Blog of the Dead (Book 3): Lost (16 page)

I darted towards the open window and thrust my head outside. I looked down to the street below. The street was empty of zombies and I realised I was on the side of the store above the food hall. I also noticed that there was nothing – not a damn thing – to use to help me down. Just a shear drop. There was no ledge, no drainpipe to shimmy down – nothing. I glanced back into the store for inspiration. Nothing but useless homeware items – towels, flannels, soap dispensers, mugs, picture frames, cushions, sheets. Sheets! I could tie sheets together like they did in old prison break movies. Who hasn’t wanted to try that… am I right?

I grabbed a sheet off the shelf and ripped it out of its packet, tugging on the fabric to check its strength. Satisfied it would hold me, I flung it over my shoulder while I pulled another two sheets out of their packets. I took a corner of each sheet and tied all three together, hoping my knots would be strong enough for the job. I bet Misfit would tie great knots that would hold an elephant but my clumsy attempt would have to do. I decided on adding one more, just to make sure it would be plenty long enough and I ran back to the window dragging my sheet-rope with me. I tied one end to the pipes of a radiator below the window and tossed the other end outside. Giving a final tug to ensure the makeshift rope was attached firmly, I climbed out of the window, clutching the sheet in my sweaty hands.

I prayed the sheets would take my weight and, holding my breath, I slid down towards the ground. Luckily I only had one floor to go down or I didn’t think my nerves would have taken it. Before I knew it my feet touched solid ground and I let go of the sheet. I glanced left and right and saw that the street was clear of zombies in both directions. I was about to run for it when I glanced back into Marks & Spencers, into the food Hall. I saw Mark standing at the doors where I’d been trapped moments before. Zombies approached him from behind, still a few metres away, but he was oblivious to them. Mark’s eyes were locked onto mine. His top lip curled up into a snarl. There was nothing left of the bumbling, slightly awkward Mark I first met at the house; no trace of the harmless guy that drew pictures of my friend with flowers in her hair.

‘Fuck,’ I said as I saw him raise his pickaxe. I ran then, to the sound of smashing glass as Mark made his way through the door.

I sprinted to the left, Down North Street, into Onslow Street.

‘Bitch, come back!’ I heard Mark yell at me.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I ran with all my might, determined not to let this murderer take me too. I sprinted past a little row of houses to my left and just before I came out into Farnham Road, I saw three zombies blocking the way ahead. I had nothing but my will to live to defend myself with. I ran at the zombies, screaming and I burst through them like we were playing a game of Red Rover.

I heard grunts behind me and guessed Mark had stopped to kill the zombies before he could pursue me again slowing him down. I ran on back towards the house, hoping – just fucking hoping – that the others would be back by now; the house itself wouldn’t offer me any protection against someone with a pickaxe and a raging blood lust.

I sprinted back down Farnham Road and turned right into Denzil Road – my road. I yelled as I ran, wanting to draw the others to me if they were in hearing range. Only trouble was, a few more zombies staggered out into the street to join the other three I’d slammed though earlier. Around seven or eight zombies lumbered in the street still a little way ahead of me, but cutting me off from the house.

Emotion and exhaustion got the better of me and zapped my momentum. I skidded to a halt before I reached the three frontrunners. As they staggered towards me, I ran to the side, ducked between two cars and onto the pavement to avoid them. They changed course to follow me, while two more up ahead staggered to cut me off. I stopped.

Mark must have seen my predicament because I heard his voice behind me. ‘No way out, Sophie,’ he said close to my back. ‘It’s either me or the zombies. You choose. I get satisfaction either way.’

‘Why, Mark? Why would you kill defenceless people?’ I asked, feeling that he owed me an explanation before he killed me too.

I heard him snort but I didn’t turn to look at him. I decided I’d rather not see the pickaxe coming.

‘It doesn’t really feel any different from killing zombies,’ he said. ‘They’re us and we’re them. Do you remember how hard it was to kill your first zombie?’ He didn’t wait for me to answer. ‘It was hard, right? Then it got easier. It’s no different with killing people. It gets easier.’ As he spoke, my gaze darted between the various zombies approaching us. They were still far enough away that at their pace, I’d get to hear at least some of Mark’s story. ‘The first human I killed,’ he continued, ‘was an old bloke who wouldn’t let me in his car when the outbreak kicked off.’

‘What the fuck…?’ I managed to mutter but I didn’t think Mark was listening.

‘I was stuck in the middle of town when people all around me started eating each other and I saw this old guy fiddling with his keys, trying to open his car door. I headed towards him. I was going to help but he managed to get the door open just before I got there and I was so close to him that I thought he’d let me in to escape the zombies but he just looked me in the eye and shut the door and locked it down.’

The zombies lumbered ever closer…

‘He intended to start the car but his old fingers were slow and he fumbled around trying to get the key into the ignition. I banged on the side of the car but he ignored me. Zombies were heading towards me but still he wouldn’t open the door. So I kicked the window in.’

I gasped with shock at what I was hearing, seething with anger and hatred.

‘I was so mad at the old bloke for not letting me in when he had the chance that I dived into that car and I grabbed him by the throat with one hand and I punched him with the other until his head caved in. He could quite easily have let me in his car.’

‘Oh my God,’ I mumbled, feeling sick.

‘I killed your mum and dad because they treated me like a criminal when I broke into their place, just like all the others did. I was just looking for somewhere to stay to shelter from the madness outside, but they acted like I was there to steal the TV or your mum’s jewellery or something. People were like that early on. Like protecting their property was more important than helping people. Nowadays people are more worried about losing their food, and they’d kill you for it, they would, they’d kill you if you didn’t kill them first.

‘You murdered my mum and dad…’

‘They forced me into it, Sophie. Don’t you see? Just like the others. They wouldn’t help me.’

‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’

‘They’ve only themselves to blame.’

‘Jake. What about Jake?’

‘Oh yeah, Jake Bake,’ he said, and I hated hearing that name coming from his disgusting, vile lips. I wanted to reach round and tear his head off his shoulders but still I resisted the urge to turn.

‘I wondered what she was talking about. I heard her talking to your dad before they realised I was in the house, going on about, “Not my Jake Bake!”’ Mark put on a high pitched voice, mimicking my mum and I gritted my teeth. ‘Then, after I’d finished with them, I found the kid shut up in his room upstairs and realised she had been talking about him,’ he continued. ‘He was a zombie. I promise. I’ve never hurt a kid. Ever.’

‘You’re sick. Don’t try and make out like you have any redeeming features.’

Three zombies had eased themselves between some parked cars while two more had the path ahead sealed off. Another three zombies staggered down the road to join their comrades. I heard Mark’s feet crunch up behind me. I felt his body behind mine. I could see him reflected in the side of the car to my right. He raised the pickaxe and swung it. I ducked and the point of the pickaxe dug deep into the wooden fence to my left.

Mark grunted with defeat while I slipped past him and out onto the street again. I watched as the zombies lunged for Mark, forcing him to leave the embedded pickaxe. He turned and continued after me. But at least we were now equal. Neither of us had a weapon.

I yelled as I approached the house, still a long way at the far end of the lengthy road. I saw someone emerge from the house – Clay, followed by Kay and Charlotte. I heard Clay shout for me. He had no idea what I was running from. The others would think me and Mark were running from the zombies, not that I was running for my life from Mark.

He was gaining. I could see a faint shadow falling over me. Clay was sprinting towards me. I dodged past the last three zombies when – SLAM – I hit the ground on my stomach. Mark rugby tackled me to the tarmac. He grabbed me and rolled me over onto my back and, with hate in his eyes, he punched me in the jaw. I raised my hands to try and hold him off but he was too strong for me and he hit me again, this time in my right cheek. And again and again. I struggled beneath him. Aside from the blows from his fists, I could see zombies approaching us from over Mark’s shoulder.

‘Stop!’ I yelled. ‘It’s too late, Mark. You can’t hide what you are!’
Whack
! I could taste copper in my mouth and warm, thick blood ran down my cheek. ‘Stop… zombies… we’ll both be–’
Whack
! My head swam from the barrage of punches and a cold, grey fizzing fuzz seeped into my brain. I couldn’t lose consciousness, not with zombies only a few feet away.

If Mark understood how close the zombies were to us, he didn’t care. He hit me again, intent on smashing my skull in. I could hear voices yelling and I knew they were Clay, Kay and Charlotte. They sounded so far away when in reality they could only have been metres from me now. As I drifted off into unconsciousness, I couldn’t help thinking that Charlotte would be dumping Mark for sure. I guess their relationship was over before it had really begun. As was mine and Misfit’s… The thought of Misfit made me fight the darkness that wanted to swallow me. I hit out at Mark, hoping to knock him off me.

His weight lifted and I wondered if I’d managed to get in a lucky hit and dislodge him myself. I forced my swollen eyes open to see Mark lying on his back on the ground ahead of me and Clay standing over him. Zombies surrounded the both of them but while Mark couldn’t defend himself because he was out cold, no doubt from one of Clay’s punches, Clay slipped his gloves on and rammed his spikes through zombie heads.

I struggled when I felt hands on me but soothing words of, ‘It’s OK, sweetie,’ informed me that I could trust them. I allowed Charlotte and Kay to help me up.

‘Do I leave any zombies for him?’ asked Clay, nodding down at Mark.

I saw that Clay had killed the ones closest but the others were staggering this way and Mark was still out cold.

‘Judging by the mess he’s just made of Sophie’s face, I’m guessing, yes,’ said Kay. ‘Leave some zombies to tear the bastard to pieces.’

I wondered if Charlotte – who looked the most confused of all of us – would say anything in his defence but I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t.

Mark began to regain consciousness, groaning as his eyes fluttered open. I spotted Kay’s axe in her belt and I pulled it free. She didn’t stop me. She and Charlotte let me go and I staggered along the road to stand over Mark.

‘Sweetie,’ said Charlotte as I raised the axe.

Mark groaned. ‘He murdered my parents,’ I said between swollen, bloody lips.

I brought the blade down so that it sliced into his left leg beneath the knee, not quite severing the limb but not far off. Mark cried out with pain, his body spasming as he went into shock. The zombies were only a metre away and I turned and staggered back to the house, the others following me.

Inside the living room, I glanced out of the window to see Mark crawling on his stomach, his partially severed leg trailing behind him. I watched until the zombies caught up with him. I turned my back on the window, closing my eyes as Mark’s screams rang out.

‘I guess he’s gone out of circulation,’ I said as I staggered across the living room and collapsed onto the sofa.

I couldn’t stop shaking so Clay wrapped his quilt cover around my shoulders. I tried to say thank you but I couldn’t be sure if the words came out of my swollen lips in a form that the others could understand. I could taste blood from my cut lips. My right eye had swollen shut. I winced as I tentatively touched the puffy flesh around it, numb but painful as though an injection from the dentist was just wearing off. I didn’t want to look at myself in the mirror but if I’d had the courage, I knew I wouldn’t like what I saw.

I tried to speak to tell the others everything that had happened but Charlotte, who was sat beside me with a first aid kit on her lap, dabbing at the blood that flowed down my cheeks, said, ‘Shhhhh, don’t try and talk yet, sweetie. Let’s get you cleaned up first.’ I noticed how pale she looked and how her whole body trembled. ‘Shhh, it’s OK,’ she said as I winced and
ouched
with each touch of cotton wool against my busted skin.

Kay paced the room and cursed under her breath that if the zombies hadn’t already got Mark, she would. I glanced at Clay who sat on the arm of the sofa looking down at me, his hand stroking my blood matted hair. ‘Bastard,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘What kind of bastard does this to a woman, you got me?’

I couldn’t help a tear escaping my eye and I imagined it weaving a streak though the drying blood on my face. I turned when I heard the front door open. Charlotte paused mid dab.