Zombie Ocean (Book 2): The Lost (8 page)

"You can be Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, on account of you're both about the chubbiest." She tapped their heads ceremonially, like she was the Queen dubbing knights. "You can be Humpty because your head's so delightfully egg-shaped," she dubbed another. "You can be the March Hare, with whiskers like that, and you can be Dinah, as you look so mothering."

She picked up Dinah and kissed her on her soft forehead. Then, feeling guilty, she kissed them all. It quite distracted her from the holes in her head.

"I am sorry about your mother," she told them, now with her arms spread around the box. "I promise I'll get you something to eat."

They tumbled and rolled closer, mewling. It was almost enough to make her cry.

"Toughen up, Anna," she muttered, and got to her feet again.

The dizziness was fading a little. Through the window with all its pictures of strange fish she could see the street outside. The chef was there now, leaning against the glass. His face looked so sad. His belly hung open and gray sausages hung out like stuffing from a poorly repaired teddy bear.

"You can go to the ocean now," she told him. "You and the waitress both. You saved me, you know, before you went crazy."

He shifted slightly, as she moved closer. She touched the glass by his face.

"There is a difference," she said, "between a mommy dog and its babies, you know. They're not scary at all. You have to see that."

His eyes flickered momentarily. His head turned, then he started away from the glass. Anna watched as he stumbled away down the street, with his gray stuffing trailing behind him like a tail.

"Bye bye," she mouthed.

There was no sign of the waitress.

In the larder she worked her way through plastic boxes full of sneezy herbs and rice, packets of mustard and packets of custard, both of which looked much alike, and neither of which could be eaten by puppies. There was no cereal or baby food, no dog food or nice fresh fruit, but there were some long dry bread sticks, which she chewed on thoughtfully. They helped settle her sloshing head down.

Next were the cans with pictures of tomatoes, beans, lentils, corn, tuna, pineapple, plums, and sliced radish on them. They looked appetizing but she had no idea how to open them.

"Do they peel here?" she muttered to herself, working at the paper wrappings around them. They weren't simple like bananas or candy wrappers. She got one off but it was just paper, not even offering a little film window into the contents like the sandwiches in shops. Perhaps there was a special way to peel it, or a special tool, so she rummaged through the drawers looking for ideas. There were so many bits of metal and wood though, and none of them looked like can peelers.

She set the cans down in a neat stack and sighed.

"This is completely useless."

Back through the restaurant she went. The puppies had barely touched the water. The front door didn't open so she went round through the back door.

The alley looked very different now. The waitress lay next to the dead mother dog, splashed with red as though they'd been colored in outside the lines. Anna felt differently to see them like this, and her father's voice haunted back to her, speaking Alice's thoughts again.

“I wonder if I've been changed in the night. Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!”

It was the greatest puzzle of all. She was Anna still, but not the Anna she remembered.

She walked past the bodies. The dog was definitely dead, but the waitress still had her faltering eyes open. The white glow clicked on and off.

"He's gone, I'm sorry," Anna said. "I don't say he didn't love you, but perhaps he wants the ocean more."

These seemed like very wise words, and Anna was proud of them. The waitress raised a hand and Anna took it, standing there for a time. Her skin was very cold.

"You'll be all right, I'm sure of it," she said. "Just don't give in. We never can give in."

Finally the waitress let go and Anna walked away.

The street in full sunlight was baking hot. Sweat poured down her face and back like a river. It came away on her hands smeared red. She had to have a wash. Even the asphalt underfoot was hot and smelled bitter. She looked in at the restaurant window to check on the puppies then moved on.

Down the street there were more places that might be restaurants. On the corner there was a shop and she wandered in through the pegged-open door. It was so dry inside, with newspaper pages blown all over the floor. There were lots of shelves, and many of them held more cans, but also jars and bags and boxes of cereal.

She filled up her backpack with water bottles, cereal boxes, cereal bars, candy bars, red strings and also with a big bag that had a picture of happy dogs on.

"Everybody likes candy," she muttered to herself, while she unwrapped and chewed on a Mars bar. It was already mushy because of the heat, and delicious.

Back in the restaurant she poured hard little brown cereal nuggets out of the big dog bag onto a new plate. They smelled salty and meaty. She tried one but spat it out. Thank heaven she wasn't a dog!

The puppies sniffed at the dog-cereal bits but didn't seem too interested.

"They're really delicious," Anna said, and mimed eating a handful. They pattered off the carpet behind her, but the puppies couldn't see that. She held some up to their faces and put them on their paws, but they did no more than sniff.

She tried putting them in water and smashing them, like her banana milkshake, but that didn't help either. She dipped her finger in the mix and held it to their faces, and they licked a few times, but not very much.

"Perhaps they're not hungry," Anna said to herself. It was nice to hear someone speak. She looked at the bag again: it was definitely for dogs. They hadn't touched their water much either, but that was fine really, as sometimes Anna went without water for days, just because she forgot.

She tried a few other things. With a knife in the kitchen she tried to slice open some of the cans, but it just cut the paper labels to ribbons. She tried pouring the milk, but it was just as foul as always. She mushed a little of Mars bar onto her finger and offered it to them, but they turned up their cute button noses.

She petted the puppies and kissed them. They were truly getting sleepy now. Their hot little bodies were wilting like flowers. She arranged them in a line and sang a song to them, making up the tune with the words of Jabberwock.

One by one they went to sleep.

Anna ate some dry cereal. She stood outside and talked to the waitress some more, though it was a very one-sided conversation. It wasn't nice to look at her throat either, all torn and messy.

With water bottles she washed herself. Blood came off in crusty rinds. She was very careful washing her head, afraid water might somehow get into her brain. She didn't rub too hard at the hard bits of scab, though it was very tempting to do so.

When she was clean and dry, she didn't want to put her filthy dress back on. Instead she wandered around the streets for a while, enjoying the feel of the breeze on her skin and the heat of the road under her feet.

At last, two streets over, she found a shop with some clothes in it. The door was locked though, and she didn't know how else to get in.

Back at the restaurant she washed her dress, squeezing the old blood and dirt out of it. She'd done this at least a dozen times already, so it was quite stained, but she was used to that. It dried quickly on the hood of a hot red car. The metal was scalding. These routines were a good thing, probably, just like her old routines with her Daddy.

She went back inside the restaurant. It was hot and airless, so she stopped the side door open. She went back to the little Hatters and checked their water and their food. They hadn't touched any of them. She stroked their little bodies, and leaned in close to hear them breathing.

They weren't breathing, though. They were all dead.

7. YELLOW PIE

She walked. For a little while thinking became difficult and all she could do was walk.

The world changed around her. The town became a city and tall buildings gleamed with glass and metal. She walked down roads and side-alleys, past row after row of shuttered shops until she came to an intersection where a car had crashed impressively into a bus.

A dark stain that looked like blood spread across the blacktop. The car was crumpled, the whole front smashed up like a banana wedged into a too-small cup. The bus was dented too, with groove marks cut into its front fender.

Anna touched the tooth-holes in her head. It was all the same, really.

She climbed into the bus through the broken door, walked the length of the tilting aisle, and laid down on the furry back seat. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine all of this away. Maybe she wasn't a little girl lost in a city of death. Maybe she was a little girl going to school on the bus, riding with her Daddy by her side.

"What are you thinking, precious?" he would ask in his warm brown voice, because real Daddies talked.

"About birdwomen," she'd say, comfortable again in his presence, "about the cucumber men and their pomegranate farms."

He'd chuckle and stroke her frizzy hair. Maybe on the other side her Mommy would be sitting and smiling down. They would all be holding hands together. From the seats nearby there'd be the bustle of other children and parents talking, and outside there'd be the thrum of cars and buses; horns, people laughing, even planes buzzing by overhead.

She opened her eyes. It was silent, still, and she was alone. Imagination was useless.

She got off the bus and kept walking through the city. The day turned into night but she wasn't very tired, so she kept walking. Her Daddy had walked without ever stopping, so why should she be any different?

People passed her by at times, heading in the other direction; gray people in sun-bleached gray clothes, staring with their glowing white eyes off to the hidden horizon.

"You're nearly there," Anna would tell them, encouragement for the end of their long journeys. She wondered how long these people had been walking for, driven by some hunger she didn't understand. From what far-off places had they come without stopping even once?

"Only a little further, you'll be there by the dawn."

Sometimes she hugged them, especially if they looked like her Daddy. If she held their legs together just right they couldn't move while she hugged them. They were cold but they were something. Her dogs had all died and she needed something.

"Ok you can go now," she'd say, and they'd amble on, off to a tea party only they were invited to, and again and again Anna was left alone.

The night grew darker and she heard dogs howling in the distance. Their cries sounded so lonely, like the last lost cry of Wonderland as Alice left it behind. How would the Hatter and the March Hare feel when Alice left, and their entire world was lost? It was all made-up, after all, even the birdwomen and the cucumber-men too, and everyone knew that when the dreamer woke up, the dream died.

Standing atop a yellow bus, after climbing up a long white car that had nudged up into it, she looked out over the sunrise through the low streets of the outer city, and decided that her old dream should die.

It was too weak, like Anna had been beneath the hurt. She had to grow up and stop hoping. Dreams of her old life couldn't protect her from mother dogs who only wanted to save their babies. They couldn't help her keep beautiful puppies alive, they couldn't stop her mother and father from leaving her, and they couldn't make these people stop and stay with her, talk to her, play with her.

They were fantasies for little girls and this was not a fantasy world. It was not Wonderland or through the Looking Glass, because at least there Alice had never been alone. This was real and Anna was really alone.

"Keep going," she shouted at a few gray bodies that shuffled by. "Don't look at me!"

They didn't.

The howls of dogs grew closer. Anna put her fingers in her ears, lay down on the cold bus roof and went to sleep.

She woke to them breathing.

It was sunrise and they surrounded her on all sides in a warm orange light. On her knees she looked up and down the road and saw gray bodies gathered tightly around her van. They were not walking away and heading for the ocean, but looking straight toward her.

She started to cry.

They reached for her with a thousand cold hands. She slipped off the van roof and they welcomed her in. Their hands touched her shoulders and head and back, pressing her from one to the next. It felt like coming home, like her Daddy tucking her tight into bed.

It went on for hours, a giddy slow dance as they eased her gently amongst them. She cried and she laughed, and when she wasn't crying or laughing she was touching their faces and holding their hands and looking into their strange white eyes.

She didn't understand, but it filled her up.

"I missed you," she said through her tears. "I'm sorry I was angry."

The howling of dogs faded far away. She was safe with them, and protected.

"I'll help you," she said. "I'll take you where you need to go. I won't let you get lost."

She led them by the hands, swapping between them constantly: from a faded grandmother to a little boy smaller even than her, from a big fat man to a slender lady with her half her jaw missing. "I'll take you all home."

She led them back through the city, and this time whenever she stopped to rest they stopped too. There was no need for a sling because they were following her; she was the leader and she was protecting them.

They didn't always walk well. Just like her Daddy they got stuck in the simplest places: walking into a streetlight, entering a building which had no exit, getting stuck in a fork of two crashed cars. Like a shepherd she took them by the hand and led them out.