Blog of the Dead (Book 2): Life Read Online Free PDF

saying a word he lay down next to me, on top of the blanket, facing me. He put his arm around my shoulders.
    I rested my head on Misfit’s left shoulder and stared into his big brown eyes. I could feel my own eyes fluttering as they grew heavy but I wanted to keep them open. I wanted to keep them on Misfit. But I couldn’t resist any longer and, with Misfit’s body next to mine, I melted into him and fell asleep.
    When I opened my eyes, Misfit had gone. Early morning sun flooded in through the bay window and I sat up, shoving the blanket off me, but my foot got caught and I rolled off the sofa, landing on the floor with a bump. I sat up, my heart pounding. All I could think about was Misfit heading out to hunt at first light; going before I woke so he didn’t have to say goodbye to me and have me try and talk him out of it.
    As I scrabbled to free myself from the blanket, I heard a laugh from behind me. ‘What’re you doing down there?’ I turned my head and saw Misfit stood at the door of the caravan. He held his hunting knife in one hand and his backpack in his other. ‘It’s a lovely day,’ he said. ‘Cold but clear. It should be high tide. Fancy coming fishing with me?’
    Out of my cage. We found Misfit’s fishing rod right where he had left it the day he went missing. Sitting on the promenade with him, smelling the sea salt spray as the waves hit the concrete, life opened up like the ocean before me and I forgot how small my world had become since the outbreak. A seagull screeched overhead and the cool breeze made my cheeks tingle.
    ‘Just think, Sophie, fresh fish roasting for dinner. We’re going to eat well tonight, babe.’ Misfit turned and grinned at me, his face alive and glowing in a way it didn’t inside the camp. He called me ‘ babe ’, I thought. He never would’ve done that in camp either. ‘Wanna place a bet on how many fish we hook today?’ he continued, we’d already caught eight in the hours we’d been there. ‘I reckon I’ll nail my record’ … Misfit carried on chatting but something caught my eye.
    To the right of us, the concrete promenade dropped back by a good few metres and there was more sand and shingle beach, punctuated by breakwaters and parts of the promenade that jut out onto the beach, creating hidey holes. I thought I had seen something, a grey shape, slip behind part of the promenade that formed a set of steps down onto the beach. A zombie, I guessed, far enough away not to be a threat, but I wanted to keep my eye on it. And where there was one, there would often be more. ‘... I was about nine and my uncle, my mum’s brother was … Sophie … Sophie, what’s wrong?’ asked Misfit.
    I realised he was looking at me as he spoke but I was looking over his shoulder, off into the distance while I kept my eye on the beach for any sign of movement. Nothing. I began to doubt I’d seen anything. ‘Nothing,’ I said, turning my gaze to Misfit, ‘Sorry, go on. You were saying you were … nine …’
    ‘Yeah, nine-years-old when I first went fishing with my uncle. He went to a local river every weekend. His wife called herself a “fishing widow”. I had to ask my mum what a widow was and she explained it meant a woman whose husband has died so I imagined she’d been married to a fish before she married my uncle and the fish had died … I sort of pictured a King Neptune fish man.’ Misfit pulled a sheepish expression and I couldn’t help laughing. ‘Are you laughing at me?’ asked Misfit.
    ‘Yes,’ I said between giggles. ‘That’s the funniest but … sweetest thing … I’ve heard.’ Misfit’s sheepish grin widened into a smile, then he started laughing too. ‘A King Neptune fish man …’ I saw it again; a figure on the distant beach. It staggered out from behind the promenade. The smile vanished from my face.
    ‘Yeah, I guess it is pretty fun –’ Misfit saw the change in my expression and went silent. He snapped his head around so he could