13. Battery powered lamp.
14. Knife and scabbard.
I’m going to fire up the stove in a minute. I can’t tell you how much I am looking forward to a hot meal.
23rd December 2011. 17.48pm.
Oh man, that was so good. I just had a hot bowl of chicken soup. I was so good I immediately heated up another one. My stomach feels like it’s going to burst. I’ve run into a problem though. How do I wash the pan? Damn, I didn’t think of that. I don’t have enough water to spare. I think I’ll get another pan tomorrow on the way to Nana’s. If I fill the pan with water and then heat the can in the water I should be able to avoid a mess. I can then eat directly out of the can and throw it away afterwards. I wonder if that’s okay though, what if the metal in the can contaminates the food? On the other hand I am a seventeen-year-old kid, so I’ll do anything to get out of washing the dishes.
The expiry date on the can of soup is 11th of January 2014, just over two years from now. How do they know the exact day? Wouldn’t it be better to just say January? Makes me wonder what I can eat once all the canned stuff has gone bad. I might have to become a hunter / gatherer, collecting berries and catching fish. Or I could be a farmer, grow my own fruit and veg, and keep a few sheep. Bloody hell, I don’t have a clue how to do any of that. I just hope I’m still alive in two years to have that problem.
I’ll leave all this stuff here and travel light to Nana’s in the morning. I should be able to get there and back again with time to spare.
23rd December 2011. 22.03pm
Shit. I just realised tomorrow is Christmas.
24th December 2011. 07.44am.
Season’s greetings. Hurray! (That’s sarcasm by the way).
I would hear stories about how Christmas was a very sad time for a lot of people. I never really understood why. The last couple of Christmas’s have been great. They were the one real time my mother would make an effort.
I used to spend Christmas Eve with her. We would watch the carols together. But more importantly, she wouldn’t touch a drop of booze. Christmas morning we would eat pancakes and open presents. The only real bad thing was hugging her goodbye when Dad came to get me. She would cry while Dad would hardly even say hello to her.
From there we would go to Nana and Pop’s for lunch. Nana always cooks the best roast. Nana’s place has the potential to be quite dull. It sounds bad, but can you imagine being stuck with two octogenarians and a fifty year old who snoozes on the couch in the afternoon because he’s eaten too much pudding. Luckily I remedied this problem about a year ago. I stashed my old PS2 console in Nana’s spare room (the one I usually stay in) along with a few classic games like God of War, Resident Evil 4, etc. So it’s not all bad.
I think I understand now why so many people are horribly depressed during Christmas. It’s because they miss loved ones. Whatever the reason, it sucks to be lonely. I’ve been wondering all day whether I should go and see Nana and Pops house. It is Christmas after all. I think I’ll go now.
24th December 2010. 3.25pm.
Burnt. Nana and Pop’s house, along with half the street, has been completely burnt down. Looks like it happened a long time ago. It was a shock to be sure, but I think the alternatives could have been worse. I mean, I could have gone inside and found their decomposing bodies. Or even worse, find both of them sleeping inside, waiting for the sun to go down. This is probably for the best. I hope they didn’t suffer.
I keep thinking why I didn’t come here earlier. But Dad did say they had left. I remember he wouldn’t elaborate. He must have been sparing me the anguish. I wonder if someone on the street tried to deter the vamps with fire and it got out of control. Who knows? I just hope Nan and Pop didn’t suffer.
Better find somewhere to stay tonight. Somewhere close to Nan and Pop.
24th December 2010. 10.54pm.
This sucks. I’ve half eaten a can of salmon for my Christmas dinner. It’s making my stomach churn. I can’t stop thinking about how bored I used to be on Christmas day, surrounded by the olds. I’d give anything in the world right now to get them back.
I’m going to try and sleep now.
25th December 2011. 10.02am.
I think I’ll go back to my old safe house. I don’t like it much around here. I just feel better back home. That area feels more like home to me. This part of town is strange. The houses are a different style and vintage. They’re all old and creepy looking. The streets are too narrow, I feel more confined, hemmed in. It’s not good. I need to get all my equipment back to the safe house. There was a bicycle store near the Bunnings. Hopefully they have one of those child trailers. They are like a little capsule that you attach to your bike so you can tow a kid around. That would do nicely.
I also should visit the CBD while I’m so close. I don’t really want to but I should. If any organised groups of survivors remain, then that is the logical place for them to be. I don’t expect to find anything but it’s worth a shot. I’ll leave at first light and this time I’m taking my laptop.
26th December 2011. 11.12am.
It took me no time at all the reach the city. The roads are free of all congestion. I rode on through Richmond, deliberately not looking down my Nana’s road as I passed by. I pedalled down Bridge Rd past all the empty shops, past the Epworth Hospital. An ambulance was parked at a crazy angle at the entrance. The back doors were open. I caught a glimpse of pale, naked legs jutting stiffly out like arrows. I didn’t stop. I turned down Punt Road and cut through Yarra Park. The Melbourne Cricket Ground rose in front of me as I approached.
I had been to many footy and cricket games here before. I laughed out loud realising today was Boxing Day. Every year close to a hundred thousand people would pack the stadium to watch the Australian Test team take on whoever was visiting that summer. There would be so many people here before the game that you could hardly move. It was empty and dead now. I circled the ground trying to imagine the roaring cheers, the laughter and excitement that would buzz through the thronging masses. I flew past one of the vehicle access gates and saw that it was wide open. I circled around and entered the MCG. The ramp took me directly on the ground itself. It was very unsettling in there. A hundred thousand empty seats seemed to look down on me. I felt the weight of all those lost souls begging me to help them.
In the middle of the turf was a tent city. It was literally a city. There must have been a hundred white tents set up in neat rows. A couple had fallen over, dashing my hopes that this was an occupied city. There was also a dozen or more police cars and support vans. I approached the closest tent apprehensively. Its entrance flap was billowing gently in the summer breeze. I paused at the entrance and began to hop off the bike. Just then a gust of wind blew the flap open for the briefest moment. It looked like a butchers shop in there. The white canvas walls inside the tent were streaked with red. Dozens of bodies were strewn about in various stages of dismemberment and decomposition. I caught a whiff of rottenness and felt my gorge rise. I started to ride back to the gate but had to stop. I fell to my knees and vomited. Even though I felt so bad, I managed to get back on the bike and pedal out of there. The air outside the ground smelt better. I sat on a park bench and rinsed my mouth with water. I took some deep breaths until I felt better.
This must have been some kind of relief station. A place for people to congregate and feel protected. It looks like even the police presence couldn’t protect them. This place would have been overrun within hours. The tents would have provided no protection against a hungry horde of vampires. Even the police with their guns wouldn’t have stemmed the bloody tide. Wait a minute I thought: Guns!
Against all better judgment I rode back inside the MCG and approached the police cars, giving the tents a wide berth. The first car was locked, as was the second. I thought about smashing a window but I couldn’t see any guns in there anyway. The third and last police car was open but empty inside. I sat on the bonnet and looked at the tents. There was probably a dead cop in ther
e somewhere, probably still clutching his weapon in one bloody hand. No way I’m going in there. I was about to give up when I thought I’d try the boot. A pulled the switch under the driver’s seat and heard it unlock. The boot was empty except for a spare tyre. I lifted the tyre out and was rewarded for my efforts. In a well under the tyre was a small case. I closed the boot and placed the case on top of it. The case was locked so I turned it over wondering what to do. Underneath someone had sticky taped a key. What’s the point of locking it I thought?
The key slid into the lock easily and the case sprang open. Inside was a gun resting on a plush cloth. I don’t know anything about guns but I’ll try to describe it. It is a single-handed weapon with a rotating barrel. It looked fairly old but in good condition. I picked it up and examined it, making sure to keep the pointy end away from myself. I was surprised how heavy it was, I had to hold it in both hands to aim it properly. I didn’t really know what to do so I held it at arms length, closed my eyes and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened, the trigger was stuck. I found a little switch on the side and thumbed it off. I tried again and felt the trigger give. The hammer pulled back and the barrel rotated. I closed my eyes again and pulled. The hammer rose and fell with a loud click. Empty. I put the safety switch back on and fumbled with the barrel. It eventually fell open and I could see six empty cylinders inside. I found some bullets underneath the cloth in the case. They are about 3 centimetres long. I fed one into a cylinder in the barrel and snapped it shut. I forgot the safety again and had to snap it off. I pointed the gun up into the empty stands and pulled the trigger. I was greeted by the empty click again. I had fed the bullet into the cylinder furthest from the hammer. I pulled the trigger another four times and watched the barrel rotate around. Okay here we go I thought.
I pulled the trigger nervously and the gun roared into life. The noise was immense. The gun bucked in my hands sending shockwaves up to my shoulders. Across the other side of the MCG a window exploded in one of the corporate booths. Glass rained down on the seats below. I was going to need some practice if I was ever going to shoot this thing straight.
I double-checked the gun was empty, re-engaged the safety and put it back in the case. There are 17 bullets left. I broke into the other police cars and searched them inside and in their boots. Nothing. I left that empty stadium and headed to the CBD.
26th December 2011. 13.50pm.
Just had some lunch on the steps of Parliament. The whole city is dead. I did a loop of the CBD without stopping. I went down Flinders St and rode into Federation Square. This was a central hub of sorts for Melbourne, a place to meet. It looks like it was used as a place to die as well. I didn’t stop to count the number of bodies sprawled over the uneven cobblestones. Across the way the clocks above Flinders Street station were all stopped at 11.12am. I tried to think back to when the power gave out back home but couldn’t remember. I think I noted it down in this journal. Have to check back.
I paused on Princes Bridge and looked down at the Yarra River. The murky brown water was flowing on as if nothing had happened. At least with all the people gone it won’t be as polluted anymore. Then I saw some ominous shapes bobbing in the current. A different type of pollution infests the waterways now. I turned away sickened and rode back into the CBD up Elizabeth Street. A tram had come off its tracks near Collins Street. Looks like a bus had slammed into it at speed. What remained of the driver of the bus was slumped over the steering wheel. It looked like the crows had picked him over.
The tall buildings formed a canyon that let the bare minimum of light into the hazy street below. I turned right up Bourke Street and entered the Mall, the main shopping area of Melbourne. Rubbish was strewn about alongside the occasional cadaver. I startled a man who was sifting through a rubbish bin. It shocked me too to see him there. He looked like a homeless beggar, all filthy and haggard. He probably has all the necessary skills to survive in these conditions. Who knows, maybe he was a successful businessman on Collins Street bought to this bare existence by the vampire plague. He bared his yellowed teeth at me and brandished a broken bottle menacingly. I got the hint and kept riding up Bourke Street until I reached Parliament House. I tried the huge wooden doors at the main entrance. They swung open easily. I called out into the darkness inside but got no response. If there is a surviving local government it’s not here. I had a chuckle to myself as I realised the bloodsuckers now inhabiting Parliament are not that different to the ones they replaced.
Time to go home. I’ll swing by Bunnings and the bike shop on the way.
26th December 2011. 18.53pm.
I feel sick. After all this time I thought there could be nothing new that would disturb me.
I was riding through some backstreets in Hawthorn when I caught some movement in my peripheral vision. I chased whatever it was around a corner. We ended up at the opening of a narrow dead end laneway. Grimy brick buildings towered over my head. The lane was dark, dank and full of rubbish. I could see a small huddled figure crouched in the far corner. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest as my mind reeled off the possibilities. Could a Master have deliberately lured me into a trap? Not possible, it was the middle of the afternoon and I’ve never seen any vamp, let alone a Master awake during daylight hours.
I took the gun out of its case and held it in front of me. My hand only shook a little bit, whoever it was would be unable to see my nervousness in this murky light. I called out hello and advanced on the huddled form. Suddenly it exploded out of hiding and rushed at me. I raised the gun and fired. Nothing. I had left the safety on. Thank God I did because what cannoned into me was not a vampire at all. It was just a kid.
He was about seven or eight as far as I could tell. He was covered in filth, his hair matted and grey. I could barely see one patch of clean skin on his face. He started clawing at my thighs like a demented cat. Instinctively I kicked out, throwing him to the ground. The boy bared his teeth at me like a wild beast. I pointed the gun at him, knowing (and hoping) the safety was still on. Some spark of recognition must have fired in his brain because he stopped his attack and glared at the weapon warily..
He rose to his feet slowly, never taking his eyes off me. From his waistband he drew out a rusty kitchen knife. At least I hoped it was rust. The feral boy stalked towards me, head down, wild eyes fixated on my neck. I backed away, shocked by his animalistic nature, there is no way I was going to lay a finger on this child. Some more ruthless types would say I live in a kill or be killed world, but I draw the line here. I would be no different than those bloodsuckers that have destroyed this civilisation. What would be the point of living if I lost my humanity? So I ran. I was heaps faster than him, even with my backpack on. I was scared shitless as I fled, hoping I wouldn’t trip over and feel him land on my back. The last thing I would feel would be his fetid breath on my neck as he sunk the rusty blade between my shoulder blades. Despite my fears I managed to escape. I’m not even sure he attempted to chase me. I circled the block and came back for my bike, he was nowhere to be seen.
It makes me shudder to think how he has survived all this time. What rotten holes he has been hiding in. The things he has had to bear witness to, things so horrific that they have completely destroyed his mental state. I shudder even more to think of what he has been eating. What he has been using that rusty knife for. Maybe he would be better off with a bullet in his head. Maybe I would be too.
Anyway, I lucked out with the bike trailer. They had only one left in the store. It was already connected to a bike so I took the whole assembly. It was sad leaving my old bike behind. We’ve been through a few scrapes together. Can’t get sentimental though, it’s a luxury I can’t afford.
26th December 2011. 23.04pm.
Dragged the bike and trailer into the living room. Looks weird sitting there. I’ve loaded up the trailer. I’m all set to go home tomorrow. I can’t wait to get back. That place feels like home to me now. I’ve got a few ideas to make it more comfortable and personalized. I
’m looking forward to sleeping in a bed again.
27th December 2011. 00.00am.
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28th December 2011. 00.00am.
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29th December 2011. 10.07am.
I don’t really know where to start. How can I describe what has happened in the last few days. It all just wants to tumble out of me at once. But I must put it all in order, as it happened. I got back here to the safe house last night but I was too exhausted to write. You’re probably wondering why it took me two days to get here and I’ll try to explain. Let me start from the beginning, the morning of the 27th.
I had packed my last few things into the trailer and was ready to leave. I opened the front door and stepped out into the morning sunshine. The day was already getting warm. Just then something hit me from behind. The back of my head exploded in pain and I blacked out for a moment. I fell to my knees. My head felt heavy with pain and delirium. I tried to stagger to my feet but my limbs wouldn’t respond. I felt something cold and hard press into my back. A gruff voice said, “Don’t you move boy.” I had heard that voice before, back in that seven eleven in Camberwell. “I’ve finally caught up with you” he continued, “Thought you could get away with it. Didn’t you?” I tired to plead my innocence but my mouth wouldn’t work either.
He grabbed me roughly under the arm and forced me onto my stomach. The pain in my head cleared a little and was replaced by a rising fear. What the hell was this psycho going to do with me? He pulled my arms behind me and began to tie them together. I had regained enough motor function to put up a struggle. I heard him cock his gun and press it into the small of my back. He grinded the metal into my spine brutally. “You stop struggling boy or I’ll blow a hole in you the size of a dinner plate.” I paused for a moment, my teeth clenched from the pain. Then I thought fuck it, better to be dead than trussed up by this nut job. Who knows what he was going to do to me. I flipped over and kicked out at his legs. I caught him on the shin and he grunted. He stepped back and swore. I tried to get up but he was too powerful. He swung the butt of his gun and it connected with the side of my head.
The Journal of Tom Barnett: Vampire Apocalypse Survivor Page 10