In the candle light, I could get my first glimpse of Marsha. She was very thin. I hoped that Amelia had more flesh on her bones. The night was cold and it didn’t escape me that even if she had hidden from the zombies, the cold night air could kill her easily enough.
Marsha’s long, thick hair was completely grey but her face, while it wore the mask of hardship and worry, draining her of vitality and giving her a gaunt look, was unlined. It made it hard to pin an age on her. She could have gone grey prematurely and be in her late thirties or she could just have really good skin and be fifty or more. She could have had a child late in life. Her eyes were large and staring as though she wanted to see if Amelia was anywhere in our thoughts as she gazed from each of us in turn. I realised she wasn’t just concerned for her daughter but fearful of us too. We could be anyone. We could be nutters. We’d met so many in the apocalypse – Caine, Marco, Mark, Elaine…
‘What-what were you doing out in the middle of the night?’ Marsha asked no one in particular as she pottered about the kitchen, picking things up and putting them down again and not really achieving anything.
‘Our ride got stuck,’ said Misfit as he prowled the perimeter of the kitchen, his eagle eyes peering out of the large French doors at the back of the extension, out into the dark garden.
‘Its wheels got stuck in a ditch at the side of the road but as it was dark and there were zombies about, we decided to sleep in the van for the night before tackling it in the daylight,’ said Charlotte.
‘That’s when we heard you yelling the place down,’ said Kay.
‘Why did Amelia run off?’ I asked. Me, Charlotte and Kay had each taken a seat on the white leather chairs at the glass topped dining table.
Marsha adjusted the position of the kettle on the high gloss work surface before her eyes flicked up towards me. ‘I don’t know,’ she began, her eyes looking off into the distance. ‘Maybe she heard something in the house that spooked her or something. I had put her to bed at the usual time and I came down here to sit and collect my thoughts when I heard a noise in the hallway. I went out and saw the front door wide open. I bolted upstairs to Amelia’s room but she wasn’t there. She… she…’
Marsha deflated before our eyes. Charlotte stood and leapt towards her, supporting her with an arm around her shoulders. ‘It’s OK, sweetie. She’ll be OK.’ Charlotte escorted Marsha to a seat at the table.
‘You don’t know that!’
Charlotte knelt down in front of a sobbing Marsha. ‘I do. You have to stay positive.’
‘I should have kept a closer eye on her. I should have never left her alone!’
‘Don’t blame yourself. You can’t,’ said Kay. ‘Trust me, that way lies insanity. You did all you could. The worst thing in this fucked up mess isn’t keeping yourself safe and alive, it’s keeping your children safe and alive and…’ Kay’s words trailed off. I could see she needed the energy to keep the tears from falling. We all thought better than to press her to explain what those tears meant.
No one spoke for a moment and I busied myself with picking white wax from where it had melted then solidified on the table top. Charlotte sat in the chair next to Marsha, rubbing the back of her hand that rested on the table. ‘We should all get some rest,’ said Charlotte, after a little while. ‘So we’re ready to head out at first light.’
‘Wait,’ said Marsha. ‘Would you like to see a photo of Amelia?’
‘Um, yeah,’ I said not wanting to be rude – I mean, it’s not like there was going to be many little girls out there waiting to be found. But then I guessed if the grim job of identifying a little girl zombie came up, at least there’d be no chance of mistaken identity.
Marsha pulled a crumpled photo from her jeans pocket and held it out to Charlotte who took it from her. ‘She’s pretty, said Charlotte before passing it to Kay.
‘She is isn’t she? She’s my world.’
Kay passed the photo to me. ‘She looks young in this photo,’ I said as I gazed at the smiling girl with yellow blonde hair. ‘Younger than seven.’
‘She’d just turned six in this photo,’ said Marsha. ‘But she hasn’t changed much since it was taken.’
Charlotte was right, Amelia was pretty, with freckles peppered across her nose, and big blue eyes. ‘Ha,’ I said light-heartedly as I spotted the Steps t-shirt she wore. ‘I used to love that band when I was a little kid. I didn’t think kids would still be into them now.’
‘What? Amelia loves them, always has,’ said Marsha. ‘She knows all the words to their songs, and the dance moves and…’
I left Charlotte to comfort a distraught Marsha while I stood and walked to the end of the room where I passed the photo to Misfit. He took the photo from my outstretched fingers and peered at it before looking back at me with a deep frown.
6pm
Last night was uncomfortable. Once I had finished writing in my diary, I settled down next to Misfit. We slept on the floor with a woollen blanket over us that failed miserably to keep the January chill out of my bones. A breeze rose up through the laminated floor and through every crack that the extensive and sacrilegious modernising of the character property had failed to fill. Things were made bearable by lying in Misfit’s arms. OK more than bearable. He took the full force of the cold, hard floor, flat on his back while I used him as a pillow.
Kay slept on the sofa, while Charlotte bagged an armchair, the type that a bit at the foot springs up and the back flips down to make it a recliner. I’m not sure if I slept. I know I spent most of the night eyes wide, brain whirring with a mixture of worrying if Clay was OK and buzzing about nothing in particular. It’s not like my mental energy could be put to good use by solving problems. The problem of the zombie apocalypse couldn’t be solved. My brain ticked over with the unsettling feeling of being somewhere strange, somewhere not only strange to me – you have to get use to changing location in the apocalypse – but with a strange person in it. I felt like an unexpected guest, which is, in fact, what I was. Only in the apocalypse the lines are all blurred.
I may have dozed a little while, but when Marsha scurried into the living room and opened the curtains, I was awake in an instant. Misfit sat bolt upright the second the curtains made a faint whoosh sound as they were pulled back, his movement caused me to roll off him and thump on the cold floor.
‘Please,’ said Marsha, her grey hair tied loosely out of her face, ‘it’s light. Please help me find my Amelia.’
I heard a tap on the window that looked out on the front garden. It made all of us jump. My eyes flicked towards the source of the sound and through the voile curtain, I could see Clay standing at the window. He waved once and headed for the front door, confident he’d got our attention. Marsha darted to the hallway and moments later I heard the sound of the door opening.
‘Amelia!’ Marsha’s expectant voice carried in from the hallway. ‘Did you see her?’
‘No. Sorry.’ I heard the front door close after Clay spoke, followed by a sob from Marsha. ‘I’m sorry,’ Clay repeated.
Everyone gathered in the hallway. I saw Clay, his gloves around his neck, looking cold, wet and weary.
‘We’re about to head out,’ I said to him. ‘You rest and we’ll catch up with you later.’
Clay glanced from me to Marsha to me again. ‘No, I’m cool,’ he said with a nod. ‘I’ll head out with you guys.’
‘You need to rest, sweetie,’ said Charlotte. ‘And get yourself warmed up a bit.’
‘I’m good. All good.’
‘Bloody fucktard,’ said Kay. ‘You won’t be much use if you don’t look after yourself.’
‘I won’t be any use here. I’m coming.’
The weather was grizzly. The previous evening’s storm had died down to be replaced by a persistent drizzle that had the threat of snow in it. We split up in two groups: Marsha, Clay and Charlotte in one team, and me, Misfit and Kay in the other. Searching unfamiliar territory for an unfamiliar girl in perilous conditions was enough to ma
ke anyone’s heart sink. Throw in the crappy weather and you have my mood.
‘You realise she could be anywhere,’ I said as we trekked through a muddy, overgrown field. ‘And who’s to say she won’t be as scared of a bunch of strangers as she is the zombies.’
‘Fair point,’ said Kay. ‘I guess we just need to work on looking approachable.’ We both turned to look at Misfit.
‘What?’ he said, his brow creased.
‘Look approachable,’ I said.
Misfit flashed his best approachable smile. I couldn’t help laughing at his effort.
‘What now?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘You look like you’re in pain.’
Misfit mock-scowled at me and we pressed on into the English countryside, through fields littered with the remains of cows, or maybe horses, and calling the name of a little girl we’d never met.
Despite walking for miles and calling her name repeatedly, all we attracted were zombies. I guessed none of them were actually called Amelia – though one or two could have been – and, instead, they were only interested in tasting our flesh rather than coming home to Mummy. We killed only those we had to kill in order to pass safely, to commit to full battle was to use energy we needed in order to travel a long distance across ground on foot.
I heard a growl and stopped, thinking it was a zombie, when, from behind a tree emerged a dog – a collie. It snarled at us, its eyes wild. Misfit raised his knife arm.
‘Stop!’ I said. ‘Don’t. It’s just scared.’
The skinny animal squared up to us, its body trembling. Its long black and white fur was matted with dirt and what might have been blood. Its ribs jutted out at painful angles and I wondered how its frail legs kept it up. I went down on my haunches and extended a hand towards it.
‘Hey, boy,’ I said, but the dog snarled, baring its sharp teeth. I crept forwards, all the while speaking soothing words, ‘Come here, boy. It’s OK, boy…’
‘Sophie, don’t,’ said Misfit.
‘He’s just scared,’ I said. ‘Scared and hungry. Do you have–’ But I didn’t get to finish as the dog leapt towards me, it’s teeth aiming for my throat. I fell back onto the wet ground and raised my arms in front of my face to protect myself, not wanting to use my knife against the poor animal. I shut my eyes and waited for the dog to hit me when I heard a yelp. I let a couple of seconds pass before opening my eyes. When I did, I saw Misfit pulling his knife from the dog’s head, its bedraggled body slumped before me.
‘You didn’t have to kill it!’ I said, staggering to my feet.
‘Yes I did,’ said Misfit, wiping the dog’s blood off his knife with the edge of his t-shirt.
‘It was just–’
‘Completely feral and starving and would have ripped your throat out, Sophie.’ Misfit finished for me.
I opened my mouth to retaliate but the fight flooded out of me. He was right. He had saved my life. We couldn’t even trust domestic animals anymore.
‘We should head back,’ Misfit said without another word on the matter. He handed me and Kay a cereal bar each from his shirt pocket. ‘We don’t want to be stuck out here in the dark.’
I looked at the cereal bar. After what had just happened, I thought it would stick in my throat, but, as I bit into it, I realised just how hungry I was and I devoured the thing in three bites. We hadn’t been organised enough to eat anything before we left that morning, which was stupid. We were running on empty.
‘I agree,’ I said, casting a final look at the dog’s corpse. ‘Let’s get back.’
We were in a wooded area, the place silent and still apart from the chirping and tweeting of the birds. The trees provided shelter from the drizzly rain but the ground was saturated from the previous day’s downpour and our feet squelched in muddy puddles that had soaked right through my already wrecked Converse. I made a mental note that I could do with a new pair next time we were near a town. Or maybe some leather boots would be better. It didn’t escape my attention that while the post-apocalypse world was full of clothing stores with goods for the taking, we were always in the same of grubby rags. A shopping trip was overdue.
‘This really is a losing battle,’ said Kay as we drudged back to the cottage. ‘And I don’t like to lose battles – I never lose battles.’
I tried my best not to let my heart sink right down to my ruined boots, but I failed in that matter. ‘You’re right, Kay, we’re not going to find her are we?’ I said. ‘There’s so much ground to cover. So many places she could hide. And that’s presuming she made it through the night.’
‘That poor woman,’ said Kay, shaking her head. She cast her eyes down to the soggy ground for a moment before glancing up at us. ‘Losing a kid is the worst.’
She looked away and stomped off ahead.
‘Maybe the others have had some luck,’ I said.
‘I doubt it,’ said Misfit as the two of us jogged on to keep up with Kay. ‘They’ve probably wasted as much time as we have.’
10pm
Misfit was right, the others had had no luck either. They arrived back to the cottage just after us at around 6pm. Marsha looked wiped out – too exhausted to even freak out about her missing daughter. The ordeal had left her looking empty and withdrawn.
We ate dinner. It was a meagre meal made up of some supplies me, Misfit and Kay picked up from the van on our way back. And it was a good job we did as Marsha had very little in the way of food. After we ate, Clay got his head down on the sofa. I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone look so tired. He couldn’t keep his eyes open and he honestly looked like one of those shrunken heads you see in old horror movies, like all the vitality had been sucked out of him. He allowed himself a couple of hours sleep then, to the protestations of the rest of us apart from Marsha, he went out to look for Amelia on his own again. I hated him going out in the dark and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep again with worry.
January 24, 10pm
Clay crawled in at around 5.30am but was up and ready to go search again with the rest of us by 8am. The lack of sleep was taking its toll on him. His skin had a grey tinge to it and he had heavy circles under his eyes, but I also noticed his speech was slurred at times. I handed Clay a can of orange fizzy drink to give him an energy boost before setting off. He gulped it down and went to place the empty can on the kitchen table, only he misjudged the space, banged his knee into a chair and only managed to get the can half on the surface. It fell to the floor and rolled towards me, the last of the bright orange liquid leaking onto the pale wood laminate as it came to a stop.
‘I got it,’ I said.
I bent down to pick up the can and placed it on the table.
‘Thanks,’ said Clay, rubbing his eyes. ‘I’m not normally so clumsy.’
‘You need to rest more,’ said Charlotte. She finished off a cereal bar and drank from a water bottle.
‘I’m OK.’
‘No you’re not, Clay,’ I said. ‘You should stay and sleep.’
‘I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I’m OK. Honest.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah.’
‘OK,’ I said with a shrug and the three of us headed out to join the others in the hallway.
‘I think we need to get the camper unstuck and back here ready for when we move on,’ said Misfit as he slung his backpack over his shoulder.
‘Good plan, mate,’ said Clay and he patted Misfit’s back. ‘I’ll come with you later on.’ I watched as he suppressed a yawn.
‘Well, I was thinking Sophie would come with me now,’ he said to Clay.
I was just about to confirm that I was happy to head off with Misfit – we hadn’t had any time alone for a while. Just to be with him, the two of us without the pressures of others’ company was something I jumped at the chance to have. But, mouth open, Clay cut me off, ‘It’s alright, mate, we can do it later. There’s no rush,’ and turning to me he added, ‘No offence, Soph, but it would be quicker with two guys.’
; ‘Meaning?’ I asked.
‘You know,’ said Clay. ‘Just we have more muscle power.’
‘I can hold my own!’ I snapped.
‘I know, it’s just–’
‘I can manage!’
‘I know. But–’
‘For fuck’s sake, Clay, why are you always butting in between me and Misfit?’ There, I’d said it. Shit…
Clay just looked at me open mouthed. ‘I’m just offering my help,’ he said. There was a pause as everyone shifted awkwardly in the confined space of the hallway. ‘It’s all I’ve ever done,’ he added after a moment.
‘I know,’ I said pathetically. ‘But it just seems to me you want Misfit to yourself. You’re always there.’
‘He’s my buddy, Soph.’ Clay glanced from me to Misfit. ‘He gets me.’ He looked back to me. ‘I never had a brother. I always wanted one.’ He glanced back at Misfit. ‘And now I do.’
I watched Misfit smile a lopsided smile and nod his head at Clay before I turned my eyes away to stare awkwardly at my feet.
‘Cheers, man,’ I heard Misfit say. ‘But I kind of got this with Soph, OK?’
‘Yeah. OK. No worries, like.’ I looked up to see Clay shrug his shoulders. ‘I just wanted to help.’
I was overcome by the urge to stick my tongue out at Clay but I held it in, aware that I had made myself look enough of a bitch already. No one protested any further, so Clay – with a little glare over his shoulder at me – headed off with Marsha, Kay and Charlotte while me and Misfit took the short walk back to the van.
We’d only had the camper a short while but it was good to see something familiar in all this unfamiliar greenery. I had to admit, I was missing Folkestone. I didn’t miss it in the way I missed places before the apocalypse. Back then, you’d miss a place because you missed the people you shared time with there, or the places you had fun at, or the warm, secure feeling of being at home amongst your own things and your own comfy bed. Folkestone had none of those things for me. Well, it sort of did. It had the St Andrews lot – but we never had any fun together. It had the camp by the Martello tower – but that only reminded me of people that I’d lost.
Blog of the Dead (Book 3): Lost Page 16
