Read Online Blog of the Dead (Book 1): Sophie by Lisa Richardson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Richardson
Tags: Zombies
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right. Me and Sam darted up the steps together, knives raised. But too bloody late. I saw the look in Archie’s eyes as the zombie bit him. His eyes didn’t just register pain, but fear and regret …
I threw myself at that fucking zombie, grabbed it by its manky hair and flung it back against the door frame. I plunged my knife into its head so hard that I pinned it to the wood. I left my knife there and turned to see Archie sitting on the top step, a hand to his neck, blood oozing from between his fingers. I sat down beside him and put an arm around him and I cried. Sam sat down too, his arms around both of us. I felt like a mother that had just been told her child has terminal cancer. I had only just met Archie, but at times like these powerful friendships are formed fast.
We walked him home, to his parents’ house. They cried when they saw him. It was heart breaking. I had broken my promise to his parents; I hadn’t kept their little boy safe.
Telling Michael was horrible. He raced straight home to see Archie. I don’t know exactly how much time he has, Archie that is. When Richard got bit he’d changed by morning, but I don’t know how long it took. I know that by tomorrow morning Archie won’t be Archie any more, and I worry that his family won’t be able to kill him.
December 8
8pm Day 25
As me, Sam, Polly and Leanne walked into town yesterday evening for our rendezvous in Rendezvous Street, I tried to push thoughts about what happened to Archie out of my brain. I had to focus on what lay a head. But the image of Archie at the moment he got bit bore into my retinas and wouldn’t bugger off. I wanted to cry so that I could wash the image away. But how would it look if I turned up to meet the troops crying like a baby?
Even though we arrived fifteen minutes early, a group of eleven men and three women stood waiting for us among the debris from Googies, Moda and the rest of the trashed shops and cafés. They had a variety of weapons ranging from a baseball bat, long bladed knives, an iron bar, a golf club and a few hammers. One man carried a spade, while one of the women had a handful of lethal looking 16 inch knitting needles. Seeing them all there, tooled up, brought it home to me what we were about to do. We were about to have a big bloody fight (or a bloody big fight). My stomach lurched at the thought and I wanted to go home.
It might not come to a fight , I told myself as my feet crunched across broken glass. We might be able to sort this amicably . Right ? RIGHT ?
More weapon toting people turned up. By 5pm Sam did a head count – 62 people, mostly men and ranging in age from teenagers up to, I guess, fiftyish. We had to keep them as quiet as possible so that we didn’t attract zombies or give the game away to the big guys up at Asda. Of course a few zombies turned up, but with so many of us, we took care of them quickly and easily.
Mr Green Fluffy Slippers (remember him?) staggered up from The Old High Street. But, lucky for him, he ended up changing course and he lumbered off in the direction of Grace Hill. I don’t know why. Would a single zombie be afraid of a large group of humans with weapons? Would they have any remaining brain power to work out the odds and conclude that they were onto a downer? I doubt it. Perhaps he just saw something or someone else that caught his eye. I don’t know.
Sam had just started explaining our plan to the group – basically, a few of us would go on ahead and lure some of the big guys out, then the rest would steam in, hopefully negotiate a settlement, if not, overpower the ones outside, infiltrate the store and tackle anyone inside – when Michael turned up carrying a cricket bat.
8.05pm Day 25
Michael stood at the back of the group. I pushed my way through the crowd towards him. ‘I didn’t think we’d be seeing you,’ I said.
‘This is important. Archie would’ve …’
‘How-how is he?’
‘Alive. But he’s pretty sick. It’s
I threw myself at that fucking zombie, grabbed it by its manky hair and flung it back against the door frame. I plunged my knife into its head so hard that I pinned it to the wood. I left my knife there and turned to see Archie sitting on the top step, a hand to his neck, blood oozing from between his fingers. I sat down beside him and put an arm around him and I cried. Sam sat down too, his arms around both of us. I felt like a mother that had just been told her child has terminal cancer. I had only just met Archie, but at times like these powerful friendships are formed fast.
We walked him home, to his parents’ house. They cried when they saw him. It was heart breaking. I had broken my promise to his parents; I hadn’t kept their little boy safe.
Telling Michael was horrible. He raced straight home to see Archie. I don’t know exactly how much time he has, Archie that is. When Richard got bit he’d changed by morning, but I don’t know how long it took. I know that by tomorrow morning Archie won’t be Archie any more, and I worry that his family won’t be able to kill him.
December 8
8pm Day 25
As me, Sam, Polly and Leanne walked into town yesterday evening for our rendezvous in Rendezvous Street, I tried to push thoughts about what happened to Archie out of my brain. I had to focus on what lay a head. But the image of Archie at the moment he got bit bore into my retinas and wouldn’t bugger off. I wanted to cry so that I could wash the image away. But how would it look if I turned up to meet the troops crying like a baby?
Even though we arrived fifteen minutes early, a group of eleven men and three women stood waiting for us among the debris from Googies, Moda and the rest of the trashed shops and cafés. They had a variety of weapons ranging from a baseball bat, long bladed knives, an iron bar, a golf club and a few hammers. One man carried a spade, while one of the women had a handful of lethal looking 16 inch knitting needles. Seeing them all there, tooled up, brought it home to me what we were about to do. We were about to have a big bloody fight (or a bloody big fight). My stomach lurched at the thought and I wanted to go home.
It might not come to a fight , I told myself as my feet crunched across broken glass. We might be able to sort this amicably . Right ? RIGHT ?
More weapon toting people turned up. By 5pm Sam did a head count – 62 people, mostly men and ranging in age from teenagers up to, I guess, fiftyish. We had to keep them as quiet as possible so that we didn’t attract zombies or give the game away to the big guys up at Asda. Of course a few zombies turned up, but with so many of us, we took care of them quickly and easily.
Mr Green Fluffy Slippers (remember him?) staggered up from The Old High Street. But, lucky for him, he ended up changing course and he lumbered off in the direction of Grace Hill. I don’t know why. Would a single zombie be afraid of a large group of humans with weapons? Would they have any remaining brain power to work out the odds and conclude that they were onto a downer? I doubt it. Perhaps he just saw something or someone else that caught his eye. I don’t know.
Sam had just started explaining our plan to the group – basically, a few of us would go on ahead and lure some of the big guys out, then the rest would steam in, hopefully negotiate a settlement, if not, overpower the ones outside, infiltrate the store and tackle anyone inside – when Michael turned up carrying a cricket bat.
8.05pm Day 25
Michael stood at the back of the group. I pushed my way through the crowd towards him. ‘I didn’t think we’d be seeing you,’ I said.
‘This is important. Archie would’ve …’
‘How-how is he?’
‘Alive. But he’s pretty sick. It’s
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