Were the tiles loose? Would my feet slip?
Only one way to find out.
*
I climbed out with ease and stood on my roof with unsteady feet. My ears were greeted with quiet.
I looked up and could see where I needed to be: The spine of the roof. It cost me and the wife three grand to get the roof re-tiled a few months ago, and here I was standing all over it, some of the tiles moving as I made my way up.
Once I reached the top, I clung onto the chimney for dear life and had a look around the area. I imagined that in the first week there would have been smoke billowing in the distance, alarms—both car and house—going off, the occasional scream and maybe even sirens. Now it was peaceful, but eerie at the same time.
“Right, no falling off now,” I said under my breath. “And don’t look down.”
My feet slid forwards, one-by-one, paranoid to lift themselves up in case I slipped and tumbled downwards. I had a feeling, especially with the hospitals not in use anymore, that tumbling over the side and landing on my decking would not be advisable. Breaking a leg, or anything else for that matter, would be a massive disadvantage that I could have done without.
Carefully, I managed to get to the neighbour’s roof. Their skylight was yards away when I felt my right foot slip. I managed to keep my balance, but my bowels had loosened and my heart galloped so hard that I could feel it repeatedly punch the inside of my chest as if it wanted out. I took in a deep breath and felt the world spin. I panicked for a second, thinking I was going to pass out, but managed to regain my composure. I began to shuffle forwards once more and stopped when I reached the window. I looked in and could see that their attic was the same as mine. It was a mess and was used as storage, rather than being converted into another room.
I tried the skylight and realised that it was locked and I hadn’t brought anything to break the glass.
“You stupid cockwomble,” I reprimanded myself.
I thought about putting it through with my foot, but was worried in case I fell through or cut opened my leg with a shard of glass. I looked round, not wanting to go all the way back to my place to get a heavy object, and then released a small chortle to myself.
I bent down and grabbed a tile and hit the glass three times before it cracked. Some glass broke and fell to the attic floor, but there wasn’t sufficient space for me to squeeze through without getting sliced. I reached my arm in, trying to find a latch of some sort. I managed to get a hold of something and gave it a tug; the window lifted and I managed to push the whole thing open. I assessed the skylight and was certain that I could now get through without hurting myself. I climbed in, feeling the handle of my knife in my back pocket, and managed to drop through.
I hit the floor with a thud. I was still sure that they were in, but I was coming to the conclusion that they may have taken their lives. I wouldn’t be able to be sure until I reached the first floor where the bedrooms were.
Walking over to the hatch, with careful feet, I pulled on the latch and released it. The latch opened and the stepladders slowly descended and hit the floor of the bedroom that was below me.
Now what?
I wanted to see if there was food, water, even batteries for a radio or a torch, but I didn’t want to die looking for these supplies. Maybe they hadn’t killed themselves.
Maybe they had … turned.
I was getting myself worked up whilst stepping down the ladders. Was I doing the right thing? But I couldn’t starve to death. I had had it easy so far. I was pretty sure that some survivors out there had killed these things, but I hid away for months and had managed to survive so far without getting my hands dirty.
I opened the bedroom door as slow as a door could be opened and peered out onto the landing. It was clear, but I could see that there were another two bedrooms to check before I could assume that the first floor was safe.
I was so scared that my tummy began to make strange noises and I thought I was going to cake my already dirty underwear. I was once told that it was okay to be scared. If you’re scared, then that meant you was about to do something very brave.
I went across the landing, wearing the same attire I’d wear if I was going to the gym, and peered down to see no activity. I looked back at the two bedrooms that had their doors closed and wondered if checking them out was worthy of my time. From what I had read on my phone and saw on the TV in the first week or so, these creatures were unable to climb stairs, open doors, run … amongst many other things that we humans take for granted.
Even though my main goal was to check the ground floor and see what was in the kitchen, I checked the bedrooms anyway and could see that both looked immaculate. Maybe they had left, I thought. But why was their vehicle outside?
I made my way downstairs, but paused after just taking the fourth step. I thought I heard something. I was unsure whether to call out or not. If I did, then it could attract some of those freaks. I’d have plenty of time to escape, but if there were humans in there, my neighbours, and I didn’t call out, I could get my face smashed in.
I decided to call out by saying a few hellos.
Nothing.
“Fuck it.”
I made it to the ground floor and could see the set-up was similar to mine, however, my house was bigger because of the extension that it had a few years ago. I was facing the small hall and had the living room to my left, bathroom to my right, and the kitchen was straight ahead. I tried the kitchen first and popped my head in. It was clear. I noticed that there were plenty of carrier bags behind the kitchen door, so if there were supplies I’d be able to make a few journeys back home with bags full of stuff. But I needed to check the living room before doing this.
I opened the door and the smell hit me with a slap. I stepped into the room, with my hand over my nose, and remembered gasping when I clocked the four bodies slumped on the couch and the horrendous sound of buzzing flies.
I was never close with my neighbours; we all seemed to keep ourselves to ourselves, but this scene produced a huge lump in my throat and reduced me to tears for the first time in ages.
For a few minutes I hopelessly tried to fight back my tears, but I was fighting a losing battle. I wasn’t naïve; after six months of this shit I was aware that some families had gone through this ordeal. Some had decided to die, rather than try and survive the new world. I got that. I could understand why they did it. Die peacefully, or live the rest of your short life in fear, scrapping for food and water? Maybe if my family were with me, we would have went down that route. I’ve thought about killing myself all the time, but stayed alive in case there was a small chance that they’d come back. As every month went by hope was fading.
I looked at the poor decaying family for a short time. Flies surrounded the room and their bodies. I had no idea where these horrible bastards came from. The father, mother and two girls were slumped together, so at least that was something, and the two packets of painkillers on the floor told me that they went as peacefully as they could. It must have been a heart-breaking few moments for the parents, I thought to myself.
“Poor bastards.”
I don’t know why, but I tried to imagine what their last minutes were like.
Obviously the kids had to be drugged first. That must have been difficult. Then once the kids had died there was no going back for the parents.
Feeling the contents of my stomach rising, I wafted away some of the flies that were hitting my face and decided to leave the room and shut the door behind me. I went to go upstairs, tears still in my eyes, and suddenly remembered why I was there. I needed food.
I went into the kitchen and took a couple of carrier bags from behind the door, confident that there would be something for me. If the family had killed themselves in the first days then there should be something. I opened the now defunct fridge and could see nothing of use, only out of date garnishes and some mouldy grapes.
I shut the fridge door, hoping that looking in the cupboards would
be more rewarding. They weren’t as packed with goods as I’d hoped. There were a few tins and bags of crisps. I filled the bags and went upstairs to the attic with a heavy heart.
It was time to go back home.
Chapter Three
Once I returned, I went straight to the ground floor. Being outside, in the fresh air, had made me realise once returning to my home that it was heavy with a musty smell. For months I was too frightened to open my windows to allow air to circulate around my place. It was an apocalyptic situation I was in, but not how I’d imagined it would be. There had been no nuclear attack, so there had been no fallout, and despite what was happening fresh air was still available.
I put the little food away, promising myself not to touch it until tomorrow, and went to my bathroom to get a few mouthfuls of the shallow water in the bath. I returned to my new living room, and had a look around. The living room, reception area, my bedroom and the toilet upstairs had only been around for five or six years. Initially, when the wife and I bought this place it was a two-bedroom house with one bathroom downstairs. After re-mortgaging the house we hired a builder to extend it.
Bored, as I usually was, I didn’t stay in the room for long and went upstairs to have a look around.
My stairs start off straight, and then bend to the left to my landing. Before the bend was an alcove and had pictures of my two babies. School photographs. I took the stairs and stopped at the bend and looked at the photographs. I smiled as I saw the innocence in their eyes, their pale blue polo shirts, stripy ties and beaming smiles.
I ran my finger down the cheek of my son’s school photograph and could feel myself getting emotional again. I took my mind back to when it was time for him to be born.
The experience was too good to be true.
We had midwives fussing over the wife. She was given a birthing pool for a while until she was ready; she was given plenty of gas and morphine and I was even given tea and toast whilst she was getting close. I was also the first person to touch my son before he came out properly. Once his head was visible, the midwife told me to touch his head, which I did. He was 8lbs 7ozs once he was weighed and it was one of the happiest days of my life.
I called my mother from outside the hospital. She was at work, and when she was told that she had a grandson, she screamed, “This is the happiest day of my life!”
My daughter’s birth experience was the complete opposite. A fucking nightmare.
My wife and I were in the hospital before midnight and she was in a considerable amount of pain. In her words: “It’s like trying to push a melon out of my fanny!”
One of the midwives, a young blonde girl, told the pair of us that the wife wasn’t even close and there was nothing wrong with her and we should ‘walk it off’.
We spent twenty minutes walking around the hospital grounds at midnight, but the wife could hardly stand, let alone walk. We went back in and I demanded that she should be looked at. I had a feeling that they were severely understaffed. We were looked after by just the one midwife that kept on leaving the room, disappearing for five minutes, and then returning.
There was no birthing pool this time, no group of midwives fussing around her … nothing. Then things got worse. We asked for the birthing pool, but all the midwife could give us was a bath in a very tiny bathroom. She gave us gas and air, and then disappeared again to go for her break. My wife was in tears, the pain excruciating, telling me that the gas and air was doing her no good whatsoever. When the midwife came back, she looked at the tank that provided the gas and air and had told us that she had accidentally given my wife an empty one, which explained why the gas and air was not working as well when she was giving birth to my son. At that point I felt like kicking the silly bitch in the growler, but refrained from doing so, for my wife’s sake.
We got the wife onto a bed and the midwife was telling me to grab this and press that and looked confused. I remembered saying to my wife: “I don’t think she knows her arse from her elbow.” Which I know wasn’t a help.
My wife cried, “Oh god, please don’t say that.”
The birth was horrendous, a lot of blood was lost and my daughter weighed in at 11lbs 12 ozs. She was a big baby. My wife looked over at me and asked how she was looking when she was being stitched up by the hapless midwife.
“Do I look okay?” she asked. “Is it bad?”
I should have been diplomatic, but for some reason I replied with the words, “It looks like you’ve been attacked with an axe.”
Whilst the midwife was stitching my wife, a little too quickly for my liking, she kept looking behind her at the clock. It was nearly 7am, and she was paranoid that she was going to get a parking ticket if she remained in the hospital after seven. It was a joke.
After bringing my mind back to an unwanted reality, I began walking in and out of the rooms, out of sheer boredom, and I went back downstairs, lay on the leather couch and moaned as I straightened up.
I closed my eyes, thinking of my family, the family next door … and everyone I had known, including work colleagues and people I used to go to school with. Then I fell asleep.
*
A noise from outside made me sit up straight. I swung my legs to the side, stood up and stretched my arms in the air, yawning. My feet shuffled towards my patio door and I stopped once I was inches from the roller blind that was fully down, as it usually was. I reached for the cord and began to pull it up, slowly, freaking out what could be out there.
When it was fully up, with a galloping heart, I looked out and could see the back of a little girl trying to get by the fence at the bottom of the garden. I hadn’t seen her face yet, but I knew she was one of them and a lump formed in my throat. I was getting emotional because, at least from the back, she looked like my little girl. She had a dirty nightie on, which was white when it was first put on, had no shoes, and her dirty blonde hair hung down her back.
As soon as I clocked the girl I thought of Poppy and my little boy. I turned the key, placed my hand on the door’s lever and pushed it up. It was now unlocked.
I pulled the door slowly to the side, trying to make as little noise as possible, and poked my head out. I looked from side to side, making sure the little girl didn’t have company, and could see that the gate was open to my right.
Down the side of my house I have an alleyway, a gate at the back that leads to the back garden and a gate that’s at the front of my house, near the drive. I stepped out onto my decking and went to the side, leaned over and locked the gate. Fortunately the latch hadn’t broken.
I looked down the alley to see the other gate was open. The latches on both gates were never the strongest, and I was surprised that more of those fuckers hadn’t breached my premises sooner. At least it was just the one, just a little girl. She must have, for whatever reason, forced her way through both gates.
Maybe she saw something. A cat? I do have two black cats that I hadn’t seen in months, Jasper and Beckham. They were outside cats. Maybe it was them she had seen.
When my wife and kids were here, I couldn’t stand the sight of the stupid, pointless creatures. I thought that, unlike dogs, they weren’t loyal and would be happy to have any owner so long as they got fed. I used to joke to the wife that the pair of them must have wristwatches on, as 7am every morning and 7pm on the evening they’d turn up, sitting by the patio door, glaring at me. Little bastards. Now, I’d love to see them, and I don’t know why. Maybe seeing them would bring some normality back into my life. I had no idea.
I went back indoors, shutting and locking the patio door behind me, and strolled through my living room and reception area, opened my main door, and peered my head out, making sure that those freaks weren’t out there.
My street was barren, as it had been for many months, and I quickly stepped out and made the two steps to my left to the other gate, put the latch back on and quickly entered the house again. Now both gates were secure, I was certain that the chance of visitors had been diminished now
that the security issue had been resolved. I had no idea how long she had been in the garden or how long the gates had been open.
Maybe the gates were already opened when she shambled through. The country had high winds a few weeks back, so who knows? It wasn’t something that I was overly concerned about.
Chapter Four
After releasing a few brown rocks out of my arse and into the bucket, at least that’s what it felt like, I made my way to the living room. For the first time in many months, I decided to wear my watch. I used to have a brown leather Citizen Eco watch with a chronograph dial, but I treated myself to an automatic Raymond Weil that I bought just before the disaster kicked off.
It had a silver bracelet strap and was a special edition Beatles watch with their logo at the bottom of it, and around the dials there were the names of their albums in chronological order, from Please Please Me to Let It Be. It was a limited edition and only three thousand had been made, so I had to have it. It cost me £975 and I loved it at the time.
I took the Beatles watch from the living room drawer, put it on, and then I sat on my leather couch and threw my feet on the leather footrest. Feeling like shit, I made the decision to try and get forty winks, even if it meant messing up my sleep for the night time. I had no idea what the time was. It had gone murky outside, the clouds threatening to rain, so it was dim and felt like it was the evening already.
I managed to drop off, but was woken by the sound of a squeaking noise. I looked at the roller blind and saw a murky shape behind it. I knew who it was straightaway. It was my little friend from the garden. She was standing behind the patio door and the noise was coming from her hands that were brushing against the glass.
The Z Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 5