Blog of the Dead (Book 3): Lost (19 page)

I could see Misfit had stopped up ahead. When I caught up with him, I noticed he stood by a gap in the hedge and for the first time I could see the wire fence that the hedge had grown through and into. I peered out into the road where what little moonlight there was revealed a woman, though I couldn’t tell how old she was or anything about her other than she had long hair that billowed behind her in the strong wind.

The rain had started to ease off and without the constant patter of it hitting the tarmac, I could hear a scuffle as the woman tried to avoid the zombies that were closing in on her. I saw her swing what I could just make out was a crowbar. She hit a zombie in the head and it went down.

‘Stay back!’ I heard her cry out. ‘Amelia! AMELIA!’

‘Come on,’ said Clay and he shoved between me and Misfit and hoisted himself up and over the fence. I saw him slip his gloves on as he ran, and he began spiking zombies – left, right… left, right. Misfit flew over the fence next, followed by me, Kay and Charlotte.

I had my knife out. There wasn’t a lot of light which led to the disconcerting problem that I couldn’t be 100% certain that what I was slamming my knife into were zombie heads and not the heads of the living. As dark shapes swarmed around me I prayed,
Please don’t let me kill one of my friends
.

The sounds of groaning and shuffling around me were cut short by the squelch of my blade through brain matter and the splat of bodies falling into muddy puddles. Soon we had cleared enough zombies from around us to take stock.

‘Is everyone OK?’ I asked and was relieved when I received positive confirmations from all.

‘AMELIA!’

‘Shut up,’ I snapped at the woman. ‘You’ll bring even more zombies to us. Groaning and shuffling nearby confirmed that we hadn’t killed them all and more were lurking in the darkness between us and the van. ‘Do you like fighting zombies or something?’

‘My daughter,’ said the woman. ‘She’s missing. Please help me find her.’

‘Your daughter’s out in this?’ said Clay. ‘Of course we’ll help you find her.’

‘How old is she, sweetie?’ asked Charlotte.

‘She’s seven. She’s only seven. And she’s just a little thing for her age too.’

‘Oh God, no wonder you’re out looking for her in the dark,’ said Charlotte. She wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders. ‘Is it just the two of you?’

‘Yes. It’s been just me and Amelia for so long now. She’s all I have.’

‘And fuck all use to her you’ll be if you get yourself bit,’ said Kay. ‘You need to get home and come back and search in the daylight.’

‘She’s right,’ I said. ‘I know you must be going out of your mind – I mean I can’t really imagine what it must be like – but looking for her in the dark and in a storm is crazy. Where are you staying? Is it far?’

‘I’m not giving up–’

‘No one’s asking you to give up,’ I said. ‘Just that it’s dark and she’s probably hiding. I’m sure she’s fine but we should get you back home so you can rest. Then we’ll all head out as soon as it’s light to look for her. She’ll probably be more willing to come out of hiding in the light.’

‘I’m not giving up. I can’t–’

‘Bloody hell, we’re going to help you but when it’s light and it’s worth helping you,’ said Kay. ‘Sophie’s right, Amelia will be fine. She’ll be scared and that’s the best thing because she’ll crawl somewhere where no zombies can get her. Take us back to where you’re staying and we’ll help you in the morning. She might be there right now and worrying where her mum’s gone.’

‘I don’t know who you are,’ said the woman. ‘How can I trust you?’

‘Erm, we’re the ones who’ve just risked their necks saving you from a crowd of zombies in the middle of the night,’ said Kay. In the darkness I could just about make out Kay using her axe on a zombie that had wandered too close.

‘And right now I think you’re better off trusting us than yourself. You’re all emotional and you’ll get yourself killed out here,’ I said.

After a little more cajoling and a few stray zombie heads bashed and slashed, we managed to convince the woman – who introduced herself to us as Marsha – to take us back to the cottage she and Amelia had been staying in, just a twenty minute walk away in the direction we had driven from.

As Marsha led us up the garden path, Clay stopped. ‘Guys, I’m staying out,’ he said.

‘What? Are you mad, Clay,’ I said. ‘It won’t be light for hours.’

‘I can’t stand the thought of a little kid out here on her own.’

‘Oh thank you. Thank you!’ said Marsha as she wrapped her arms around Clay. ‘Thank you. You are an angel. My angel.’ She pulled away from him. ‘Thank you.’

‘No worries,’ said Clay. ‘I wouldn’t be able to sleep with a little one out here. I’ll do what I can, OK?’ he added and, gloves on, he turned and disappeared into the darkness.

I waited for Misfit to say something annoying like, ‘I’ll go too’, but he didn’t and I was relieved. I guess he knew what a dumb idea it was.

We followed Marsha into a little stone cottage that I guessed was the perfect size for Marsha and her daughter but a tight fit for an additional five guests. I hoped we wouldn’t be here long and that Amelia would be found safe and sound in the morning. Until then we’d just have to breathe in. Marsha led us through the hallway and into the kitchen and as she lit some candles on the dining table I was surprised by the surroundings. From the building’s façade I expected cute and quaint inside, with original features like a range and fireplaces. Instead, the kitchen had been, at some point, gutted and started all over again. It was bigger than I expected, an extension having been built, and the room was modern and minimalist with clean lines, glass, chrome and white everything. In the day, I imagine the room to be light, bright and spacious. In the dark, I felt a little exposed with all the glass doors and windows in the extended section, like I was in a fish bowl.

In the candle light, I could get my first glimpse of Marsha. She was very thin. I hoped that Amelia had more flesh on her bones. The night was cold and it didn’t escape me that even if she had hidden from the zombies, the cold night air could kill her easily enough.

Marsha’s long, thick hair was completely grey but her face, while it wore the mask of hardship and worry, draining her of vitality and giving her a gaunt look, was unlined. It made it hard to pin an age on her. She could have gone grey prematurely and be in her late thirties or she could just have really good skin and be fifty or more. She could have had a child late in life. Her eyes were large and staring as though she wanted to see if Amelia was anywhere in our thoughts as she gazed from each of us in turn. I realised she wasn’t just concerned for her daughter but fearful of us too. We could be anyone. We could be nutters. We’d met so many in the apocalypse – Caine, Marco, Mark, Elaine…

‘What-what were you doing out in the middle of the night?’ Marsha asked no one in particular as she pottered about the kitchen, picking things up and putting them down again and not really achieving anything.

‘Our ride got stuck,’ said Misfit as he prowled the perimeter of the kitchen, his eagle eyes peering out of the large French doors at the back of the extension, out into the dark garden.

‘Its wheels got stuck in a ditch at the side of the road but as it was dark and there were zombies about, we decided to sleep in the van for the night before tackling it in the daylight,’ said Charlotte.

‘That’s when we heard you yelling the place down,’ said Kay.

‘Why did Amelia run off?’ I asked. Me, Charlotte and Kay had each taken a seat on the white leather chairs at the glass topped dining table.

Marsha adjusted the position of the kettle on the high gloss work surface before her eyes flicked up towards me. ‘I don’t know,’ she began, her eyes looking off into the distance. ‘Maybe she heard something in the house that spooked her or something. I had put her to bed at the usual time and I came down here to sit and collect my thoughts when I heard a noise in the hallway. I went out and saw the front door wide open. I bolted upstairs to Amelia’s room but she wasn’t there. She… she…’

Marsha deflated before our eyes. Charlotte stood and leapt towards her, supporting her with an arm around her shoulders. ‘It’s OK, sweetie. She’ll be OK.’ Charlotte escorted Marsha to a seat at the table.

‘You don’t know that!’

Charlotte knelt down in front of a sobbing Marsha. ‘I do. You have to stay positive.’

‘I should have kept a closer eye on her. I should have never left her alone!’

‘Don’t blame yourself. You can’t,’ said Kay. ‘Trust me, that way lies insanity. You did all you could. The worst thing in this fucked up mess isn’t keeping yourself safe and alive, it’s keeping your children safe and alive and…’ Kay’s words trailed off. I could see she needed the energy to keep the tears from falling. We all thought better than to press her to explain what those tears meant.

No one spoke for a moment and I busied myself with picking white wax from where it had melted then solidified on the table top. Charlotte sat in the chair next to Marsha, rubbing the back of her hand that rested on the table. ‘We should all get some rest,’ said Charlotte, after a little while. ‘So we’re ready to head out at first light.’

‘Wait,’ said Marsha. ‘Would you like to see a photo of Amelia?’

‘Um, yeah,’ I said not wanting to be rude – I mean, it’s not like there was going to be many little girls out there waiting to be found. But then I guessed if the grim job of identifying a little girl zombie came up, at least there’d be no chance of mistaken identity.

Marsha pulled a crumpled photo from her jeans pocket and held it out to Charlotte who took it from her. ‘She’s pretty, said Charlotte before passing it to Kay.

‘She is isn’t she? She’s my world.’

Kay passed the photo to me. ‘She looks young in this photo,’ I said as I gazed at the smiling girl with yellow blonde hair. ‘Younger than seven.’

‘She’d just turned six in this photo,’ said Marsha. ‘But she hasn’t changed much since it was taken.’

Charlotte was right, Amelia was pretty, with freckles peppered across her nose, and big blue eyes. ‘Ha,’ I said light-heartedly as I spotted the
Steps
t-shirt she wore. ‘I used to love that band when I was a little kid. I didn’t think kids would still be into them now.’

‘What? Amelia loves them, always has,’ said Marsha. ‘She knows all the words to their songs, and the dance moves and…’

I left Charlotte to comfort a distraught Marsha while I stood and walked to the end of the room where I passed the photo to Misfit. He took the photo from my outstretched fingers and peered at it before looking back at me with a deep frown.

6pm

Last night was uncomfortable. Once I had finished writing in my diary, I settled down next to Misfit. We slept on the floor with a woollen blanket over us that failed miserably to keep the January chill out of my bones. A breeze rose up through the laminated floor and through every crack that the extensive and sacrilegious modernising of the character property had failed to fill. Things were made bearable by lying in Misfit’s arms. OK more than bearable. He took the full force of the cold, hard floor, flat on his back while I used him as a pillow.

Kay slept on the sofa, while Charlotte bagged an armchair, the type that a bit at the foot springs up and the back flips down to make it a recliner. I’m not sure if I slept. I know I spent most of the night eyes wide, brain whirring with a mixture of worrying if Clay was OK and buzzing about nothing in particular. It’s not like my mental energy could be put to good use by solving problems. The problem of the zombie apocalypse couldn’t be solved. My brain ticked over with the unsettling feeling of being somewhere strange, somewhere not only strange to me – you have to get use to changing location in the apocalypse – but with a strange person in it. I felt like an unexpected guest, which is, in fact, what I was. Only in the apocalypse the lines are all blurred.

I may have dozed a little while, but when Marsha scurried into the living room and opened the curtains, I was awake in an instant. Misfit sat bolt upright the second the curtains made a faint
whoosh
sound as they were pulled back, his movement caused me to roll off him and thump on the cold floor.

‘Please,’ said Marsha, her grey hair tied loosely out of her face, ‘it’s light. Please help me find my Amelia.’

I heard a tap on the window that looked out on the front garden. It made all of us jump. My eyes flicked towards the source of the sound and through the voile curtain, I could see Clay standing at the window. He waved once and headed for the front door, confident he’d got our attention. Marsha darted to the hallway and moments later I heard the sound of the door opening.

‘Amelia!’ Marsha’s expectant voice carried in from the hallway. ‘Did you see her?’

‘No. Sorry.’ I heard the front door close after Clay spoke, followed by a sob from Marsha. ‘I’m sorry,’ Clay repeated.

Everyone gathered in the hallway. I saw Clay, his gloves around his neck, looking cold, wet and weary.

‘We’re about to head out,’ I said to him. ‘You rest and we’ll catch up with you later.’

Clay glanced from me to Marsha to me again. ‘No, I’m cool,’ he said with a nod. ‘I’ll head out with you guys.’

‘You need to rest, sweetie,’ said Charlotte. ‘And get yourself warmed up a bit.’