Blog of the Dead (Book 1): Sophie Read Online Free
would’ve let him. That moment, I am pleased to say, has passed.
We’re rationing the crisps and chocolate and stuff but we haven’t got a lot left. We know we’re going to have to go out there soon and brave the desolate, zombie ridden streets of Folkestone before we get too weak to search for food.
But we’re scared.
November 20
1.25pm Day 7
Shit! I can’t stop shaking or crying. Richard got out last night. I feel sick.
2.40pm Day 7
I have almost stopped shaking now. So, last night, I heard a thump, and then some crashing from upstairs. Me and Polly were in the living room but neither of us knew where Sam was. I reached the door first and took a peek out into the hallway. Nothing there that could explain the noise, but I could see Sam sitting at the dinning room table, a copy of Stephen King’s The Stand clutched in his hand. He wasn’t reading it though, just staring straight at me, his eyes all bugging out his head. I heard a scrambling noise coming from the first floor landing. Richard had got out.
Polly pushed past me and dashed straight to the kitchen. The eight inch chopping knife was still up in Sam’s bedroom but she emerged from the kitchen holding a long, heavy, serrated bread knife. ‘Let’s get that fucker,’ she said as she made her way to the stairs.
Her gung-ho approach totally freaked me out. I couldn’t let her go up there alone, so I bolted for the kitchen, aware that the choice of weapons was diminishing. I found a pair of long bladed scissors. Then I saw Sam – completely unarmed – running after Polly and I panicked, looking for something I could get for him. I remembered the long handled Maglite torch that Dad had insisted on me taking from home and keeping ‘in a safe place, Sophie’ and I thought, thanks, Dad . I frantically opened the second draw down, under the cutlery drawer, then remembered it was in the bottom draw. I opened it and pulled out the torch, reassuringly heavy in my hand, and bolted out of the kitchen after the other two.
Before I got to the stairs, I heard Polly say, ‘Oh fuck.’ When I got there I saw her standing about halfway up the stairs, the bread knife held limply in front of her. She stared up at Richard as he staggered along the landing outside the bathroom. Sam told her to come down and get out of the way, but she ignored him – rooted to the spot like a persistent weed on a patio.
I gave Sam the Maglite. He looked a bit disappointed with the torch and looked longingly at my scissors. But Richard staggered down the stairs, closer to Polly, who had gone all catatonic and appeared to have forgotten about the potentially lethal weapon in her hand. Richard – now looking like a dead frog that had been drying in the sun for a few days with papery skin stretched over his yellowing bones, bloodshot eyes bulging out of his gaunt face – reached his rotten arms out before him. Polly backed away but not quick enough. Richard got hold of her hair and pulled. She shrieked and tried to pull herself free, but Richard grabbed her left arm. Polly remembered the bread knife and swung it but she got her aim wrong and the blade dug into Richard’s shoulder. Of course, this would have been enough to slow down or even stop a human, but zombies, well, they require more of a head related injury. So, Richard bent down towards Polly, pulling her up as he did, teeth bared.
Sam shot up the stairs. He swung the Maglite at the backs of Richard’s legs, making him lose his footing. Richard tumbled onto his back, taking Polly down with him, the bread knife falling out of her hand. Richard appeared oblivious to Sam’s attack and only had eyes for Polly, pulling her hair so that she was right on top of him, her face inches from his gnashing teeth, all yellow, pussy spittle flying.
I could see that Sam wanted to take a swing at Richard’s head with the torch but couldn’t because Polly was in the way, so I ran up the stairs, stuck my scissors into one of
We’re rationing the crisps and chocolate and stuff but we haven’t got a lot left. We know we’re going to have to go out there soon and brave the desolate, zombie ridden streets of Folkestone before we get too weak to search for food.
But we’re scared.
November 20
1.25pm Day 7
Shit! I can’t stop shaking or crying. Richard got out last night. I feel sick.
2.40pm Day 7
I have almost stopped shaking now. So, last night, I heard a thump, and then some crashing from upstairs. Me and Polly were in the living room but neither of us knew where Sam was. I reached the door first and took a peek out into the hallway. Nothing there that could explain the noise, but I could see Sam sitting at the dinning room table, a copy of Stephen King’s The Stand clutched in his hand. He wasn’t reading it though, just staring straight at me, his eyes all bugging out his head. I heard a scrambling noise coming from the first floor landing. Richard had got out.
Polly pushed past me and dashed straight to the kitchen. The eight inch chopping knife was still up in Sam’s bedroom but she emerged from the kitchen holding a long, heavy, serrated bread knife. ‘Let’s get that fucker,’ she said as she made her way to the stairs.
Her gung-ho approach totally freaked me out. I couldn’t let her go up there alone, so I bolted for the kitchen, aware that the choice of weapons was diminishing. I found a pair of long bladed scissors. Then I saw Sam – completely unarmed – running after Polly and I panicked, looking for something I could get for him. I remembered the long handled Maglite torch that Dad had insisted on me taking from home and keeping ‘in a safe place, Sophie’ and I thought, thanks, Dad . I frantically opened the second draw down, under the cutlery drawer, then remembered it was in the bottom draw. I opened it and pulled out the torch, reassuringly heavy in my hand, and bolted out of the kitchen after the other two.
Before I got to the stairs, I heard Polly say, ‘Oh fuck.’ When I got there I saw her standing about halfway up the stairs, the bread knife held limply in front of her. She stared up at Richard as he staggered along the landing outside the bathroom. Sam told her to come down and get out of the way, but she ignored him – rooted to the spot like a persistent weed on a patio.
I gave Sam the Maglite. He looked a bit disappointed with the torch and looked longingly at my scissors. But Richard staggered down the stairs, closer to Polly, who had gone all catatonic and appeared to have forgotten about the potentially lethal weapon in her hand. Richard – now looking like a dead frog that had been drying in the sun for a few days with papery skin stretched over his yellowing bones, bloodshot eyes bulging out of his gaunt face – reached his rotten arms out before him. Polly backed away but not quick enough. Richard got hold of her hair and pulled. She shrieked and tried to pull herself free, but Richard grabbed her left arm. Polly remembered the bread knife and swung it but she got her aim wrong and the blade dug into Richard’s shoulder. Of course, this would have been enough to slow down or even stop a human, but zombies, well, they require more of a head related injury. So, Richard bent down towards Polly, pulling her up as he did, teeth bared.
Sam shot up the stairs. He swung the Maglite at the backs of Richard’s legs, making him lose his footing. Richard tumbled onto his back, taking Polly down with him, the bread knife falling out of her hand. Richard appeared oblivious to Sam’s attack and only had eyes for Polly, pulling her hair so that she was right on top of him, her face inches from his gnashing teeth, all yellow, pussy spittle flying.
I could see that Sam wanted to take a swing at Richard’s head with the torch but couldn’t because Polly was in the way, so I ran up the stairs, stuck my scissors into one of
Readers choose
Shelia M. Goss
Jane Isaac
Mordecai Richler
Brina Courtney
Melissa Gaye Perez
Melissa Pearl
The Forever Man
Marie James
Jeyn Roberts
Suzanne Brockmann