The Dead Don't Write

They didn't make it. We found you in their car. I know it's you because I have read you from first to last. An all to early last entry. But at least I can do to you what I cannot for them. I can bring you back to life.

We found the contents of the backpack during a search for fuel and provisions. You previous owner was right about one thing; the Isle of Skye. It was one of the safe zones the Government used as a base to regroup and fight the Infection. I can't confirm the other locations. Your infected... zombies they call them. Infection spread everywhere. Quarantine and decontamination procedures at Skye helped slow things down, but too many people already had it. That's where we came from. All the people there, all the chaos... All the blood and bodies and death and butchery. It's obvious some of us have natural immunity. Nobody could have avoided it there. Maybe more people would avoid Infection if they weren't killed by the Infected. Or by the army. That was the final straw for the population; finding out that the disease control centers were just execution and dumping grounds. Mass graves everywhere, but even they weren't deep enough and in the end we just had mountains of corpses to burn. All the soldiers involved became Infected of course. A small kind of justice I suppose.

And then came the Shutdown. Tipping point where there weren't enough healthy people left to keep things running. All the utilities went. Once electricity went, everything else began to fall. We were ordered to Skye to keep the peace. We knew what that meant.

No TV, no radio, no news. People quickly get lost. They rely on all these things so absolutely. You have no idea how vital they are to the daily toil of normal life until they are gone. Once people realised being refugees was going to get them nowhere, they became savages. Anybody that managed to escape the Infected grouped up or went feral. The rest died or became Infected.

These are the gaps I am filling in. This is what happened around the rest of the nation.

Manchester was a test. It failed. Infected had already spread too far. Infection was even appearing outside of the UK. Being with the army we heard more of what happened after the media services went off the air. The USA, China, France. Didn't hear about anywhere else, but we knew it was everywhere. Still nobody seemed to know where it came from. Manchester was where it all started. After the bomb was dropped we did our duty and rounded up as many infected as we could. Shot them all. Did the same with anybody who was sick. Then with anybody we caught breaking curfew. Finally with anybody we caught outside at all. No chances were taken.

Do I feel guilty? Of course I do. Guilty for killing all those people. Guilty for surviving. Guilty for being too much of a coward to take the only sensible route out of this mess. And guilty for not doing a damned thing when they screamed and pleaded for the lives of their children. Guilty as charged.

I feel guilty alright. But do you want to know a hard truth? If just one of them was Infected, they all were. That's Infection. That's how bad it is. It's not fast, but it's nearly total. Two people left Skye. Two out of thousands. I've seen some more on my way here. I've read about you three. Even you might have not avoided Infection. Perhaps that's what caught up with you. What did you really have that laid you low while everybody around you died? Did the boy pick it up from the Infected family he captured? The soldier? Maybe you just ran out of luck.

You are dead now. I envy you. But I cannot join you. I must search for more survivors. I must find others, like me, and help them. I must atone for my sins.

And that's why I will carry you, and continue you. And I hope one day that I can give you back if you are still alive. And ask for your forgiveness too.

The road north

Dev has been sleeping in the back of the car for over sixteen hours. Before that Craig bent his ears back for the entire time since he joined us. I think I understand Craig’s excitement. At the same time I admit to feeling a little jealous. With me, Craig has been withdrawn and morose. Maybe the soldier represents ‘real’ authority. Maybe it’s simply that we found another survivor.  I just hope Dev feels as talkative tomorrow; I need to pick his brains again.

Following what Dev has already told us, my original plan of Skye still feels sound. The mention of jerry cans piqued my interest. Not to go back for his, but to look for suitable containers for us to use. Driving across Scotland is going to take a lot of petrol. If we find a good source of fuel, especially more than we can put into the tank, then we need to start filling extra containers for lean times or extended journeys.

An extra mouth means more food too. Not that any of us need to eat so much being in the car most of the time. Still, unless we get really lucky, it means more stops for scavenging. Perhaps between them Dev and Craig know enough about feeding off the land. Do they still learn that kind of thing in the army? I know Craig knows his mushrooms. All of us can spot fruit on a tree. Hunting… snares are pretty basic. Stupid to think they might only catch rabbits and hares though. Likely that anything will get caught in a snare; dog, cat, fox, rat, badger. Not sure how I feel about trying to eat a badger. I imagine starvation will decide that for us.

So a slow crawl up towards Darlington and hope we get lucky enough on the way. If not, then into Darlington itself we go. I shudder to think of the numbers of Infected there.

The Soldier's Tale

We found another piece of the jigsaw today. Almost ran over him in fact. He’s a soldier. Calls himself Dev, short for Devesh. He must have been watching us as our car crawled past on our inspection of other cars with unmolested fuel caps.  Comes out waving his arms and I just panicked. He jumped clear just in time. Yelled at us as we shot past. Lucky. It was the voice that made me slow down.

You might think that another survivor would be a welcome sight but I sat there shaking, fingers digging into the steering wheel, staring at him in the mirror. Craig was yelling at me and jumping around in his seat. I barely heard him. All I could do was watch this dishevelled man hobble towards us. I began to think that I had imagined his voice, that maybe he was Infected. Then he waved and smiled. I burst out laughing.

The rest of this entry is Dev’s story. If I talk in his words, it’s because some things are better told from his perspective. Also I’m tired. It’s late, but this has to be written down.

Devesh is a corporal from the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers, 2^nd battalion. When the government decided to act he was sent to the outskirts of Manchester to set up one of the many roadblocks. I only saw the one myself, but he assures me they covered every single way out of the Greater Manchester area. Part of their duty included marshalling anybody trying to flee towards collection points for delivery to makeshift refugee camps. By the end of his second day orders had changed. Anybody displaying signs of illness were to be taken aside for delivery to a test centre for Infection. Those that looked clear would be taken to quarantine centres. At least that was what people were told if they asked.

The reports of the rioting were grim. Then more orders;  turn people back. Warnings shots to be followed by live fire. That must have been when the curfew was introduced. Until then it was still considered civil disobedience. I assume the government had people studying Infection because rumours about it started to circulate. Paper face masks were handed out. The following day and night were quiet. Then the Infected came.

Emerging from their sickness, the Infected look little like normal people. Unkempt, dirty, delirious, angry and murderous. In the early stages anything can agitate them. Once it starts it needs an outlet. They explode with aggression towards whatever caught their attention.  

A group appeared a hundred or so yards away from his roadblock. Four when they first noticed them. More followed. And that’s something we have both noticed about them, that they appear to be able to recognise other Infected and even travel in groups. Dev’s unit yelled at them over a loudspeaker. That got some of the Infected running at them, which made the rest surge. A warning shot was fired. Nothing.

Dev said that it is hard to ‘just’ shoot another human being, especially when they are unarmed. The Infected might look like berserkers but they are not a natural enemy. Not back then anyway. A second warning shot. Then orders to shoot just the first few, see if it would stop the rest. The first volley didn’t even stop the ones that were shot. Weapons were turned to full automatic and magazines were emptied. Two still managed to reach them and had to be dealt with up close and personal.

Why are they so hard to stop? A headshot works well. Enough damage to the torso will drop them too.  Spinal damage will cripple them, and you can ruin their legs to simply stop them going anywhere.

Communicating the encounter to his superiors, it was apparent that this was happening everywhere. Having seen the pillar of smoke from the centre of Manchester I can only assume the Infected were being driven on by the flames. A first encounter is enough to shock anybody. Dev said that the second encounter was easier. The rest of the time anybody was shot as soon as they appeared.

That’s the first time he paused. He just looked down at his lap for a moment, sighed, and then explained. ‘Couldn’t spare the ammo. No more warnings. Just head shots.’

The next two days were more of the same. A steady stream of Infected. Sometimes a larger group, but mostly singles. During that time they had little communication with anybody. Then new orders: leave immediately, travel directly to Bradford to regroup and wait. Then Manchester was destroyed. That shook everybody.  Once they were in Bradford, there were more soldiers to talk amongst. News spread fast. Infection was the cause. There was no cure.  And you caught it as easily as a common cold.

Paranoia spread fast. Anybody with a cold or flu or that got sick was taken away for testing. Face masks were worn all the time. Rumours about new pockets of violence around the nation were rife.  Nobody was allowed in or out of the country.

New orders. Protect the infrastructure. While that was true, what that really meant was that people who worked there had to stay there and keep the country running. Even at the point of a gun. Dev’s unit was redeployed to Cottam Power Station.

Physically it was an easy posting. Psychologically it was the worst of all. News was on a need to know basis, but still rumour managed to spread. Not knowing anything for certain made the rumours worse than the truth. Europe and the USA about to nuke the UK.  The entire nation falling to Infection. The battle of London lost. A nation overrun.

The power demands of the station indicated that there were still people out there. So many substations had been lost though, so power was no longer reaching the majority. But none of that mattered, because people continued to get sick.

News arrived. London really had fallen. More Infected in London than anywhere. Bullets too limited, so new measures used. Flamethrowers and petrol- tankers just opened to flood the streets. Talk of tens of thousands of Infected burning and taking central London with them.

Dev was quiet for a long time after he spoke of London. I assume he had family or connections there.  I haven’t asked yet. If he has any London story it will come out in his own time.

Back to the power station. Radio contact with control was lost. The sickness spread to the soldiers.  That they had avoided it so long was a miracle. And somewhere they passed a point where they decided enough was enough. The staff had brought the station to a virtual halt. With no contact with the outside world, with no need to be in the station, people cracked. Dev decided to let everybody leave. The staff fled.  The soldiers that wanted to go home could go. Three decided to go with Dev.

He took them north. They had also heard the rumours of emergency settlements. Four of them; Skye, Isle of Wight, Orkney and one more that he couldn’t remember the name of. Pretty much agreed with my own ideas. Still, just rumours.

Lack of fuel stopped them and they took a few jerry cans and set off to find more. Ended up in Thirsk. Low on ammunition and perhaps overconfident from never having faced them that close and in numbers, they were attacked as they were siphoning fuel. Shooting one quickly brought many more. Dev and one other managed to get into a house and out the back and lose the Infected following them. The other two soldiers must have fallen; Dev simply never mentioned them again.

With so many Infected roused, they decided to stay put. There was a little food in the house. The next day Dev’s comrade fell ill. After two days of getting worse, the soldier found enough household chemicals to make a cocktail he wouldn’t recover from.  Dev waited two days to see if he could sneak back and get the jerry can. You can only run so fast with it though. He ditched it, left the road and went across country. He’d been dodging them ever since, working his way slowly back to the road and then north.

His limp? Apparently I did clip him with the car.

Empty

Hundreds of Infected everywhere when we woke this morning. A few walked right by our car. The dim light and relentless rain left us all but invisible. Where the hell did they come from?

Starting the car earned us a few glances but the Infected seemed slower to notice us in the rain. By the time any had taken more than a couple of steps towards us we were driving around them and on our way.

There's little point dwelling on where they came from. It's a lesson learned to simply see them appear like that overnight. Their numbers would have overwhelmed us had they noticed us. We were saved by the weather.

The search for fuel took a nasty turn today. After leaving enough space between us and the crowd of Infected, I slowed the car down so that we could inspect other vehicles as we drove past. Almost all had their fuel caps opened or removed. It was pure hubris to think that we were the only desperate survivors to pass this way.

At first I was elated, thinking that there might be other survivors, but hope quickly faded. I realised this could have happened at any time over the past few weeks. This is why I am so desperate for news.

Keeping the car slow enough to check out every vehicle we pass is going to expend fuel a lot faster than we can afford. We are parked right now. I have to pick a town or village to explore. Main plans haven't changed, but the cars I thought we could siphon clean on the road have already been emptied. Just hope the village/town situation isn't the same. Cars there, especially in garages and carports, are our best hope. That means we have to dick around with hoses and fuel caps while worrying about the Infected again. Great.

Craig just stares out of the window. He's eating still, which I assume is a good sign, but other than that he does almost nothing. Then again, there's nothing to do except stare out of the window.

Stupid

Craig had the brilliant idea of hanging some pots and pans off the far end of the roof. Tied to a long length of wool and we just tugged it once in a while to make a loud clattering noise. It attracted attention from all the nearby Infected and left a nice clear path to the car. Alas, as slow as the Infected have become over the last weeks, they are still perceptive. One noticed me on my second trip to the car and when one comes, the rest follow. Craig spent fifteen minutes getting them back to the other end with his clanking pots.

 

It is a mistake to presume that the Infected are witless, that they are deaf dumb and blind unless you wave your arms in their face. The moment you think that, you are done for. The second time we attempted to move a lot of supplies into the car they noticed us straight away. We had time to clamber back inside. This time they only a few were drawn away by the noise pots and pans. The rest remained around the car or at the base of the wall where we had gone back inside the house. It took an hour for the last to wander off to investigate our distraction that time.

 

We got complacent. While we managed to get everything into the car, that third time we just assumed we would drive away once it was all loaded up. A mass of bodies swarmed over the car. We were a boat on an ocean in a storm. I thought they would tip us over or rip the doors off before we got away but our luck held. I had thought driving into them would part them like the Red Sea. The simple fact is that the more that fell, the less grip the wheels had. Worse, I worried that if enough fell under the car they might stop the wheels from reaching the ground at all. Had there been more Infected, we may have never escaped. The windscreen glass cracked, one side window imploded and then enough Infected fell before us that we were free.

 

I was so relieved and still scared that I forgot about driving around to look for abandoned cars to refill our fuel tank. I drove straight back to the main road and then onto the ring-road, taking the first exit that took us back to the motorway and then onto the M1.

 

Lots of debris and broken cars everywhere. We didn't stop. I assumed that these had broken down and were unlikely to yield any precious fuel. We continued until it began to get dark. Surprisingly we did not see a single Infected or anything else. You would think that in a country of over 60 million people that they would be everywhere, but it feels deserted.

 

Parked on the hard shoulder. I did not see the point of leaving the motorway. With few to no Infected around I feel safe enough even with the broken passenger side window. A plastic bag over the hole will do for now, but it leaves us vulnerable.

 

Craig is already asleep. I'm writing this by moonlight. Silent outside. Deathly. Never been anywhere so quiet. It's horrible being able to hear yourself so clearly. I want to be able to turn it all off and become one with the stillness. I feel every noise I make. That's why I am unable to sleep. I know they are out there and I am afraid they can hear me.

Logistics

While supplies are important, the weather is going to be a concern. The kinds of roads we'll be using are going to vanish with heavy snows. With the car it will only take us a few days, but if we loose the car we may be stuck up North for weeks. I'm ignorant of the weather up there, I just assume it's going to be cold and that there will be snow, even in summer. Where's Google when you need it?

Next there is the huge question of what to take with us. We've found a good backpack for me and Craig already has one of his own, so our personal carrying capacity is as good as it gets. Getting the things to the car is a small risk, but on the whole I have split things around what goes in the car (and stays in the car) and what goes in the packs. The packs need to be what we need to survive if we find ourselves alone and away from other resources. The car will take whatever we can squeeze into it that i think is useful, and that we can get into the car before the Infected notice us loading it up. Most of the food and water will stay in the car. Emergency rations only in the packs, though if we don't find more food soon 'emergency' is all we'll have.

The list so far;

Packs

1 x shaving razor (+ 8 blades) If shaved we look less like Infected.

1 x toothbrush

2 x packs dental floss - pretty multipurpose, and great for teeth.

1 x tube toothpaste

1 x bar soap - lasts far longer than shower gels, etc.

1 x hand towel - anything larger is a waste of pack space

1 x small polished metal mirror - mine is actually a makeup mirror, Craig has his own.

1 x pair rubber gloves

1 x medical kit - 2 rolls gauze bandage, 1 box of plasters, 1 tube antiseptic cream, 1 roll black electrical tape, 1 pair scissors.

3 x box matches

1 x disposable lighter

1 x 50m roll strong yarn - Craig has a ball of wool, just as strong.

1 x 50m roll wide brown parcel tape.

1 x large pen knife - Craig has a hunting knife.

1 x change clothing - t-shirt, jeans, 2 pairs boxer shorts, 2 pairs socks.

1 x small battery operated torch - no more batteries.

1 x collapsible umbrella - a tad indulgent but it adds almost no weight.

1 x compass - Craig gave me one of his

1 x small tool-set - hammer, adjustable spanner, screwdriver with multiple heads, pliers

1 x small saucepan

1 x fork, knife, and spoon

1 x plastic plate

1 x plastic cup

1 x tin opener - the kind you stick in and lift. Nothing to turn or break here.

1 x 100m roll of clingfilm - this stuff has 1000 uses.

1 x pack digestive biscuits (full-size)

1 x 250ml bottle water (full)

1 x bottle multivitamins - shared the bottle I found, so we have 22 each

1 x box painkillers (we have 20 paracetamol, 8 Aspirin, and 2 sachets of Lemsip each)

I added a crowbar to my stash, which I can stick into an outer section and remove quickly for easy access. Craig did the same thing with the hammer from his tool-set.

Car

All the remaining food and bottles of water.

1 large sledgehammer

1 large saw

Bag of assorted nails, screws, hooks and steel washers.

Bag of assorted clothing (jeans, jumpers, socks, underwear)

Bag of assorted batteries

Heavy coat each

4 Large blanket

8 Large towels

2 Sleeping bags

1 large water container (2 gallons)

10m hosepipe - We can cut lengths for siphoning purposes

10m rope - Craig's but it will remain in the car.

The lack of batteries for the torches is a minor blow. We've used up the few we had that were the correct size. Craig thought he had a wind-up torch and radio but he hasn't been able to find either so I assume he left them behind at Nont Sarah. A lot of the things on the list we are sure to be able to pick up everywhere, so I am not worried about using them up or running out. Drinkable water we can make so long as we can get a fire going. Food on the other hand is the real problem. If everybody obeyed curfew and stayed in, then most households probably ate their way through their supplies. Searching everywhere house to house will exhaust us, so we need to be smarter about where we look for food.

Anything bulky or heavy or just 'extra' goes in the car. The packs remain light and stay with us, unless we need to travel really fast or quietly. They will remain packed for easy retrieval if we have to leave packs for any period of time. We will keep the weapons (crowbar and hammer) with us at all times. I think we are ready to dodge some Infected now.

 

I'm convinced we'll need more, but the 'what-ifs' will be the death of us, so this list is it.

Leaving again

We leave. Staying here feels like we are nailing our coffin shut. The next decision is where do we go to?

There are so many things to consider. Do we want to look for other survivors? It sounds like a stupid question but with the failure of a governed society, law and order breaks down. Who might we be meeting out there? Maybe I am just scared of everything right now.

What about trying to find some kind of authority? The most obvious thing to look for would be a checkpoint or refugee camp. Both fill me with a cold dread. We need to find out what is going on, what efforts are being made to get things under control and back to normal without getting killed by either the Infected or soldiers. I think that until I can be certain how the authorities are approaching this problem, discretion is a better idea. That leaves it at just us then. Me and Craig versus the world.

Still the question of where. We are still lucky or simply haven't seen the effects of any radioactive fallout from the Manchester bombs. I still think more distance is vital. It's too easy to forget about that invisible killer with so many visible means of dying at hand.

 

My mind keeps returning to what efforts the authorities are doing to resolve this crisis. My assumption here is that there is still an authority to speak of. Someone has to be in charge. What if there is nothing to be left in charge of? Or nobody to be left in charge? I can't think like that. If I can for one moment admit that we are alone, if all that exists are more Infected, then we are fucked and better off dying on our own terms. So, someone is out there.

 

Where would they be? London must be lost. If the authorities were still there they'd be in a bunker, and unreachable. In any case, London is likely home to several million Infected if this is the pandemic I fear it is. Scottish Parliament? Even in the face of Armageddon I doubt that. I would choose an island off the mainland. Large enough to house anybody that was not infected, and everything I thought would be needed to maintain authority. That still leaves us trying to reach any part of the coastline and then looking for some kind of sign that we are going in the right direction.

What about taking a boat and making for Ireland or mainland Europe? Well, if the UK were the only country with Infection, or unable to contain it, then the whole country would be under some kind of quarantine. Anything bigger than a sardine is going to be destroyed attempting to leave. If Europe has the same scale of infection as here, then we are no better off. Besides, what do I know about boats?

I don't think there is any point in heading East. South and Southeast are going to be the worst areas. Probably safe to assume everything below Leeds is lost to infection. That leaves me with the Southwest, Wales, or Scotland and the rest of the North. Wales means going the long way around Manchester and I think there's still the threat of radioactive fallout in travelling that direction. I don't see too much difference between the Southwest and Scotland. Southwest might be warmer and better weather. It comes down to a coin toss. Heads North, tails Southwest.

 

Heads. Can the infected freeze solid? I hope so. We're going North. It's hard to pick a firm destination yet. While there are going to be plenty of secluded places along the way, we are still looking for a body of organised, uninfected people and some kind of authority. First place that comes to mind is the Orkney Islands. Been looking at some maps though and I'm surprised by the number of small and large islands scattered all around the North and West coast. Finding a quiet place isn't going to be difficult. Getting there may be. More to the point, we will need to find food and water there. That likely narrows the field considerably, and I have no way of knowing where has what. My mind comes back to farmhouses or the larger of the offshore islands. I guess we'll just have to ask along the way. (Who says you can't keep a sense of humour during the end of the world).

 

The route is going to take some work. Need to go by as few urban areas as possible, but enough to be able to scavenge both food for us and fuel for the car. I want to get close to some of the Isles, either to check them out ourselves or see if we find anybody who may know if there are people there. So far I have Arran, Jura, Islay, Mull, and Skye. Then all the way over to Thurso and see if we can get out to the Orkney Islands. It has occurred to me that the extreme West and North of Scotland is so hard to get to and sparsely populated that any of the villages along that way may be safe havens. It's something to keep in mind anyway.

Stay or leave?

I wish Craig would talk more. Not that I want non-stop conversation, but he barely responds to anything. Is this grief, mourning, shock or just how teenagers behave? I found him watching the Infected family this afternoon. He had managed to lure and trap them all in one room upstairs. Craig just lays there in the roof space spying on them through a hole.

He misses his family. I understand that. But what does he get from this? They do not even act human anymore. Maybe that's it. Perhaps he is trying to find some remnant of humanity, or its return. I wish I knew better how to reach out to him, if even that's what he wants or needs. But the truth is that we are both broken inside. For me, putting every lucid moment into planning is all that keeps me sane.

Which brings me to the big decision; what next? I do not feel it is safe to simply stay put, but travelling around with the Infected is nothing less than a death sentence. With Manchester destroyed, but Leeds and the towns we passed spared, can we assume that Manchester was a desperate attempt to stop or slow down infection? That Leeds is still here suggests to me that plan failed or resources have been directed elsewhere. Perhaps the authorities have taken their fight elsewhere or are no longer even in control.

I have to assume there are other survivors. Where? Refugee camps? Possible. Stuck in their houses, they would be starving by now. Stuck in cities, and they would face starvation or large numbers of Infected. Cities and large towns are going to be death traps, and alas anybody stuck in them will be better off dead. In this area, farmhouses and the smaller villages and hamlets are the safest destinations.

Back to the real question; do we stay or leave?

Pros to staying -

• relatively safe shelter
• passive wait for help to arrive
• roof-space is impossible for Infected to get into

Cons to staying -

• limited food supply
• hard to defend individual houses if Infected do notice us
• going insane waiting

Pros to leaving -

• better able to find food and supplies
• chance of finding other survivors (is this always a good thing?)
• chance to gather more information

Cons to leaving -

• being killed

On the other side of the glass

I guess I fell into a depression. I haven't written in here for a week. I can't say that too much has happened in that time, just our exploration of our tiny six house nation. We've a small mountain of supplies that we have liberated from the other houses. Had to leave the fourth terrace down alone; family of four in there. I think the Infected children are far more terrifying than the adults. The last house in the row had a broken back door. We were surprised by a walker that must have come in from the outside, because we looked everywhere and followed our routine to the letter.

Oh, our Routine. See, the worst thing, after being killed that is, is being surprised by an Infected. In a house, they can come out of nowhere and be on you in the blink of an eye, walker or runner, it doesn't make a difference. So we have our routine for trying to winkle out any Infected in the house below us when we come in via the roof. It helps that all the houses have the same room layout.

• Make inspection holes over all upstairs rooms and visually inspect for Infected.
• Open loft-trap and make some noise.
• Wait 5 minutes.
• Make some more noise.
• Wait another 5 minutes.
• Lower rope, climb down, find stairs.
• Make noise, descend one stair.
• Repeat previous until no more stairs.

It's not much, but the Infected, simple beasts that they are, will investigate almost any noise. It only fails when the Infected cannot hear. The very last house in the terrace had one such old lady. Fortunately she was so infirm that she could only crawl across the floor. She's shut in her bedroom now. While we searched that place she scratched at the door like mad, but we were quite safe.

The empty houses were creepy. I expected something behind every door, and every creak was another Infected waiting to pounce. We pretty much cleaned out everything we could though. Starting with perishable goods, we took everything into the third house. The food went into the kitchen and everything else was piled into the master bedroom.

We blacked out the downstairs windows. Stupid of us not to do this first, but curtains are not enough. Luckily for us our mistake was in the old lady's house. Not sure if we were too loud or we nudged the curtain or were just unlucky enough to be seen, but without warning the glass exploded inwards and an Infected got itself mangled up in the window frame. The cuts from the glass didn't bother it at all. The noise attracted a couple more Infected wandering by. They got caught up in with the first walker too, but you could tell it was only a matter of time before they got inside.

While we got a good amount of food, it is mostly rice and lentils. The old woman had a couple of tins of Spam. One other house had a half tin of dried milk. I guess most people just ate through their supplies. We did score a assortment of vitamin pills. Otherwise the rest was a decent treasure trove; painkillers, plasters, bandages, toothpaste, dental floss, toilet tissue, bleach, soap, and some clothes that fit me and Craig. We pilfered all kinds of things, but past the euphoria of finding the food, there's only going to be so much of this other stuff that's going to prove useful. I mean, how many pen knives do I really need?

Finally got a chance to clean up as well. While it was a pity we couldn't use the shower or bath as intended, I did manage to heat up enough water with a camping stove to use. Didn't even have to use our drinking water as there was some in one of the tanks in the roof-space. I thought they were all empty, but the tap worked for a bit in one of the empty houses. Or, I'm stupid, there must be hot water tanks somewhere as well as the water tanks in the roof space Cleaned up and shaved, I felt human again. Even Craig seems happier.

 

It's been seven days of eating, looting, resting, and wallowing in self pity. I have to get out of this depression. Need to start thinking about our next move. We can not stay here. Gone through half the food and it would be nice to find more before we run out. There is probably a little food in almost every household, but not everywhere is going to have a convenient roof-space to clamber through that gives us easy access. The idea of fighting Infected door to door and room to room does not appeal.

Sister

My sister is dead. I wrapped her body in her best bedsheets and left her in her bedroom. A note simply read, 'Hope I stay dead.' There are dozens of bottles of pills on her bedside table. All empty.

I never envisioned this. I had thought about our reunion, my being the hero, rescuing my older sister, getting away together. I can feel her embrace. Feel her warmth and joy as we swap stories of this disaster.

But she died, alone.

I don't even know if there was a boyfriend. I haven't found anything that that looks like it belongs to anybody else. There are even some of my old things here from my last visit.

Is this self-loathing and emptiness what Craig feels?

Getting in proved to be easy. The ladder was easy to find. Getting the Infected to follow us in the car was no problem. Getting back to the terraces and up the ladder before more returned was nerve wracking. But we managed it. We lost the ladder. Lost as in it's on the ground. An Infected tried to climb it and just would not let go. Throwing roof tiles down at them was rather cathartic, even fun in its own way. Craig continued after I made the initial hole, practically stripping the roof over the end terrace. Didn't know then what I do now of course.

For whatever reason (perhaps its how they are always built) there was no partition between the roof spaces of the different houses. That meant access was simply no problem. It also meant that we didn't have to risk making too much noise breaking through whatever a partition might be made of. I freely admit now that I had little idea how we were going to break through beyond kicking the wall in. A crowbar is something I need to keep an eye out for.

All the water tanks were empty. Wishful thinking. There's so much junk in the roof space. We'll go through it later. I hope there is camping and travel gear up there more than anything. When we do finally leave here we need to be very mobile.

Craig used a knife I hadn't seen him with before to make holes in the ceiling. Under the insulation it's just plasterboard. Need to make sure we keep to the beams. One misstep and we are straight through. It didn't happen, but its something to remember. Industrious kid, made holes so that we can see into all the houses, and where possible all the rooms.

Death is cruel to the flesh. Looking down on my sister I was not even sure it was her. She looked ancient. Nothing on TV prepares you for a real dead body. Lifeless means just that. She was laying on her bed, face up. There was a book under one hand, still open. And all those empty bottles.

What we did next still makes me feel sick. We had to be sure she was dead. Certain that the moment our presence was felt that she was not going to leap up and attack us. So we dropped things into the room to make noise. Then we even dropped some lighter items onto her body in case that jolted her awake. She was dead of course. Nobody remains to forgive our sacrilege.

 

The noise we made would have alerted anybody else in the house, so we were more than careful in making our way down and searching for others. But she lived alone. Died alone. Alone alone alone. While my sister lay there I snuck around like a thief. Finally after being so afraid of everything I went to her. Jane Eyre, that's what she had been reading. That's what she wanted her last thoughts to be. And in the pages, her bookmark; an old photograph of me. Something inside me broke.

 

I have said my goodbyes. And my apologies, useless as they are. Tidying up, I leave her with her book. We will not disturb this room again.

 

I hurt inside, a deep twisting ache that threatens to overwhelm me constantly. Craig gives me space. He knows. And he envies me her final rest.

The Ladder

Zombies. That's how Craig described his parents' friends when they had fallen ill. Once they had gone through the violent stage of the illness, they just slowed down. The man tied to the bed lay there doing nothing. The other woman would just stand in her room, swaying a little otherwise remaining motionless, only moving when some noise disturbed her.

Films and fantasy always depict the zombie as some dead thing risen from the grave, or infected by the bite of another. These, thinking Craig's analogy through, are more like the Voodo idea of Zombie. I just don't see anybody controlling them though. The Infected, Ghoul, or Zombie, it doesn't matter. They are still in our way.

We don't have the fuel to just drive around looking for a ladder. A building site would be the best bet, and there was some construction work going on a couple of roads before my sister's one. Get out, get ladder, get back, lash it to the roof-rack (thankfully Craig's parents car had one fitted), and be off before the car is surrounded by Infected. The rest of the plan is still sound; lure the Infected away, rush up ladder and onto roof. Bring ladder behind us, or toss to ground if being used by Infected. Get inside roof space and then we can relax.

Have realised that this might be a great opportunity to stock up. We can go through the entire terrace and dig holes through the ceiling to see if there are any Infected in the rooms below. Any houses that are clear can be looted.

Did I really write that? There might be people still alive in there. Who knows what the authorities will do once things return to normal. Will this be overlooked as an act of survival? Our need is all right now. Right, time to put this away, get Craig to concentrate instead of staring out of the window, and find that damned ladder.

Better off Dead

'They're better off dead.'

The first words Craig spoke since we left Nont Sarah. We were parked and waking up, eating some of the cakes we had for breakfast when he just started to talk. He only spoke of his parents' friends. I can only imagine how hard it must be for him to have seen his parents go through the same thing.

Their descent into madness started with the flu. A couple of days lead to delirium and then the beginnings of violence and madness. Tying them up only did so good, as they passed a point where they no longer cared about their own well being. They smashed their way free simply by becoming so violent they broke the beds that they were tied to. In doing so they inflicted grievous wounds upon themselves. These did little to hamper them. Craig insisted they either did not notice them or simply paid their wounds no attention.

Craig had taken to watching them from holes he made in the ceiling. Once when the woman got free, he managed to goad her into another room and lock her in there. From that point of their madness they slow down both mentally and physically. In the man's case quickly, while the woman remained more aware for a few more days. As they slowed their violent outbursts decreased. They could still move quickly in very short bursts, but their anger and violence, their madness was gone. What replaced it was what I had seen as I walked from Oldham, creatures that were pure instinct. They were attracted by noise and movement. They were not at all clever and appeared to have lost a lot of whatever knowledge they held in life. They tried to eat objects that Craig would toss into the room. Biting to taste perhaps. Noise would attract them, and some things they did appear to recognise. Bird noise would make them walk dumbly to a window. Craig's voice would get a much stronger reaction. Clearly seeing me was something they could not resist.

I let him talk. Once he was done, he returned to his silence, but not perhaps as deeply as before. At least he responded to offers of food, even if they were only cakes. At some point we were going to have to get some fruit or vegetables or a pack of vitamin pills. Sugar was only going to get us so far.

As my thoughts returned to the plan I had to get into my sister's house, I realised that Craig may have been warning me. I was acutely aware my sister may have suffered the same fate. At the same time she was as likely to have barricaded herself in. Given the curfews and warnings for people to remain in their houses, I believed she was there. The only question was, in what state was she?

Sleep had helped my plan, and I told Craig in the hopes that he could see anything very badly wrong with it. Her house was part of a terraced row of houses, and all we needed to do was get into the roof space of any of them, and then knock our way through to the correct house. I could not imagine any of the ghouls being able to get up into the roof space, so even if a house contained any Infected, we would be able to simply move on being safely above them. It was simply another version of the way Craig had lived the past few weeks. He just shrugged.

We would take the car and lead the Infected away first, much like a modern Pied Piper. Then quickly return and

Damn. We need a ladder to get to the roof, not a rope. Long ladder too, not a step ladder. OK, what about going into a house. Dangers... full of Infected. Have to rush back out, just as the ones lured away are starting to return. Not good. Can't damage door in case the house is clean. Can't risk turning any house into a deathtrap for us. We need that ladder. Damn.

Nont Sarah

I felt lively and invigorated as I walked yesterday morning. I can only account that to my improving health. It takes a period of illness to remind you how good simply being normal can be. There was still a lingering smell of smoke to everything which soured things slightly, though that may have been on me as much as in the air.  And for the first time in days, I was alone. There wasn't a single walker in sight.

The first dent to my day was finding a house along the road burned to the ground. It had happened quite recently. The fire had gutted the place to a shell. A molten work of modern art was all that was left of a bicycle. I moved on, aware that there were guest houses along the way.

Nont Sarah. A bed and breakfast for those that want to explore the Pennines. There was a building and car park just before on the opposite side of the road that was all burned to a crisp. It's name vanished along with its walls and roof. Two cars left undamaged in the car park directly outside Nont Sarah's. Worth searching later. But the prize was the guest house. It looked intact. And abandoned. There was another row of houses a little further up. I had the rest of my day mapped out already.
There were no bodies anywhere either. In hindsight that proved to be rather important. And something I should always remember to notice. I digress.

My first thought was to go in and look for food. Like a fool I marched straight up to the door before I had the forethought to stop and realise what I was doing. My hand was right on the door handle. I hadn't even peered through a single window or listened at the door for sounds of life. Or what passed for life. My rational mind returned and sent me look around first. 

There had been some hasty looking repairs to the rear and side windows. Looking inside gave nothing away, other than it was quiet and dark. My heart was threatening to beat out of my chest but the only way I was going to find anything was to simply go inside.

Rule for the future. If you think there might be Infected inside a building, knock first. Better to flee before you step inside, potentially with the benefit of a door between you and them.

All the doors were locked or barred. The obvious choice for entry was one of the damaged windows. Repairs are often easy to pull aside. I could have smashed one of the remaining windows, but the the thought of all that noise. A couple of minutes and I had one of the repairs out of the way.  Oh, the smell from inside. Still, in I went.

Dark, dusty, and the air was stifling. I took a chance and quietly opened a couple of the undamaged windows. A bit of light and air helped, though there was nothing to look at inside. I was in a bar area. There were no spirits left, nothing to drink at all. There was a makeshift barricade behind the main door, just a pile of things heaped there. A lot of broken glass all over the floor, drinks glasses by the look of it. The bar area opened into a wider area and what I hoped was a kitchen. Probably my best chance for food, but my mind was being drawn back to the barricaded door. Then it struck me, all the doors were still closed and locked. Whoever was here might still be here.

Fear grasped my insides and I felt sick. I was silent, listening and thinking. I had to go on. I had to find food. The kitchen door taunted me. It was a swing door, had no lock or latch. I pushed it. My paranoia screamed. But still, nothing.

The freezers and fridges were all empty and very clean. The ovens were spotless. Perhaps the place was not open for business. A couple of small function rooms with nothing useful. It was time to check upstairs.

Sounds fill a void. In the quiet, every step on the stairs was like dropping a plate on a stone floor. At the landing, I had a choice of doors, all closed. It felt like the world's worst lucky dip. Either the people who had barricaded this place were all dead, or they were all up here. All the doors had keyholes, so I took advantage.

The very moment I put my eye up to the keyhole the world exploded. There had been an eye staring  from the other side and no sooner had it seen me than its owner went berserk. First came the scream; hoarse and violent. The door frame shuddered and shook with repeated blows. It quickly turned to throwing its whole weight against the door.

I had fallen on my arse at the first scream. I sat there in disbelief, watching the door frame buckle and crack. The doors to two other rooms started to thunder in their frames as well. Arms burst through the wood in front of me. My wits returned and I began to scramble away. A door opened next to me and I saw a face. Terrified, young, but a face full of life. He said nothing, just looked at me with wide, imploring eyes. I understood and rushed through his open door. The boy pushed the door but did not close it. He pointed at a rope leading up to a hole in the ceiling. Cracking sounds beyond the door told me death was in the hallway. I had never been good at climbing ropes, but suddenly I found myself perched carefully on the beams in the roof looking down. The boy climbed past me, pulling the rope with him, and then sat next to me, trying to control his heavy breathing. As I started to speak he put a finger to his lips and pointed down. On cue, limbs flailed against the door and flung it open.
Three emaciated people entered. They were covered in dried blood, at least what I thought was blood. They were so filthy it was hard to tell. Two were male, the other female. There was still a lot of banging coming from beyond the door so there had to be a fourth, perhaps more. Calling these things people was just wrong. Except for being bipedal they had very little to do with being human. They looked wild and feral. Each bore wounds and disfigurement that set them apart from one another, but it was their common traits that were more frightening. Their movements were jerky and  uncoordinated, their jaws hung slack trailing ropes of thick drool, and their fingers were pulled into claws. Their breath was more of a rasp and the only other sound they made was that hoarse scream of theirs. There was nothing human about them at all.

I turned back to speak to the boy when, with a moment's panic, I saw he was gone. A moment and my eyes were able to see into the darkness of the roof space. He was further over laying down and calling down into one of the rooms. The turmoil in the room below me stopped and I looked back just in time to see the last of the Infected leaving.

The boy lead me over to a different corner of the roof and pointed to a loft trap. He said one word, 'safe' and lowered the rope for us to climb down. This room was larger than the first, and the door had everything bar a mattress piled up against it. My hopes rose when I saw a pile of food by the mattress; the very worst of packaged, processed junk. The boy could see it was what I needed and offered me a wrapped pack of soft sponge cakes. I all but snatched them and crammed them into my mouth as fast as I could tear them open. Thinking about it now, I probably looked as bad as the ghouls in the other rooms. The boy's relief was visible when I finally spoke, a  broken, croaked thanks. My voice was barely there, I had not spoken for days.

His name is Craig. He told me the people in the other rooms are his parents and a couple of their friends. They were on a hiking holiday and had permission to stay at Nont Sarah's for a few days - his father knew the owners. Otherwise the place was closed to the public. They had followed the troubles in Manchester on a radio, and on hearing how it was spreading to the surrounding towns, decided to head back to their place in York. They got as far as the junction for Bradford on the M62 before they were forced to stop at a police road block. That's when they were attacked. One of the coppers was just getting angrier and angrier then went nuts. His colleagues stopped him before anybody was injured. Their way was still barred, so they decided to return to Nont Sarah's. Power was gone the next morning. Battery powered radios were their link with the outside world. The news from the rest of the country just got worse and worse. They saw people fighting in the car park of the other guest house across the road. That's when they barricaded the doors. Later that day someone broke a load of windows, but nobody went to look in case they managed to break in. Fear dominated.

I could sympathise. Hiding was my best tactic so far.

Craig continued, telling me how it was one of his father's friend's that was the first to fall ill with the flu. They had heard enough from the radio to link the flu with the violence. They did not know how exactly, but there was an obvious connection. They decided to quarantine Phillip in one of the upstairs bedrooms. His wife volunteered to bring him food and water. She fell ill the day he started to turn violent. Expecting the violent turn, they had tied him up. Everybody just wanted to wait and see when the fever broke. It did not though. He got worse and worse, and soon his wife was delirious with fever and was expected to turn the same way.

His parents were good people. When they felt the first touch of fever, they bade their son make a nest for himself in one room, lock the door, barricade himself in, and only return to them if they looked and sounded well again. I cannot fathom how difficult it must have been to hear his parents turn into monsters. He has been waiting ever since for a sign of their recovery. He broke down and told me he knows it will never come.

I did not mention it to him, but I am surprised he did not catch it. Then again, it fills me with some small hope that I have already found someone unaffected by this flu. I can only hope that it means this infection is not as deadly as it appears.

The food he has consists of catering packs of cakes and biscuits. He explained that there were a few boxes left in the store room. It was what they had all been eating, and this was all that remained. It was enough to last for a few more days. I wouldn't like to survive on it indefinitely. He had a pallet of plastic water bottles as well. He said there were another couple of those in his parent's car. The keys of which were probably in his father's coat pocket.

Those words hit me like a brick. Get the keys, get the car. We would be in Leeds in no time.

There were three problems. He did not know exactly where the keys were, but thought that they would be in his father's jacket which was probably hanging on the coat stand by the main door.  Secondly, there were now three or four Infected roaming free somewhere inside the guesthouse. Finally, and most importantly, Craig did not want to leave.

He did not truly believe his parents were going to recover. Not anymore. Not the way they looked and acted. But leaving meant facing up to and accepting that. It took me a while to convince him to leave with me. I did not lie, and told him everything I had seen, the end of Manchester, my journey so far, and my next destination. I could see his determination and anguish, but once his mind was made up, he told me exactly how we could get downstairs, get the keys and make a break for the car. The problem was keeping the Infected distracted long enough to find what we needed.

First we needed a way to get downstairs. The easiest route was straight down through the floor. It made a bit too much noise and the banging on the door started swiftly with my first mistake; yelling out when I caught my hand on a nail. The door and the barricade held, and remaining as quiet as possible we managed to open the floor through to the downstairs restaurant area. Now we wanted them to concentrate on the door to give me the time I needed to search for the keys. We lowered the rope and left it down for my escape route. Craig remained in the room to make distracting noises.

The keys were easy to find. What happened next was so stupid I can hardly write it. I was so pleased, I tossed the keys up to catch them and actually missed, dropping them. In the silence the sound of them hitting the floor was like a pair of cymbals clashing together. I remember my heart thudding so hard as I stood like a statue, listening. The pounding on the door upstairs ceased. Footsteps on wood, and then Infected were hurling themselves down the stairs.

I was off like a hare the moment I realised they were on the stairs. I had a few meters head start to get to the rope. I heard something fall behind me. Then I was climbing. My mind is blank then. I just remember looking down at the three of them, their burning hunger staring back. They scrabbled at the rope but climbing is not something they can do. I would have left the rope to keep them there, but we needed it to climb down the outside of the building. Without the rope they just hissed and screeched and milled about below the hole.

Craig had packed the food and water in his backpack. I guess everything else he wanted was in there too, I haven't asked him yet. Out the window and across the road, we made it to the car. It was a Honda Civic. Key in the ignition and anything with ears heard me try to start the car. One of the windows at Nont Sarah's exploded outwards, and an Infected tumbled out with it. The other two fell over on their way through the broken frame. I tried the car again. This time all three of them were on their feet and coming towards us. They must have injured themselves as they were loping along, not running anymore. Still, we were stationary, and doomed if we remained so.

Third time lucky. With Craig sobbing uncontrollably, we sped off, clipping his mother with the front corner of the bumper.  Then we were clear, with a beautiful empty road before us.

My euphoria was short lived. I kept our speed low to conserve fuel and avoid accidents. Though the houses were few, almost everywhere we went past, something came out. I have to say something as some were so disfigured and grievously injured, that they could not still be alive.  In the mirror, I could see them turn and come after us. We were leaving a trail of Infected behind us.

Some conventions are hard to shake, but as soon as I realised I did not have to keep to any lane nor any direction, the road opened up for us. Getting onto the motorway, we made easy progress. There were no houses by the roadside and very few cars. Between the flu and curfews, most people must have remained at home.  We saw a few walkers, but they were clearly Infected. No stopping for them. Lots of smoke rising in the distance. Definitely looked like it was coming up from Halifax,  Huddersfield, and Brighouse. I hadn't really thought about it but if the fire services were out there was nobody around to stop a fire, so once they started that was that. I had to realise that Leeds and Bradford would be full of fires. Towns and cities were beginning to sound more and more dangerous.

The M62 turned into the M621 and we were bound for Leeds at last. There was some smoke rising, but not as much as I feared. A few more miles then we came to some of the out of town shopping centers, warehouses and industrial units. And a lot more walkers. A hell of a lot more.

Coming off the motorway and around the back of Leeds Football Club, there were hundreds of Infected. Most were slow to react, though there were enough that were still able to put on a worrying burst of speed. Worried me into pumping the accelerator. That in turn attracted more attention. There was no way I could stop the car and get out. We turned into Wesley Street and drove past my sister's house.  Quiet and undamaged, but I have to know. How to get there without attracting a few thousand of the ghouls though. With a quarter of a tank of fuel, I drove through and back onto the motorway. Craig didn't say a word the whole time.

We went back as far as the first lay by. Parking there, I told Craig that we needed a way to get to my sister's house without being seen or at least caught. He nodded, then went back to brooding or whatever it is he's been doing this whole time. With darkness falling we set the car alarm so that if anything tried to break in we would be rudely woken. Sleep came easily.

That's where we are now. The sun is rising. Craig is still asleep.. I have an idea to get into my sister's house unseen. It's stupid. It will get us killed and this will be the last entry I write.

Interlude

The car turned out to be both blessing and curse. I got all the rest I needed but I got to see myself in the driver's mirror. A few days without a shower, without a shave or even running a comb through my hair. I smell too, something that was all the more obvious in the confines of the vehicle. Unless you took the time to find out, anybody looking at me would probably assume I was one of the Infected.

I plan to stay in the car until late morning. My appetite returned after the biscuits and I was ravenous. A polo an hour to keep me on my feet, but not much more than that. Finding food is my main priority. There are the farm houses in the distance, though they take me off my route. Puts me a lot closer to any rambling walkers though.

A bit further on and still on the road there is a guest house or a pub or something. I'm suddenly afraid of going anywhere there might be more people. I don't want to find them and hear the worst. More than that, I don't want to find only Infected. Stupid paranoia. I have to find food, that means houses or shops. At least it's not raining. Time to go.

Sprinkling of luck

Found an abandoned car on the road this afternoon. Writing in it now. Had to break a side window to get in, so I guess anything else, anybody else, could get in, but it gives me a much needed place to rest that is under cover. The really good news was finding a pack of old digestive biscuits in the glove compartment. It was only a single serving travel pack with four of them inside, but biscuits never tasted so good. The half pack of mint Polos I am saving for a pick-me-up when I restart my journey.

The bad news? Couldn't find a key, so I couldn't test the car to see if it might start. Might have been any number of reasons to leave it here, but none of that matters without the key.

The really bad news. I found an old newspaper. It begins to fill in some gaps that I wonder if I was better off not knowing. The paper was mostly about the Manchester Crisis, but there was a load about the flu outbreak and all kinds of advice on how to avoid catching it, and what to do if you thought you had it. Talk about how stretched the services were and how people could help by preserving water, and so on. Making it sound like there is a war on.

Still Manchester was the headline story and pictures from the street filled more than half the pages. Some of the close-ups of crowd scenes made me think back to the scene outside the police station. Hidden away in the middle pages were smaller reports of violent outbreaks in other parts of the country. Not yet linked to anything, but newsworthy all the same. And after that, the sports pages, thinned out by a total lack of football thanks to nationwide travel restrictions and probably a lot of flu.

The editorial and comments columns were full of advice and wisdom that amounted to stay at home and batten down the hatches. Obey the authorities, watch television and listen to radio for important announcements, and whatever you do, remain in your homes unless absolutely necessary. That clearly helped a lot of people in Manchester.

Four days after this paper was printed, Manchester was destroyed. The government had to know how serious this was back then. I'm still assuming a link between the flu, infection, and the Manchester Crisis. It's hard to find anything else to pin the blame on. So, nuking Manchester had to be about containment. So why stop with the nukes? Why aren't all the stragglers being taken care of? The military seem to have abandoned this area. Busy elsewhere? Maybe they all have this flu too. That's a thought and a half.

If the flu is what turns people into psychos, and if it has spread like any normal flu outbreak, then the whole country will be in a mess. Government will be working on a cure of course. Maybe they already have one. But I got better, so why not other people? Maybe I had is something else. Maybe I am lucky, or maybe all the poor bastards who would have recovered from this got turned into ash in the greatest over reaction ever.

There are too many what-ifs. I need to get to the next town and find somebody to ask. Suddenly struck by the idea that Manchester may not have been the only place to have been bombed. Maybe things have fallen apart everywhere else? I have no way of knowing. Can't think like that. Not yet. Leeds first. Then decide what to do. I just hope my sister is still there.

Reflection

As I recover from this flu, I still have to rest a lot. This affords me ample time to spot the natural hazards about this landscape. That means walkers. I believe I know why Manchester was bombed. Someone wanted the infected to stay put. So why are the army not out picking off the stragglers? There are dozens of them. If I had a higher vantage point dozens might become hundreds. The Manchester fires are driving any surviving infected out of the area.

 

The infected outside the police station were not attacking one another. However they do it, they can tell infected from uninfected. My own experiences have taught me that the closer they are, the easier they can tell. Out here, in the nice wide open countryside, even if an infected, or walker, sees me, they will often just stop and stare. Sometimes they will burst into action and race towards me, other times, especially if I just stand still, they will watch for a moment then continue on their way. When they do chase after me, the ground is my ally. Their co-ordination and observation skills are so impaired that uneven ground will send them sprawling. They might be able to outpace me in urban areas, but in the open country, I only have to fear the quiet ones.

 

The quiet ones. A nice name for infected that look like they are dying. Thinner, grayer, slower, and very very quiet. If they make a noise at all, it is to scream or howl when they are close. They look like walking cadavers or zombies. They are the real danger right now. I have only two of them, or I should say they encountered me. Their major disadvantage is that they are slow. Bad for them, good for me.

 

One benefit to recovering from flu is that I still have no appetite. The moment that changes I am in trouble, but for now my lack of food does not hinder me.

 

It is still hard to believe that they dropped the bomb on Manchester. All those people wiped out in a split second. It's been making me think about the link between flu and the infected though. I have to assume they are linked. I remember from the radio of the country being in the grip of a flu epidemic. It may have been normal flu, but even then, how many people have travelled out of Manchester to other parts of the country? How far has infection spread? This makes me think twice about the lack of military dealing with the infected roaming the countryside. They can only be busy elsewhere.

 

Funny. I probably look like a walker at a distance to anybody else. I'm probably lucky the army aren't here. On the other hand, that means the people I see in the distance might be normal too. Damn.

Fresh air

The idea of an easy trip was quickly dashed by the presence of walkers in the distance along the road. Hiding everytime I saw one, I decided it was safer to go further from the road. I still had not managed to come by another bicycle so there was little additional hardship in leaving the road. So long as I kept it in sight, I wouldn't lose my way.

Safer. While the walkers I came across that first day did not care what surface they trod, the infected do seem to have a lot less co-ordination when it comes to walking across an unpaved surface. All but the most obvious obstacle will send them tumbling to the ground. They do get up quickly, but if the fall is bad enough an injury will slow them down. Their persistence is annoying though, but duck or run somewhere out of sight and they tend to lose interest pretty quickly. It's when they are close you have a problem.

The end of the first day of walking I was exhausted. I simply did not see the walker coming from my side. Stupid, in hindsight, to travel when you can barely see or think, but you learn from your mistakes. At least you do if you are the one still standing afterward. Takes the mind off your hunger too.

The road ahead

A massive column of smoke stretches high into the sky where Manchester once lay. Sooner or later that cloud of radioactive dust will start to fall back to earth. I need to be as far away from here as possible. The wind blows towards Liverpool, the opposite direction to my intended destination. Luck is on my side, for now.

Food is my other concern. My tins of beans were only supposed to aid me in cycling to Leeds. Barely beyond the outskirts of Oldham and I can already feel my belly complaining. I should be able to beg, borrow or steal something to eat when I get closer to the next village. That's assuming I stick to this route. I feel horribly exposed. No trees or houses for miles, just open plains and fields.

Seeing the army shoot everything that moved clings to my thoughts. Even if I did encounter someone else, how would they know I was not a threat? Better to wait for the right opportunity to rejoin the human race.

Staying off the motorway will reduce my chances of running into people, but it will also slow me down considerably. There is pretty much nothing on the Huddersfield road. I need a car or a bike though. On foot, it would take me days to reach anywhere, especially in my condition. Maybe a few days without food will not kill me. it's not as if I even have an appetite.

Travelling on foot means I have no way to outrun anybody. Even with a bike I would need a good head start against someone who was determined and fast on their feet. Another good thing about transport is that when we watched all those people coming towards the checkpoint, all of them were on foot. They seem to not want to or be unable to use mechanical means of transport. In short, if I am riding a bike or driving a car, anybody seeing me who is uninfected might assume I am not psychotic.

Have seen some people moving around in the distance both in front and behind me. When its quiet its too easy to forget they might be anywhere. Can't call to them in case they are infected. Nowhere for me to run to, so avoidance is my only option unless I am certain they pose no danger.

In all this madness I have overlooked one thing. Uninfected people are still people. While we would be joined through a mutual bond of being alive and well, who is to say I am automatically safe with them? It might be paranoia talking, but right now paranoia seems to be a healthy alternative to being killed.

Road to nowhere

Finally a chance to write down the events of the last two days. My sleep the night I left was interrupted by an intruder. My initial panic was that it was the owner come to investigate the break in of his allotment shed. The miscreant's dishevelled appearance quickly woke me up with the fear that it was one of them. Then the first words I had heard in days came out of his mouth. He asked me for food.

 

Sharing the remains of my first tin of beans was no hardship. The newcomer filled his mouth and ate obscenely for his first few mouthfuls, then slowed and ate more normally. Though I had questions, I was still too excited by his company to interrupt. He finished and actually shivered with pleasure. So I thought anyway. He looked at me peculiarly, and for a moment I feared he was going to slip back out into the night without a word. Then he looked at me fiercely and apologised for having nothing to pay for the food.

 

Laughter burst from me at the absurdity of paying for a half empty tin of cold baked beans. The man leapt forwards, pushing his hand over my mouth and knocked me to the floor. His eyes were crazy, just for a moment. Then he was hissing 'quiet' into my face as he let me back up.

 

Seeing how affected he was by his ordeal, whatever it was, I assured him the beans were my gift but if he wanted to pay then all I wanted was information. He seemed surprised at my lack of knowledge at local current affairs, but what he told me, while incredible, fit neatly into what had happened, what the news had reported while I still had it, and my own recent experiences.

 

He believed the flu was the source of the disease turning people into violent maniacs. He didn't think it was flu at all but something spread by the water. The hospitals and clinics were pushed beyond their limits trying to cope with the effects of the 'flu' and the violence. The police had proved useless and the army had been brought in to try to help quell the violence. The additional numbers had helped in the beginning but rioters had become both so dangerous and unstoppable that the army had begun a fighting retreat. The army were even using live fire against the rioters. Everything within their cordon, which at the time was a few square miles of central Manchester had been deemed lost. I was fascinated and appalled. The people in the very centre of Manchester had simply been left to the mercy of the rioters.

 

The man went on at pains to make me understand that the flu was just the beginning, that it was turning people into violent psychotics, and that some people had changed into something even worse. He wouldn't be drawn on what this worse was, but I assumed he was talking about the cannibalism the news cameras had captured. I asked how he knew all this and he explained that he was a taxi driver. Lately his fares had mostly been delivering sick and injured people to the Infirmary.

 

He went on to tell me about the curfew and the public broadcasts via TV and radio warning people to stay inside. I remembered catching a little about what to do if people in your household died. Apparently you were supposed to signal if there were infected in your house too. The army would come and collect them. I simply did not believe what the taxi driver told me next; after collection the infected were taken to sites at various inner-city parks, executed and dumped in mass graves. I mentioned seeing a convoy earlier that I assumed was military. That was when he told me that the army had been fighting a losing battle and that after the fires had spiraled out of control, they had pulled back to set up checkpoints and barricades at all routes out of Manchester around the M60 motorway. Which begged the question of why the army was on the move again?

 

My guest had quite a grudge against the armed forces. More accusations of insane brutality spewed forth. This time he claimed they would shoot anybody who got within 50 feet of a barricade. That they were not there to help people, only to keep them from escaping. Interesting word choice; not leaving, escaping.

 

The news of the convoy stopping again greatly agitated my guest. It seems he had been waiting for them to leave, hiding in a house near one of the checkpoints on the other side of Oldham. With their passing he had hoped to begin his journey to Bradford. He never said why he wanted to go there.

 

As we were both awake and it had to be close to morning, I mentioned going to the checkpoint, assuming that was what they had set up, and telling them that we were uninfected. He just laughed and told me they would simply shoot us at a distance. He'd convinced himself the army were just butchers. But the more he went on about the army like that, the more I began to waver. We did at least agree to get closer and reconsider once we knew more.

 

As we were leaving the shed, a car drove slowly along the road in the direction the convoy took. The moment we heard it we were laying on the ground, waiting for it to pass. A minute later there was gunfire, a dozen or so shots, followed, after a moment of silence, by two single shots. We crawled back to the shed. The taxi driver though we might be able to sneak across the fields at the edge of town and back onto one of the main roads. I merely expressed my inclination to avoid large, open areas where a well trained marksman, such as the army probably had an abundance of, would be able to very easily put a bullet in my head. Thankfully, he made no more suggestions.

 

I have to admit to a moment of desperation. Hearing those shots, imagining those people just looking for help or escape... I felt so low, so deeply and profoundly saddened and empty. I lay on the floor of the shed and hugged myself. Somehow I fell sleep, because the next thing I remember was being shaken awake with a hand over my mouth. The taxi driver put his finger to his lips and bade me look out of the window. Spread across the allotments were upwards of fifty people. Some of them looked very unhealthy. None of them showed any interest in the sheds. They were all heading in the general direction of the shots heard earlier.

 

These people were a little different from the ones I had encountered previously. They were far more dishevelled, all notion of personal grooming and hygiene having fled each of them. All the men sported stubble or the beginning of beards. Fingernails were long, ripped or missing altogether. Some would spasm as they walked, break into a run or yell at something that might only exist in their mind. I saw nothing to yell at unless this was communication between them. There were those that bore injuries too, some of them grievous, and I would have thought fatal. They were still people though, and the thought that the army were simply executing them disturbed me.

 

My taxi driver ally warned me to keep out of sight and be quiet. He took their presence as proof that the army barricades had been moved back. Gunfire soon announced the walkers had found the checkpoint. Sporadic gunfire would continue throughout the morning. An unfortunate consequence of the sounds of fighting was the attraction of more people. 'Infected' was my new friend's preferred term. Some would be running at breakneck speed, others walking that slow, methodical walk. Their numbers were also increasing.

 

The presence of so many infected meant we were stuck in our shed. We would stand no chance if we left. I said we should wait for nightfall, but the taxi driver said the army were ready for that. I assume he meant that they had night vision equipment. We argued about going back towards town to find transport. That was cut short by the sounds of an explosion, immediately followed by rapid machine-gun fire. We risked a look through the window.

 

The infected were being slaughtered. Within moments they were all down. Not dead. I could still seem a great deal of movement about them. But they were immobilised. For whatever reason a burst of gunfire hit the sheds, including ours. Bullets flew through the wood and splinters pierced our hands and faces. Luckily nothing worse happened. I was too afraid at the time to do more than drop to the ground. The taxi driver growled at me to remain still as they were trying to flush any infected out. In hindsight I can see the logic, but there and then it felt very personal.

 

While I remained on the ground, I looked through one of our new holes. A large flatbed truck was coming along the road, heading back into town. It had support from an army personnel carrier in front, whose occupants were sniping new infected targets as they came into range. I assumed they were infected. Nobody tried to call out to them or make themselves known as uninfected.

 

Once the transport had passed, my taxi driver was on his feet and preparing to leave. He was coarse in his explanation, but made it clear that our way was as clear as it was going to be, the recent shooting very likely drawing more infected here within minutes. I was as worried about the army, but he said that as long as we avoided open ground we could simply travel around any roadblock. Since the infected were clearly drawn by sound, I supposed the army would expect them to actually come towards the roadblocks. This left a bad taste as that meant they were less checkpoints for helping uninfected and more honey-traps to kill anything that came their way.

 

I more than expected to be shot as we made our way across the allotment gardens and back to the road. Stepping around the infected that lay wounded was terrible. There was no helping them though. As soon as they realised we were there they would try to grab at us, no matter how badly they were hurt. The taxi driver was right though, more people were already beginning to come along the road.

 

The checkpoint was brightly lit and clearly visible a hundred or so meters further along the road. I would have given anything for a pair of binoculars. We must have been close to an hour picking our way across the allotments and then across the fields on the other side of the road. Eventually we turned and began travelling parallel to the road that would have taken us to the checkpoint. We were not quite beyond their range when we heard the engines of the troop carrier returning at speed up the road. The flatbed did not join it. On the evening air the sounds of them shouting and barking orders reached us. We listened and could make out the odd word. It sounded like they were leaving. Sure enough, their convoy sped off away from town. While we were safer here, returning to the road meant we could travel faster. We couldn't go back for my bike now, but we would find some other form of transport. He was convinced. 

We didn't return the same way, there being too many people around, but made our way so that we would come out across from the checkpoint. This turned out to be a good idea as the barricades had been left in place. The generator and lights were all still working too. That puzzled me until one of the infected tried to climb the barricade and blew itself to bits. As awful as it was, it was our good luck too.

 

It must have been fifteen minutes later that the night turned bright white. Blinded I staggered and fell off the edge of the road into a ditch. The taxi driver was not so lucky. When the deafening wind had passed and I had regained my senses, I found him dead in the road. A piece of flying debris had taken away his left arm, shoulder and a good part of his chest. Behind me, in the direction of Manchester several giant fireballs were climbing their way up the sky. Everything else there was just fire. Manchester was gone.

 

It was not just Manchester that had been destroyed. Oldham was flames and ruin as well. Who knows what else turned to ash in that moment.

 

It took time for my sense of reality to return. Seeing your home nuked will do that to you. By the early hours my feet hurt and I left the road and took shelter under some trees. I had neglected to bring one of the blankets. The loss of companion, bike, and now blanket was too much for me and I sobbed myself to sleep. Exhaustion makes you careless, but when you are alone, you often have no other choice.

 

The morning brings clarity. And rain. My position under the trees is dry enough, so I have had time to update you, my dear diary. I regret not knowing the taxi driver's name. It wouldn't have helped me any, but it would have kept him a little more human. He never offered it though, and perhaps that was for the best. As for the destruction of Manchester... that frightens me. Not for all the people killed, that I find hard to comprehend, but for the clear desperation of the act. This flu must be that serious a threat if someone is willing to use nukes to stop it. Maybe it is something else. I have the words of a dead taxi driver and my own paranoia driving my thoughts. None of this changes my plan though. I am still heading towards Leeds to find family. Perhaps I will find out more about what has happened on the way.

The trip

Getting from my house to the road proved to be the most difficult part of my journey so far. With each noise I and the bike made getting from my front door to the road, I was certain of discovery. However, despite the earlier nocturnal activity I witnessed, there was nobody about. With a push I was off. Never has the clacking of a bike seemed so loud.

A full moon gave me enough light to see my route. The bike's lights were a risk I dare not take. There were some people about, or at the least dark forms in the distance that you think you see moving. After the police station, my mind assumes every shadow and dark space is a danger ready to leap out at me.

After a few minutes of slow cycling, I had the measure of my health and realised I would not be going too far for my first night. A single slope would probably be too much. I have to hope my strength returns quickly, but my previous experience with severe flu is around seven days to recover.

A loud racket from another street had probably taken the attention of anyone awake at this time of night. Another stroke of luck. At the time I had not considered that it might have been someone else's bad luck. Regardless, my way to the first major road was clear. For the next hour it was a nice slow cycle through the night. I admit, I expected to encounter more people. If things were turning so strange, where are all the people trying to leave? The news reported the rioting had turned central Manchester into a war zone. You would expect people to flee that kind of thing. I guess the flu has that many people stuck at home.

 

My legs turned to jelly after about 90 minutes of slow cycling. Normally I could cover the same distance in about 15 minutes and continue for another few hours. A few scares had me pedalling faster which probably wore me out sooner. One person almost had me, roaring at me from nowhere and forcing me to swerve hard enough that I almost fell.

 

I had only gone as far as the outskirts of Oldham. I continued past a light industrial area and onto some allotments. There's nothing easier than breaking into an allotment. Inside I hit the jackpot, finding a small torch, the kind that you wind up. Blankets too, and a small amount of sherry. I was scared to use the torch for a while, but with both blankets covering me the small amount of light it gives off was never going to give me away. Needed to as I want to write this last part down while it's still fresh in my mind, then get some sleep.

 

I heard a convoy of trucks and heavy vehicles go by a few minutes ago. They were coming from the direction of central Manchester. It was hard to tell in the available light but I am certain they were military. They went past along the route I was on. I felt a huge sense of relief, but then forboding too. Everybody I see is acting strange or trying to attack me. Then the military appear, not going to but from Manchester. The thought of rushing out and waving the torch around died almost as soon as the thought came. The real surprise, they stopped. Not here, and somewhere out of sight, but they make a lot of noise, and have searchlights that light up the area from time to time.

 

I intend to approach them tomorrow. Perhaps I'll get some of the answers I am looking for.