The Infected

by Gregg Cocking

  So, although it’s at least two months away, I have started making a ‘to do list’ – here it is:

  BLOEMFONTEIN ROADTRIP

  TO-DO LIST:

  1 – Get petrol for my car (what does the R8 take? I don’t think it’s a diesel, but I must check. I don’t want to take a chance stopping to fill up at a petrol station – I’d rather have my own stash. I must also start it regularly – I don’t want to be ready to go and the car wont frigging start. That would suck.

  2 – Get some ‘padkos’. For those who can’t speak Afrikaans that literally translates to ‘road food’. I’d have to pack as much food as I could, (along with as much petrol as I can) just in case it takes me longer than expected. And what if I got all the way to Bloem and there was no safe haven, no survivors, no food, nothing? I’d have to have more than enough supplies to keep me going. And, and I’ve just thought of this now, what if I pick up some hitchhikers on the way? Maybe they’d need food too. So yeah, gotta be well prepared. (Where would they sit though… I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it and if I come to it).

  3 – I’d obviously want to carry on doing this and updating you with my blogs from wherever I end up, so I’d have to try and hook up a mobile solar power kit – shouldn’t be too hard. At least I hope not. Good thing I’ve got this Macbook.

  4 – Guns… I’d have to get the guns I’ve found in the complex as protection. Sure, the nail gun has worked before, but out there, in their ‘territory’, on my own, I think I would rather take my chances with a gun than with a nail gun. Ammunition obviously would also be needed.

  Well that’s all I can think of for now. As I said, still a couple of months away so not getting too carried away with this idea yet. Who knows what will happen in the next two months… just look what has happened in the last two…

  So yeah. Bloemfontein, here I come. (In a couple months!)

  Take care.

  Sam W

  5:03pm, 1 July

  A pinch and a punch for the first of the month! Yeah, we’ve made it through to another one – congrats.

  Not much news from here – the usual really. I am seriously boring, and thus I am seriously bored. I did get sunburned yesterday though – I fell asleep while lying outside looking at the sky and woke up an hour and a half later a few skin tones darker – my nose is pink! Was nice though, sunburn aside, to just lie there and forget about the chaos around me and around the world. I dreamt about Lil – not for the first time – we were swimming in the sea (hmmmnnnnn – she always did look good in a bikini) and then, as dreams tend to jump from place to place, we were suddenly in a pool, the swimming pool at the Cabana Beach hotel in Umhlanga where we had gone on holiday in October last year. Not much happened in the dream, we were just floating in the water, but it was one of the best dreams that I have ever had.

  Otherwise I recently found the CD for a computer game, Football Manager, when I was cleaning out the spare room cupboard, looking for anything of use. Basically it’s a tactical game where you are the manager of a football team and choose who to buy, who to play, what tactics to use – it may not sound like it, but it’s seriously addictive. So I now allow myself one hour of Football Manager a day. I’ve taken over at Middlesborough – I didn’t want to go for any of the big teams, but also didn’t want someone who I would end up relegating from the Premier League after one season. They also had a decent amount of money, 12 million pounds, so I got to buy some decent players. Freddy Guarin you little Columbian beauty! For 1,3 million pounds this dude, who it seems can score from anywhere on the frikking field, was a bargain. I also managed to buy David Beckham for 4 million quid – okay, he’s old, but you should see his stats – eighteens, nineteens and twenties throughout (players are rated out of twenty on numerous skills, passing, finishing, heading, tackling, influence etc.,) and even though Beckham is getting on, I’ll still get a good season or two out of him.

  But writing that has got me thinking… do you think people like David Beckham and Posh Spice have been infected? Can all the money in the world save you from something like this? I suppose if you have a helicopter you could fly away, and if you have a helicopter you probably have a boat too, so you could take your helicopter to your boat and float away. But then Beckham and Posh and Brooklyn and the other two kids (I doubt anyone else knows their names), would eventually run out of caviar and croissants, or whatever rich people keep on their boats, and they would have to go ashore for food. And it doesn’t matter if you can bend a round thing into the top corner of the net from thirty yards or used to earn the equivalent of ten million Rand a week, the infected will try get you either way… But I hope that they have enough food on that boat. And I hope you do too wherever you are.

  Take care.

  Sam W

  6:39pm, July 6

  Hi – still alive, still bored as hell. The last few days have been the worst so far. I spend my time pacing up and down trying to think of things to do. I am eating more, maybe just so that I will have to go out and waste a day sometime in the near future looking for more food… I am rereading books. I am playing every song I have ever learned on the guitar. I am naming each of the infected that wander down the street in the winter sun. I am talking to the ants that congregate at the corner of the sink all year round. I am losing my flippin’ mind.

  Apart from speaking to my Mom once a day, I have no contact with the outside world. It’s been overcast too – no rain, unfortunately – so I guess that has put a bit of a dampener on my mood too. My Mom is okay. Well, she is probably slightly less than okay. Since my Dad did what my Dad did, she has had trouble socialising with the rest of the folks in the house. They are also running out of food and don’t have many options for replenishing their stocks – like me, they are going through food a lot quicker than they did right after the literal ‘shit hit the fan’. She said that she is not sure how long she can last. “Samuel,” she said, and she only ever calls me Samuel when (a) I have done something wrong/stupid/stupid and wrong, or (b) when she has had one too many Old Brown Sherry’s to drink – I don’t think either were the case. “Samuel, I am scared. I have always thought that someone, the police, the army, the damn FBI or the CIA from the TV would be along to rescue us. But it’s not going to happen Samuel. We’re alone and it’s not going to happen.” Not long after that she broke down in tears and put the phone down before I could even try and comfort her. But what would I have said? “Don’t worry Mom, the Macgyver or the A-Team will be on their way (or in more modern times, that girl from Alias, maybe even Hoartio from CSI Miami) – they always make it just in the nick of time, don’t they?” Or would I have said, “Yes Mom, you’re right. We’re doomed. It’s only a matter of time before we are all eaten alive by some infected fucker with one eye and a bloodied Bafana Bafana shirt.” I am actually quite glad that I didn’t have the opportunity to say anything.

  Sam

  11:12am, July 8

  Hey – eventually something to write about. I saw two of ‘them’ having a fight today! They actually woke me up. I was dreaming of… doubt she’ll read this anyways so I don’t mind naming her – Hilary Johnson from my standard seven geography class. She used to sit in front of me in Mrs. Cloete’s class and she always smelled of almonds – in a good way. I was infatuated with her for two years, but if I said two words to her in those two years, that would have been a seriously awkward conversation. So anyway, I was having one of ‘those’ dreams, when I was rudely awoken by a buxom brunette and a balding woman probably in her sixties fighting over the remains of a dead cat. They were just below my bedroom window, and just as I peeked out of the curtains, Big Boobs grabbed Baldy and they tumbled through the bottom floor window, the crash reverberating loudly through the silence of the deserted complex.

  That was it, I thought, but then Baldy vaulted through the now open window, tawny cat leg in her mouth, and she was followed closely by Big Boobs, no tawny cat leg in her mouth – way to go old Baldy. They carried on going at each other l
ike animals in the downstairs garden until, and this was seriously gruesome… they were pushing, pulling and groping at each other around the garden, stumbling in the flower beds and against the low walls, when Baldy’s leg twisted beneath her and she fell straight onto one of those umbrella holders, you know the metal ones that have that hollow piping where you place the umbrella pole? That went straight through the back of her head and came out where her nose used to be. I can still taste the little bit of vomit that suddenly found its way into my mouth when that happened. What a way to start the day!

  So Big Boobs, obviously tired and hurt – she had a large fragment of glass sticking out of her right leg, just above the knee – hobbled over to Baldy, snatched the cat leg from her clenched jaws and devoured it in a second, bones, claws and all. Pretty sick. Then she was on her way, not even glancing back at Baldy, another confirmation that they have none or limited feelings – no remorse, no sorrow, nothing. I just wonder where they had found that cat – I haven’t seen any in ages, and come to think of it, it’s been a while since I have heard any dogs barking at night or any cats wailing at each other… the infected must be getting hungry.

  While I was sitting at the kitchen window today, again meticulously noting the numbers and movements of the infected, it suddenly hit me how many people are infected (a nice way of saying dead or dying I suppose). I looked at my note pad and it was just filled with numbers, each one representing what was once a living, breathing, talking human being with a job and a family and friends and thoughts. Now they are just numbers on a well worn notepad which I bought from CNA when it was safe to go out. Safe to walk around the shops. Safe to be seen.

  What is happening to the world – will we survive? Will the human race be able to continue? I know that in the course of the world, earth has experienced something like four or five mass extinctions (don’t quote me on that in case I have the wrong figures), so maybe this is just our time? Like a cassette tape, we are coming to an abrupt end. What we might be going through now is that few seconds of silence – the clear tape – before the cassette player clicks… ‘stop’.

  On that cheerful note… take care

  Sam W

  11:43pm, July 11

  Can’t sleep. Second night in a row now. I remember before this all began how I could sleep at the drop of a hat (what a stupid saying by the way). Man, I loved sleeping. Especially when I had Lil with me. Her warm little body curled up in a ball, my arms around her naked body… this could get X-rated… I just felt so happy then, so… content with life, a life so full of promise. Now I wake up at night and can’t get over the things that have happened around me. Is it a bad dream, I sometimes think? A really, really bad dream? Then it all comes flooding back to me – it’s not a dream. It’s a fucking nightmare.

  I have to apologise. I’ve just gone back over my last few posts, and man I am a depressing little shit. Hey, I’m still alive – I could be fighting a guy with no teeth, one eye and two exposed man boobs for a piece of dead dog. But I’m not, I still stand a chance of getting out of this alive. I’m just going to keep thinking of Bloemfontein – it’s very strange that a city I never thought I would ever visit again could be my salvation – but I’ve got to keep on hoping for the best, and if Bloem is the best then I’ll keep hoping for it. Okay, I’m babbling now. That usually means that I am getting tired. Thanks for listening. Sometimes you just need to get it all out to be able to move on. And I’m moving on. Love you Mom, love you Dad, love you Lil.

  Sam

  6:27pm, July 13

  Come on you ‘Boro! With just three games to go in my first season as manager of Middlesborough, I am guaranteed a top seven finish. If I win my last three games (which I don’t think will happen as I play Man United and Aston Villa away) and Tottenham lose two of their games, I’ll finish fifth. But I’d be happy with seventh and delighted with sixth. That Freddy Guarin chap that I mentioned before – he’s scored 14 goals this season – not bad at all for a defensive midfielder, only five behind my top scorer Tuncay. Another bargain, John Fleck, a 17 year old from Rangers who can play basically anywhere in midfield or upfront, has been brilliant since I signed him during the January transfer window – his average rating of 7.43 has catapulted me up the table after a sluggish start. I forgot how brilliant this game is!

  But that’s all the news that I have – just had to let you know!

  See ya

  Sam W

  8:56am, July 15

  You won't believe this...

  From: Chris

  Sent: 15 July 2011 07:44 AM

  To: Sam Ward

  Subject: Yo

  Sam the Man... How the fuck are you doing bud? What's with this getting all weepy over your 'dead' friend? Enough of that already, we hadn't even fucking met before! But I appreciate it dude, I really do. But enough of this soppy shit - I am alive and well!

  How, you may be asking yourself? This is how...

  After the zombies eventually made it up onto my level, I started shooting them through the window until I ran out of ammo, but they still kept coming. Fuck, the noise was the worst - there must have been hundreds of them because I swear the walls were shaking with their groaning. It wasn't fucking pleasant. So as they climbed over the balustrade, and then over the pile of their dead friends, I knew that the end was near and there was no point fighting it. They were pushing up against the windows and it was only a matter of time until the sheer weight of them caused the glass to cave in. So you know what I did? I went for a crap.

  I mean, who would want to be eaten alive when you need a big crap? So I went into the bathroom, grabbed a book, the last thing I thought I would ever read - turned out to be Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay - and had one of the best craps of my life. After I finished I sat back down on the toilet and lifted my head to the heavens to pray to God to make it quick. Funnily enough, I had never believed until that minute. There was a crash from the room next to me and I heard a thump or two as some of the fuckers fell through into what used to be 'my' space. The noise made me open my eyes. And I was looking at the trapdoor in the ceiling. "Chris, you dumb fuck," I thought.

  I had a split second to make a decision as I heard the groaning approaching the bathroom door... do I open the door and just let them get it over and done with, or do I keep on trying to get through whatever the fuck this whole thing is? I reached for the door. Not to open it, you pessimistic idiot, but to lock it! Then I remembered that I had thrown that key at one of the stupid yapping dogs downstairs the day after I moved in. Not good.

  So I grabbed my dustbin, turned it over, jumped onto it and reached for the trapdoor - I could just reached and flipped it over as the door swung open and a lot of them - sorry, I wasn't bothered about counting them - came in reaching for me. But I didn't have the strength to pull myself up. "Great," I thought, "So I am going to get eaten. Then, and I don't know if it was that God guy again looking out for me, but the fattest dead guy I have ever seen, fell down in the rush to get to me, knocked my bucket out of the way and, as I lifted my legs, landed beneath me. I jumped up once, landed on his back and was sprung up as if I had just jumped on a trampoline! One of the fuckers grabbed my leg and bit me, luckily only getting my jeans, but by that time I was already levering myself up into the ceiling.

  I stood up (well, as high as you can inside a ceiling), and gave those fuckers a wave and a zap as I shut the trapdoor again. Then it was fucking dark... I let my eyes get accustomed to the light – or lack of it – as they zombies below me groaned even louder. When I could see again I noticed a few small chinks of light coming through the tiles – I whacked what I perceived to be the ‘weak spot’ with my shoulder, and eventually the gap started getting bigger and bigger. I pushed and pulled the tiles apart until I had an area big enough to climb out. I stood on the roof high above the golf course and though, “Fuck, it’s cold.” But I wasn’t going to go back in for clothes – I would have to make do for now with my jeans, my Puma’s and a dodgy yellow jersey o
ver a dodgy John Cena wrestling shirt.

  I had a quick sneaky look over the roof onto my balcony and the garden below, and they were fucking everywhere! Man, I have never seen so many horrible looking things in one place... so I decided to get as far away from them as possible. I headed to the far end of the complex, over the rooftops, and had some scary experiences jumping over the metre and a half to two metre gaps between the blocks. After I nearly didn’t make the third jump, I thought that okay, I’d got far enough away. I lowered myself onto a balcony, made sure the unit was unoccupied and broke window to let myself in. I’d always wanted to do that.

  My fucking luck though, I had climbed into a unit which previously belonged to an old lady, so my new wardrobe consisted of horribly knitted pink jerseys... they keep me warm though, so stop fucking laughing Sam!

  I wasn’t keen on staying in the complex any longer after what had just happened, so I went outside, grabbed a garden spade for protection and climbed over the fence a few hundred metres from where the last handful were waiting to climb over and try get at me – I made a dash across the thirteenth fairway of the Royal Johannesburg Golf Course and hid in a bunker while I tried to see if any of them had maybe spotted me – they hadn’t, because after ten minutes, none of them had even looked my way, never mind started coming towards me.