Blog of the Dead (Book 3): Lost (11 page)

Mark’s gaze flicked between me and Charlotte as he bit his lower lip. I thought I saw his features relax a little.

‘What did you do with the bodies?’ I said, ignoring Charlotte.

Mark stared at his trainers. ‘Please, don’t do–’

‘WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THE BODIES OF MY MUM, DAD AND LITTLE BROTHER?’

Mark’s voice broke as he spoke the words, ‘They were zombies when I got here, just like she said,’ he said quickly, nodding towards Charlotte. ‘I killed – I put them down and I put them over the fence into next door’s garden.’

‘You didn’t even bury them? You killed my family and you just dumped them over a fence!’

‘Sophie, how many zombies have you buried after you killed them?’ asked Misfit.

I glared at him. Him of all people! I mean, I knew I was being ridiculous but it’s not every day you meet the person who killed your family, even if they did have a good excuse in that my family were zombies. My anger overruled my rationality and Misfit should support me in that. ‘That was my family!’

‘I DIDN’T KNOW THAT!’ yelled Mark, his voice much louder than you’d imagine his petite frame could support. His words snapped me out of my tantrum. I stared at Mark, my jaw hanging open. ‘I’m so sorry but your family were dead long before I got here.’

January 4, 9am

I’m sitting on my bed as I write this. I got most of it down yesterday evening, how, two days ago, I finally found out what happened to my family. I knew, really. I had known all along that they were dead. And I now know for sure that their suffering is over. I can only guess that neither Mum nor Dad could put Jake down when he turned and that decision led to them getting bit too.

Mark refused to tell me any details. He wanted to leave; I can only imagine how awkward he must have felt, being around me. But, it had been getting dark that night and it would have been crazy for him to leave before day break. He was going to leave yesterday but it was raining hard all day – a proper nasty storm – so he agreed to stay until today. But I don’t want him to leave. I haven’t finished with him. Mark is the last link to my family and I’m not ready to let him go.

5pm

The others are all a little confused with my about-turn. I don’t want to leave my family home and, thankfully, Mark isn’t going anywhere either. This morning, shortly after I finished writing my diary entry, I had a word with him. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I said as I nibbled on some stale crackers for breakfast.

‘I know,’ he said, his face already healing from the pummelling he received from Misfit. ‘But I still feel like crap being the one to explain to you what happened to your family. I guess you were hoping to find them alive, right?’

‘If I’m honest I always knew they were dead. My dad had emailed me early on in the outbreak to tell me my little brother got bitten. Then I never heard from my parents again. Yeah, I’d hoped they’d got away but I knew in my heart of hearts they hadn’t. Coming here was just to get closure and you’ve given that to me. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.’

‘It’s understandable. Sorry I killed your family.’

‘It’s understandable.’

‘If it’s any consolation, I also killed my own family – once they were already dead,’ he added that last bit quickly. ‘I’m not a serial killer or anything.’

‘I got it,’ I said. ‘But it’s not really any sort of consolation, to be honest. It doesn’t make me feel better knowing that you had to do that.’

‘No, I guess not. So, you guys are going to stay on here for a bit?’

‘For a bit,’ I said.

‘I’m glad about that,’ said Mark, managing a small smile.

‘You don’t mind us being here?’

‘Nah. I mean, it’s your place so you’ve more right to be here than me. And, if you’re happy for me to stay on, I’ll be glad of the company.’

‘Of course you can stay, Mark. Don’t be silly. Friends are few and far between in this fucked up world.’

‘Never a truer word spoken,’ said Mark.

Mark had been sleeping in my parents’ room since he arrived here. Last night we all just slept where we fell but if we were staying for a bit we realised we’d have to organise ourselves a little in the modest three bedroom terrace. I was worried Mark would be a bit funny about me asking him to move so Charlotte and Kay could have the double bed, but he was more than happy to switch to Jake’s old room. I couldn’t go in there again, not with all his superhero stuff, my heart couldn’t take it. So Mark and Clay took that room, with Mark in the bed and Clay on a blow-up bed on the floor. Misfit agreed to take the sofa.

I noticed that Mark had gathered up all his sketch pads and stuffed them into a black backpack that he kept slung over one shoulder. Since our chat at breakfast, I haven’t seen much of him today because he’s spent most of it in Jake’s – his and Clay’s room. I wondered if he’d always be that allusive or if he just felt a little out of place in a group where we’ve all known each other for so long and been through so much together. Time will tell.

January 5, 10am

So things got a little awkward last night.

We’d had a modest dinner made up of what few supplies we had left combined with what little food Mark had scavenged from nearby houses. Sometimes, as I’m nibbling on stale crisp bread or spooning cold, out of date soup into my mouth, I think about all those times before the outbreak when I gorged on a takeaway or a massive family meal, getting to the point even though I’m full of crispy roast potatoes or chicken tikka masala, I’m still ramming food into my gob because it takes tastes so good and I just can’t stop. With a bursting stomach I’d sometimes have to admit defeat and scrape the last few bits into the food recycling. What a waste. What I wouldn’t give for even those last precious scraps. Shit, even just to lick the plate.

Gone are the days of choice, when you could head into a restaurant or café and order whatever you fancied off the menu. The post apocalyptic diet consists of whatever you have found that doesn’t have mould on it or doesn’t look shrivelled beyond all recognition. A lot of it is stale. Crisps – when you can find them – no longer live up to their name. And some of the canned stuff we find has past its best before date and lost most of its flavour, though most of the canned food is still good – just boring. But it keeps us alive.

Anyway, back to the story – after dinner I watched Misfit prowl the downstairs rooms. A restless hunter, he stood at the living room window for a while, his fingers twitching as they held the curtain open just a little way – we had the room lit by a few candles and preferred not to advertise our whereabouts to zombies and humans alike – then he wandered out of the room and through to the dining room. I stood and, carrying my empty plate, I followed him.

I found him in the kitchen. He stood with his back to me right at the end of the galley kitchen, looking out into the darkened back garden through the glass in the back door. I placed my plate on the side and walked up behind him. If he heard me approach – and with Misfit’s keen hunter’s hearing I knew he would have – he chose not to respond and kept his eyes fixed outside.

In the narrow space there was no room for me to stand beside him so I stopped just behind him and gazed over his shoulder. I could see our reflections in the glass and with only a couple of candles at the other end of the room, I could see past our images and out into the winter evening darkness outside. I could even make out the dark shape of the fallen fence panel. Me and Misfit watched in silence as the panel shifted slightly, then again and a few moments later a dark figure lurched through the gap. The zombie lumbered around the garden oblivious to us. It stumbled in the long grass, its rotten arms swinging gracelessly. On the patio it bumped into a wrought-iron chair. It clumsily righted itself and carried on with its gormless inspection of the garden. It still didn’t see us. It was like we were stood behind a one way mirror.

Misfit turned suddenly, startling me. I had moved in so close that I had been resting against his back and left shoulder. Now we were practically nose to nose, and would have been if he wasn’t that little bit taller than me. He put his hands on my waist and held me. I could feel how warm they were through my shirt and t-shirt beneath. He pressed himself against me, pushing me back slightly so my lower back met with the work surface and I had nowhere to escape to. Not that I wanted to escape. Maybe before – when I still had Sam on my mind and the guilt his memory evoked within me – but not now. Misfit slid his right hand up and brushed my cheek, moving his fingers down until they reached my lips. He traced the outline of my mouth and I gasped, opening my mouth a little. His hand carried on until it snuck around the back of my neck and he held me like that, leaning his head towards me – his mouth heading towards mine.

My breathing came fast and I tingled all over. I wanted nothing more than to kiss Misfit right then – OK, I’ll admit, there was something I wanted even more, but a kiss would certainly be a good place to start. With his lips millimetres from my own, a loud
BANG
to my right made the both of us jump. We stopped and, rigid but still in each other’s arms, we snapped out heads towards the back door to see the zombie slamming its withered, claw-like hands against the glass.

‘Shit fuck!’ I said, my heart almost bursting from my chest to deliver itself through the glass and into those ravaged hands.

I felt Misfit’s body relax against mine and he began to laugh. I joined in, the tension dissipating with the giggles, but as he turned his head towards me and looked deep into my eyes I took a sharp intake of breath as passion took over once more.

Misfit leaned in but I put my hand up, my fingers touching his lips, halting him. ‘Not here,’ I said. ‘Not with that thing perving at us. Come on,’ I said, taking one of Misfit’s hands and leading him through the kitchen.

I couldn’t hear any talking from the living room and I guessed the others may have headed up to bed already. At the foot of the stairs, I considered whether to shove Misfit through into the living room, onto the sofa, or if I could wait until we got up to my room. We paused, wrapped in each other’s arms, our bodies pressed together. I placed my hands on either side of his face, ready to pull his mouth down to mine when we heard another noise – this one a dragging sound from the landing upstairs.

Me and Misfit pulled apart and glanced up the staircase. I saw an inflated blow up bed wavering at the very top.

‘What the…?’ I began but then Clay’s face, complete with wide smile, appeared around the side of the bed, looking down at us.

‘Look out below,’ he said and he launched the inflatable bed down the stairs. It slid down, followed by Clay himself trotting behind it. The bed forced me and Misfit apart as it came to a stop between us. ‘Alright,’ said Clay as he neared the bottom. He lifted the bed and shoved it clumsily through to the living room. Me and Misfit followed.

‘What you doing?’ I asked.

‘Moving down here,’ said Clay as he positioned his bed in the middle of the room, alongside the sofa. ‘I felt a bit awkward sharing with a stranger,’ he added, his voice low and conspiratorial.

‘Clay, we were strangers not long ago,’ I said, coming further into the room. ‘You never minded sharing with us.’

‘It’s different. You guys are, well… Mark just sits there drawing in his pad and he’s a bit odd, like. If I go near to take a look, he shuts the pad and just sits looking at me with this sort of dumb look on his face. I can’t relax in there with him.’ Clay sat down on his bed. ‘So I thought I’d come and keep my buddy Misfit company, like.’

‘Well, mate, I’m…’

‘Thought we could tell a few ghost stories, like we’re having a camp out, like I used to with my sisters.’

‘The thing is Clay…’ I began but stopped as I realised I couldn’t say…
me and Misfit were just about to get it on
,
if you know what I mean
… so my words just petered out.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ Me and Misfit looked at each other. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ I said with a weak smile.

He managed an equally weak smile. ‘Night, Soph.’

I cast a glare at Clay and stomped off up the stairs to bed alone.

I couldn’t sleep. What was it with Clay? I wondered. Why was he always there when I wanted to get close to Misfit? I tossed and turned and wondered if I should sneak down to see if Misfit was still awake. I didn’t. I didn’t want to look desperate.

4pm

With supplies dwindling to virtually nothing, it was agreed earlier that me, Clay and Mark would head out to scavenge the local area for food, while Misfit – armed with directions from me – would go and stalk Stoke Park. Charlotte and Kay remained at the house to prepare a fire to cook whatever Misfit caught, and also to fix the fence panel and make the place more secure.

At around lunch time, I said goodbye to Misfit with an even greater pang of separation anxiety than usual. We were stood on the front step outside the house while I waited for Clay and Mark. Just me and Misfit. He leant forwards and kissed me on the forehead, the fingers of his free hand brushing my cheek. In his other hand he held his hunting knife, while his backpack containing the rest of his knives was over his right shoulder.

‘Be careful,’ I said close to his ear.

‘You too.’

‘I will.’

He pulled away from me and nodded before turning and trotting down the steps to the street. On light feet, he darted off down the road and disappeared out of view. I smiled to myself as I watched him leave, despite hating seeing him go – I knew how much he wanted to be out there, amongst trees and all things green and natural. I knew how much he despised being hemmed in.