The Z Word (A Zombie Novel) (15 page)

Chapter Forty Seven

After searching round the house and having some more paranoid looks outside from behind the curtains of the living room window, I placed my finished drink on the draining board of the sink and went upstairs once again. I looked behind me and even though this was the second time I had trudged up the stairs, I noticed that my dirty shoes was leaving marks on Ellis' cream carpet on the stairs.

I know that there were more things to worry about, but I felt terrible, especially when I saw that Clare had kicked off her shoes and had left them at the bottom. I took them off when I reached the landing and welcomed the soft carpet on my feet. I noticed a whiff of something unpleasant and immediately took off my socks that had been attached to my feet for a few days. I then heard a noise coming from the bathroom area, and could hear a mixture of running water and Clare's crying.

I stood by the door with my head lowered, listening to what was happening. As soon as the water stopped running, the crying had ceased. I moved away from the door in case Clare suddenly opened it. I didn't want her to think that I was hovering about, listening in—which I was.

I decided to knock the door very gently and told her it was me. Who else could it have been?

"I'll be out in a minute," she called in a croaky voice.

I'd translated this into:
Leave me alone
, which was exactly what I did. I told an upset Clare that I'd be in the bedroom if she needed to talk. It had been a matter of minutes since Kelly had been killed, and we were both trying to come to terms with her passing as well as the horrific way she went.

Once I was in the bedroom, I lay down. Man, it felt good to feel something so comfortable on my back and I could have slept straight away if it wasn't for the screaming coming from outside. I quickly bolted off the bed and drew the curtains back to see a girl, no older than twelve, being pulled down onto a garden that was on the opposite street, and being mauled and ripped apart by the hungry mob that was now becoming heavy in numbers. I estimated there was at least fifty of those fucktards, and hoped to God they never tried this house.

As I watched the macabre show that was now coming to a grotesque finish, I moved away from the window and sat on the end of the bed with my hands resting on my cheeks. Tears fell from my eyes and I quickly wiped them away with my forearm when I heard Clare coming out of the bathroom.

She entered the bedroom; her hair was wet and combed back. She looked lovely. Terrified, but lovely.

"And how are you?" It was all I could think of to say.

"Not good. I couldn't settle." She sat on the bed beside me, and slowly laid her head on my shoulder. I put my free hand on her forehead and soothingly rubbed her.

"I haven't had a head massage in ages," she purred.

"I can give you one, if you want." I could feel my face reddening. "I meant a massage."

"I know."

"I just—"

Clare shushed me; it wasn't a rude shush, and I took the hint that she wanted some quiet time. I continued to rub her head and remained silent until
she
was ready to break the silence.

Trying to ignore a faded car alarm from outside, the screech of a vehicles' tyres, and a yell coming from a male, we remained in the same position and Clare slowly broke away from our embrace. I stroked her arm and inspected her frame.

We both hugged one another and she broke away and glared into my eyes. It was almost as if I could read those beautiful blue eyes of hers, and I reluctantly nodded and kissed her on the forehead.

I asked, "When?"

She replied quickly, "When
you
think I'm ready." She placed her hand on my cheek and kissed me on the lips. "I'm feeling tired now. I want to lie down."

"Okay," I responded, and got off the bed. I headed towards the bedroom door. Before I left and shut the door behind me, I turned around and saw that Clare was curled up on top of the bed, her eyes already closed. It had been a hell of a day, and the guilt I felt for leaving the school weighed me down. But if we never fled in the BMW, what was the alternative? Being stuck in that poky office while the dead were wandering around the Anson Block, trying to starve us out.

No, we had to escape. We had to try
something
.

Even if we stayed in the school, which meant Kelly wouldn't have been killed, we would have all perished eventually, I was certain of it. I then wondered if Janet had made it. The librarian seemed pretty certain she could make it home once she was eventually persuaded to go outside.

I ran the tap of the downstairs sink in the kitchen and cupped my hands to splash my face, to dilute the stinging tears that were falling for Clare. Once the tap was switched off, I leaned on the sink with my eyes staring at the linoleum floor, and they remained there for a few seconds.

"Come on," I reprimanded myself. "You can do this. Don't let her down."

I pulled out the drawer and could see nothing of use. I wanted it to be quick, effective, but I didn't want it to be messy, which was the reason why the use of the crowbar was a definite no-no. It needed to be dignified.

I pulled out a steak knife from the wooden block that was sitting next to the kettle. It wasn't very big, but it was six inches in length and would do the job with a bit more dignity than a hatchet or a meat cleaver that was also available. I took the steak knife and walked upstairs, knife in my right, shaking hand.

I got back into the bedroom and saw Clare in a different position now. She was now lying on her back with her hands behind the back of her head. She looked so relaxed, casual.

A small smile emerged on my face, and I took a white sheet out of a top drawer I had looked into earlier. I walked round the bed and lay next to Clare. I turned and saw her face. She looked peaceful, perfect. Her face had been cleaned and there wasn't a single speck of blood on her skin.

With tears in my eyes, I gently stroked her face with the side of my forefinger. I leaned over, pecked her on her cheek and felt for a pulse. There wasn't one.

I placed the white sheet over her face and felt for her right eye with my thumb, kept it there, and pushed the steak knife deep into her eye-socket.

Epilogue

It's been four days since Clare had died, and four days it has taken me to get my words down onto the hard drive and the USB, which was already found attached to Ellis' laptop that I had come across in a room that looked like his private study.

I was panicking a little, paranoid that I wouldn't have time to write it all down, but alas, I have. I'm sure the power will go soon, but once us humans regain control, it'll be back. I'm just sad that I won't be around when humanity takes control again.

For the last four days all I've done is write, eat and drink, followed by more writing. The last time I looked out of the window, there was hundreds of them outside, mainly aching to get into the house as if they knew I was inside.

I'm not despondent or angry. I know it's only a matter of time before my days are numbered, but at least my own demise will be
my
choice, unlike Clare's or Kelly's, and possibly thousands of others.

After the first day or so of killing Clare, I used to go in and check on her, just to make sure I had done the right thing. I would check her left forearm, check that the bite wound was still there, the bite wound that she had received outside the house when that bastard was on top of her.

Of course it was.

Even though she wanted me to kill her before she turned, I still kept on checking that forearm, but now I don't. Now I don't bother because I know it was the correct thing to do, and another reason why I don't visit her anymore is because the odour coming from the dead body is starting to smell a little...well, a lot—I'm sorry, Clare.

As for me; I don't look outside anymore because I know the situation is useless, hopeless, and they're now round the back garden as well as the front. It won't be long before those windows come through, but I'll be waiting. Not with a crowbar, but with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. By the time they crawl their stinking bodies upstairs, if they can, and into my barricaded room, I'll be long gone. There won't be any warm flesh on offer for those
Z
bastards.

I have no idea how this thing had started, and even now sometimes wonder if this is just one bad dream. Whatever it is, I'm not going to be around to see what the overall outcome will be for this country and the rest of the world. Maybe that's just as well.

For the remaining weeks, days, hours of my time, I'm going to savour every second of this gift we used to take for granted called life. I'm going to watch a sunset, breathe in fresh air—through a window, of course, and use my mind to reminisce about the good times I have shared with family and friends.

They'll be tears.

A trip down memory lane and the use of our imagination is something, as humans, that we all take for granted, but I'm going to milk every second.

So this is me, John Pope, logging off.

God bless, everyone. And good luck.

THE END

The
Z
Word was written very quickly as part of the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) which is an annual Internet-based creative writing project that takes place during the month of November. It encourages individuals to see if they can write a 50,000 word novel in a month.

The
Z
Word took me four weeks to complete, we're talking eight hours a day of writing, but I failed to reach the 50k mark—it's 45k—so I never submitted the work. However, after much deliberation I have decided to put it out anyway.

Although I've been told that it is a 'fun' read, it's not really a piece of work I'm particularly proud of, but I hope you liked it, as it will only be available for a limited amount of time.

If you enjoyed reading
The Z Word
, feel free to share your thoughts on my
Facebook
page, mail me,
or
leave a review where you've downloaded the book.

Very kind regards,

Shaun Whittington

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