Sand, Sea, Zombies

by Blackpool and Fylde Lancashire and Cumbria Wrimos

stairs and wait it out.

  Yesterday, we went shopping for any non-perishable food and weapons we could get our hands on – but of course it turned out everyone else was thinking along the same lines, so we were queuing up in the shops like there was a sale on, just trying to get our hands on some tins and crackers.

  I already had some idea of what to grab from survival programmes, which might have put us ahead of everyone else once upon a time – but then the Internet was invented.

  By the time we were done, I felt like I’d gone walking through a horde of zombies already – but we had what we needed. We even got our hands on a pretty hefty axe from a DIY/garden centre; it felt quite fun to take a few practice swings and imagine taking a zombie or two out with it. At the time at least.

  Ed and I were both knackered by the time we went to bed, but I didn’t sleep too well. According to the TV, some boffins had worked out that based on the estimated speed of the zombies, they could well be turning up in England today, if it was going to happen. I was still hoping they’d take a detour and go bother Calais or something.

  The next day, I was all for staying in – particularly as it looked like rain – but Ed said it might be good to head down to the sea.

  ‘Are you mental?’ I said.

  ‘If anything happens, we’ll be the first to know and we can make a move,’ he said.

  In the end, I went along, but I wasn’t happy about it. It started drizzling almost as soon as we left home, and it carried on non-stop.

  I wanted to go up and down the promenade, or as close as we could get to it with the soldiers around. Unfortunately, the men in uniform were already on edge thanks to the crowds that had turned up hoping to see some action.

  But a few hours went by and there was nothing.

  For the record, I did buy her some fish and chips in the hope it would make her less grumpy.

  So, around half past two, we were at Cocker Square, all huddled up in our coats against the wind and the rain, and heading in the direction of our house. I was hoping maybe we could go inside for at least a little while.

  I was just about to tell Ed we should do that when we heard the first gunshots in the direction of the Tower. And then – you could just about hear it over the wind - the moaning.

  I remember thinking to myself, No, no, this isn’t happening, it’s just something else, someone in the crowd getting too rowdy or something. But off in the distance, we could see the soldiers hurrying, getting their guns ready…shooting towards the beach. And we could hear screams now.

  Sometimes, luck can be a real bitch.

  Tell me about it.

  I thought then, Oh my God, this is real. I looked at Ed: even after all that thought and being practical, he looked like a ghost.

  Do you have to put that? It makes me sound like a coward. And you should have seen yourself; I thought you were going to pass out.

  There weren’t too many people around us, but when they started shouting and pointing, we looked towards the sea. There was a dripping-wet zombie stumbling onto the beach: a middle-aged woman, her skin pale, her dress ripped and rotting away, her head cocked and her mouth hanging open.

  The soldiers were mostly concentrated around the Tower area where the beach was most accessible, but there was at least one guy patrolling where we were. ‘Stay back!’ he shouted, and then he raised his rifle and blasted at the zombie, but his hands must have been shaking: it took a few shots before he hit the head and the thing went down. A few people cheered; most of the ones who weren’t running for their lives already must have been too shocked to say anything. That’s definitely how Ed and I were.

  There were more zombies coming up our section of the beach, at least two dozen more. They just stared straight ahead, moaning and gargling – I don’t know if zombies can think, but it must have seemed like we were offering ourselves up. Even more wet heads were appearing in the sea behind them. And then they turned in the direction of the nearest stairs off the beach.

  I risked a glance towards the Tower. The soldiers were backing away, still blasting. I thought I could see some of the crowd coming in to help them with their axes and sledgehammers and guns and hockey sticks. But there were already a few zombies making their way up to dry land. I didn’t want to see how many were already on the beach.

  When a hand touched my shoulder, I jumped about a mile, but it was only Ed. ‘Lily, let’s go. Now.’

  Didn’t need to tell me twice. We just ran.

  You happy now, Ed? Not sounding so cowardly?

  Yes, thank you.

  All I can remember about that run is still listening for the moaning behind us, and the screaming – I vaguely remember dodging a car at one point. But then suddenly we were falling against our front door, and my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest.

  When we stumbled inside and I had enough breath to speak again, I said, ‘Let’s go. Let’s go.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Ed.

  We packed our rucksacks as quick as we could, got our weapons and supplies together, then we went for our bikes that were standing by the back door.

  I’d already discussed in our planning session how it wouldn’t be a good idea to use the car in the middle of a panic. Congestion was pretty certain.

  As we went for the front door, Ed was muttering under his breath, and then he said, ‘Right, I think we got everything.’

  ‘Let’s go already!’ I yelled.

  Ed was out the door first – and a few seconds later, I heard him yelling.

  There was a zombie coming through our front gate. It was a man, mid-twenties, skinny; his wet hair was plastered to his head, I couldn’t tell if it was black or brown. His skin was shining, it looked slimy to the touch. His eyes were bulging, and his mouth was wide open – his moaning was almost a scream.

  I can’t believe I was so stupid. I hadn’t thought to make sure a weapon was in easy reach.

  To be honest, neither had I. His crowbar and my axe were still attached to our rucksacks. I started scrabbling to get mine just as he was taking his rucksack off and going for his – but then he dropped it. He dived at it, but the zombie was closing in, reaching out for the grab. Ed was yelling again; I’ve never seen him look as scared as that.

  I was on the threshold. My axe was in my hand. And I just dropped my bike and launched myself.

  You screamed like a barbarian.

  I don’t remember that. But I do remember the sound that axe made when I swung it into the zombie’s face.

  For a few seconds, I was still full of adrenaline. But as the zombie started jerking like it was having a seizure, and then finally went down, my head cleared and I realised I’d just smashed something that used to be human – and still looked vaguely human – with an axe. Maybe it was a good thing I hadn’t been thinking about it.

  Ed was beside me then. ‘Let’s go!’

  I should point out that he did say thank you later.

  I had other things on my mind; I hope you can forgive me, Lily.

  There were more zombies coming down the street by the time we finally got onto the road, but with our bikes, we could easily outpace them. It wasn’t too easy getting out of Blackpool or finding our way onto the road to Preston; there were cars and panicked people all over the place, we were nearly run down more than once. It felt like the world was going mad already.

  But we made it. We’re even more knackered, and I’m sure I’m going to get a cold from that rain, but we’re alive and unscathed and sheltering in my mum’s house. Now we’re just keeping our TV and smartphones on and waiting for any updates.

  I’ll We’ll continue to write in this diary as things progress. I just hope it has a happy ending.

  Current location: Preston, Lancashire

  Distance travelled: 14 miles (checked on Google Maps)

  Zombies seen: 50 100?

  Zombies killed: 1

  (THIS DIARY IS THE PROPERTY OF THE BRITISH ARMY – RECOVERED INSIDE BACKPACK ON BLACKPOOL ROAD, PREST
ON, ON 8TH MARCH 2015.)

  Richard Southworth’s writing began at age 7 or 8 when he wrote a story about a good witch. Two decades on, he maintains a regularly updated blog, came runner-up in an online short story competition, and has participated in National Novel Writing Month every year since 2009, with tales of vampires, vigilantes, dinosaur hunters and assassin princesses. Recently, Richard has turned his hand to narration: he has currently produced two audiobooks, with a third coming soon. He enjoys wildlife watching, photography, and travelling to far-off lands to do both.

  Deliteful Donuts

  by Glenis Stott

  Ed and Lily, on their first holiday in twenty years, were walking along the prom, heads down against the rain. They were dressed for the weather. Lily was wearing an orange beret and a purple raincoat, an outfit bought many years ago at a second-hand shop. The beret was too small and the raincoat too large but she felt like a rainbow in it and that’s what mattered. Ed had on yellow waterproofs – hat, coat and trousers. Lily used to call him her Little Lemon Drop in the early days but she didn’t say that anymore.

  Lily was talking. Talking, talking. ‘Aw, look at the baby,’ ‘Have you seen that poor dog? It’s shivering.’ ‘Those seagulls are noisy,’ and ‘Oh look, there’s a donut stall over there.’ No response from Ed. She nudged him with her purple elbow. ‘There’s donuts over there. Shall we buy some?’

  Ed stopped walking and turned to her. ‘Donuts? You’ve only just had a veggie burger and chips!’

  ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘we’re on our holidays.’

  They