Revenge of the Dead

Chapter 3: The Crimson Coat

The boy crouched down in the corner looks up with a small smile that stretches across his face, relief evident in his eyes.

"Hey, how's it going?" he asks perkily and I raise a brow, confused by his good mood.

"Good thanks," I reply warily, reaching down to pick up my knife. We stare at each other awkwardly before I laugh uneasily in an attempt to break the silence, pulling a tight grin across my lips. "I'm Madeline," I say extending my hand towards the boy, "and this is Josh and Maria," I add, gesturing to my friends behind me. 

"Sophie and Ashia, my daughter, are over there," I explain and gesture towards the end of the shop. He smiles widely at me and shakes my outstretched hand gently, his hands cracked and caked in dirt and dried blood.

"My name's Elijah," he replies.

"Are you alone, Elijah?" I ask, he nods sadly- grimacing at his evident grief. "It's been that way for weeks," he mumbles and I sigh heavily, he can't be any older than Sophie or Maria.

"Do you want to come with us?" I question and his eyes light up, nodding frantically. He rises from the floor and we all walk over to where Soph and Ashia are sat. I don't miss the look Josh challenges me with. He's right, I should be more careful. But there's something so innocent about Elijah, I can see it in his eyes.

"Sophie? This is Elijah," I say as her gaze meets his, they stare at each other for a long while and I roll my eyes at them, taking Ashia from Soph's embrace.

"I'm Soph," my sister says coyly, tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear as Elijah shakes her outstretched hand and replies with a charming smile.

"Nice to meet you!" he exclaims, his eyes gleaming brightly. My eyes flicker across the rows of stacked clothing, the tall isles providing a maze of fabric that could conceal the infected and I shiver slightly. 

"We need to go," I say bluntly, walking towards the escalators. The group look up and follow my descent, zigzagging through the isles before we make it back to the stained glass door. I walk back into the sunlight with Ashia in my arms and I look around the street, trying to find a defendable point of refuge for the group to eat. I notice a quaint café over the road and decide on that, jogging across the street and opening the door slowly- creeping inside after a moment of silence.

The café is clear of infected but destruction grips the building with tables upturned and smashed china littering the floor. The stench of gone off food churns my stomach but I smile down the bile that rises in my throat, grimacing as I notice the bloodstains in the carpet. I tip back up some tables and chairs whilst clearing a path through the china with my foot, kicking the broken plates to the side clumsily. Once the group has all sat down, I pass some packets of biscuits around the cramped table with a few bottles of water to share.

"So Elijah," I say after a long and uncomfortable silence, "how did you get here?" I ask. Elijah shifts uncomfortably and sighs, his eyes still staring obsessively at a broken mug that he twists in his muddy hands.

"I used to live in London but when the virus hit me and my family ran away," he takes a deep breath and I bite my lip with a pained expression, knowing first hand how bad the capital was. "London was destroyed within a matter of days, we barely got out alive. I remember that blood coated the street like some twisted sheet of ice, except it didn't melt away, it just left a dry crimson coat across the city. I felt sick as our car splashed through it, watching as it splashed up to streak our windows. You could smell it too, a kind of rancid metallic stench that seemed to cling to your clothes. It took me months to finally wash the smell out of my clothes, even now I imagine the scent filling my nostrils." Elijah pauses for a short moment, taking the time to let out a low sigh before continuing.

"My dad and my older brother, it was only us for as long as I can remember. Time seems to have lost meaning since the apocalypse, I have no idea what year it even is anymore. I remember the winter best, that's when it was the worst. We got to the island as the weather got better, it must have been spring I suppose. My dad found a tiny rowing boat and we all packed in with our handful of possessions, we made it to the island before the sun had set and stopped in the port for the night," Elijah recounts, turning the chipped mug in his hands obsessively. 

"I remember it felt safe, like there was nothing to hurt us now we were away from the mainland. It was like we were invincible. I didn't have to think about anything that night, I just stared out the window and watched the night play around us. Nothing mattered or existed, yet I felt so alive. When morning came I had wished I'd never woken up," he whispers.

"Where is your family, Elijah?" I ask softly, my voice shaky. A sad smile fixes to Elijah's lips and his eyes brim with tears,

"My mum died early on, she was sick as it was and one day, the zombies, they caught her. My dad wasn't the same after that and he took his life about a month ago," he pauses and the silence is unsettling before he finally continues.

"My brother got separated on the island three days ago, he could still be alive but I have no way of knowing," he trails off. We all chew our lips nervously before finally, I break the silence. 

"Well, you can stick with us until you find him," I suggest, to which Elijah nods appreciatively- although I'm not sure if we ever will. 

"I would like that," he says in a sad but somewhat hopeful tone.

"So what are you guys doing?" Elijah asks and my smile drops instantly, a coldness washing over my body.

"Trying to find my parents," I say bitterly and he frowns at my reaction.

"Do you not get on with your parents?" he asks and I sigh shakily, anger coursing through my veins at my hatred towards both of them.

"It's a long story but, to make it short, I couldn't care less if they were dead or alive," I say and he flinches at my tone and drops my gaze. I feel guilty for my insensitivity and send him an apologetic look, his eyes staying downcast to the mug.

"At least you might have parents, that's more than most of us can say," he whispers sadly and I try not to cry as the guilt stabs me, the tears pricking at the back of my eyes.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go," Maria exclaims standing up and ushering us towards the door, evidently attempting to change the subject. We all get to our feet silently and walk out of the café, our moods sombre. I walk along slowly, my mind settling on my parents with one reoccurring question flooding my mind.

Do I really want them to be dead?