by Frank Tayell
The signal strength of Radio Free England has weakened. It could be the radio, but I think it’s the signal. The message is the same; sheets on the roof, wait for help. There are no signs of helicopters over London and I’m sure I’d hear one. You used to be able to hear them all the time, even when you couldn’t see them. I don’t think I’ll be getting any help from Radio Free England, even if I did trust their message.
Day 26
05:00, 7th April.
I spotted it around eleven last night. I couldn’t sleep, I was just sitting in my chair, staring at the rooftops when I saw a light go on in the top room of the house opposite.
I wasn’t sure I’d seen it at first, it could have been a reflection, it could have been my imagination, but then I saw it again. Still, I wasn’t sure it was anything more than a fire. To be frank, that was what caught my attention. My secret dread right now is being forced to choose between burning alive inside or being eaten alive outside.
Then the light went out and a few minutes later, three I think, it came back on. It was hypnotic, mesmerising, and I just stared at it. What I didn’t think to do was to mark where it was coming from. There are fifty-seven windows visible from here, any one of which could hold the light’s source.
I’m getting ahead of myself. I have no possible way of knowing whether someone was actually signalling. Even after all this time it could be a phone flashing that its battery was finally running out. It could be some kind of alarm or, well, anything battery powered. And that doesn't mean a person, at least not an uninfected one. Maybe there was someone in there, once alive, now undead, reflexively flicking at a button. Maybe, but probably not. The light flashed six times that I saw, the last time being about half twelve, but I stayed up all night watching and thinking.
10:00, 7th April.
I’ve lit the fire downstairs. A pillar of smoke by day might just be the ticket (boiling up some water, and having a celebratory cooked meal too. There’s no point wasting the wood!). But I couldn’t leave the fire burning and come up here to watch the windows. That’s too great a risk. So I’ve got to hope that whoever is out there saw the smoke and realised that the fire might just come from a room on the other side of this house.
I’m going to need a better way of signalling.
14:00, 7th April.
I haven’t seen many horror films, haven’t seen many films at all recently, but there's one scene I remember from a zombie movie where there’s a guy in a gun shop who has no food, trying to talk to people in a mall who have no guns. They’re a few hundred yards away and communicate with a whiteboard and binoculars. I’ve no whiteboard, no binoculars either, but I do have paper and blu-tac.
It took me a while to think of something useful to say “hello” being too short “Are you alive” begging for the response of “No,” and “Hello, is there anybody out there?” being, well, unoriginal.
In the end, and wanting to put something up I wrote “R U There?” spread onto three pieces of paper and stuck to the top of the window in Tom’s flat, since the tinted glass in mine is almost certainly going to make it illegible. There are seven windows that I can see from my room I can’t see from his, I just have to hope that the other survivor isn't in one of those.
There are, I suppose better things I could have written, and not much I can do if the response is “Yes.”
Time for more smoke signals.
16:00, 7th April.
Nothing yet. It might be that this person is only awake at night, shining the light out in one direction for a few hours then going to a different window, and repeating it. Or they’ve no paper. It’ll be dark in a few hours, I’ll signal back.
17:00, 7h April.
I didn’t notice it earlier, simply because my mind was on other things, but there’s only a handful of Them out there today. They don’t look as formidable as the others. Some are missing hands or arms or, in one case, most of a leg. If I’m going to leave, it would be a good idea to do it sooner, not later.
It would be too late to leave tonight anyway. I’ll think about it tomorrow. But whether there is a reply or not, I will have to think about it tomorrow.
20:00, 7th April.
Flashing the torch on off, on off, on off, pause. On off, on off, on for a minute, off for five minutes. Adding Morse code to the list of skills I wish I’d bothered to learn. So far no response. No response from the undead either.
23:00, 7th April.
Nothing yet.
Day 27
02:50, 8th April.
Still nothing. The batteries are running low. Time to call it a night. I’m returning back upstairs.
06:40, 8th April.
Up early. Maybe the light wasn’t visible from downstairs. I don’t want to risk opening the balcony doors though. Did I imagine it?
09:00, 8th April.
There are two of Them out the front, two out the back, with another lurking around a side street about a hundred metres west. I think that last one is stuck there, maybe immobile, maybe sleeping. If They sleep. Whichever it is, the creature’s not moving. Of the others, the two out the back are sort of heading southward, slowly pinballing across the street from one side to the other. One of the creatures round the front is heading roughly southeast, I think. It’s hard to say since it's moving in a curving zigzag. The other one isn’t moving at all.
All of that is a long-winded way of saying that if I’m planning on leaving I should do it soon. And I should definitely head north. It’s fifty-two days until the cast is due to come off but, with the help of the crutches, I can stand for three or four hours at a time now. Going up and down the stairs is getting easier, and I can’t delay much longer. Getting to the river is my only option.
I think if I’d heard a single helicopter overhead I might have stayed, I might have knocked a hole through the roof, hung out white sheets, tried to get more food from nearby houses, whatever. But I haven’t. Wherever Radio Free England is, they’re staying clear of south London.
I’m ready to go. I should go. It’s just… What if there’s a reply tonight? What if the reply comes five minutes after I’ve left?
10:15, 8th April.
A reply! It’s written on paper on the window of a house about seventy metres away. Too far away to be legible.
12:00, 8th April.
I’ve no binoculars. Think. Think. Think.
13:00, 8th April.
If the writing’s too small, increase the font size. One word spread out on two sheets, spelling “Escape?”
13:30, 8th April.
He, or she, has got it, the message has been replaced with three sheets of paper, a letter on each one, spelling “Y.E.S.”
17:00, 8th April.
We’ve found a way to communicate. It’s about as basic as it can be, each word spelled out one letter at a time, each letter held up for a minute.
I don’t like that, writing ‘he or she,’ it’s too impersonal I’ll call him/her Sam. My neighbour’s name is Sam.
Our conversation so far:
Me: “Escape?”
Sam: “Yes” Then a blank sheet. “No Water”
Me: “Water. Food. 20 days. You Come Here?”
Sam: “Then 10 Days Water.” Pause. “Then What?”
Me: “Escape Now. Where? River?”
Sam: “Can’t Swim. Ha. Ha. North.”
Me: “How? Car? Petrol??”
Sam: “Bike.”
Ah, there it was. Oh well.
Me: “Broken leg. Bike = hard.”
Then there was a long pause. Seven minutes without a response, the longest seven minutes of my life.
Sam: “Car. You Alone.”
Me: “Yes. You?”
Sam: “Yes.”
Me: “Escape Tomorrow?”
Sam: “3 Days.”
Me: “You Water. 3 Days?”
Sam: “Yes. Plan Later. Food Now”
And that’s it, thirty-six letters, numerals and assorted punctuation stuck to the windows over a coup
le of hours, and we’re going to escape in three days’ time. That’s as far as we’ve managed to get so far. Now there are the details to sort out, like where to get a car from and where we’ll go, but at least now I won’t be alone.
20:00, 8th April.
Our conversation continued, we’re leaving at nine in the morning three days from now. Day 30, by my count.
I asked “Which Car?” Sam replied “Mine”, which is reassuring. Sam probably has a car parked out front. I’m pretty sure those houses all had their front gardens converted to drives. Obviously Sam didn’t want to drive before because a bike is less likely to break down and can probably get further in a day if the roads are blocked. Which, I’m guessing, they probably will be. That’s why I’ve been against trying to drive out of here. The last thing I want is to get stuck on some narrow country lane somewhere. But, if Sam wants to drive, then I’m not going to worry. If there is a problem then we’ll find a solution. Two heads and all that.
If his car’s out front, then would it be better if I went over to his house? Or is it safer if he goes out the front and drives around? It’s difficult to know. I’ll sleep on it and see what he thinks tomorrow.
Day 28
13:00, 9th April.
Two days to go!
Not much conversation today. The strange thing is that we don’t really have much to say to one another, at least nothing that can’t wait. I’m guessing that Sam, with the exception of having two working legs, is in pretty much the same situation as me, working out what will be essential for the next part of the trip.
Where in the north we’re heading I don’t know. For now it’s enough that we’re going to get away.
16:00, 9th April.
I’m packed, ready to go. I’d like to leave now, but I can see the wisdom in staying put as long as possible. There’s still the chance of rescue or of the undead finally dying, and there's no point wasting food, but… It’s just that there are fewer out there than ever before. They could be back in greater numbers at any time. But we have a plan. We’ll stick to the plan.
Should I take the laptop and the hard drive? All those files Sholto sent, are they of any use to anyone now? They take up so much room I wasn’t going to take them when I was planning on leaving on foot, but if we’re taking a car, then why not?
Day 29
06:00, 10th April.
Breakfast, then as soon as Sam’s awake we’ll really need to finalise our plans
10:00, 10th April.
I’d just stuck a message up, when I saw Sam walking out of his house. He glanced up briefly at the window, long enough for me to make out his scraggly beard. He didn’t wave. I thought for a moment something had happened, maybe the undead had broken in and he had been forced to leave. I thought he might be heading here, needing rescue, except before I could even turn to go downstairs and open the door, he’d already turned his back, and begun to head up the road.
One of the undead spotted him and started to follow. He glanced over his shoulder, occasionally checking its progress, but he didn’t stop, he just sped up, easily outpacing the zombie.
He’s getting his car I suppose. Either that or he’s leading Them away, making our escape easier. Wish he’d told me though, because if he’s bringing a car back today, then it’ll draw hundreds of Them with it, like the SUV did. I need to be ready. Bag by the front door. Ready to run, or limp as fast as I can, just as soon as I hear him coming.
12:00, 10th April.
No sign of Sam. I’m in Tom’s room, watching the road. It’ll be easier to get to the front door from here.
18:00, 10th April.
Where is he? I suppose he’s gone for the car, and he’ll bring it here tomorrow morning. That makes sense. Maybe the car’s in an underground garage somewhere. Can’t think where one of those could be around here, though.
21:00, 10th April.
No sign of him, which is good. He’s sticking with the plan. His car was probably in a garage somewhere. Maybe he works there. No, more likely he knew someone who had a car and spare petrol stashed somewhere in south London. He’d have seen the SUV and how it drew Them here, just like I did. That’s why he’s waiting until tomorrow. He’s sticking to the plan. The question is whether I stay up here and watch for him or whether I go downstairs and wait by the door.
22:00, 10th April.
I just timed it. I can get downstairs from here in two minutes, and I could have done it faster if I wasn’t worried about noise. I’ll stay up here and watch, in case he can’t get the car through the streets and parks it somewhere. That’s a real possibility I suppose, I mean, with all those fires I’ve seen, houses could have collapsed. Maybe some of the roads are now impassable. I’ll just wait until I hear a car approaching then it’s straight downstairs and out the door. Not long now.
Day 30
15:00, 11th April.
Seven minutes. After I told him my leg was broken, that’s how long it took for him to decide to leave me behind. Not just leave me behind, but to guarantee that I wasn’t going to come with him. Why else give a time and day for our escape?
Seven minutes.
I can understand why. The broken leg made me a liability and maybe if I’d come up with more of a plan, something to make the risk worth taking, then it’d have been different. But I didn’t. Even so, it took him only seven minutes to decide to leave me behind.
I don’t think I would have done that. If it had been him with the broken leg and me with both legs working I don’t think I would have walked away like that. No. I know I wouldn’t have left him. Maybe if I had a child or someone else already injured to protect, I might have, but if it was just me, on my own, I’d have helped. I would have at least tried. I would have, at the very least, spent longer than seven minutes thinking about it.
18:00, 11th April.
I’m not going to forgive him. I’m never going to forgive him, and when I get out of this I’m certainly going to find out who he is and, well, we’ll see. I can sort of understand why he did it, but I’ll never forgive him for it.
I would have stayed and helped.
Day 31
09:00, 12th April.
Slept in. Why not? It’s quiet outside. My morning routine was severely disrupted by the lack of zombies to count. One out the back, only barely in sight.
12:00, 12th April.
This morning I walked up and down the stairs for two hours with the pack on. My muscles ache but it’s a good, healthy ache. I kept it up almost non-stop and managed it without making too much noise, at least by my reckoning.
I wish I had a bit more space to practice with the crutches, but I think I’ll be okay. Thanks to my absent tenants there is no issue with laundry, and clean clothes help somewhat since I’m not able to wash.
I’ve an amusing image of my tenants huddling together in some hideout, having escaped who knows what, hungry, thirsty, dirty, deciding to come back here, where they know there’s a bit of food and at least some clean clothes. Only to find, when they break down the doors, no food and their clothes all stained.
But they won’t be coming back, will they? Maybe I’m just projecting my anger, but they too left me here without even a note to say they’d gone. They knew the leg was broken, they knew I was stuck here. They may have assumed that I’d be fine thanks to the visits by Jen and her uniforms, but they could have left a note. Common decency should have demanded it.
I’ve about eighteen days of food and water left.
14:00, 12th April.
I might have been a bit optimistic on the food front. Some of it is already a bit… well, I’d throw it in the bin if I dared go outside. I think I’ve got about nine or ten days’ worth of food that I can’t take with me. That’s settled it. That is when I leave, nine days from now.
I’ve no map beyond the tourists’ ones of central London. Since I’m not planning on seeing the sights, I’m going to head towards London Bridge. There was a restaurant there, just by the river, where I’d meet lobby
ists that Jen couldn’t be seen anywhere near. Nice place, good coffee, horrid food. It was perfect for when you wanted a meeting to last just long enough to find out how much and what for. One time, when the meeting got cancelled, I took a walk along the river and found a cluster of houseboats. I stared at them for the best part of an hour. They seemed so out of place amongst the old warehouses long-since converted to flats. I even daydreamed of buying one, one day, when I could afford to move out of here. Anyway, that’s where I’m heading.
I’ll have to unmoor the boat. I mean, they didn’t look like they were undocked and driven up and down the river at weekends, they looked permanent, but they can't have been held on by more than rope can they? Probably they can. I’ve no way of cutting through a chain, acetylene torches not being strictly required in the landlording business.
If I remember correctly, access to those houseboats was through a locked gate in an iron fence that ran the length of the bank. The fence was at least six feet high, with curved spikes at the top. The gate’s got to be the easiest way in, so I’ll need a way to break the lock. Of all the tools I can find, I think the chisel is my best bet. And if it’s not strong enough? Then I’ll just have to double back to where the concrete balustrade is, climb up and over and then swim out to the boats. It’s about thirty feet, I think. Can I swim that far? I’m willing to try, but then what?
In Jessica’s books there’s always someone in the group who knows how to drive or fly whatever vehicle they find. Brad, who hasn’t said or done anything yet in the story, happens to be a trucker. Helicopter? No problem, Stacy was an hour away from getting her flying licence. Stealth Bomber? De nada, Captain Hernadez here is actually an NSA operative based at Area-51.
No such luck with me. If I can’t work out how to turn the motor on, or if they don’t have a motor then all I’ve got to do is to fend the boat off the bridges as I let the current carry me out to sea. That can’t be too hard, can it? I’ll just need an oar or a plank of wood. I think I can manage that.