Blog of the Dead (Book 1): Sophie (13 page)

‘He helped me and Polly back here.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘I, er, I don’t know.’

‘He’s-he’s …’

‘Been bitten. Yeah, I know,’ said Sam, holding me to his body. ‘He saved our lives, Soph. He was awesome out there. Me and Polly got trapped in Boots, but he got us out. He’s a fucking legend.’

I just wished he was fucking ok.

December 20
11.50am Day 37
Last night, I cried for hours with Sam holding me beneath the bed covers. Today I’m exhausted, but I’m doing my best to imagine that David is still human and out there bashing in zombie heads with his baseball bat. In my mind he’ll be doing that forever.

I don’t know how many people died yesterday. I haven’t heard from anyone on Facebook and all I can see out of the living room window is a mass of zombies.

We don’t have a lot of food in the flat, enough for a few days, four or five if we’re really careful.

December 21
1pm Day 38
Tears of Joy! Just heard from Liam, Kay and Keith on Facebook. They’re alive and well and holed up in an office over Asda. David helped them escape the bloodbath. Fucking hero. The rest of Asda is overrun, though. I hope they’ve got some food.

I’m really worried about our food situation. We’ve got half a loaf of bread, a couple of tins of beans, some tinned veg and fruit, a couple of variety packs of crisps, a bag of pasta, enough bottled water to boil it in – though we won’t pour it down the drain afterwards, we might need to drink it – a jar of pasta sauce, and a couple of cartons of orange juice. All between four people – three and ½ if you consider that Leanne doesn’t really eat more than a couple of mouse-like mouthfuls of food at a sitting.

We’re going to have to get more food, but there’s no way we’re getting to Asda. The streets are crawling.

December 22
9.50am Day 39
We’ve had an idea of where we can get some food – Googies. It’s only a few doors down from here and I’m pretty sure (hoping) that Keith would have left the place unlocked in his haste to get to the bloodbath on Monday. Of course, there’s a fuck of a lot of zombies between us and any food inside, but what choice do we have? Got to go ...

December 23
8pm Day 40
I’m getting so sick of this. If you’re reading this blog then congratu-fucking-lations, you are alive. But what exactly is the point of living any more? It’s too fucking hard. I have this little thought in my head, and it goes something like this – why don’t I just stick my bloody arm out the fucking front door and let one of those disgusting fucked up shits bite me and get it over with. Better that than go on like this day in day out. Better than getting eaten alive, too. One bite to save me a life of endless fear and constant need for survival. If you can’t beat them, jump on the mass conformity bus and become one of them. Just one bite and I’d be free.

What it all boils down to is this – I just don’t want to see anyone else die.

So, me, Sam and Polly got tooled up yesterday and headed, with rucksacks on our backs, to Googies, smashing zombie heads as we went. I could see that the door was closed but I prayed like a motherfucker that it wasn’t locked. I got to the door first and tried it. It opened a little but something behind the door stopped it from opening any more than a few millimetres. I couldn’t see what obstructed the door because of the boards nailed across the broken glass. I gave the door a shove and it budged only a little more. ‘Fuck!’ I said.

‘Out the way,’ said Sam, placing his hands on the door. He pushed but nothing happened. ‘Shit!’

‘Hurry, Sam,’ I said, looking at the zombies staggering towards us. I saw a zombie, a former twenty-something guy with long hair down to his waist, holding a severed foot in one ravaged hand. It gnawed on the foot as it approached. I wondered how it could possibly have any more room in its festering stomach if that’s all that remained of its last victim. But perhaps zombies don’t get full … who knows?

‘For fucks sake, Sam. Open that bloody door you useless bastard!’ said Polly as she used her claw hammer to smash in the head of a very skinny zombie in a pair of dirty UGG boots.

I could hear Sam grunting with effort but I kept my eyes on the disconcerting amount of zombies before me. How any of them thought there’d be enough meat on me, Polly and Sam to go round I had no idea. Red, rheumy eyes stared at me from sunken sockets in gaunt faces in varying degrees of decay. ‘Sam, come on!’

‘There’s something … I can’t quite …’

Decomposing arms grabbed at me. I sliced them with my knife, while I lashed out with my hammer, not an easy feat (rubbing tummy, patting head). ‘
Sam
!’

I heard a crashing sound, and I turned to see Sam tumbling through the now open door. I grabbed hold of Polly’s knife arm just as she raised her hammer to brain a zombie. I yanked her back through the door, leaving her hammer to swipe at nothing but air. ‘Hey!’ she shrieked at me as I closed the door against the zombies.

‘You can always go back out there and finish the job, Pols,’ I said in all seriousness.

She narrowed her eyes at me, while Sam joined me at the door and helped to push against it to keep it closed.

I could see now that tables, chairs and a sofa had been used to barricade the door from the inside. ‘Stop giving me evils, Polly, and help me get this lot back in place.’

Zombies pounded on the door with their bodies and fists. I could hear them groaning and see the boarded up door shaking. Me and Polly started piling the furniture up against the door, while Sam continued to hold it, gradually moving out of our way.

Door barricaded, we headed further into Googies. It was late morning but with the door and windows boarded up the café was dark. But not too dark to see a figure leap out from behind the bar and storm us with an electric guitar raised above his head.

‘Whoa!’ I shouted, my knife and claw hammer held out before me. I realised this probably wasn’t the best way to appear harmless to a terrified human being, but it was the best I could do at short notice.

‘Easy, mate,’ said Sam, pretty much imitating my hand/weapon action.

‘Fuck off, arsehole!’ said Polly in her charming manner.

‘What the fuck!’ said the newbie, screeching to a comedy halt before us, guitar still held in the air above his head. He peered at us suspiciously though a lock of bleached, dirty yellow hair.

‘Who are you?’ I asked.

‘Who am I? Who are you?’

‘You don’t recognise us?’ asked Polly, in a, ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ tone favoured by minor celebs.

‘No. Should I?’

‘Look, it doesn’t matter,’ I said, putting my weapons down on a wooden table, nodding at the newbie to lower his guitar, which he did. ‘All that matters is that you’re alive and we’re alive, and that makes us friends. I’m Sophie. This is Sam,’ Sam nodded, ‘and this endearing creature is Polly.’ Polly scowled at me, then scowled at the newbie.

‘I’m Don. I got attacked when I came into town to look for food a few days ago. I almost got trapped between a metal fence that hadn’t been there the last time I came into town and a horde of fucking zombies coming up from Grace Hill. I found a gap in the fence but then ended up in even deeper shit on this side. Zombies everywhere. But then I saw this place open, and made a beeline. I’ve been here ever since.’

‘Any food left?’ I asked.

‘Yeah. But not loads. Especially now you’re here.’

‘This isn’t your food, creep,’ said Polly. ‘We own this fucking town, right? So it’s ours.’

‘Chill, sister. All I meant was I might not last so long before I starve if I have to share the food, but at least I won’t starve alone, hey?’

‘Who said anything about staying here with you,’ said Polly. ‘We’ve got to get back to our flat. My … friend’s there.’

‘Yeah, right. How the fuck are you going to get out of here? There’re are tons of the bastards out there now.’

‘We go out the same way we came in – all guns blazing, so to speak,’ I said, nodding to my weapons.

‘Fucking suicide to go back out there,’ said Don.

‘I’m not leaving Leanne. No way.’

‘We’re not going to, Polly,’ I said. ‘Look, Don, we’re getting some food and then we’re going. You can come or stay.’

Don thought for a moment, the lull in conversation allowing us to fully focus on the banging and groaning from outside. ‘Is it far?’ he asked.

‘Couple of doors up,’ I said.

Don gazed around the café then back at us. ‘Ok. Count me in,’ he said.

We put as much food as we could into our rucksacks, then, weapons clenched in sweaty palms, Don with his electric guitar held by its neck, we stood looking down the length of the café towards the door. I could see flickers of light in the gaps between the boards as zombies moved outside.

‘So … how’re we doing this?’ asked Don.

‘Um … we open the door and go for it,’ I said.

‘Blinding,’ said Don, and I cringed at the word – a word that I heard David use frequently – as a pang of sadness bit into me like a fucking zombie.

‘Who’s going first?’ asked Sam.

‘Someone open that fucking door and let me at the cunts!’ said Polly (attagirl).

But I could see our problem – there were so many zombies pushing against the door that opening it would result in them tumbling inside before we could get out. Then we’d end up having to retreat until our backs met with the bar and we’d end up trapped while the place continued to fill with zombies, leaving us with no chance of escape. In the absence of a shotgun to blast the zombies back, we needed some other way to clear a space to get out. I looked about myself, put my weapons through my belt and picked up a wooden chair.

‘What’re you doing?’ asked Sam.

I manoeuvred myself in front of the door. ‘Open it,’ I said.

‘Sophie, don’t be stupid,’ said Sam.

‘Trust in the power of the battering ram. This will work. Open the door, Sam, and the rest of you – be ready.’

Polly and Don moved the furniture from behind the door, while Sam pushed against the door to keep it from opening before we were ready. Sam, hands pressed against the door, turned to look at me. ‘Ready?’

I nodded, even though I felt like I was about to wet myself, and Sam jumped out of the way. The door burst in. I charged and screamed at the zombies, and rammed them with the legs of the chair. I pushed their rotten bodies back. Outside, I swung the chair to keep the zombies away from me. I heard the noise of hammers hitting heads and knew that the others must be behind me. I threw the chair into the horde and grabbed my weapons from my belt as zombies reached for me. One grasped my arm with cold, stiff hands. Don slammed his guitar over its head. The guitar smashed, but the zombie had only been stunned. Don rammed the broken neck of the guitar through the zombie’s head. Its body fell to the ground and Don kicked it in its side.

I could see Polly had reached the communal front door to the flat, Sam just behind her. I could hear him yelling at me and Don to move it. I stabbed and smashed zombies to keep them back while Don tried to pull the guitar neck from the zombie’s head. ‘Leave it!’ I said, holding my knife out to him.

Zombies surrounded us and I could see that Polly and Sam couldn’t hold them back from the front door of the flat for long. I knew that Sam wouldn’t go in without me.

Don took my knife and we dodged and fought our way through the zombies. One caught hold of my hair, tied in a bun at the nape of my neck, and pulled me back. I had a moment to see Sam plunge himself into the horde to come after me, and then I fell onto my arse, my back against the zombie’s legs. I hit out behind me blindly with my hammer, trying to make contact with the zombie’s arm as it began hauling me up by my hair.

I heard a knife-though-brain sound. Then the zombie, still clutching my hair in its decaying fingers, fell to the ground on top of me. ‘I got you,’ said Don as he lifted the zombie off me. I could feel my hair being ripped out of my scalp. Finally free, I looked up to see Don looking down at me.‘Come on,’ he said, pulling me up.

‘Don!’ A zombie lunged at him from behind, wrapping its ravaged hands around his throat. It pulled Don back and it bit into his shoulder. He screamed. More zombies grabbed hold of him, fighting over him. ‘DON!’ I charged at the zombies, but arms caught me from behind. I screamed and struggled. I turned to see Sam holding me.

‘There’s nothing we can do! Run, Sophie.’

‘Arrragggggghhhhh!’ I cried with frustration as Sam pulled me away. He gripped my hand and dragged me all the way back to the door of the flat. Polly opened the door and we all fell inside, turning and slamming it behind us.

I collapsed onto the stairs and cried. Sam sat beside me and wrap his arms around my waist. I let him hold me for a moment, then I sat up and looked at him. ‘I can’t take it any more, Sam. I don’t want to see anyone else die.’

Sam said nothing.

December 24
11.10am Day 41
It’s Christmas bloody eve. There are no pressies round the Christmas tree in this flat. No fucking Christmas tree either.

We have food but with each mouthful I imagine I can taste Don’s blood. I feel sick and tired. And I can’t help but liken myself to a Christmas turkey in the butcher’s window as I look out at all the zombies on the street below. Basically, we’re fucked. The food we got from Googies on Thursday has bought us some time but that’s all.

This flat is a tomb.

I suggested to Polly and Sam that we get out of here while we can, before we get too weak from starvation, and go to my parents’ house in Guildford. But Polly’s been talking about this place in Wales again. Wales … that’s a long way to travel during the zombie apocalypse. Especially as I’m not convinced that we’ll even find anything there.

And then there’s Liam, Kay and Keith to think about, over in the Asda office. They messaged on Facebook to say they’d managed to get into the zombie infested store and get some food. Kay grabbed a Christmas tree while they were down there, and some decorations – crazy, but cool. Good to see that the Christmas spirit lives on.