Wait for Me
J.M. McKenzie
Copyright © 2020 J.M. McKenzie
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior consent of the author.
ISBN: 9798591049423
DEDICATION
To my fellow survivors of the Monroe Zombie Apocalypse, and my nemesis, The Abomination (aka Stevie J. Douglas).
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The author would like to acknowledge the support of her fellow writers and members of JAMS Publishing: AJ Jones, of Get It Write UK, who did the proofreading and editing; Michael Andrews, who did the formatting for publication; and S.J. Gibbs for her unwavering support and encouragement.
The book was written on the advice of some fellow writers after they gave the author feedback on her first attempt at another novel, The Ice Factory. The Ice Factory is an ambitious project on a serious topic, and they suggested that she "cut her teeth" on something a little lighter.
At the time, the author had recently taken part in a reality TV show on BBC3, I Survived a Zombie Apocalypse, and had developed a small following on social media. She has always had an interest in all things related to apocalyptic scenarios and zombie-related ones in particular, so it seemed like a good place to start.
The "journey" theme of the book was inspired by a novel that J.M. had read and enjoyed, called The End of the World Running Club by Adrian J. Walker. Some of the locations in this book were familiar to J.M. and she wanted to weave the idea into her own story by taking an ordinary woman on an extraordinary journey, through the author’s own local environment.
Last but not least, she would like to acknowledge the patience and encouragement of her partner, Mike, and all of her family and friends.
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Chapter 1 - Day 1 - Wolston near Coventry
Chapter 2 - Day 1 - Wolston near Coventry
Chapter 3 - Day 2 - Wolston near Coventry
Chapter 4 - Day 2 - Coventry
Chapter 5 - Day 3 - Bubbenhall
Chapter 6 - Day 3 - Knowle
Chapter 7 - Day 4 - Solihull
Chapter 8 - Day 4 - Attwood Common
Chapter 9 - Day 6 - Long Marston
Chapter 10 - Day 10 - Long Marston
Chapter 11 - Day 11 - Luddington
Chapter 12 - Day 15 - Hockley Heath
Chapter 13 - Day 16 - Earlswood
Chapter 14 - Day 16 - Attwood Common
Chapter 15 - Day 1 - Lincolnshire
Chapter 16 - Day 2 - Attwood Common
Chapter 17 - Day 17 - Attwood Common
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1 - Day 1 - Wolston near Coventry
Wide-eyed and gasping for breath, Lisa braced her back against the wall to counter the rocking of the train. Her trembling legs threatened to buckle underneath her. Her chest was tight, and her throat ached as she gulped in air. Black spots floated across her vision, and she felt fuzzy and light-headed. She scrabbled in her pocket for her inhaler, almost dropping it from her shaking fingers before she shook it and inhaled a couple of rapid puffs.
Along with the roar and rattle of the train, the sound of her blood pulsing in her head was deafening. Her mind was in overdrive, fuelled by the adrenaline surging through her body, and she struggled to process what was happening. Aware that she was in survival mode and functioning at the most basic level, her analytical self battled to regain control. She knew that, if she could not pull herself together in the next few minutes, she was almost certainly going to die, and not from an asthma attack.
The Ventolin kicked in. She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. Forcing herself to inhale deeply through her nose then out through her mouth to the count of four, she felt her airways gradually begin to relax. Her heart slowed and her head began to clear, but it took a full minute before she could open her eyes.
She was in an absurdly bright and shiny, windowless train toilet. The smell of industrial-strength disinfectant barely concealed the odour of stale urine. There was movement outside the large concave door: shuffling and bumping, moaning and scratching. Further away, there was screaming. Her eyes registered a big red button with a white padlock on it and she reached out and banged it with her fist.
Shit! The dull clunk of the lock activating was followed by an increase in noise from outside.
The realisation that the door had been unlocked shook her. She had to calm down, think clearly. She couldn't afford to make stupid mistakes.
She looked around the small cubicle. There were a multitude of buttons and signs on the walls. The lid of the toilet read:
Please don't flush Nappies,
sanitary towels, paper towels, gum,
old phones, unpaid bills, junk mail,
your ex's sweater,
hopes, dreams or goldfish
down this toilet.
She read it a couple of times trying to decide if it made sense or not, deliberately testing her focus and mental clarity. Despite herself, she acknowledged the bizarre attempt at humour.
She wasn't alone. On the floor, head down, knees hugged against her chest, a girl was whimpering and muttering. She looked about twenty, in tight jeans, impressive trainers and a leather jacket. Her long black hair was braided and piled loosely on top of her head. Her nails were ridiculously long and intricately painted. Lisa couldn't see her face.
Standing by the sink, was a tall, thin, elderly man in a light grey suit and charcoal overcoat. Both lenses of his wire-framed glasses were broken, and the bridge of his nose was cut. Blood trickled slowly down his face and neck, staining the collar of his crisp white shirt.
Behind him,
