Blog of the Dead (Book 1): Sophie (35 page)

I’d never seen so many bodies. Among the dead bodies stood the exhausted and shell shocked living. Soph and Chris, dressed in their leathers, helmets removed, had climbed off their bikes. Soph had her arms around a teenage boy, comforting him. Chris helped an older guy up onto his feet. The man bled from a head wound, the result of hitting his head on the concrete, rather than a bite, I guessed.

I heard the sound of splintering wood and turned. I broke away from Sam and walked in the direction of the cinema to see the blonde woman and the two boys kicking in the rest of the door that the HZs had been targeting. On the other side of the door stood a teenage girl rigidly holding an axe in both hands, her eyes wide and buggy, four little kids on the stairs behind her, the youngest just a toddler. It took a moment for her brain to register that she was safe, her body relaxed, she dropped the axe and she began to sob, her body shaking. The blonde woman rushed through the door and scooped up as many of the kids as she could and hugged them. They wrapped their arms around her. The two teenage boys joined in and the lot of them formed this human snowball, all hugs and kisses in the cinema foyer.

I saw Stewart sitting on the ground with his back against the ZenKafe noodle bar. I darted towards him. ‘You ok?’ I asked him, remembering that the last time I saw him, he’d been flattened by an HZ.

‘All good, pudding,’ he said with a wink and he groaned as he tried to sit up straight. I knelt down in front of him.

‘Are you … are …’

‘Bite free,’ he said with a pained smile. ‘Just bruised.’

‘Thank fuck,’ I said, standing and doing a scan of the survivors. Kay, Charlotte and Misfit were accounted for, but the St Andrews lot were down by at least two members.

‘Thank you.’ At the sound of the voice, I snapped my head to the left. The blonde woman stood beside me surrounded by the children from the cinema. ‘If you hadn’t …’

‘It’s ok,’ I said, not having the energy to say anything more.

‘I’m Kelly,’ she said. ‘These are my kids: Shane, Sam, Charlotte, Chloe, Cameron, Jay and Ella.’ She didn’t indicate which was which when she spoke, but I sort of guessed she was going in age reverse order. ‘What were those things? They weren’t all zombies, were they?’ she asked me. ‘We’ve been staying in the cinema for a few weeks now, but those things, I guess they must have seen us coming and going, and they attacked the door. Me, Shane and Sam got out the fire exit at the back and came round to stop them, but … but … I’m just glad you guys were around.’

‘It’s ok.’ Yep, really wasn’t going to get anything more than that out of my mouth.

Soph joined us. Her eyes were red rimmed, but she still managed a smile. ‘You were living in there?’ she asked Kelly.

‘Yeah. Not any more though.’

‘Need somewhere to stay?’ Soph said, but I didn’t hear any more of the exchange because I had already started marching off down Rendezvous Street.

‘Where you going?’ Sam called out and trotted after me.

‘Came here for a wedding dress, right? Well I’m getting a sodding wedding dress.’

Standing outside Pumpkins and Dragonflies, I looked through the smashed front window. We didn’t board it up like we did the other stores … we didn’t think anyone would want a wedding dress ever again. There in the window was a dress. I guess once it had been quite simple: white, with spaghetti straps, a fitted silk bodice, a full lacy skirt. Back then I would have thought it hideous. But after months of being exposed to the elements it was off white and tatty, one strap had broken and the silk hung in tattered ribbons and the lace skirt was almost ruined from wind and rain and sun all wetting and drying the fabric countless times. ‘There’s my dress,’ I said to Sam.

‘Are you serious?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘But … There’ll be others … at the back of the shop … others that won’t be –’

‘It’s beautiful. I want it.’ To me it was the perfect post zombie apocalypse wedding dress. From the ruins springs new life …

Me and Sam stood outside Pumpkins and Dragonflies as the first of the St Andrews lot came round the corner from the cinema in Guildhall Street. A man and a woman carried the body of the woman I had seen killed by the HZ, when it hit her with a baseball bat, then ate her while she was still alive. Next came Chris, carrying the feet of a dead man, with a woman carrying the body by the arms. The rest of the St Andrews lot followed quietly, heads bowed. I bowed my head until the mourners had passed. I glanced up to see Kelly and her children, Stewart, Kay and Charlotte walking at the back of the funeral procession. No sign of Misfit. ‘Come on,’ I said to Sam and we tagged on at the back.

The procession made its way down the Old High Street, to the harbour. The tide was out, and the fishing boats lay grounded on the sand. The funeral procession carried on down the concrete slope that led into the harbour. The bodies were placed into one of the small fishing boats, while the rest of us gathered around the boat, our feet sinking into the clay-like sand inside the harbour.

Soph saw me and headed over. ‘We’ll wait for the tide to come in, then Ted’ll take the boat out a little way and set fire to it. He worked as a fisherman before ... He’s used to taking the boats out to catch fish for us. He’ll just take it outside of the harbour, then get a ride back to the shore in another boat that will follow him out.’ Something told me this wasn’t the first time Soph and her people have had to give one of their own such a send off. ‘You’re welcome to come. Ted says the tide will be good just after dark.’

‘We’ll be here,’ I said. I placed my left hand on Soph’s right forearm and squeezed gently. She smiled weakly and nodded, then went back to her people.

We left the St Andrews lot with a promise to return to the harbour just before dark. On the way back to the Mazda, I paused outside Pumpkins and Dragonflies, part of me feeling disrespectful, wedding dress ‘shopping’ when two people had just died. But I knew if I didn’t get it now, I never would. ‘Hang on,’ I said to the others and I climbed through the smashed front window and into the window display. I saw Misfit strut down towards the shop from the direction of the High Street, a long garden cane and Wilkos carrier bag in hand. ‘My wedding dress,’ I said to him when he stopped on the street outside the window.

‘Cool,’ he said, completely oblivious to Sam, Kay, Stewart and Charlotte standing behind him, staring at me with open mouths and frowns that said,
Sophie, you’re mental, but we’re saying nothin
’ as I wrestled to get the mass of stained silk and tattered lace from the shop dummy. ‘I’m going to make a fishing pole,’ said Misfit, holding up the Wilkos bag. His face glowed as he beamed at me, and I thought,
Wow, Misfit can actually do a full smile … what do you know
?

‘Cool,’ I said and smiled back.

November

2nd November, 12.15pm
We went to the funeral of Debbi and Carl, the two St Andrews members who died in the battle with the HZs and zombies. Over the last few weeks we’ve spent a bit of time getting to know the St Andrews lot. They’re cool. Well, apart from Tricia who is intent on playing spoilt brat at every opportunity.

Soph and her team put on a very moving funeral, with a few words about the two fallen members, then the boat carried the bodies out of the harbour and was set alight. With little wind that evening, the boat drifted lazily, a raging ball of orange flame topped with black smoke.

I have to hand it to that skinny, long haired tattooed boy … he sure knows how to make stuff. A few days after the battle, Misfit held up the fishing pole, a full smile plastered on his face. I must admit, when he sat down next to the fire that I was building, I didn’t have a lot of faith in what he could achieve with a garden cane, paper clips, glue, cord, a drinks can, screws, thread and a picture hook. But I’ll tell ya what … he made a damn fine fishing pole. It even had a bit to wind and unwind the thread to reel in the fish.

‘So, when you trying it out?’ I asked him.

‘It’s high tide now, so … no time like the present,’ he said.

‘Can I come?’ I had asked Misfit before if I could go hunting with him but he’d said no. Very firmly. He’d explained that there was too much risk of me making noise and scaring the rabbits and birds away. As an experienced hunter, he could move silently, even through thick undergrowth. I had been disappointed. But I’d understood. The important thing was that we had food to eat, not that I gained a new life experience. I also think that Misfit hadn’t wanted to be responsible for me. He regularly ran into zombies down there. There’s a train track that runs along the bottom of the Warren, and Misfit says that zombies wander in from there and find their way through the fence somewhere.

I prepared myself for Misfit to say no to me, instead he said, ‘Yeah. Sure. I’d love the company.’ I noticed Sam shoot me a look but I ignored him. I was going fishing.

This was the first time I’d been down the Warren since I used to run there before the outbreak. The Warren has always been one of my favourite places in Folkestone. With wild hills, cliffs and sand dunes on one side and a higgledy piggledy beach of sand, shingles and break waters on the other and a concrete promenade between them – a defence built to stop the land being eroded by the sea after the area suffered numerous landfalls – it’s a beautiful place, pre and post zombie apocalypse.

We sat together at the edge of the promenade, at a section where there is a steep and sheer drop down to the shingles at low tide, but at high tide, the water level reaches right to the top. Misfit held the fishing line and I hoped he’d let me have a go. He’d already caught two fish and he was happier and chattier than I had ever seen him. In fact, as he talked about his life long love of animals and how, even though he ate them, he saw hunting as an honest and humane way of killing them, rather than going to the supermarket where the animals have probably been treated badly, I found I couldn’t get much of a word in. I watched him as he spoke, becoming more animated than I have ever seen him. Finally he fell silent and we both sat on the promenade and watched the hypnotic silvery ripples in the water below. ‘Why do you think the Human-Zombies did what they did?’ I asked after a moment.

‘Why they killed and ate flesh, you mean?’ said Misfit.

‘Yeah. What would make anyone do that. Sam said before that maybe they had been driven mad by the zombie apocalypse, or maybe they always wanted to eat people and now there’s no one to stop them … well, except for us. What do you think?’

‘Halloween before last, my little sister Faye and me carved pumpkins to put outside the house. We had loads of Trick or Treaters, mostly little kids in devil or witches costumes, or whatever, their faces painted. Then these three kids turned up, two had on those crap masks you get from the Pound Shop. But I recognised the other one from our estate. A little shit a couple of years younger than me. I guessed who the other two were. Not nice people, but Faye held out the bowl of sweets to them and they each took a handful. Then when I closed the door, I heard a bang outside. I looked out and both the pumpkins had been smashed. No sign of the three kids. Faye cried her eyes out, poor kid. Caine came back from the pub and he went mental at the mess, blamed Faye and was about to slap her but I told him it was my fault for putting them out there. I just wanted the place to look nice and festive. I got the slap instead. But my point is, I know it’s a long jump from that to eating people, but some people are just arseholes, Sophie, and they will always be arseholes. And, I think Sam’s right, without the normal order of things, they just become even bigger arseholes.’

‘I guess,’ I said, tucking my hair behind my ear. ‘You had a sister?’

‘Yeah. She … she was seven.’

‘I’m sorry, Misfit,’ I said, looking at him but he didn’t take his eyes off the point where the fishing line met the water. ‘I had a brother …’ Something caught my eye. A lone figure staggered slowly along the promenade from further up the Warren. Just one zombie didn’t worry me at all. In fact, I turned my focus back to Misfit who continued to stare at the water, knowing that there would be plenty of time before I needed to react. The zombie lumbered closer and I tightened my grip on my knife. Ready.

It had got close enough now that I could see it used to be a girl. She had to be quite fresh, she wasn’t in bad condition at all. If she hadn’t of had the awkward gait, pale skin and far away look of the dead, I would have thought she was human. She was even quite pretty, with her long sandy coloured hair and delicate features. She could only have been about twelve when she died.

She was still a few metres away. Misfit span round, almost dropping the fishing pole. We both watched, steadily getting to our feet – Misfit having rested the fishing pole on the ground – as the zombie carried on and then stopped, only a few feet from us. I squeezed the handle of my knife. The zombie stood staring and sniffing at the air between us. It shifted a little closer, tentatively, like a nervous cat sniffing at a proffered hand. Then it stopped again, less than two feet away from us. Misfit raised his knife. ‘No, don’t,’ I said, flinging out my arm to block Misfit. The zombie shrunk back from Misfit’s knife. It turned, slowly and awkwardly and staggered away, back the way it had come.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Misfit as I started walking.

‘I’m going to follow her,’ I said.

We didn’t have far to follow her, though at zombie shuffle speed, progress was slow and the chilly Autumn air seeped into my bones, despite the two jumpers and Misfit’s biker jacket that I wore along with my skinny jeans and Converse. Zombie-Girl stopped at the entrance to an old shack built into the cliff, about halfway along the promenade.

The shack had been made from what looked like bits and pieces salvaged from skips – old doors and large pieces of wood. One window looked out across the sea that lapped over the concrete on this part of the promenade. I could smell a mixture of freshness from the cool air, salt spray and something more fishy from the seaweed and cuttlefish that washed up along the concrete. The shack had been built on a ledge about four metres up the cliff and various plants and bushes in the small garden obscured much of the rustic building from this angle. I’d run past it many times before the outbreak and had been intrigued by who lived there. I’d seen a middle aged dark haired woman there once, as well as a man with sandy coloured hair and a cap.