by Paul Wilcock
It's been over half an hour since I left the tunnel and I've only just reached signs of civilisation, if such a thing still exists, a farm, set back from the road, looks quiet. I creep closer, keeping to the shadows, old farmhouses at night gave me the creeps before there was a risk of psychos or infected hiding in the dark corners of the barn, now I'm positively terrified, clutching my small blunt knife in my hand as I peer through windows and cracks in doorways. Looks like the farmers left before anything bad could happen here which is good news for me. All of the doors and windows are still secure and intact. I climb onto the roof of the woodshed at the back of the house and look into the upstairs rooms, nobody home. The window breaks easily as I hit it with the handle of the gun and I reach in and open it up, climbing inside and listening for movement after the smash of the glass which broke the silence like a gunshot. I sweep through the house, finding no danger of any kind, relax, climbing into bed, deciding to wait until the morning before I resupply.
I dream of the city on fire, watching buildings burn and collapse through the lens of a telescope, searching them all for Natalie but never finding her, as I spin the telescope around through 360 degrees, more buildings have appeared where minutes ago I watched them fall. Then I see Natalie in one of the buildings, she's laughing and dancing, I try to shout and warn her of the danger, tell her to get out but she doesn't hear me, then she turns and looks through the window and sees me and waves and she's smiling but her face suddenly changes, frozen in pain, eyes hurt, a red dot on her chest spreading as the bullet wound bleeds through, soaking her clothes, I stand back from the telescope shocked and find that it's no longer a telescope, it's a rifle with a telescopic sight and I just killed her.
Morning comes and I feel just as tired as I did last night but climb out of bed anyway and investigate the house. The kitchen reeks of rotting food, whatever was left in the fridge and freezer presumably, I open the fridge door anyway just to check and immediately regret it, the stench overpowering as I cast my eyes over the globs of furry slime that line the shelves. I quickly close the door again and retch over the kitchen sink for a few minutes, luckily my stomach is too empty for me to actually vomit. I ransack the cupboards for any tinned food left behind but there's nothing. The only useful item that the house supplies me with is a bigger knife so I head outside to take a look at the other buildings. What I thought was a shed turns out to be a tool room and I pick up a couple of hammers, an axe and a hacksaw and empty out the contents of the tool bag, taking the bag but leaving the rest. The larger building out behind the main house contains an old tractor, diesel in the tank and keys hung on the wall nearby, I guess nobody wants to make a getaway from the end of the world in a tractor. I pull out onto the road in my green John Deere Model H, 0-60 in.....forever, it actually only seems to go as fast as 7mph, I guess it's better than walking though.
I reach a small village three hours later, it's deserted like many of the smaller villages tend to be, I'd like to think the residents went somewhere safe but it's more likely they got infected and just wandered off somewhere looking for food. I scout around the run down stone houses and manage to half fill my bag with food, some of it actually looks appetising. The best set of wheels available is a Maroon Volvo 245, 0 to 60 in 15.5 seconds. I have to siphon petrol from 5 different wrecks before I feel I have enough to get me where I need to go. Home.
Emma ii
The Volvo feels heavy and unwieldy to drive compared to some of the high end sports cars I've been getting used to lately, it is better than the tractor though, and it does feel like I could drive through any infected herds without causing too much damage, I hope I don't have to test that theory though. Shihad - Home Again plays on the iPod as I start to pass familiar landmarks, crumbling and faded in most cases but still recognisable enough to trigger memories and feelings from my childhood, I feel nervous about going back, not sure what I'll find this time, can it be any worse than the last time? I pass through my home village, the bench where I kissed that girl on Valentine’s Day, she was a hand model or something, can't remember whether I enjoyed kissing her or not, I know we didn't kiss again so one of us obviously didn't. On the left is the house where as a child, me and a friend thought we saw a ghost in the garden and lied to the owners about losing our football to gain access and investigate, we didn't find any ghosts but we did get a free football from the owners when it turned out we couldn't find our fictional ball. The cricket field where the gang fights were arranged to take place, I don't know if there ever were any gang fights but I heard a lot of kids talking about them and you had to meet on the cricket fields to be involved. I'm passing the old doctors surgery now, where I endured multiple injections and examinations as a child, does anyone have a cure for this infection? I wonder if I should head to London, if there is a cure or vaccination that's where it'd be I guess. I think back to my list, I suppose I'll probably be heading down there at some point soon anyway when I get to Sarah. Sarah is what makes me think I should just put a tick in the dick column for Emma without even trying to find her because I cheated on Emma for months with Sarah. I don't think Emma ever found out but I definitely feel like a dick when I think about it now.
I round the corner of my parent’s street and focus my mind on my surroundings, the road is still stained with blood and littered with bones wrapped in ragged torn clothes. It looks like nobody has been through here since the outbreak, I can see the ghosts of the fresh bloody carnage in my mind overlaid on the dry remains of dusty corpses blowing in the wind on the street I grew up on. At least there are no infected walking around this time, I'm still extremely cautious as I exit the car and walk up the path to my parent’s front door. As I reach the door I turn and a memory surfaces, Rachel, looking out of the rear window of a Volkswagen Camper van (0 to 60 in 22 seconds), tears in her eyes, heroic looking guy's arm around her shoulder, disappearing down the street, leaving me; alone, except for around a dozen infected all heading my way.
The front door doesn't open when I push it, I push harder and it starts to give, the wood has warped, paint flakes away from beneath my hands, the hall carpet ripples and then rolls backwards, ploughed from its moorings by the stubbornly opening door. I see myself grinning out from a photograph on the wall, the time we went to Wales and I got really bad sunburn on my nose. I ascend the stairs quickly and silently, heading for my old bedroom and the box that lies in the bottom of the wardrobe there. As I reach the top of the stairs I pause and glance at the door to my parent’s room, I know I shouldn't look but it's hard not too and my hand reaches for the handle, I pull myself away and go into my old room. The box is still where I left it and I pull it out, carefully open it and leaf through the contents; old newspaper clippings of celebrations, news and deaths of people I knew, photos from theme park rides, old ticket stubs from nightclubs, parties and trips to the cinema, letters I received while at University. I want to take the whole box with me but it would just weigh me down, I need to leave it here, I doubt that it's going anywhere, there's nothing in it worth stealing and it's been fine so far since the world ended. I find what I'm looking for, my old address book, a free gift from the Royal Mail when I was twelve, most of the people in it I never spoke to again after leaving school, never used their phone numbers or addresses, still got a kick from having Kate's phone number in here though after I found it, carelessly dropped in the schoolyard, as if I'd ever be brave enough to talk to Kate on the phone! I flip through the pages to the E's, I put people in based on their first names rather than their surnames, some people are in just as their nickname. Emma's parent's address is there, never used previously but now I'm glad I wrote it down. I take the book and carefully pack the rest away, back into the wardrobe. The dining room contains a bookcase that should have a map on it somewhere, not completely up to date but should be good enough to get me to Emma's parents, as I pass my parent’s room I pause again, looking at the handle, force myself to leave it alone, head downstairs into the dining room, search the shelves for t
he map, find it in-between the history books and Readers Digest volumes on the third shelf up. I find the page and grid number for where I am now, and my destination, and plan out the easiest route to remember, write the main road names in a list for easy reference so I don't have to keep stopping to check the map. The journey should take around 3 hours unless I can get hold of a better car. I hear a bang above me, the sound startles me and I drop the map, freeze, look at the ceiling as though I'll be able to see through at what made the noise; another noise, a shuffling scrape, shit, I think back.....
I'm 26, it's June 2005, my parents are infected and trying to eat me, I stagger back from their clawing hands, trip on a dressing gown that’s been carelessly strewn across the floor, my mum falls on top of me followed by my dad, all three of us stacked up, sandwiched between the bed and the wall, they're too heavy and I can't hold them up, mum's gnashing teeth perilously close to my face, I hold her face turned to one side with my hand, having to really force it to keep her mouth to the side, her neck snaps, it shocks me, I wasn’t aiming to do that; it doesn't stop her but does make it slightly easier to control the position of her head. I twist it fully around using both hands and force her mouth into dad’s face above her, the two locked in a mockery of a kiss, teeth scraping against teeth, lips and cheeks shredding to gore, it starts to drip down onto my face and I wish I'd had a better plan. I slide and push and wriggle myself to the side, squashing myself under the bed, out from underneath them where they can't follow, it’s a tight squeeze, I basically have to lift the bed each time I move and shuffle to the side as far as I can, it's exhausting, the bed is heavy and the carpet beneath my back burns my skin as I rub against it. Eventually I emerge from the opposite side and dart out of the door, slamming it behind me and run down the stairs, shouting for Rachel; she doesn't answer. I run to the kitchen, not there, check the dining room, not there either, run back upstairs, check the bedrooms and bathroom, fear gripping me as I pull back the shower curtain, the typical horror movie scene, Rachel isn't in the shower, I don't know why I thought she might be but I've run out of places to look and I refuse to check the fridge and oven. I run out onto the street and see a Volkswagen Camper van driving away, knocking an infected girl down in the process.
Rachel's face looks out at me from the rear window, her eyes meet mine, she glances away, then looks back, raises her hand as if to wave, a muscular arm reaches around her, offering comfort, a ruggedly handsome face says something into her ear and then the van rounds the corner and they're gone and I'm alone, but I'm not alone, I'm surrounded by a closing crowd and I need to leave or die so I leave.
I’m 27, it’s November 2006, I walk up the stairs in my parent’s house holding an axe and I'm going to do what I should have done last time I was here, I'm going to kill my parents, or re-kill them properly so that they are actually dead. The door opens and I sidestep into the room, axe raised to my shoulder, ready to swing, they are where I left them, still wedged between the bed and the wall, locked in what at first glance appears to be a passionate embrace and kissing until you notice that mum's body is facing the wrong way and they both have no flesh left on most of their face, chewed away over time, at least they no longer look like my parents, it makes it easier to drive the axe through them, splitting both skulls in two with one swing; I'd be proud of the hit if it wasn't such a grim situation. I try to tell myself that they were no longer my parents, but they were them and they are dead and I won't ever see them again and I'm struck by an urge to burn the house down but I need to keep my box of memories here, safe in the wardrobe until the world begins again and things are normal again and I'm old enough that my parents would have been dead anyway from old age if none of this had happened so I can pretend that that's what's real and not this, this can't be real, it doesn't feel real. I turn and leave.
Out on the street I look around for a car to take, try to remember who had a nice one, or who had two that might have left one behind, I walk down the street, the street I used to walk down to get the newspaper from the corner shop for my dad, where I used to buy sweets and comics, the street is the same but looks so different now. I see a motorbike, it’s a big, heavy motorbike, a Honda Goldwing 1800, 0 to 60 in 3.7 seconds, breaking into the garage I find a set of keys in a drawer, start it up, it feels powerful, makes me feel manly and alive, I rev the engine a few times, a rare moment of not caring how much noise I make, unfortunately I have no idea how to ride a motorcycle, set off way too fast, wobble, panic, brake too hard, fall into a wall, throttle again by mistake sending the bike racing away from under me as I fall to the floor. I decide a bike isn't practical for my situation, I need something enclosed where no surprises can grab me, something with a roof and a large boot for my gear, something I can actually control. I walk away from the scene as nonchalantly as I can, glad for the moment that there isn't a living person within miles of here to have seen that, or worse, videoed it and uploaded it to the internet. Searching the rest of the street I find two empty garages and four containing cars that I either can't start, don't have enough petrol or are just too uncool for me to take, the Volvo was bad enough, I'm craving something sporty; I find it in the garage of number 57, I had no idea he owned a car like this, I always thought he was a miserable, mean old man. He took my football once after it rolled onto his driveway, it may have brushed past a few of his plants on the way but he still had no right, yet here in his garage, gleaming like new is a red Lotus Turbo Esprit, 0 to 60 in 6.4 seconds. I walk around it twice, fingers caressing the paintwork, admiring its beauty. It's locked, the keys aren't in the garage, I’ll need to check out the house.
The back of the house has large windows taking up most of the wall, giving a clear view of the interior, there’s no sign of danger so I smash my way in and proceed to search for keys. They're not in the hallway or the fruit bowl or in the pockets of the assorted coats hanging in the cupboard near the front door; there are a few tasty bits of food boxed up in the kitchen however so I remove the items that are clearly past their best and stash the rest near the broken window ready for when I leave. Upstairs I check the bedside cabinets, still no keys, I can't think of any other obvious key locations and sit on the bed looking out of the window, it's quiet and peaceful and almost “normal”, the movement of a couple of Magpies on the roof of the shed at the bottom of the garden catches my eye and I get up, move closer to the window to get a better look, there’s something in the doorway of the shed, it could maybe be a leg, or it could just be a discarded old shoe, I decide to go down and investigate, it could be Mr 57 and he could have the car keys.
I approach the shed from the left keeping my eyes on the small gap between the door and the frame, I didn't expect any movement, whatever happened in the shed probably happened a long time ago, but you never know. I hop over the gravel path, stick to the soft grass, silently approaching, as I get nearer I decide it's definitely a leg sticking out of the doorway and as much as I don't want to see the rest of the scene it does give me hope that I might find the car keys I need. Pushing the door open with my toe, hammer at the ready, I find an odd scene before me; the decayed bodies of three people, and all around them balls of various sizes, confiscated from neighbourhood kids over the years. The body which I assume is Mr 57 lies face down, legs pinned by what was once an infected child, skull caved in, teeth around the bone of Mr 57's leg, the other infected also has a broken skull and the bones of Mr 57's arm go through the gaping mouth of the skull and down into the chest cavity. A quick search of pockets turns up nothing so I stamp on the body surrounding Mr 57’s arm, breaking the rib cage apart so that I can filter through the remains. There in amongst the shattered bones I find the keys I need, swallowed along with the owners hand a long time ago. I also see my old football and take it back, grab the box of supplies from the house and head to the Lotus.
The Lotus is loaded up with as much as I can cram in the boot, I tape my directions to the dashboard and open up a can of Pepsi, a treasure I found in the basement of one of
the houses, the iPod is on, Faith No More – Faster Disco, I tear out of the garage and head towards the coast, I imagine how cool I would look if anyone was still alive to see it, driving into the sunset in my Lotus, I hate the way the end of the world puts a tarnish on even the greatest moments.
The journey passes by fast in the Lotus, any danger along the way is too slow to react to pose any threat, even the bandits in the armoured Subaru Imprezzas soon give up, not wanting to waste their petrol on a long chase. I come up behind them, they’re travelling in a convoy, cars being pulled by horses to conserve petrol; as I pass, the horses rear up, bucking to free themselves of their reins, the bandits are quick to agree with them and detach the cars, engines roaring into life as they pull out and give chase but I already have a good lead and can swerve around the wrecks and bodies that litter the road without braking. The bandits disappear in my rearview before they even know what they're chasing.
It takes two hours to reach the coast, daylight is fading and I park by the beach and watch the sun set over the ocean, the scene only marred slightly by the bodies, bloated and rotten that wash up with the tide, only to get dragged back into the sea. As the sun disappears the bodies become shadows and the moon begins its journey across the sky, it's cloudy but the clouds are thin and wispy and move like veils across the moon creating an odd sense of movement as they blow by.