Read Blog of the Dead (Book 2): Life Online

Authors: Lisa Richardson

Tags: #Zombie Apocalypse

Blog of the Dead (Book 2): Life (6 page)

BOOK: Blog of the Dead (Book 2): Life
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‘Must be,’ I said. ‘I’ve never been up here before.’

Sean turned the car out to the left and put his foot down. We tore down the road with the cliff on one side and houses on our other. ‘Nice spot if you can afford it,’ Sean said, nodding sideways to the semi’s on our right with a clear view over the English Channel. ‘Beats the view of depressing council high rises from my depressing post-apocalypse council high rise.’

‘Well, anyone can afford a sea view these days,’ I said. ‘Just by being alive.’

After a short while, the road veered away from the cliff and we now had houses on our left and right, until the houses on the left gave way to an open field at the edge of the cliff. Just before the junction onto the main road something darted from behind a garden fence on our right, and onto the road a couple of metres in front of us. It happened so fast all I saw was a blur. Sean swerved to the right, but whatever or whoever it was didn’t stop and disappeared into the bushes on the left.

Sean tried to right the car by pulling hard to the left but we had been going fast and he lost control of the wheel. He hit the brakes but the car carried on going, out over the main road and smashed into a brick wall outside a house on the other side with a sickening crunch of metal.

Entry Seven

I hadn’t been wearing a seat belt and the impact forced me to slam into the seat in front. My chest and left shoulder took most of the hit and I rubbed at them while I shifted back a bit and surveyed the damage. Sean had smacked into the steering wheel and lay over it. But it was the sight of Misfit, unmoving, with his body flung over the dashboard, his head through the spider webbed smashed glass of the windscreen that caused me to start hyperventilating.
Breathe
,
Sophie
.
Breathe
, I told myself.
You can’t help him if you panic
. Fuck it!

‘Misfit!’ I flung my upper body between the seats, reached out my left arm and touched his back. ‘Misfit, wake up!’ Sean groaned to my right. He lifted his head from the steering wheel and sat back a little, lifting his left arm to his forehead. ‘Misfit!’ I cried. ‘Sean … help him!’

Sean glanced at me and I saw he had an inch long gash on his forehead. Blood trickled down into his right eye and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. As he leaned across to Misfit, I moved back a little to give him room. I watched as he placed his fingers on Misfit’s neck.

‘Is he OK?’

‘He’s alive,’ said Sean. He placed one hand behind Misfit’s neck and with the other, he moved him backwards into the passenger seat.

I leaned around the back of the chair to get a better look. Blood covered Misfit’s face and matted his hair. So much blood I couldn’t see where he’d been cut. I reached my right arm through the gap between the seats and gently brushed crumbs of glass out of his hair, before touching his cheek with my fingers. ‘Misfit!’ I cried. I resisted the urge to shake him when he remained unresponsive, worried I might injure him further. ‘Do something. Help him,
please
,’ I said to Sean.

‘I’m not a bloody doctor. I don’t know what –’

We both heard a slam against the car’s back window. I turned and saw a zombie, its palms beating the glass. Through the side window, I could see a sizeable crowd of zombies lumbering down the road from the left towards the car. ‘We have to get out of here,’ I said.

Sean opened his door, climbed out and headed to the back of the car, braining the zombie with his hammer. I pushed the driver’s seat forwards, climbed out and followed Sean. We both stood in the street, looking at the approaching zombies.
The majority of them were far enough away to be easily outrun. But with Misfit unconscious, there would be no easy outrunning.

I darted around to the passenger side door. Yanking it open, I squeezed my right arm between Misfit’s back and the seat behind him, sliding it under his right arm. With my left hand hooked under his left arm, I began dragging him from the car. His head lolled backwards now he didn’t have the back of the seat to support it and I panicked I might cause him even more damage. Free of the car, his feet hit the tarmac. I tried to stand him upright with his weight on my right side but he was too heavy for me.

I glared across the roof of the car and watched Sean glance at the bushes where whatever had leapt out into the road had disappeared. He turned back and eyed the approaching zombies, the front runners had already cut off the single lane road back the way we’d come and would be on us in seconds. His eyes darted to the right, to the road that led into Folkestone, a hand stroking his chin. That way remained clear.

‘I can’t do this,’ I said, doing my best to keep Misfit upright. Sean turned and looked at me, then back at the clear route into town. I saw him shake his head. I thought he would run off and leave me with Misfit, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. Though I would’ve hated him. Instead, he darted around to the passenger side of the car, took Misfit’s weight off me and flung him over his broad shoulder.

‘Careful with him,’ I said.

‘I’ll do my best. Here.’ Sean passed me his hammer. ‘You’ll need to cover me against that lot.’ He nodded at the closest zombies that were not much more than a metre from us. ‘Let me get a head start.’

I nodded and, with Sean’s hammer in my left hand and my knife in my right, I strode towards the first wave of rotting zombies, while Sean limped off in the direction of town, Misfit over his shoulder. The first zombie received a blow to the temple with the hammer. Even though I was wrong handed, I still managed to gouge out a chunk of skull and brain. I stabbed the next one, grunting as the blade rammed into its right eye. Another zombie staggered towards me and I stabbed that one through the ear. The next zombie could have only been eight or nine when it turned, but its thinning blonde hair and grey, gaunt face made it look more like a tiny old lady than a child. I tried not to think of Jake, as I usually did when I came across child zombies, and I slid my blade through its skull.

I took out another few zombies and glanced behind me. I saw Sean had managed a head start of about six or seven metres as he struggled under Misfit’s weight, his knees trembling. I had cleared the front runners so I turned and jogged a little to catch up with Sean. I held about a metre back, ready to turn and defend us from the zombies that followed. Our pace was slow … frustratingly slow.

‘How we doing?’ Sean asked.

‘Not great,’ I replied. ‘They’re catching up and there are too many for me to handle on my own, especially if I have to keep them away from you guys.’ I saw Sean attempt a clumsy, limping trot but with exhaustion and Misfit’s weight he couldn’t keep it up and his pace slowed.

We’d only travelled a little way along the road when I saw a group of six zombies about ten metres ahead of us, just the other side of a sign that said ‘Folkestone Town Council Welcomes you to FOLKESTONE’.
Nice welcoming committee
, I thought. I fell back to brain a couple of zombies behind us that had got too close, then I sprinted past Sean and launched myself at the zombies ahead – hammer swinging at one rotten head and knife slicing another, then onto the next two, then the last two. The way ahead clear, I jogged back and resumed my position behind Sean. But the zombies trailing us were gaining, the front runners no more than five metres behind. I did a quick rotten head count – about twenty-five to thirty of the fuckers at least – all hungry and desperate for our flesh.

Ahead, the road curved down to the left on the other side of the
Valiant Sailor
pub. We followed the road down and around, the steep decline adding a little much needed speed to Sean’s step. Only thing was, it also added a little unwanted speed to the staggering zombies’ step too. Between the trees lining the road to my left, I caught small glimpses of the whole of Folkestone town far below, like a tiny model village, as well as the distant sea. Our camp – home – was down there and I wondered, as I glanced behind me at the zombies we just couldn’t shake, would I ever get to see it again?

We took the first turning on our left, into Dover Road. I could place where we were now – just a little way down Dover Road, we could turn left onto Wear Bay Road and follow it down to our camp, only another twenty or so minutes walk. We had just passed a hedge outside one of the houses to our left when I saw Sean’s knees buckle. He fell down onto one knee, still managing to keep Misfit over his shoulder. I put my knife through my belt and grabbed hold of Sean’s elbow as I tried to help him to his feet. He grimaced as he attempted to stand.

‘Sean, come on!’ I yelled, glancing back at the zombies as they lumbered towards us, the closest ones barely three metres away. Trembling with effort, Sean got onto both feet and managed to stagger forwards two steps before going down onto his knee again. I swung the hammer at a zombie’s head as it lurched towards us, closing the gap. ‘Come on, Sean!’

I slammed the hammer between the eyes of another zombie and willed Sean to get up and move. But like one of those dreams where you’re being chased by a monster but no matter how hard you try and outrun them, your legs just don’t seem to work, I knew our efforts were futile. Tears ran down my cheeks as zombies descended on us.

Just as I was about to give up out of exhaustion, I heard the sound of feet pounding hard ground from behind the hedge we had just cleared. Then something I never thought I’d see as long as I lived – and believe me I’ve seen some weird shit, especially since the zombie apocalypse – appeared from the driveway of the house to our left. A thin, wiry boy emerged and he wore a pair of boxing gloves, but not any old boxing gloves, these boxing gloves each had a seven inch metal spike at the end.

The boy slammed his spike-gloved fists into the heads of zombies with lightening speed. I took a moment to be amazed, awed and fucking relieved, before I found the strength to join in the fight afresh. Zombies fell at the feet of Boxing-Boy like sweetie wrappers at the feet of a sugar addict in a sweet eating competition.

‘Take him up to the house, mate!’ Boxing-Boy shouted to Sean. Sean didn’t need telling twice and he hauled himself to his feet and, with renewed energy, loped off up the drive with Misfit hanging limply from his shoulders.

Boxing-Boy pummelled zombie heads, the spike on the end of his gloves driving in and out at rapid speed, while I stabbed and bludgeoned a few myself. On light feet Boxing-Boy weaved and bobbed through the undead, ducking when a zombie swiped at him and taking the zombie down with a right hook to the brain, a fierce concentration in his eyes. Onto the next, and the next, beads of sweat forming on his brow. To be honest, I had to do very little myself, and soon the match had been won by Boxing-Boy in the red corner. ‘Nice work,’ I said.

‘Cheers, hun,’ said Boxing-Boy. Black blood splattered his t-shirt and jeans. I noticed, under the blood, his clothing had the freshness of new clothes, unlike my tatty rags that had the build up of months of dirt, blood and wear and tear.

‘I’m Sophie. I’d shake your hand but it might be painful for me …’ I said nodding to his lethal looking boxing gloves.

‘Ah, yeah. Could get messy, like. I’m Clay. Pleasure to meet you, Sophie.’

‘Thanks for your help.’

‘No worries,’ said Clay, pulling off his boxing gloves and holding them by the wrist straps. ‘Let’s get you into Cassa Di Clay.’

I followed Clay as he swaggered up the curved driveway towards a bungalow much smaller than I had expected from the other side of the long, tall hedge that surrounded its grounds. To the right of the bungalow stood a white fronted garage, joined onto the entrance porch. Clay hopped through a white uPVC door, and I followed him inside, closing the door after me and turning left into a small but tidy box-like living room.

‘Home sweet home,’ said Clay, putting his gloves down on the coffee table. There I found Sean standing over Misfit, looking a bit redundant now he’d laid him on the peach coloured velour sofa.

‘Out cold, eh?’ said Clay, nodding down to Misfit. Clay sat on the edge of the sofa beside Misfit while Sean backed off and went to stand by the window looking out on the front garden. ‘Been knocked out myself more times than most people have had hot dinners,’ added Clay.

‘Will he be OK?’ I asked, hugging my body as I stood by the arm of the sofa.

Clay didn’t answer, instead he felt Misfit’s neck. ‘Strong pulse, that’s a good sign,’ he said, glancing up at me with the friendly perma-grin he’d adopted since wiping out the zombies. Clay lifted one of Misfit’s hands and gently slapped the back of it. ‘Mate, can you hear me?’ He nudged Misfit on the shoulder. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Misfit.’

‘Ha, I like it. Misfit, mate, can you hear me?’ Misfit didn’t respond so Clay removed the cushion from beneath his head and rolled him onto his side, blood from his head wound smearing onto the seat of the sofa. If Clay noticed the blood, he obviously didn’t care and he bent Misfit’s top leg at an angle, tilting his head back a little. ‘How long’s he –’ Clay didn’t get chance to finish before Misfit flung his arms out and began kicking his legs furiously.

‘What’s he doing? Is he having a fit? Do something!’ I screamed. Sean strode over and put an arm around me, holding me back as I struggled to get to Misfit.

‘It’s OK,’ said Clay, holding out a hand to calm me. ‘He’s just a bit agitated waking up. It happens.’ He turned to Misfit and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s alright, Misfit, mate. Take it easy, fella. You’re OK.’ Misfit opened his eyes but didn’t seem to focus on anything. He hit out at Clay.

‘Misfit!’ I said. He looked at me but there was no recognition. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

Misfit shook his head and kicked out again. ‘It’s OK. Trust me,’ said Clay. ‘I’ve seen this happen in the ring. It’s exactly what we want to see, right? It means good brain activity. He’s just disorientated. Give him a minute, like.’

Misfit began to thrash about less wildly. I stood watching him with my hands over my mouth, trying to hold back the sob that wanted to come.

‘Wha … what’s going on,’ said Misfit after a moment. His eyes darted about the room. ‘Where am I? What happened?’ He looked at Clay.

‘It’s OK, mate,’ said Clay. ‘I haven’t the foggiest what happened to you but I’m guessing you’ve been in an accident. You were out for the count for a bit there though.’

Misfit looked up at me. ‘Sophie?’ He sounded vague, like I might possibly reply with,
No
,
I’m Monica
,
silly
. Then, more certainly he said, ‘Sophie.’

‘Misfit. Thank fuck,’ I said, letting my hand drop from my face. ‘I was really worried there.’ I bent down on my knees on the floor beside the sofa and put my left hand against his blood soaked cheek. ‘The car crashed. You went through the windscreen. How do you feel?’

BOOK: Blog of the Dead (Book 2): Life
6.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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