The Last Girl Guide

By Karen Wrighton

It took the end of the world for Harper to find love. 
The disease spread quickly, within weeks it seemed that everyone was dead - everyone except Harper McKenzie.  Barely fifteen, Harper was an orphan, but a true survivor - life made her that way.  An autistic loner, suffering years of abuse at the hands of her alcoholic mother, Harper appeared remarkably undamaged, but could anyone hope to survive a lifetime of isolation without descending into madness? 
 
Then there were the dogs; they hunted in packs, and nothing living was safe.
 
After surviving a savage attack, Harper begins an expedition of hope. Looking for other survivors, searching for the security and love she had never known. She records her journey in a diary. The diary of a survivor - because damaged people know how to survive. This is her story; Harper Lee McKenzie - The Last Girl Guide. 

What readers are saying: "A post-apocalyptic survival story with a fascinating, endearing and unforgettable character.  I couldn't put it down!" - EAD Press

"A dark, compelling story, with a remarkable and resourceful teenage character. As original as The Girl with all the Gifts, but minus the Zombies!  I found it quite captivating and I will definitely be reading more of this author." Jan Brooks - The Book Villiage.

"Terrifying look into our dystopian future in this post-Apocalyptic 'Diary of Anne Frank' - I gobbled it up in one sitting!" - J. Burns, The Book Worm.

"Damaged people know how to survive... An electrifying, and often touching insight into one girl's struggle to survive and find love in a hostile dystopian world. Captivating.."  Kelly Morris, The Bibliophiles Bookbag.

"Harper McKenzie will stay with me for for a long time...."  R. Crask, YA Readers Club. 
 
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Magic Press
• Release date: May 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386308898

Karen Wrighton

Bestselling Young Adult Author  An established British Author, Karen Wrighton is an Amazon bestselling author of books for teenagers and for adults with teenage hearts. Karen's books are a blend of everything she loves to read - tales of Magic, Mystery, and Mayhem! Most of Karen's work falls under the broad umbrella of Speculative Fiction, a genre of fiction that involves supernatural, futuristic, or other imagined elements. This encompasses the traditional genres of Fantasy, Science Fiction, Horror, Supernatural Fiction and Science Fantasy. This eclectic genre provides Karen with the flexibility to write stories which, appear to be very different from one other, yet maintain that 'other worldly' element which characterizes her work. Karen’s début novel ASCENSION OF THE WHYTE became an Amazon Bestseller, as did the second in the series RYTE OF PASSAGE. The Afterland Chronicles series, described as Lord of the Rings meets Harry Potter, will be completed in 2017 with the release of ICE AND FYRE, the third book in the series. Karen’s Post-Apocalyptic, Dystopian novel, THE LAST GIRL GUIDE, also won high praise. Breaking with the current trend for ‘Zombie’ Apocalypse books, the novel has been favorably compared to similar works of speculative fiction such as ‘The Road’ and ‘The Girl With All The Gifts’. Karen has two daughters and lives in a small cottage in rural Norfolk, England with her husband John, crazy dog Jinks, and Pippin, their remarkably lazy cat. You can find Karen at www.karenwrightonbooks.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/karenwrightonsbooks  Twitter: @KarenWrighton Get Karen’s FREE Starter Library - two best-selling novels - by signing up for her mailing list at: www.karenwrightonbooks.com

Book preview

12th

July

A Time

to

Live

Dawn exploded, its fiery blast blowing away the rubble of the past year as if some divine puppet master had decided ‘ enough is enough.' I took it as a sign - I was alive, I had survived for almost a year, and now, it was time to live. So, I celebrated my birthday .

I’ve not honored that day for years. Not since Ma flung me down our back stairs, on the day I turned nine. My collarbone snapped like a twig, something neither of us was keen to commemorate with an annual celebration. Ma’s dead now, though, so I reckoned, what

the

heck

.

I lied to myself, of course. The chances of this day actually being my birthday are ridiculously slim. I was born on the twelfth of July 2016, but I've no idea of today's actual date. I never thought to keep a calendar, and living without electricity quickly puts an end to technology's usefulness in keeping track of 'time' - if there even is such a thing. According to Einstein, 'Time is an illusion,' in effect, a work of fiction - merely a Human construct.

Humanity is no more. Therefore, time is redundant - I exist in a world where it no longer has any meaning. Seconds, minutes and hours pass without record and the constant cycles of light and dark are the only indication of each

passing

day

.

Everyone but me is dead. I alone have the responsibility of estimating the arrival of a day which holds no significance to anyone else. I am my own flawed timekeeper, merely noting the appearance of the season that heralds the start of another year of my life. The days are growing longer, and the nights are warm, which means it's early summer. Therefore, I decide, I am another year older.

I walked into town to collect some supplies and look for something special to take back - a birthday gift to myself. When I say I went into town, I didn't actually go into town; it freaks me out just thinking about that. ‘Town’ is what I call the retail park just outside Worksop; it has a Tesco Superstore, a Hardware Store, a Pet Supermarket and loads of other shops. They are all deserted now of course.

There are no corpses in Tesco. I guess they had closed the store before everything got really scary. Maybe there wasn't enough staff left to keep it open. I still cover my face when I go in, though, especially now it's getting warmer. I tie my scarf around my nose and mouth, it works surprisingly well. The stink was worse before. In the beginning, I threw up every time I went in. The stench of rotten meat and fish was thick enough to taste. Still, at least there were no bodies. Nothing stinks as bad as a rotting corpse.

Did you know that when things rot they go through stages? I didn't - I am an expert now. When people die, for a while they just look the same, and then the insects lay their eggs on them. I know - it sounds gross, but I’ve come to appreciate that it’s a good thing. The world would be littered with dead bodies even now if it wasn't for them. What the dogs don't eat the bugs happily finish off. They’re the ultimate recyclers. ‘Waste not,

want

not

.'

After the insects have done their stuff, the bodies blow up with gas, like those helium balloons people used to buy for special occasions. 'Happy Birthday!', 'It's a Boy!', 'Get Well Soon'... This is when they stink the most, that thick, sweet, sickly scent - like a dead mouse, only about a million times worse. It gets a little easier to take after the eggs have hatched when everything turns

into

gunk

.

Even gunk has stages. First, the corpses melt into a thick, slimy gunk, followed rapidly by thin, runny gunk. Eventually, the water evaporates leaving dried, crumbly gunk, that’s when the smell becomes almost bearable. A lot of the bodies didn't get that far, though, because the larger animals got there first.

I get most of my food and supplies from the Tesco grocery superstore. Every isle contains rows and rows of shelves stuffed full of tins, jars, packets of dried foods, bottles of water, cartons of UHT milk, fizzy drinks and all sorts of other stuff too. I've been grocery ‘shopping’ there for ages. I think it must be nearly a year because it was last July when life started to turn

to

shit

.

I collect supplies every few days. I reckon there is enough non-perishable food left to feed me for years, and that's just from this one store. Every few days I fill up a trolley with whatever I fancy and push it back to

the

boat

.

Today, I collected enough food to last me for two or three days. I found an iced birthday cake too, so I went on a hunt for some candles. That was when I spotted you sitting on a rack between the greeting cards and the magazines. I couldn’t have wished for a more perfect birthday present.

I've never kept a diary before. I’ve got a lot of other books. I have my Girl Guide Handbook, a pile of sketchbooks and an impressive collection of paperbacks, but I had nothing to write in. To be honest, I prefer drawing to writing, which is ironic considering I was named after a writer.

I do like to read, though, I must have read at least thirty books since coming here, but I never wanted to be a writer. I always intended to be an artist when I grew up. That's never going to happen now, of course. Either being an Artist or, potentially, growing up. Sometimes I wonder if there is any point to me creating a piece of Art when I'm the only one who will ever get to see it. Does that matter, though, when I still love to sketch? ‘Art for

Art's

sake

?'

Drawing makes life seem normal again; I can lose myself in it. Miss Franklin, our Art teacher, said that you have to immerse yourself entirely in the creative process in order see something well enough to sketch it. I've never had any trouble immersing myself in anything. When I'm drawing it’s like being underwater, everything else fades and becomes separate and indistinct, like fuzzy muffled figures at the edge of

the

pool

.

Sometimes, like today, I'll look up from my sketchbook, and I'll see Ma, sitting there at the table, her cigarette poised at her lips and steadfastly hanging on to its column of ash. She's not there, of course, it's my imagination playing tricks. Like when you are expecting something to be there, and for a second you think you see it, but in the next instant it's gone, and you're left feeling like a fully paid up member of crazy person's anonymous.

That's another reason why I needed today to be a good day. I needed to feel normal again, and I almost succeeded. Having a cake with fifteen candles on top, lighting them, blowing them out in one go, and making a wish. Perhaps it was even granted because I found you, which is almost the same as having found a friend.

I never had many friends before. Maybe that's why I'm still here when everyone else is gone; because I can handle being alone. I am used to being on my own and have been since I was small. I would sometimes wake up in the early hours of the morning, and Ma would be gone. Often, she wouldn't return in time to take me to school. I soon learned how to make my own breakfast, get dressed and get to school by myself.

Once, during a particularly stressful parent's evening at school, Mrs. Herod, my year three teacher, remarked on my hermit-like personality. She said: Harper is a bright girl, but she's a bit of a loner. She doesn't mix with the other children. She was right, I didn't.

None of them liked me anyway; I was taller and skinnier than everyone else. At school the only one I talked to was Marion, she was different too, small and round. We must have looked really odd when we stood together, no wonder they called us names. A particular favourite of mine was spaghetti and meatball. I gave that eight out of ten for originality.

Mrs. Herod asked Ma if there was any trouble at home she should know about. That was the last time Ma went to any of my parent-teacher meetings. She said I'd disgraced her. I looked 'disgraced' up in the dictionary. Disgraced; to cause someone to feel ashamed. I remember thinking how great it was that one word could only be described by using six others. That was when I started collecting words. Each day I'd pick a new one, learn what it meant and try to drop it into the conversation whenever I could. I had my favourite words too. I once spent a whole week calling everyone 'pathetic' because I liked the way it sounded. It made Ma terribly angry. She hated when I used words that she

didn't

know

.

I collect sayings too, though you've probably already noticed that. It’s as if they are tattooed on my tongue. There’s one for just about every conceivable circumstance. ‘I can tell thee where that saying was borne.' That's Shakespeare, from Twelfth Night.

So, I guess if we are going to be friends, I should introduce myself. My name is Harper Lee McKenzie. Harper Lee was a famous author who died a few months before I was born, around fifteen years ago. I guess her name must have been all over the media at the time. Ma wasn't much of a reader, in fact, I never saw her pick up a book, but she watched a film at school, and I think it kind of got to her. It was called ‘To Kill a Mockingbird.' I like the title because it's taken from a saying, ‘Shoot all the blue jays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember - it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.’

I read the book, of course, I had to. I'm glad I did, it taught me a lot; courage comes from within, never be afraid to stand up for what’s right and never give up. It’s one of the most inspiring books I have ever read, which is why I like my name so much. Ma got something right, at least.

My Ma never finished high school. She got expelled in her last year. It was because of her drinking I guess, or maybe because of me - perhaps that was why she hated me so much. Still, she liked me well enough to give me a cool name. Though there's really no point to them anymore is there? What good is a name if there's no one left to

speak

it

?

13th

July

The End

of

Days

Rain pounded on the roof of the boat, jolting me awake like a sadistic alarm clock. It has been raining all night, so I'm pleased that I chose yesterday for my trip into town rather than today .

I have loved the sound of the wind and rain for as long as I can remember. I revel in it even more now I live on the boat. I lie in bed at night snuggled under my covers listening to the rainwater bounce off the roof, spatter on the windows and pound into the canal like the wings of a thousand mallards beating on the water. Strangely, the raucous, chaos of the storm makes me feel less lonely. Once, when I was around four or five - during a particularly impressive thunderstorm, Ma told me that it was God’s angels rearranging the furniture. I don't believe in God anymore, and yet I still find thunderstorms bizarrely comforting.

My boat is called 'The Painted Lady,' which fits her well because virtually every inch is covered with bright, hand-painted patterns, symbols and flowers. I call her Mona, though, after the Mona Lisa, which is a painting of a lady by an artist called Leonardo da Vinci. The painting is famous because of the woman's enigmatic smile. I like that word; en-ig-ma-tic, it means mysterious.

In the galley (that's boat for the kitchen), there