Yes. I decided to presume that DogThing is a male. He sat just on the edge of the light of the campfire for most of the evening, watching me warily, and licking his wound. It looked a bit nasty. He's not looking at me hungrily, so I'm trying to presume that I'm not what he has planned for dinner.
Facts I've learned about DogThing
DogThing likes roasted mushroom. So do I.
DogThing isn't a Living Dead thing. The bits hanging off him are just dirty bits of crusty fur. I am beginning to wonder if I have found an ally in him. I hope so. I certainly don't want him as an enemy, and sleeping might be easier with him nearby. Knowing that there are zombies and things wandering around in here doesn't set you up for a peaceful night.
He doesn't smell anywhere near as rank as I thought he would.
He doesn't like the campfire light.
Back to the mushrooms. They don't taste that much different to supermarket mushrooms, and they come in bigger bits. I guess I will find out quite soon if they are edible or not, but for now it feels good to have something solid in my stomach.
I can't believe I have been here over a week.
Day 10
I haven't slept for hours now. It may be day 11 for all I know, but I'm sticking to a day being between each sleep (ish). Thank God for DogThing, and to hell with zombies.
I'm about to try and get a few hours sleep, but I doubt very much that it's going to happen. If it wasn't for DogThing, I would be dead right now. There is no doubt about that.
I was fast asleep and far too comfortable, with a belly full of mushroom and a warm fire going. I guess I nearly forgot about the dead things that I had fought earlier that day.
The noise made me start, and I sat bolt upright, fumbling for a torch, and my weapon. That same long, drawn-out moan resounded nearby, and I could hear DogThing having a go at something. The unwelcome and familiar sound of zombie flesh ripping, and the grating of DogThing's teeth, was too close for my liking. He must still have been sitting nearby when they arrived.
The torch flooded the area with light, and I wished it hadn't, because I could see at least four of them loping slowly towards the camp. Worse still, there were bits enough to account for a few others, strewn about the clearing that DogThing had been lounging around in. They don't leave a lot of blood, just bits.
I hurriedly put my torch into the fire again, stoking it frantically to try and get more light into the area. It was almost out, and I didn't have the time to lug any wood from the pile. I managed to get it going a bit more, and regretted it straight away, as the fire roared to life and lit up the entire area around me.
There were dozens of them, at varying distances. All shapes and sizes, and at different stages of decay. The nearest to me was at least twenty feet away, and it seemed to be stuck in the junk. Most were still staggering, trying to negotiate the piles of scrap. I am so glad that they are slow, or I would have been overrun before I'd even noticed that they were coming.
I hesitated for a moment. Would I be able to fight them all off? DogThing was doing an awesome job, but me? Not a chance. My trip out earlier proved to me that I was useless with this mace. Yeah, sure, I killed it, but only after nearly landing on my backside after my first swing.
Time to run.
Time to get the hell out of here as fast as I can.
My kit was still packed from the expedition, so I grabbed it, and as much other stuff as I could carry, and made my way along the wall away from the camp, in the only direction that was reasonably clear. As I shuffled along through the rubbish, I saw that there was only one of the creatures in that direction. I figured that if I moved quickly, I may not even have to fight it.
So here I was, tucked inside the bus with the doors all jammed shut, and DogThing prowling the area outside. I was exhausted.
DogThing followed me, after sidetracking to make a meal out of one or two of the zombies along the way. I think I now know why I've not become a DogThing meal. He seems to have a taste for the living dead. Sick, yeah, but I'd rather it was them and not me.
The zombies didn't follow me. They seemed intent on continuing into the camp. I don't know where they are heading, or what has attracted them to the area, but I'm just glad it isn't me. Well, I think it isn't me. They didn't follow me to the bus, so they must have had some other reason to be there. What that was I don't know, and I don't think that I want to find out.
Need to sleep now. Struggling to write.
Day 11
I'm still alive, still inside the bus, and still got me a demon DogThing patrolling on the edge of the torchlight. Can you feel love for a mutt from hell? Damn right you can. He won't come into the bus, and seems to be afraid of it for some reason. Maybe I should take heed of that, but I'm too tired.
I'm glad I made a large supply of torches now.
Anyway, back to my escape.
My exodus wasn't entirely uneventful. That one zombie that I was hoping to avoid moved quicker than expected. As I edged away along the wall, it closed the gap. I looked back, but DogThing was busy tearing into another of the monsters that had entered his clearing. I whistled, but he didn't respond. I would have called him, but I didn't think he would answer to "DogThing" and I didn't have a name for him yet. I must give him a name, he deserves that at least.
The wall was quite low by the time I faced off against the zombie. I approached slowly, pointing my mace and my torch at it. The reek of the creature was nasty, hitting me like a cloud of gas at about ten feet. It was a massive one, not tall or anything, but fat, monstrously fat, and it had something sticking out of its stomach, piercing right through its body. It looked like it was a metal girder or something similar. Its innards were wrapped round the metal and dangling out all over the place, dragging along the floor as it stumbled about. A totally random thought entered my head, and I laughed. How odd. Here I am, faced with a horde of the living dead, and I'm laughing as I remember being told by my mum to tie my shoelaces, or I would trip on them. Did this creature ever have a problem tripping on its own guts?
For its weapon, this zombie had chosen a head. Yeah, a zombie head. It had hold of it by the hair, which was long, and drenched through with dried blood and other crap. As it swung it in my direction, the head cursed and swore at me. I think that's what freaked me out more than the obese size of the creature, that swinging, screaming head that it was trying to hit me with.
I didn't think I had much luck by ending up in this place, but luck has had a lot to do with my survival after that moment, and it played a huge role right then. I was about to step forward and try to take the thing on. Even though I was convinced that I stood no chance, but then I noticed what it was standing on. Cardboard! Another immense pile of it, spread out across the floor, and this time not drenched in muck and water. One jab of my torch and it took like a treat, and the giant zombie went up with it. I had to jump back a few steps to avoid getting toasted myself.
I've never been a hateful person, but the sheer joy at watching that creature roast was immense. So much so that I wasn't expecting the damn thing to come walking off the cardboard towards me, burning like a failed Catherine wheel as it flailed that screaming head and its other arm around in its fury. I had no choice. I dived over the wall, hit the ground hard, and then frantically crawled away. Not a moment too soon either, because barely a second or two after I tumbled away from the wall, the burning zombie came crashing down over the rock, in an inferno, and fell to pieces on the cobbled floor. The head, still on fire, rolled over towards me and came to stop a few inches from my feet.
It screamed.
Up until then I had been avoiding going over that wall. I dreaded the thought that when I got there it would be as vast and endless as the side I was living on, and there was something reassuring about sleeping with your back to solid wall. I was right to be wary.
Broken ground stretched out into the darkness, and there was no sign of an ending to the open space this side of the wall. I didn't have time to look around, and I w
asn't going to go stumbling into somewhere else unknown if I could help it, so I hurried off in the only direction that I could remember. Towards the bus, leaving the zombie collapsed in flames with the putrid stench of rotten, burning flesh hanging in the air and tearing at my nostrils. The head screamed even worse insults at me as I scurried away. How typical is that? The first time I hear another human voice, and it's not attached to a body. It couldn't even have had vocal cords.
This place is nuts.
It would seem that my memory isn't completely gone! I'm starting to get some little bits back about the day I ended up here. I think I would have remembered more, but the dream that brought it to me ended rather abruptly when the zombies arrived at the camp.
I was on my way to a major client, to talk to them about their latest order, when I hit a traffic jam. The M25 can get quite frustrating during rush hour, but it wasn't normally so congested mid afternoon, so that was unusual. Still that didn't suggest anything weird to me.
It took about an hour extra to get there, so I had phoned ahead to let them know I was going to be late. That was when I noticed my phone was getting low on charge. I couldn't find the car adapter for recharging it, and I remember making a mental note to do so later on, but I guess that the opportunity never came.
The last thing I recall was stopping off at a service station to use their toilet. I have this thing you see, call it an obsession if you will, about not appearing untidy, or being a nuisance of any kind. Turning up to a client's place and using the toilet straight away was rude. Well it was to me.
So I went to use the toilet at the side of the service station, and that's about as much as I can remember. Sometime after I used that toilet, something bad must have happened, and somehow I ended up here.
Even more interesting! This bus has a rough bed laid out on the upper deck, and a whole bundle of personal stuff tucked away in the corners. Somebody used this place as a home at some point, and from the dust that has settled over most of it, I think that it wasn't recently. It's a shame, even though it's a relief to see any signs of life here that might be human, the place being abandoned for so long, or so I presume, is another reminder that I'm alone here.
I spent most of the day hiding away in the bus, trying not to attract any more attention from the zombies, and catching up on my sleep. It was reassuring to be barricaded in somewhere for a change.
Never would have thought it, but sun tan lotion works ok as a makeshift soap. It's not brilliant, and I think it's a cheap brand, but it does freshen you up a bit. It's a shame there is only one bottle of it.
Day 12
A few more zombies passed by this morning, but they didn't come too close and didn't bother investigating the bus. I don't think they even noticed it.
DogThing has wandered off somewhere. I didn't realise until about an hour ago that he had gone. There is something disconcerting about not knowing where he is.
Gave in to curiosity and tried to start the bus, but the engine didn't even turn over. Not surprising really, it must have been sat here for years. It's strange what you become accustomed to. After fighting zombies and eating three-foot-tall mushrooms, a London bus sitting in the middle of nowhere doesn't seem so odd any more.
Found some useful things after having a rummage through all the stuff on the bus. There is a lot of random, useless junk like a box of dishwasher tablets, but I found a knife for starters. Yes a real one. It's only one of those small cheese knives with a curly, two-pronged tip, and it's a little blunt, but it's better than the makeshift knives that I botched together. There was also a torch, minus the batteries. You never know, I may come across some at some point, so I will keep hold of it for now.
In the front corner, on the upper floor, was a pile of magazines. Mostly gardening and craft ones. Some of them are over thirty years old. Behind the magazines was a small pile of books. Six of them are the same book "A thesis by Professor Adler". They look quite old and are all signed, presumably by Mr Adler himself, though I can't make out the signature clearly enough to be sure.
In a pile, in the middle of the floor, was a thick woollen blanket that was sizable enough to cover a double bed. It's quite smelly, and could definitely do with a wash, but will be a lot better than the curtain that I no longer have. Damn. I lost a lot of stuff back at the camp.
Plastic bottles. There were dozens of them, all stuffed into a massive cloth sack. If only I could find some water. Unfortunately, all of them were empty.
Hanging on small metal hooks on two of the walls was a pair of lamps. They were both empty of fuel, but if I could siphon some from the car wreck, I might be able to get them going. There was also an empty hook.
Covering most of the walls and windows on the top floor were posters from various time periods. Some of them were of bands from the eighties, and others that I'm certain go way back, possibly even to pre Second World War, maybe further.
I'm saving the best find until the end (as they say). On the bottom floor, right at the back, among all the litter (the bottom floor must have been the last occupant's rubbish bin) was a small metal box with a broken handle. Inside it was a rusty set of tools that were mostly knackered, but there is a screwdriver, a hammer, and a rusty but usable adjustable spanner. All fantastic finds. I'm getting all happy about a damn toolset.
Lingering in the back of my mind, there is an unsettling feeling that someone lived here for quite a long time, and then went off one day, never to come back. Maybe they were trapped here like me and found somewhere better, not bothering to come back? I'm not convinced of that. I think I would have come back even if it was to collect a few things. Which reminds me, I still have to go back to the old camp and salvage whatever I can, hopefully avoiding any zombies on the way. I also need to find somewhere other than this bus to stay. There seem to be zombies wandering by every few hours. I'm lucky - they either don't seem to notice me, or they aren't interested, but that doesn't mean it will stay that way.
I'm convinced that the zombies are heading somewhere. They are always walking in the same direction, and I've never seen any of them twice. Trust me, I would know. They are all grotesquely different.
The strangest one I have seen so far came past yesterday, while I was having a smoke and peering out of the window, hoping to see DogThing. It wandered by about thirty feet away, right on the edge of the light. I'm damn sure the creature had been put together, because there were two heads sticking out at the top, and another jutting out of its waist. It had far too many arms and legs, almost like three different people had been wrapped together deliberately. The top two heads were staring at each other, like they were in shock from being attached to one another (wouldn't you be?) while the third, the one sticking out of its waist, was looking around. I'm not sure whether the two heads that were facing each other were even alive, or animate, or whatever they are.
There are only three cans of fizzy drink left. I'm surprised they have lasted this long. Either way, I'm going to run out. This is a good thing and a bad thing - if I drink much more of the stuff I'm going to end up with serious stomach problems. Not that I don't already have them. Fizzy pop is not good as a staple diet, but I've got nothing else.
From the empty bottles, I've come to two possible conclusions. Either there is water nearby, or it is so far away that whoever owned these bottles needed a lot of storage to be able to live here.
I'm going back to the old camp tomorrow, in an attempt to recover the last few bits of my possessions. I remember seeing a hose pipe somewhere in the junk, not too far from the camp, while I was hurrying on my way to the bus, so will attempt to find it.
I ventured out briefly to see if I could find anything else to drink, but I didn't go too far. I did find something intriguing though. Hidden away, behind a massive pile of empty tin cans, around the corner from the bus, was a small heap of mangled-up bicycles and prams. None of them were in a condition to be used as they were, but it did mean one thing to me. Wheels. I'm determined to fix up one of the pr
ams to use as a cart; then I wouldn't have to lug everything on my back.
Will pass by the pile on the way back to the camp. A second reason to take a different route back there.
I hope the zombies have gone.
Day 13
To say that today has been an interesting experience would be an understatement, but before I go into that I need to sort out last night's dream, in my head.
I hadn't even noticed until I woke up, that I hadn't been having any dreams at all that I could remember. I used to dream so vividly before; back in the real world (is that the right thing to call it? This place seems real). It's strange that I don't recall dreaming at all while I've been here, so much so that I'd forgotten all about it until last night.
It started off a bit vague. Don't all dreams start that way? I was on a bus that was driving slowly through London, like the world was going through one of those film clips that they play in slow motion, so that you don't miss the details they cleverly placed in there. It wasn't as slow as a film, but the dial was definitely turned down slightly. Everyone outside the bus was walking slower, and everyone inside the bus seemed to be in complete time stop, apart from me, and one old fellow who was sitting right at the front of the bus, smoking a pipe and chattering to himself.
I recognised the route the bus was taking. I'd taken it many times when I'd been working in the East End of London, years ago, back when I was just learning the trade. It always worked out easier to park up and go by bus than to drive through the streets.
As always on that journey, I watched the busy traffic outside and occasionally glanced down at my newspaper. The print in the paper seemed to be changing every time I looked at it, though I wasn't turning the pages. Then it occurred to me. Had I been there before on this bus? I mean on this particular bus.
Yes, I had.
It was a long time ago, back when I was a kid. The theatre poster stuck on the top panel over the stairs, the one slightly torn in one corner, was identical to the one I saw back then. I was convinced of it. I was very young at the time and out on a day trip with my parents, to the London museums. It was the exact same poster.
This Is the End: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (7 Book Collection) Page 31