I Dream of Zombies by Vickie Johnstone Page A

novels with interesting people. Often, nothing much happened, but the characters were the thing; the more complex, the better. Simple was just too boring. I guess I need a proper bookshop, she thought, turning around to check out the CDs. A tap on the shoulder made her jump. Turning, she came face to face with her sister.
    “Down the next aisle there’s a woman being sick everywhere,” said a pale-looking Ellen. “She’s doubled up on the floor and looks really ill.”
    “We should get someone,” Marla replied just as a member of staff headed their way, walking swiftly.
    “There’s a girl being sick,” said Ellen.
    “I know,” the employee snapped without pausing. Her badge read Sharon.
    “Nice,” remarked Marla, turning back to the CDs.
    “You buying any?” asked Ellen.
    Marla shook her head. “Not really, just looking.”
    “Let’s just get our stuff and go, eh? I’m feeling kind of tired.”
    “The girl being sick freaked you out?”
    Ellen nodded. “Yes. We just keep seeing more and more people looking ill. Do we have to wait until Friday to leave? I want to go and see Mum.”
    “Me, too,” Marla agreed. “We can always go and Tommy can meet us later if he feels like it. Three can be a crowd anyway. He pissed me off a bit last night with some of his comments.”
    “Guess he hasn’t had the dream.”
    “Guess not.”
    Marla replaced the CD she was looking at and followed her sis ter down the aisle. At the end of it she gave into the temptation to get a look at the sick girl. She was lying on her side, heaving her insides all over the floor. Kneeling beside her, the woman called Sharon was saying something; probably urging her to sit up, thought Marla. Behind her, two other employees appeared.
    The flu was spreading. Marla brushed her hand across her mouth and turned tail to find her sister, who was pushing the trolley towards the section where she remembered chocolate to live. Good idea, she thought, rushing after her. On passing some white chocolate, she could not resist and picked up a few bars, followed by a carrot cake and some bags of cashew nuts. With her hands full of sweet stuff, she turned the corner in the direction her sister had taken and then she dropped everything.
    Ellen looked to be frozen on the spot, her hands rooted on the handle of the trolley. In front of her a pool of deep red liquid was spreading slowly across the floor, trickling towards her feet. A woman lay sprawled, her arms fluttering like butterfly wings on the cold tiles. Her stocking-clad legs were trembling and her feet twitched, one foot twisted the wrong way. A carton of milk had burst open, the pure whiteness swirling amongst the red, creating a pattern resembling a twisting snake.
    Marla swallowed. It was the woman’s insides that stole her attention and sent a chill through her body. Sickness crept into her throat, but she reminded herself that she had seen worse in warzones. But no, it had been nothing like this. Never had she seen anything like this. The man leaning over the woman was ripping the organs from her stomach, splashing blood all over himself while her body twitched. How could she still be alive? His bony fingers weaved through her entrails, scooping them up and emptying them into his mouth.
    At that moment Ellen screamed and the man looked straight at her. But man was the wrong word, Marla realised. His eyes were white and bloodshot, and the skin of his face was as pale as a corpse, but what made her skin crawl was the lack of any expression. There was nothing there in his eyes; nothing resembling consciousness. Then he rose to his feet. Stumbling towards them, he slipped in the pool of blood and crashed into the trolley. It hurtled backwards, throwing Ellen to the floor.
    Behind her, Marla heard footsteps and screams from different voices. Everything was happening too fast, and yet time seemed to slide like mercury gliding over a flat surface. As her head swam, she grabbed the handlebars of the