, hard floor with no pillow or blanket. It might not have been the most comfortable night I’d ever had, but it was the best I’d had in a while.

  10am

  As I lay in Misfit’s arms last night, I thought about what he had said, about the zombie apocalypse being worth it because he’d met me. Of course, I had wondered myself whether I would have met him if it hadn’t of been for the outbreak. While I couldn’t get my head around the thought that it made it worthwhile, I did feel a warm satisfaction that Misfit considered mass death and the end of civilization as collateral damage in order to meet me. Is that wrong?

  We all woke feeling achy and sluggish. Once limbs had been stretched and muscles eased, each of us headed to the windows on either side of the staff room to check out the route back to the car.

  ‘Still a fair few dead fuckers on this side,’ said Kay. ‘What’s it like over there?’

  ‘Not too bad,’ I said. ‘There’s around ten, maybe fifteen at most directly below, probably more at the front of the building. Looks like most of them have buggered off though, which is good.’

  ‘You’re off then?’ asked Mal.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Surrey.’

  ‘What’s in Surrey?’ asked Mal.

  ‘My family. Only…’ I hung my head. ‘I just need to know.’

  I glanced up to see Mal nod, but thankfully – because I had begun to like the guy and I didn’t want him to spoil it – he didn’t try and give me any ‘bright side’ bullshit about my family being dead.

  Misfit emerged from the salon – I hadn’t even noticed he’d left the staff room. ‘The way back towards the car is still pretty chocker,’ he said, nodding back towards the salon. ‘We could fight our way through. But it might be better if I head out and pick us up another vehicle.’

  ‘No way, Misfit, not with so many zombies out there,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I don’t feel comfortable with you out there alone,’ I said, taking a few steps closer to him.

  ‘I’m the quickest and the quietest. I don’t feel comfortable with you… with any of you lot,’ he added, tearing his eyes off me and glancing at the others, ‘out there. I won’t be long.’

  ‘I got ya back, mate,’ said Clay.

  ‘No need, Clay, mate. I’ll be better on my own.’ He turned to Mal. ‘Is there a main way in and out?’

  ‘It’s sealed off to keep the bad guys out,’ said Mal. ‘It’s in and out through the window you used yesterday.’ With that, and with Clay looking like he’d forgotten to put sugar in his tea, Misfit slipped out of the room alone and was gone.

  12pm

  I sat on one of the black leather hairdressing chairs that I’d pushed up as high as it would go so I had a good view out the window. Anyone who suggested they take over so I could rest was greeted with a bare-toothed snarl. There were still many zombies below and Misfit was out there alone.

  Through the stiff, withering bodies that staggered aimlessly below, I couldn’t see any sign of a leather-clad figure lying on the ground and I guessed Elaine had risen and staggered off on her one good leg, ready to become a tick on someone else’s quota. Misfit had been gone for about twenty minutes already. I wondered if this was anything near what my mum and dad must have felt when I stayed out late with my friends for the first time – staying up just to make sure I got home safely, unable to sleep until they knew I had.

  I’d been sixteen the first time, and a group of us went to an open mic night at The Mezz Bar at The Leatherhead Theatre. Dad had driven me and three friends there, no doubt resisting the urge to say, ‘Are you going out dressed like that?’ at the sight of my short skirt and heels. I hadn’t given my parents a thought at the time, while I was out enjoying myself. But now I could imagine Mum and Dad spending the evening pacing up and down the living room, biting their nails or rooted at the window, imagining me drugged, abducted and raped by one of the many bad men that where laying in wait for a young, innocent girl like me. Their breath held, their hearts aching, their stomachs wrenching until they saw my friend’s dad’s car pull up outside to drop me off at the end of the night. Safe and sound.

  Exchange ‘bad men’ for ‘zombies’ and ‘drugged, abducted and raped by’ to ‘eaten by’ and you have a good picture of how I was feeling as I waited for Misfit to return.

  My concern was interrupted by the sound of a noisy diesel engine approaching. I stood and thrust my head through the open window, aware of the others crowding behind me. A large van, painted deep purple, pulled up below but not before it had flattened all the zombies in its path. A moment later, and with the engine still running, the side door slid open and I saw Misfit standing there, gazing up at me, a half smile and a wink.

  ‘Time to go, people,’ I said, noticing that every zombie in the vicinity was staggering in the direction of the van.

  While Charlotte climbed through the window, I turned to Mal. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘We owe you our lives.’

  ‘No worries. Glad I could help,’ he said, a smile just too wide, too bright, too warm and genuine for the zombie apocalypse. It was a smile that hid a lot of hurt.

  Kay slipped out next, looking stronger than she had the previous day.

  ‘And thanks for thinking we were worth saving. You know, that we weren’t the “bad guys”.’

  ‘Sometimes you have to take the chance, or else you let the bad guys win.’

  ‘Whoever it was you lost, you lost them to the bad guys, didn’t you?’ I said.

  ‘Yep.’

  I hesitated at the window.

  ‘Come with us,’ I spoke fast, knowing that I was holding everyone up.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mal. ‘But no thanks. It’s not for me. I just want to sit up here in my castle and watch the dead world go by.’

  ‘You don’t need to be alone.’

  ‘Sophie,’ Clay nodded his head to the window as he spoke, urging me on.

  ‘I’m never alone. I look down there and I see the ones that died because they didn’t fight hard enough for their freedom. I’m just happy letting it all roll by, no one to care about other than myself, no ties. Nowhere to be.’

  ‘No one to lose.’

  ‘Soph, come on,’ said Clay.

  I had one leg over the window sill. I swung the other over and balanced on the ledge.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Enjoy the end of the world.’

  ‘I will,’ said Mal. ‘I have a front row seat.’

  I lowered my body down, losing sight of Mal and his undying joy, until my toes touched the narrow ledge. Gripping the wider ledge above with my fingertips, I let go and jumped to the ground. Why couldn’t Mal just accept the misery and the inevitable despair of loss like the rest of us?

  ‘Took your time,’ said Misfit, breaking my train of thought. He stood near the front of the van, his small knife jabbing into zombies’ heads, holding them back as he waited for me and Clay. Charlotte stood at the back, using her cleaver to keep the side door clear. Clay
came tumbling down behind me and the four of us dived into the van.

  The tyres screeched as the van sped off. Misfit shoved me down onto a black sofa at the back and I could now see that the van was a converted campervan complete with a tiny kitchen area between where I sat and the front cab. I watched Clay kick a zombie that had managed to grip onto the doorframe. Charlotte swung the door shut and I heard it click into place. I looked out through a window in the side of the van as Kay drove us through the zombie infested streets of Ashford, looping around the other side of the hairdresser/jewellery store. I glanced up to see Mal waving to us, a smile on his face. A man who had learned the value of everything but who chose to have nothing.

  As I lost sight of Mal I turned my sights to look out through the windscreen. I thought we were on a collision course with a pub directly ahead, but Kay swung the tired sounding vehicle to the left, then to the right, back onto the high street. We carried on straight, the thud, thud of bodies against metal as we hit the zombies in our path audible over the screeching engine, and out onto a main road. The van swerved left, then right, straight then left as Kay drove us away from Ashford town centre. There were no more thuds of dried flesh against metal so I guessed the way was clear of zombies. I turned back to the side window and saw buildings, crashed cars, gridlocked streets, houses whoosh by in a blur until the urban landscape was replaced by more and more green.

  Charlotte had moved upfront to sit with Kay, while Clay sat on the sofa opposite me and Misfit. We were on our way. In an hour, maybe more to account for gridlocked roads, we would be in Guildford.

  I was finally going home.

  January 3, 8pm

  ‘This is the one,’ I said yesterday as I pointed to the white fronted Victorian semi.

  Kay stopped the camper, pulling in at an angle behind the row of cars outside, and leaving the rear of the large van sticking out into the road behind us.

  ‘We here, sweetie?’ I glanced into the back of the van where Charlotte and Clay sat, me having switched seats with Charlotte in order to give Kay directions as we neared Guildford. Misfit sat in the front with me, gripping my hand for support.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You OK, Soph?’

  ‘No.’

  Misfit squeezed my hand tighter.

  We all climbed out of the vehicle and the others, apart from Misfit who clung onto my hand, gave me space to inch my way up the front steps to the white uPVC door. I slipped my fingers from Misfit’s and pulled my knife from my belt. With my free hand I tried the door handle. Locked. I wasn’t surprised but I didn’t have my keys with me. They were still at the house in Folkestone – the student digs I’d shared with Sam, Polly and Richard before the outbreak.

  It was almost a relief. I could give up now and still be in ignorant bliss – so to speak – about what fate befell my parents. I could walk away. I should have walked away. I placed my hand against the white plastic door and imagined my mum on the other side, reaching out a zombiefied hand to touch the back of the place where mine rested. Would she be able to sense me, even if she was a zombie? Is it possible for all that love from the person who carried me inside them for nine months and gave birth to me and raised me and cared for me even when I was being a right cow, is it possible for it to be so completely lost?

  If my parents were inside, would they tear me apart? Of course they would. The zombie virus rarely leaves anything behind.

  But sometimes it does.

  I should have walked walk away, saved myself from knowing. I should have… but I edged past the recycling bins to the right and peered through the living room window. I couldn’t see anything through the curtains. They were drawn, covering every inch of window. Mum always used to moan that Dad never drew them properly. He always left a little gap in the middle and she would go over and straighten them out, ever so slightly OCD. We used to joke about it, wind her up. They’d been drawn very carefully, with no chinks, probably early on in the outbreak to avoid attracting the attention of the zombies outside.

  With my view blocked, I rejoined the others on the street. Without a word, I crept to the left of the house and down an alleyway. I tried the wooden gate in the fence, but that too was locked. A little further down the alley, I came to a fence panel that had given way. With the others behind me, I paused. None of them knew why I stood and stared at the seemingly innocuous piece of wood. I hadn’t told any of them the details of what had happened to my little brother – how Jake had been playing outside and how no one had noticed the loose section of fence. How a zombie had got through and how Jake had been bitten before either Mum or Dad could stop it. All they knew was that I didn’t know what had happened to my family after all contact ceased abruptly soon after the outbreak.

  I slid through the fence panel, just as the zombie had done just over a year ago, into the garden, with the others following me silently. I edged my way to the back door and, with my knife at the ready in case my parents or Jake were waiting for me – not knowing if I would be able to use my blade if they were – I tried the door. It opened.

  I stuck my head inside and glanced down the long galley-style kitchen. The air smelt stale but not of death and the oak block work surfaces were dusty. The room was empty. I eased myself inside what was officially my house but that had long ago ceased to be my home. My feet made little sound as I crept along the tiled floor. I was very aware that the narrow room would not be a great place to come face to face with zombies, especially the zombies of my family who I didn’t know – couldn’t even promise to myself – that I’d be able to kill. I think that Misfit sensed this, and, just before we came out into the dining room, he squeezed past me so that he emerged first.

  The dining room was also empty. I stood on the terracotta coloured carpet and called out in a shaky voice, ‘Mum, Dad?’ I strained my ears. Nothing.

  The living room with its red sofas that Mum loved and Dad always joked he needed sunglasses to look at, was also empty. I doubled back to the staircase between the dining room and living room, with the chest freezer beneath it – the only place it would fit in the modest sized terrace – and, easing past Misfit, I inched up the steps to the next floor.

  Stepping onto the landing, I could see straight away that the doors to each of the three bedrooms were open. If there were any zombies inside the house, they would have made themselves known by now. Even so, I still approached each room with my heart like an angry wasp in my mouth and my hands shaking and damp with sweat. The others remained downstairs. Being a small house, I suppose they didn’t want to get in the way. Only Misfit followed me up and he hung back in the narrow landing to let me search the rooms. As I’d guessed, each room was empty of the undead. They were also empty of the living.

  I checked my bedroom last. Alone, I stood in the middle of the room for a moment, my head bowed as I tried to take in the fact my parents were gone, as well as drink in the aged familiarity of my surrounds. After a moment I took a deep breath and forced myself to skulk towards my bed where I took a seat. Misfit popped his head through the open door then. He half smiled and entered the room, striding across to sit down beside me, close enough that our legs touched.

  ‘Where are they?’ I said, staring at my lap.

  ‘Maybe they got out and went somewhere else.’

  I glanced up at Misfit. ‘My brother got bit early on,’ I said. ‘I had been emailing my parents but we lost touch after that – just like that,’ I clicked my fingers. ‘Why wouldn’t they have contacted me if they’d got out?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Misfit placed a hand on one of mine resting in my lap and squeezed. ‘But if your folks had been bitten by your brother, they would be here, wouldn’t they… as zombies? The place was sealed up when we got here.’

  ‘That’s what I was expecting.’

  ‘Sophie, they must have escaped. They probably had to get out quick after your brother turned and they didn’t have the chance to take any personal belongings so they wouldn’t have had any of your contact details
. I mean, did you ever know anyone’s email address or phone number off the top of your head? We all had them programmed into our computers or phones, no need to remember them. Maybe they had no way of contacting you?’

  ‘Then where’s Jake, my brother? He’d still be in here if they’d had to escape from him. The doors where all shut. Jake didn’t wander off by himself.’

  ‘Maybe they let him go first, cos they couldn’t put him down?’

  ‘Then why would my mum and dad need to escape if they already managed to let him go?’

  Misfit opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He stared into my eyes and shrugged. ‘Maybe it was too painful to stay.’

  ‘Then they’d have emailed me to say they were safe and moving on!’ I said exasperated.

  ‘I don’t know, Sophie.’

  ‘But if they all died in here, where are they now?’ I said, my voice cracking. I had hoped to get answers by coming home but all I got were more questions.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Misfit. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘There’s nothing to say,’ I said shaking my head. ‘Even if they escaped, I have no idea where they would have gone and they’re probably dead by now anyway. I suppose I’ll never know what happened to them.’

  I heaved myself back a little and lay down on my single bed, still made up with my old green quilt cover with its pink cherry blossoms. I lay on my side, my eyes flicking around the room at my belongings – so familiar but, strangely, so alien. I stared at my dressing table, just an old oak table we’d picked up in a charity shop that I had painted white and distressed by sanding it down so it had a vintage, upcycled look to it. I did the same effect on the wardrobe and my bedside table. The bookshelf was also a second hand find from a car boot sale, but that I had left unpainted, as I had my desk under the window. I liked the eclectic look and didn’t want everything matching.