“I can give you one, if you want.” I could feel my face reddening. “I meant a massage.”
“I know.”
“I just—”
Clare shushed me; it wasn’t a rude shush, and I took the hint that she wanted some quiet time. I continued to rub her head and remained silent until she was ready to break the silence.
Trying to ignore a faded car alarm from outside, the screech of a vehicle’s tyres, and a yell coming from a male, we remained in the same position and Clare slowly broke away from our embrace. I stroked her arm and inspected her frame.
We both hugged one another and she broke away and glared into my eyes. It was almost as if I could read those beautiful blue eyes of hers, and I reluctantly nodded and kissed her on the forehead.
I asked, “When?”
She replied quickly, “When you think I’m ready.” She placed her hand on my cheek and kissed me on the lips. “I’m feeling tired now. I want to lie down.”
“Okay,” I responded, and got off the bed. I headed towards the bedroom door. Before I left and shut the door behind me, I turned around and saw that Clare was curled up on top of the bed, her eyes already closed. It had been a hell of a day, and the guilt I felt for leaving the school weighed me down. But if we never fled in the BMW, what was the alternative? Being stuck in that poky office while the dead were wandering around the Anson Block, trying to starve us out.
No, we had to escape. We had to try something.
Even if we stayed in the school, which meant Kelly wouldn’t have been killed, we would have all perished eventually, I was certain of it. I then wondered if Janet had made it. The librarian seemed pretty certain she could make it home once she was eventually persuaded to go outside.
I ran the tap of the downstairs sink in the kitchen and cupped my hands to splash my face, to dilute the stinging tears that were falling for Clare. Once the tap was switched off, I leaned on the sink with my eyes staring at the linoleum floor, and they remained there for a few seconds.
“Come on,” I reprimanded myself. “You can do this. Don’t let her down.”
I pulled out the drawer and could see nothing of use. I wanted it to be quick, effective, but I didn’t want it to be messy, which was the reason why the use of the crowbar was a definite no-no. It needed to be dignified.
I pulled out a steak knife from the wooden block that was sitting next to the kettle. It wasn’t very big, but it was six inches in length and would do the job with a bit more dignity than a hatchet or a meat cleaver that was also available. I took the steak knife and walked upstairs, knife in my right shaking hand.
I got back into the bedroom and saw Clare in a different position now. She was now lying on her back with her hands behind the back of her head. She looked so relaxed, casual.
A small smile emerged on my face, and I took a white sheet out of a top drawer I had looked into earlier. I walked around the bed and lay next to Clare. I turned and saw her face. She looked peaceful, perfect. Her face had been cleaned and there wasn’t a single speck of blood on her skin.
With tears in my eyes, I gently stroked her face with the side of my forefinger. I leaned over, pecked her on her cheek and felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one.
I placed the white sheet over her face and felt for her right eye with my thumb, kept it there, and pushed the steak knife deep into her eye-socket.
Epilogue
It’s been four days since Clare had died, and four days it has taken me to get my words down onto the hard drive and the USB, which was already found attached to Ellis’s laptop that I had come across in a room that looked like his private study.
I was panicking a little, paranoid that I wouldn’t have time to write it all down, but alas, I have. I’m sure the power will go soon, but once us humans regain control, it’ll be back. I’m just sad that I won’t be around when humanity takes control again.
For the last four days all I’ve done is write, eat and drink, followed by more writing. The last time I looked out of the window, there were hundreds of them outside, mainly aching to get into the house as if they knew I was inside.
I’m not despondent or angry. I know it’s only a matter of time before my days are numbered, but at least my own demise will be my choice, unlike Clare’s or Kelly’s, and possibly thousands of others.
After the first day or so of killing Clare, I used to go in and check on her, just to make sure I had done the right thing. I would check her left forearm, check that the bite wound was still there, the bite wound that she had received outside the house when that bastard was on top of her.
Of course it was.
Even though she wanted me to kill her before she turned, I still kept on checking that forearm, but now I don’t. Now I don’t bother because I know it was the correct thing to do, and another reason why I don’t visit her anymore is because the odour coming from the dead body is starting to smell a little ... well, a lot—I’m sorry, Clare.
As for me … I don’t look outside anymore because I know the situation is useless, hopeless, and they’re now around the back garden as well as the front. It won’t be long before those windows come through, but I’ll be waiting. Not with a crowbar, but with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. By the time they crawl their stinking bodies upstairs, if they can, and into my barricaded room, I’ll be long gone. There won’t be any warm flesh on offer for those Z bastards.
I have no idea how this thing had started, and even now sometimes wonder if this is just one bad dream. Whatever it is, I’m not going to be around to see what the overall outcome will be for this country and the rest of the world. Maybe that’s just as well.
For the remaining weeks, days, hours of my time, I’m going to savour every second of this gift we used to take for granted called life. I’m going to watch a sunset, breathe in fresh air—through a window, of course, and use my mind to reminisce about the good times I have shared with family and friends.
They’ll be tears.
A trip down memory lane and the use of our imagination is something, as humans, that we all take for granted, but I’m going to milk every second.
So this is me, John Pope, logging off.
God bless, everyone. And good luck.
THE END
If you enjoyed reading The Z Word, feel free to share your thoughts on my Facebook page, mail me, or leave a review where you’ve downloaded the book.
Very kind regards,
Shaun Whittington
If you are interested in any other books of mine, which includes the 12 book apocalyptic series, Snatchers, Monsterland or Ghostland, then you can find the link to my author’s page here:
UK: Amazon
USA: Amazon
Author’s Note
Thanks for downloading this book. Because these books were set in the Snatchers world (which some people are unaware of) I decided to put them together.
Snatchers: A Father’s Story was originally written a few years ago and was left abandoned for five years. I had no idea what to do with it and didn’t really want to put it out on its own. I wouldn’t expect anyone to pay money for something so short (10,000 words) so I left it for a while.
This story is written in first person by Karen Bradley’s father. During the twelve book Snatchers series, Karen talks and thinks about her dad in Glasgow and her step-sister Kelly. Now we know what happened to them. The father also comes across some of the same scenarios as Jack Slade from the first Snatchers book when he was trying to leave Glasgow to get to his son in Rugeley, which highlights that James Bradley and Jack Slade lived in the same area of Glasgow, the south side.
The Girl with the Flying Saucer Eyes is set six months after the outbreak. We hear the word Snatchers and also come across a character called Hando, who is the villain from my Ghostland series (also set in the Snatchers world and published by Severed Press) which is set a year after the outbreak. We also find out that Emma is Stephen Rowley’s sister from the Snatchers series.
At the end of the book, our survivors are picked up by two familiar characters from the Snatchers series. They alos explain that they were heading back to Colwyn Place. In the last Snatchers book, the main characters had left Colwyn Place to go with Drake to Stafford Hospital. So, for some reason, our survivors from the Snatchers series had returned to Little Haywood, back to Colwyn Place, for reasons that wasn’t explained.
The Z Word is also set in the same universe. However, the only nod to the Snatchers series is when our narrator John Pope watches the news and mentions anchorman Ben Foster and a preacher. This is the same channel that Karen Bradley was watching in the very first Snatchers chapter before she fell asleep on the couch after a hard night shift at the hospital.
Books set in the Snatchers world:
Set in the beginning
*Snatchers 1-12. From June to August.
*Snatchers: A Father’s Story. Written in first person by James Bradley.
*The Z Word:
Six months after
The Girl with the Flying Saucer Eyes.
A year after
Ghostland 1-3
All available here:
UK: Amazon
USA: Amazon
The Z Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 28