by Carl Meadows
Norah nodded her agreement. “When you put it like that, flower, it’s hard to argue with the logic.”
“There’s no real logic to any of this,” Mark mumbled round a mouthful of pasta.
“No, there isn’t,” I agreed. “But even in all these twisted knots of logic and musing about supernatural or divine intervention, why this brief period where it felt like I was being targeted?”
Nobody had any answers to that. I didn’t expect any, and I doubt I will ever get one. There’s so much that will likely go unanswered about this shit show. I have to wonder though; if this happened once, who’s to say it won’t happen again?
“If it does, we’ll deal with it,” said Nate after I voiced that thought. “We can’t control it, Erin, so all we can do is carry on. We’re all still adjusting, so let’s just go one day at a time.”
Sensible, practical Nate. I get the impression that he isn’t convinced by my theory of some agency behind the undead uprising. He can’t explain it, but that doesn’t mean he’s on board with the “dark force” I’m suggesting is out there, even if Norah is backing my play.
He’s right about taking it one day at a time though, because we can’t do anything about it if there is some force playing an undead fiddle, so it drops back to Norah’s sagely wisdom about not being bound by the chains of things we can’t change.
I hate it though because it’s different for me. They haven’t briefly been the sole target of the dead, and the reason why I was – even for that brief time - messes with me when I’m not busy doing something or trying to get to sleep. It’s easy to impart that wisdom when hordes of undead haven’t focused entirely on you for no apparent reason. There’s no sense behind it, because even if there is a divine, alien, or supernatural force behind the rise of the dead, what the hell makes me so bloody special?
I was nobody before the world collapsed, and now I’m just a woman trying to survive like everybody else.
Maybe there is some wisdom in Nate and Norah’s advice. I’m tying myself in knots trying to figure out the “why” when I’ve got no frame of reference or starting point to work with. For now, the undead have reverted back to their shambling see-human-eat-human randomness. I can’t go any further with my train of thought, considering the great dearth of any solid reason or extra knowledge, so I suppose I should drop it for the moment.
I’ll try, but it won’t be easy.
OCTOBER 25th, 2010
COME GET SOME
I’m finding I leave bigger gaps of late. We’ve been pretty busy, and truth be told, I get bored just recording every little event. I’m not a historian, so I’m sorry if you want all the tiny details Freya, but that just isn’t me. I write when I feel I have something of worth to write. If I need to scribble down some bullshit to order my thoughts, I do so. If I’ve got a fantastical or interesting yarn to spin, then I do so.
Just clearing houses and assembling useful resources is now our “business as usual” mode, so unless there is something really amazing, intriguing, or harrowing to report from that task, I tend to just let it slide. I use my writing to either stimulate or settle my whirlwind of thoughts, and just writing down what we gathered that day, or how many undead we put down, isn’t really worth the effort.
Also, when I get back now, I’m usually bone fucking weary.
Today, however, I have something of worth to write, as we found recent evidence of other survivors.
We tend to stick to clearing little cul-de-sacs, or clusters of upmarket housing on the edge of town. Our reasoning is that those places are more likely to have useful resources and if we’re going to spend precious bullets, we’re going to ensure there is at least some kind of payoff for it in terms of resource rewards. We need to spend some bullets so Nate can track the improvement in Alicia, Isaac, and Maria, as they need active firing experience with hostile targets.
Alicia is officially promoted to the A-team. That girl is a stone-cold slayer of the undead now. She’s calm, focused, and accurate, making every round count whether she goes with shotgun, pistol, or rifle. Nate’s been full of praise to her face and you can see the visible effect that validation has on her. She stands taller, shoulders back, and beaming with pride. Almost single-handed, Nate has managed to rebuild Alicia’s sense of self-worth, and given her purpose.
Nate’s real skill isn’t how deadly he is with weapons. His real skill is bringing the best out of you. If you’re a dumb ass, he’ll tear you a brand-new asshole with his verbal assault. Equally, if you’re on point, he’s full of praise and you know that praise is genuine because he’s been so brutal in his criticism prior to it. It motivates the hell out of you because all you want is that nod and thumbs up. I know what Alicia is feeling right now because I’ve felt it when Nate gives you that approval. It feels like you can take on the apocalypse with only a spork for a weapon.
It’s also really great to have a third solid person to pull security. Alicia has really dropped into that soldier mentality though, and when we’re on mission she’s even started referring to Nate as ‘sir.’ He didn’t start it, it was something she decided to do herself, but he hasn’t discouraged it either.
“If it helps her stay focused, I’m not going to stop her,” was all he said when I asked him about it. Fair enough, I guess. She drops the formal address when we’re back at the lodge and he’s just back to being called Nate, so no harm, no foul.
Maria is a solid student, by the book, and no fucking about. All she gets is praise, and I expect nothing else from her to be honest. She’s not a toe-in-the-water kind of woman when she applies herself to a task. She’s more likely to run and yell, “Cannonball!”
Maria goes all in, or stays out, and with regards to firearms training and tactics, she is firmly entrenched.
Isaac is still playing catch-up to the two women, but he’s definitely improving. Since his slow fumbling a few days back, he’s clearly been focusing on all those checks, stance, safe draw, and all that jazz. Nate congratulated him on his application and Isaac just about prevented himself throwing out celebratory dance shapes. He was much more accurate, and you can see with each bullet fired that confidence is visibly taking shape. I reckon he’ll be okay.
All this is a precursor just for me to extol Nate’s awesomeness again. I hope he never reads my journal, because he’ll have all kinds of shit to use against me.
So, back to the survivor evidence.
While we were clearing houses on a little circle of nine fancy detached abodes, Alicia called out to us all after she’d cleared one house of undead. We do the door-open-and-whistle test, trying to bait any undead to us so we can take them out safely in the open, rather than in the confines of a house. Nate and I can blast through a house as a duo now, but we’ve been doing it a while and know each other. The rest of them need proper training on that, and before we go there, Nate wants them all to be confident weapon users. Clearing buildings in a safe manner is a whole new set of lessons, so where we can, we bait them out first.
Alicia cleared a house after no undead came stumbling out and called us over. We went over as a full group, as Nate didn’t want to leave Maria and Isaac without supervision in these early stages. Plus, when someone says they’ve found something of interest, you can’t help but mosey on over for a sneaky peek.
Two single mattresses from upstairs had been dragged down into the living room and placed near the hearth. Nate examined the ashes in the fire and reckoned they were only a couple of days old. There was no sign of any stowed equipment though.
The kitchen had been ravaged of all usable foodstuffs and when we popped open a door leading to the basement, a rotten stench came rolling out, gagging the lot of us.
It wasn’t the stench of the undead though. That’s awfully specific and alien. No, this was just the actual dead. Nate went down alone, telling the rest of us to keep an eye out, then soon came back up and closed the door behind him. We opened the patio door in the kitchen and stepped into the backyard to suck in s
ome clean air.
“There are three bodies down there,” he said. “A man, woman, and what looks like a teenage boy. They were definitely undead at some point, as the man and woman are both covered in bite marks, and the boy has ligature bruising around his neck, so I think he must have hanged himself which started the bullshit dominos falling.”
Detective Carter for the win.
“Someone put them down, and put them down well,” he continued. “The man and woman look like they’ve had their skulls done by a small axe, a camping hatchet maybe, judging by the size and shape of the wounds. Whoever’s using it hit clean and hard, so I’d say they were physically fit and quite tall. The boy, however, was done with a small calibre pistol. The wound looks about the size of a .38 and done from point blank.”
“People with guns is worrying,” observed Maria. She’s not wrong.
The only reason we’re armed to the teeth is because we stole illegal firearms from a small-time arms dealer who had a recent delivery and a full stash. Added to that, we raided farmhouses for shotguns and associated buckshot. Never forget, this is England. Your average citizen has never seen a real firearm up close, much less own one and possess the knowledge to use it. Firearms are only in the hands of licensed shooting club members (and they tend to be shotguns or .22 hunting rifles), law enforcement, or criminal elements.
“Aye,” agreed Nate. “I think it’s their last resort though. Two mattresses in the room suggests two people, or maybe a family unit with a small child that sleeps with a parent. The hatchet seems to be the main go-to for defence, with a small .38 revolver to pull them out of the shit if things go to hell. That suggests a finite – and small - amount of ammunition.”
Nate doesn’t miss a fucking trick, does he?
He looked each of us in the eye, his tone grave. “From here on, nobody does any house alone. If we stumble across a survivor that’s scared and paranoid, two guns pointed their way will make them rethink any reaction fire. If there’s only one, they might pull the trigger first so they can run.”
That was a sobering thought. We’ve been so focused on the undead in the houses, the notion of stumbling upon a scared and hungry survivor with a firearm hasn’t really been in our thinking, again, because this is England. Every homeowner is more likely to have a bat for defending their suburban paradise, not a .38 revolver.
Guns are rare, but they’re still out there. Illegal firearms were still on the streets, and you have to think that for anyone to have a realistic chance of survival as time goes on, the ones most likely to stay alive are those who have access to one. A baseball bat won’t do shit for you against the undead. Cracking a skull and traumatising the brain isn’t that easy. Whoever these survivors were, they knew how to survive, or at least one of them did.
I’m excited, but also scared.
Excited there is real evidence of other survivors. Other people we could possibly help.
But scared because those survivors might shoot one of my friends, either by design or by accident.
Either way, it means we have to move much more carefully from here on in and best to roll as heavy as we can. It has made me particularly aware regarding the lack of body armour we have. Nate has his tactical vest which I think might be fused to his body, but the rest of us don’t. With the real threat of startling someone and flying bullets, it’s something we need to address. I’ll have a chat to Nate about that tonight.
I can’t abide the thought of losing one of my little family to the murderous undead. Losing them to a bullet - fired by a scared human we wanted to help - would be just too much fucking awful luck for my frail sanity to take at the moment, I think.
But all that aside, the silver lining is that there are still resourceful people out there, fighting back and surviving still, four months on.
Humanity has been a royal pain in its own arse for so long, and stupid people do stupid things to each other, which has likely brought about this purging of us.
However, we’re also a stubborn bunch, with those still possessing the fight and intelligence to stick a middle finger up to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and that gives me hope.
We shall not go quietly into the night, mother fucker.
OCTOBER 26th, 2010
OPERATION BIRTHDAY
It’s 11pm, and tomorrow Charlie turns ten.
It’s a big day. After Charlie went to bed tonight, we moved like a well-oiled party machine and started hanging banners, and balloons, and wrapping presents.
Yes, presents.
When clearing out a house the other day, we found a stash of stuff in an upstairs wardrobe in the master bedroom. I think the kid’s parents were those super-organised type that buy Christmas presents four months in advance. There was a trove of stuff, and I demanded we each take something so everyone could give the kid a birthday present. Admittedly, we had to take the rolls of Christmas wrapping paper there as well, so he’ll have jolly Santa faces and red-nosed reindeers splattered all over it, but who gives a shit? The kid will get to open presents, and age-appropriate ones as well.
There were a couple of Lego sets, one of them pretty big as well, so it might have been a main Christmas present for one lucky kid. It was the Millennium Falcon from Star Wars. Charlie loves Star Wars according to Mark, so we gave that one to him to hand his boy. It’s only right the largest card and the fanciest present comes from his dad.
Other stuff was some smaller Lego sets (I chose Darth Vader’s Tie Fighter because, duh, it’s cool), a couple of board games, some art stuff, books and even a big tin of Swizzels sweets. Shit, I love those, so I’m glad me and Charlie are so tight. Parma Violets for the win.
After we’d set up the lodge and given it the full makeover, we stepped back, stared around, and nodded. There were many high fives.
Then Mark suddenly broke down into tears.
Not sad tears, Freya. He was just completely overwhelmed that we’d all gone to so much effort to give his boy one big day, that little slice of normal that would carve the biggest smile into his handsome little features. He started thanking all of us.
That was when Nate just shook his head.
“Don’t thank us, Mark,” he said. “We’re just doing what we’re told. The banners, the cards, the balloons, the presents… everything was Erin’s idea. I’ve seen her dig her heels in a few times since I’ve known her, but she was willing to walk through the fires of Hell itself to give Charlie this day. If you want to thank anyone, it’s all her.”
That just set Mark off more, which set me off, which set everyone else off. Mark just folded me in a bear hug, crying happy tears and thanking me again and again.
It was nice.
Mark and Charlie are awesome. He’s such a good dad, and Charlie’s like my adopted little brother now. I feel a duty to look after my little dude. To do something good for them both was amazing. Charlie gets to have a big celebration and be fussed over for his tenth birthday, and his dad can sit back and drink in those happy smiles, watching his kid just be a kid for a day. That is what it’s all about, Freya. Never underestimate the power a single act of kindness can have on someone.
Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see. I can’t remember who said that right now, but it’s so true. We, as human beings, elevate ourselves through the act of lifting others, and those acts of kindness should be their own motive. We do them because it is right and good to do so. No agenda, no cost, and no expectation.
We are made kind by being kind.
Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, apocalypse.
Tomorrow, I will not write. Tomorrow is all about the newly minted ten-year old Charlie Reynolds.
And I’m going to spring my evil surprise on Nate.
This will be the best day of the apocalypse thus far.
See you in a couple of days, Freya. I’ll update you the day after.
Lockey’s gonna get her party on. Oh yeah.
OCTOBER 28th, 2010
PARTY
ON, DUDES
Well.
It’s about 8pm and I decided to have an early night because I was so “tired” after yesterday’s shindig. I threw that in air quotes because it was only partly true. I came to my room to write as it’s going to take a while, and I am quite tired after drinking alcohol last night, but really, I’m being a coward and avoiding a whole bunch of awkwardness. I’ll get to that soon enough. First off, let’s get the good stuff out of the way before I get to the shit storm of my own making.
Charlie woke up yesterday and came downstairs to a collective cheer. When he saw the lodge all decked out, a pile of presents and cards on the table, and everyone hollering happy birthday at him, he positively beamed. He was so excited, his reactions to the cards and presents as he opened them so unashamedly joyful, that I knew the risk of hitting the party store had been worth it. Nate gave me “the nod” and my face started to hurt from the smiling.
The day went by with Charlie being fussed over. Mark still got some work done soundproofing the generator outhouse he’s built, while I sat with Charlie for about three hours as we worked on the Millennium Falcon.
There’s something therapeutic about building a Lego set. You kind of switch off your brain, idly chatting shit, and time just rolls by without a care in the world except finding piece A to attach to piece B. It’s relaxing. Also, chatting bullshit and joking about with a ten-year old lets me forget about the real stress of the apocalypse, even for just a little while.
As the day wore on towards late afternoon, it was time to get ready for the party. We would have music – courtesy of a laptop with speakers loaded up with tunes – we would have food, we would have sweets (Charlie insisted we help him with the big tin of Swizzels, oh no, what a terrible chore that would be), and the grown-ups would kick back and enjoy a few drinks. We never really relax, and we’ve collected a shitload of booze on our journeys beyond the gate, so it was time to just kick back and enjoy the day.