Blog of the Dead (Book 1): Sophie (14 page)

December 25
9am Day 42
Happy fucking zombie infested Christmas!

I have a hangover, but why not? No relatives to face today. No fake smiles to wear. I can be as miserable as I like.

Hang on a sec, Sam is looking at me from across the living room with a sheepish grin on his face and hands behind his back …

9.30am Day 42
I’m back …

‘Happy Christmas,’ Sam said, holding something out for me.

A CD – Nirvana, ‘MTV Unplugged in New York’. I took it from him and smiled, my head pain easing. ‘I don’t have this,’ I said … duh!

‘I know.’

‘Where …?’

‘I saw it in Asda, the day we stormed it, and I thought of you.’

‘Thanks, Sam.’ I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

‘It’s no big deal,’ he said in my ear.

‘It is to me. But I didn’t get you anything.’

‘You’re alive. That’s all I want,’ said Sam, pulling back and looking at me – curse those lovely green eyes! ‘Anyway, what time is it? 9.20am. Let’s get drunk!’

December 26
10.40am Day 43
Ouch, my head. Typing this one handed, while holding onto my sore head with the other – far too wobbly on my shoulders to support itself. Yesterday we drank our way through the booze – beer and spirits mainly – that Sam had grabbed from Googies on Thursday. I cooked some burgers for Christmas lunch, but they got a bit burned because I forgot about them. They still tasted good, even though we had no wraps or buns to put them in.

We had a long distance Christmas lunch with Liam, Keith and Kay over Facebook, just sending random drunken messages to each other. Liam alternated between drinking Guinness and some weird tea he found in a drawer in the office they’re holed up in. It’s supposed to be a natural stimulant for increasing focus and alertness, and he reckons it’ll enhance his zombie fighting skills. I think Keith must’ve had some, too. He thought it’d be fun to dress up one of the Asda zombies in a Santa hat. He posted a picture of it on Facebook … so wrong!

God, I got so drunk yesterday. I guess that’ll explain why the Queens of the Stone Age song,
Make It Wit Chu
kept playing in my head whenever I looked at Sam last night … Damn!

11.30am Day 43
I got an email from my dad ... Jake’s been bitten. I’m sitting on the bed in mine and Sam’s room – alone. I need to be by myself right now because if I see one pitying look, it will make the news real and I’ll crumble. I need to stay numb. I don’t want to react or cry yet. Not until I’ve responded to the email at least.

I must have spent an hour reading and rereading my dad’s email. Black words on white, that’s what my brother’s fate has been reduced to. He was attacked in the back garden. Nobody had noticed that one of the fence panels at the end of the garden had given way. For fuck’s sake. I spent a further half an hour with my figures typing robotically, my mind in practical mode:

You and mum have to be strong. I’m so sorry but Jake’s got eight hours. Tell him that I love him. I love all of you and I wish I could be with you. There’s nothing you can do for Jake other than keep yourselves safe. Please. Before the eight hours are up you’ll have to decide what you’re going to do. I know he’s your baby boy, and we all love him but …

How the fuck can I finish that?

7.40pm  Day 43
It’s been over eight hours now …

December 27
4pm Day 44
Yesterday I cried in Sam’s arms until 4am, thinking about my kid brother. I tried not to imagine him dead but walking, skin pale, eyes vacant, flesh rotting, arms outstretched and searching for my parents. And then, in the depths of my despair, I fell into an exhausted sleep. This morning, I woke up in a groggy haze and for a second I was ok. Then grief plunged its clawed hand into my chest and ripped out my heart and lungs. I dived out of bed and headed straight for my laptop, a flash flood falling from my sore eyes – I’m surprised Polly didn’t hold a cup under my chin to catch my tears. We’re running low on water. We’ve fixed a bucket out the kitchen window on a curtain pole to catch rainwater, but it’s not really rained much the last few days. No new emails.

I’ve spent the day pacing up and down in the flat, my Hotmail open. I can’t eat or sit down. Every time I pass the laptop in the living room, my eyes dart to the screen, frantically searching for a new mail. Jake’s gone by now. But where are my mum and dad? Don’t they realise that I need some confirmation that they’re ok? That they haven’t …

Sam’s been a rock (we never did hear from his family). Leanne crawled out of her shell for long enough to give my arm a limp squeeze of comfort, and even Polly’s been supportive. She made me a cup of tea. Just the one, though, because we can’t afford the water. I savoured it like it was a glass of Bollinger.

Polly admitted to me that she hasn’t heard from her family for a few days. ‘I’m so sorry, Polly. Why didn’t you say anything before now?’ I asked.

For a brief moment I thought she would cry, her eyes welled up and she looked a little wobbly around the lip area. I had this horrible feeling that I would have to give her a hug. But then she recovered herself and gave me a don’t-you-fucking-dare look.

December 28
11.30am Day 45
I was sat on the sofa in the living room with my knees drawn up to my chest, my arms hugging them tightly, staring at a nondescript patch of carpet, when Sam burst in. ‘It’s raining,’ he said.

‘So?’ I said without taking my eyes off the carpet.

‘There’s water in the bucket,’ he said.

I looked up at him. ‘Water? We have water?’

This morning we collected enough rain water in the bucket hanging out the kitchen window for a cuppa each. Me and Sam sat in the living room while we drank our tea. I had my legs under me on the sofa, while Sam leant his back against my side, his legs laying across the sofa, his feet on the arm rest. My arm was a bit squashed but I didn’t care. Still no word from my parents.

I heard shouting from the street below. I put my mug on the floor and both me and Sam shot up and darted to the window. I could see a man and a woman surrounded by zombies, they both had weapons – the man had a cricket bat and the woman, a home made spear, kind of like Polly’s curtain pole and knife combo, but a broom handle (sans brush bit) with a knife taped to the end – but the sheer number of zombies on the street would overwhelm them in no time.

‘Action stations,’ said Sam, tapping me on the arm with the flat of his hand. He did a double take. ‘Are you up to this? I mean, maybe you should …’

‘I’m ok,’ I said. Sam smiled and nodded and sped off to get his weapons. I bounded over to Pleanne’s door and gave it a hard knock. ‘Polly, time to go!’

She appeared at the door in an instant and without question slithered her way to her weapons on the table near the front door. I caught a glimpse of Leanne hovering by the bedroom door, looking frailer, thinner and paler than ever. Then I turned, darted across the room to pick up my weapons, and followed Sam and Polly out the door.

I could hear the groaning as we ran down the stairs, and when Sam opened the communal front door the sound intensified. So many zombies. The dead fuckers turned to look at us as soon as the door opened, their deadpan faces exposing none of their desperation to have us as they staggered in our direction.

‘Oh, fuck it,’ said Polly and she charged out the door, knife and spear raised.

‘Don’t let any of them get in here,’ I said to Sam, who hadn’t moved since opening the door. He nodded, and we both stepped out into the zombie infested street. I closed the door behind me. ‘The things we do,’ I said as I began smashing and slicing zombie heads.

I could just about see the man and woman through the mass of zombies, they had been forced up against the boarded up windows of Johnny Cotter’s gallery. I heard a scream. I jumped up onto a bench and saw that the girl had been bit. She just gave up and withered like a deflated balloon. Zombies dived on her, as eager to feed from her as new born pups from Mummy Dog. The man, meanwhile, went ballistic and screamed her name – Mia! – over and over as he tried to reach the spot where she had gone down. His focus now on Mia and not on the fight, it didn’t take long for him to receive a bite to his arm.

‘It’s over,’ I called to Polly and Sam. ‘Get back inside.’

‘But –’

‘Sam! I said it’s over!’ I jumped down from the bench, smashing my hammer into the skull of a zombie and kicking its rancid body with my booted foot, and I headed back towards the front door, Sam and Polly following me, fighting all the way.

‘What a fucking waste of time,’ I said as we closed the communal front door behind us.

1.05pm Day 45
I feel like I’m coming down with a cold. The paranoid part of my brain is like,
Shit! I’m infected. I’m turning into a bloody zombie
, even though I know I haven’t been bitten. I still took off all my clothes in the bathroom just now, to check for bite marks. I haven’t said anything to Sam, cos it’s like once you voice something you make it real, but I’m freaking out in case some zombie blood got into my mouth during the fight earlier today. Can you get infected through blood? I don’t know. As far as I know the infection is only transmitted through saliva.

I think I’m going stir crazy, and I can’t stand being trapped inside this tiny flat any longer. I want to go home.

December 29
12.45pm Day 46
How long can a girl hold out when sharing a bed with a hot but sleazy guy? 16 days, that’s how long. There was nothing soft and romantic about the deed, which is good cos I’m not that type of girl. You know when you have a severe chocolate craving and you’ve just got to have it and you’re ramming it in your mouth before you even get the wrapper all the way off and you end up with chocolate all down your chin … it was kind of like that, a real tension breaker. I feel better for it, and I know Sam does. He’s been walking around with a dumb grin all morning. I really hope he isn’t going to get any stupid ideas. It’s not going to happen again.

My cold didn’t come to anything, in case anyone out there was worried about me.

4.45pm Day 46
Argggh! I’m so fucked off with everyone right now. We can’t stay in the flat any longer. We have a bit of food left, but hardly any water, and we’ll die if we stay. Me, Sam and Polly sat on the bed in mine and Sam’s room earlier, while Leanne perched on a chair by the window. I suggested getting a car and going to my family in Guildford. I still haven’t heard from them since Monday and I just need to know that they’re ok. But Polly was like, ‘Sophie, face it, they’re dead. Why would you want to drag us miles just to see some dead people. I can do that right here – just looking out the fucking living room window.’

Mortified didn’t even come close. I mean, I know Polly is a thoughtless bitch, but that was low even for her. With my arms hugging my knees to my chest, I turned to Sam for some support. The look in his eye, his silence and the fact that he didn’t move over to put his arms around me, confirmed that, in principle, he agreed with Polly.

‘Our best bet is the safe community in Wales. That’s where me and Leanne want to go,’ said Polly.

‘Sam. Come on. You know I have to go to my parents’ house, don’t you?’ I said, ignoring Polly. ‘I can’t just …’ I began to cry and put my hands over my face.

‘I’m sorry, Sophie,’ said Sam. I felt his movements on the bed as he sidled over and put his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. He rested his chin on the top of my head while I cried.

After a few moments, I took a deep breath and pulled away from Sam, wiping my teary, snotty face with the sleeve of my shirt. I knew I must look like shit, I always do when I cry – all blotchy and red, and buggy eyed – but I didn’t care. ‘I have to go. Please, come with me?’

‘Sophie, I think Polly’s right –’

‘Wales?’ I snapped, pushing Sam away from me and raising up on my knees. ‘You want to go to Wales – with Polly?’

‘It makes sense.’

‘Sense! I need to find my family, Sam. Sense doesn’t come into it!’

‘But it should if we’re going to survive. Sophie, please listen to us. I’m really sorry to say it, babe, but your parents … there’s a good chance they didn’t make it. If Jake turned and they –’

‘I can’t give up on them,’ I said, climbing off the bed. ‘And if you’re not going to help me then I’ll go by myself!’

Sam jumped off the bed and stood before me. He held me by my arms and tried to look into my face but I stared at the floor. ‘And how are you going to do that?’ he asked.

‘I’ll get a car and drive!’ I said, looking him in the eye now.

‘You can’t drive, you idiot.’

‘I had a couple of lessons.’

‘The streets are teeming with zombies, Sophie. Not a good time to learn how to drive. And how exactly would you get a car going? You gonna hot-wire one? Know how to hot-wire a car do you?’ said Sam.

‘No, I don’t know how to hot-wire a car but –’

‘She could learn,’ squeaked Leanne.

‘Huh?’ I think me, Sam and Polly all said that at the same time as we turned to look at her hunched in the chair.

‘YouTube,’ said Leanne, straightening up a bit. ‘You can learn how to hot-wire a car on YouTube.’

‘Leanne, mate, that’s not exactly helping,’ said Sam. ‘I’m trying to talk the crazy girl out of it not –’

‘No. Listen. I still think we should go to Wales. But we’re going to need a car, right?’ said Leanne, getting quite animated now. ‘Does anyone have a car and its keys? No. And there aren’t any out there, either. Not close enough for any of you to reach without getting torn apart. But there are cars at Asda, in the car park. Keith, Kay and Liam could learn how to hot-wire, get a couple of cars and come down here for us. Then we can all go to Wales together.’

‘Leanne,’ began Sam. ‘I knew there was a point to you.’

December 30
10.55am Day 47
The gap between my body and Sam’s in bed last night was wider than usual. I don’t know how much was down to general weirdness because we’d had sex the night before, and how much was to do with disagreeing over Wales. I didn’t like it. And I didn’t know how to bridge it.