‘The wound, couldn’t it have been a zombie bite?’ asked Charlotte, tucking a strand of long curly hair behind her ear.
‘Can’t have been,’ said Soph, her eyes wide as she looked from Charlotte to the rest of us. ‘If it had been a zombie bite, Lucy would have turned. She was dead, but there was no head wound. Her blood was red, not black. She wasn’t infected.’
‘Someone killed her,’ added Chris.
‘But who … why?’ asked Charlotte.
‘Who’s that guy, the one in the caravan?’ asked Soph, nudging her long blonde fringe from her eyes with a finger. ‘I haven’t seen him around.’
‘Sean,’ I said. ‘We met him yesterday … on the beach. He was …’
‘He’s looking for his sister,’ finished Kay. ‘He’s just some harmless bloke.’
‘You understand why we have to be suspicious,’ said Soph. ‘One of ours has been murdered. There’s someone out there with blood on their hands.’
Alarm bells rang in my head – blood on their hands. Sean turns up on the beach, not far from The Durlocks with blood on his hands and scratches on his arms. Prime suspect. But I held back, I said nothing about the blood on his hands or the scratches, even though I didn’t understand why.
I lay on the sofa now, trying to figure out why I hadn’t said anything. Sean could have run today after the car crash. Instead, he risked his own life to carry Misfit away from the zombies that pursued us. It’s quite likely that neither me nor Misfit would have made it back alive if it wasn’t for him. Would a murderer do that? But the scratches and the blood on his hands … My stomach churned uneasily. I tried to relax and get some much needed sleep but my eyelids remained wide, as though propped up with matchsticks – though, in this case, it wasn’t matchsticks holding them up but fear. What if I was wrong about Sean and he did murder Lucy? If he killed again, it would be my fault. And right now, he was in my camp.
The next morning, exhausted from lack of sleep, I was relieved to see all my team members alive and well and not the slightest bit murdered. Misfit was well enough to sit by the fire and eat some fish that Chris and Soph had brought us. Earlier I had changed the bandage on his head for a fresh one from a first aid kit. As I’d cleaned it, I noticed the wound, just below his right temple, was deep but not as large as I’d first thought. Ideally, he needed stitches but we didn’t live in anything close to an ideal world.
The hot topic was, of course, the murder. ‘Open your eyes, Kay,’ said Stewart, who, judging by the bags under his eyes, had slept as badly as me. ‘It has to be him.’
‘I don’t believe he’s a murderer,’ said Kay.
‘And you know him well?’ asked Stewart.
‘It’s in his eyes,’ said Kay. ‘He doesn’t have a murderer’s eyes.’
‘I don’t think that’s a very strong defence,’ said Stewart. ‘The shifty stranger that shows up on the same day that someone is murdered is innocent due to him not having murderer’s eyes. Case closed.’
‘And accusing him just because he’s a stranger isn’t a strong case either, is it? Fucktard,’ said Kay. ‘And what about that other bloke that turned up here, the smarmy git … it could have been him.’
‘It could have been anyone in this town,’ I said.
‘But most likely it’s the shifty, moody, hammer wielding stranger …’ said Stewart.
‘Maybe we should hand him over to Chris and Soph,’ suggested Charlotte. ‘Let them decide. I don’t feel comfortable having him here. I barely slept a wink last night knowing he was in the next room.’
‘They wouldn’t give Sean a chance if we handed him over,’ said Kay.
‘Lucy was one of their own,’ said Stewart, his brow creased. ‘What would you do if it was one of us that had been torn to shreds by a human?’
‘Exactly,’ said Kay. ‘They’d be blinded by anger and revenge and wouldn’t give him a chance.’
‘I wish I’d killed him on the beach the day we found him,’ said Misfit.
‘He saved our lives yesterday,’ I said. I had explained to the others the previous night exactly what had happened, how we had ended up in Capel le Ferne, the car crash, the zombies and how Sean could have run off and saved himself but how he had carried Misfit back to Folkestone. And how we ended up at Clay’s place but still Sean had stayed with us and ensured Misfit made it back to camp safely. ‘I think we owe it to Sean to let him explain.’ I stood up and stomped to my caravan. Inside, I knocked on the door of my old bedroom but I didn’t wait for a reply and pushed it open.
Sean perched on the edge of the bed, his head bowed. His long black coat hung over the door of the wardrobe. ‘The walls are thin,’ he said as he raised his head to look at me.
‘You heard what we were talking about?’
‘Some of it, yes.’
‘Did you kill Lucy?’
‘No.’
‘Were you involved?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think you need to tell me what’s going on,’ I said, standing at the foot of the bed.
‘I can’t. Just accept that I can’t.’
‘That’s not fair, Sean. You’ve just admitted you were involved – how involved were you? I’ve seen the scratches on your arms. I saw the red blood on your hands. And I’ve said nothing to anyone. I’m taking a risk, here, trusting you.’
‘Why?’ asked Sean.
‘Why what?’
‘Why didn’t you say anything about those things? I agree, I look guilty as hell even without those details. Why would you keep quiet for the sake of someone you don’t know when it could risk the safety of those you do know?’ asked Sean.
‘Are my people at risk?’
‘Yes.’
‘From you?’
‘No.’
‘You’re making it very hard for me to know what to believe and what to do for the best. You need to tell me – us – what’s going on. We can help,’ I said.
‘I don’t need help. Help would make it worse.’
‘How?’
‘What would they do to me if you handed me over to them?’ asked Sean, ignoring my question.
I studied his face. The gash on his forehead had stopped bleeding and had begun scabbing over. Beneath the wound, dried blood smeared his forehead and more blood had crusted on his eyebrow. ‘I don’t know. If they thought you did it, they might lock you up and throw away the key or they might kill you. I have no idea. They’re good people, brave, fair people but someone they care about has been murdered and to be honest, they’d be justified to do whatever they see fit with the person who did it. The last time anyone screwed with us, we killed them all,’ I said, remembering Caine and his cronies.
‘I didn’t do it. Just trust me enough to let me go. I can sort this but I need to do it alone,’ said Sean. He stood and lifted his coat off the wardrobe door and slipped one of his arms into it. I couldn’t help but look at the scratches on the other arm before it disappeared into the sleeve of the coat … scratches from a girl fighting for her life?
‘You’re asking for a lot,’ I said.
‘I’m asking –’ Sean stopped at the sound of a motorbike engine roaring in the distance, getting closer. ‘You have to get me out of here.’
I darted over to the window in time to see a motorbike with two leather-clad figures on it pull up outside our camp. It was joined by a van. The leather-clad figures got off the bike and removed their helmets – Chris and Soph. Then Kelly’s eldest sons Shane and Sam, looking so alike despite the three year age gap, climbed out of the front of the van. Shane opened the van’s back door and Josh and Cleo emerged. They each carried a weapon. ‘It’s too late,’ I said, watching Stewart jog to the fence. ‘They’re here.’ I knew I wouldn’t have time to get him around the back of the Martello tower so Sean could escape that way. ‘Wait here.’
Outside, I strode over to Chris and Soph who were already through the fence panel. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.
‘We’ve come for that guy we saw last
night,’ said Chris.
‘Sean?’
‘Yeah, Sean.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Look, Sophie,’ began Soph as the rest of her people gathered behind her. ‘We don’t want any trouble and we’re aware of throwing accusations around but, the fact is, he turns up on the day Lucy’s murdered. You have to understand that we need to talk to him. Where is he, Sophie?’
I didn’t answer.
‘We only want to talk to him.’
Again I said nothing.
‘In there,’ said Stewart, nodding towards my caravan. Kay cast him a dark look while Soph nodded at Shane, Josh and Sam and they pushed past me, Shane with a baseball bat, Sam with a carving knife and Josh with a crowbar.
‘Hang on,’ said Kay, leaping in front of them. ‘You can’t just barge in here. This is our camp.’
‘And Lucy was our friend,’ said Soph, her long blonde hair swishing over the shoulders of her leather jacket as she spoke. ‘If he’s innocent, he’s nothing to worry about.’
‘And how do you decide if he’s innocent?’ asked Kay.
‘We just need to talk to him,’ said Chris.
Shane, Josh and Sam carried on towards the caravan. ‘You can’t do this,’ I said, storming after them. ‘Let me talk to him.’
Misfit grabbed my arm. ‘Sophie, let them take him. Like they said, if he’s innocent, he’s nothing to worry about.’
I turned and looked Misfit in the eye. ‘And you believe that? What if they think he’s guilty … what then? How can he prove he’s not? This isn’t about innocent and guilty. I think it’s too complicated for that.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Misfit. But I ignored him.
I watched as Shane, Josh and Sam disappeared into the caravan. I heard shouting, followed by a couple of bangs and the sound of something falling over inside the caravan, then I saw Shane and Josh manhandling Sean outside. Sean writhed and bucked in their grasp. As he neared me he stopped struggling and looked me in the eye, holding the gaze until Shane and Josh had shoved him past me. Sam followed them, grim faced. I watched as they bundled Sean into the back of the van. Cleo, Josh and Sam got in the back with him, while Shane climbed into the driver’s seat.
‘You’re making a mistake,’ I said as Soph and Chris turned towards their bike.
Soph stopped and turned back to me. ‘No, we’re stopping you from making a mistake,’ she said. She and Chris stood by the bike to put their helmets on. They climbed onto it, Chris on the back, and Soph started the engine.
‘Innocent until proven guilty!’ Kay yelled after them, but even her booming voice was drowned out by the sound of the bike’s engine as it turned and roared away down the track, back to the road. Shane turned the van around in the limited space and followed after them.
‘I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,’ I said as the sound of the bike’s engine diminished.
As the sun set that evening, the low clouds carried diffused strips of orange and yellow across the horizon. I sat in the Martello tower alone. I heard Kay’s voice from below, but I couldn’t make out her words. I leaned out of the window to see Charlotte and Stewart sitting beside the fire. Misfit sat a little way back from them, a piece of wood and a knife in his hands, his blade working erratically and frantically rather than with the care and emotion he normally put into carving his little sculptures. Kay stood beside Charlotte and Stewart, looking down at them. Her face was flushed and her hand movements were direct and hard as she spoke.
Stewart spoke now, his voice lower than Kay’s, but Kay put her hands on her hips and turned her head away as though she wasn’t listening. She looked up and caught my eye. The pair of us held the gaze for a while before I sat down and turned my attention back to the sunset.
I pulled my pouch of baccy out of my pocket. I unfolded it and looked inside – enough for one more smoke. I rolled the last of the baccy and lit my cigarette, taking in a big lungful as I watched a pink haze develop on the horizon. I heard the door to the Martello tower bang, then footsteps up the stairs. I span my head around to the left and peered into the gloom as Misfit’s head bobbed into view. I turned back to the sunset.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said, keeping my back to him.
‘Do you want some company?’
‘No.’
‘Sophie, you were the first to be suspicious of Sean when he showed up,’ said Misfit without moving from the top of the stairs. ‘You were the one that wanted him followed and wanted him out of here. You wouldn’t have stopped me from killing him on the beach. You were the one that worried about Flick and Sara’s safety. Let’s face it, he probably did it. It all points to him.’
I turned to glare at Misfit. ‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ I said. ‘It all points to him so the St Andrews lot are going to pin it on him whether he’s guilty or not.’
‘So what if they do? Why do you care?’
A surge of anger pushed me up onto my feet but I stayed by the window, at the other end of the room to Misfit. ‘So what if they do? Are you serious, Misfit? You don’t know me at all do you? If they do, I believe they’ll be punishing an innocent man. I know they wouldn’t do that intentionally. I know they’re all hurting really bad because they’ve lost Lucy, but I’m worried that’ll make them blinkered to the fact that there’s more going on here than any of us realise. And the killer will still be out there but no one will care because as far as they’re concerned they’ve had their justice. What do you think they’ll do to him, huh? Have strong words with him, make him promise never to do it again? There’s no legal system any more. No fair trails. No prisons. They’ll kill him and then we might never find out what happened. That could put us all at risk.’
‘What do you mean, what really happened?’
‘I don’t think he did it, but he knows who did,’ I said.
‘And he told you that?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you believe him?’
‘I think so. I’m not sure. But I do know he looks guilty as fuck and he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. No fancy lawyer who can clear his name. No detectives who can investigate what really happened.’
‘I think you’re wrong about him,’ said Misfit.
‘He saved our lives yesterday. You were out of it. You didn’t see what he did for us – for you. If he hadn’t carried you away from that car, neither of us would be alive now. The zombies would have got us. He could have run after the crash but he didn’t, instead he struggled with you on his shoulder until he collapsed to the ground with the effort. You didn’t see all that, Misfit. But I did. I saw how he refused to give up on you even though it could have been the end of him too. And why would he come back here if he was guilty? He would have known Lucy’s people would be searching for him.’
‘To murder us in our sleep,’ said Misfit.
With my cheeks burning with anger, I turned my back to him and flicked the butt of my cigarette out the window. ‘Leave me alone, Misfit.’
I heard his feet moving on the bare, dusty floorboards. He stood right behind me, his body lightly touching mine, but I continued to gaze out across the sea. ‘You can’t just push me away because I don’t agree with you,’ Misfit said close to my ear.
I turned and looked him in the eye. I had so much I wanted to say but in that moment something pulled my plug out and everything inside me drained away. I pushed past him and darted for the stairs.
Entry Nine
I woke up alone on the sofa in my caravan. I had a blanket over me. I hadn’t had one on me last night when I came to sit in here and I guessed I must have fallen asleep and either Kay or Charlotte had put it over me. I glanced out the window, the sun was only half visible on the horizon so I knew it was still early. I wanted a cigarette but I’d smoked the last of my baccy yesterday.
I pushed the blanket off, stood up and staggered to the caravan door. Outside, Misfit sat by the glowing embers of last night’s fire and he dug his knife into
a piece of wood like a gardener trying to unearth a stubborn weed. ‘It’s not one of your best,’ I said sheepishly as I stepped down from the caravan and inched my way towards him.
Misfit looked up at me. ‘It’s a representation of my current emotional state,’ he said.
‘Oh … ah.’ I mock grimaced. Misfit gave me a lopsided grin and I smiled back. ‘I need baccy,’ I said. ‘Quite stupidly, desperately.’
‘You wanna go on a supply run?’
‘Everywhere in town has been picked clean by the sounds of it.’
‘We can scout around further afield. There must be somewhere that still has stock. I’ll go hunting later, but I can do a supply run with you first, pick you up some baccy so you don’t turn into a grouch.’
‘I’m not a grouch.’
‘You are when you don’t get your nicotine fix.’
‘Oh.’ I nodded. ‘OK. Thanks. I’ll go and wake Kay and let her know we’re going.’
We drove around and, on the outskirts of town, we found a big Sainsbury’s in the middle of an Industrial Estate, surrounded by electrical and DIY stores and huge warehouses. Misfit drove right up to the front entrance, mowing down five zombies that lumbered through the car park. He had to do a zig zag manoeuvre to get them all, and while neither of us spoke during the entire journey, I could tell by his half smile he had gained satisfaction from the game of Car-Zombie skittles.
We climbed out of the car, me sliding the knife from my belt, and we headed for the entrance. The automatic doors were shut and wouldn’t budge, despite Misfit trying to prise them open with his fingers. I cupped my hands over my eyes and pressed myself against the glass, peering inside. ‘It’s well stocked,’ I said. ‘Over a year into the outbreak, I can’t believe no one’s busted into this place.’
‘It’s not a residential area. I guess it got overlooked.’
Misfit slid the blade of his knife between the doors and tried to lever them apart. They were stuck fast. Frustrated, he struck the glass with the side of his fist. A zombie lumbered out from one of the aisles, its dead eyes trained on me as it staggered across the store’s entrance until it reached the window. It slammed its putrid fists against the glass, and I instinctively jumped back. The zombie began to scratch at the invisible barrier separating us. It pressed its mouth against the window, trying to bite its way through to me, but all it succeeded in doing was to leave a trail of yellowish green saliva on the glass. I saw three more zombies shuffle out from various aisles, then another two, and a few more, and they all headed towards their comrade.
Blog of the Dead (Book 2): Life Page 7