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.

Decision time

Weakened from my fever, exhaustion claimed me. Now it is dark outside. I slept a day and a half. The electricity is off. I have no lights. The food in the freezer has all defrosted, and everything inside the fridge is warm. The TV is a useless square space in the living room.

I am glad I keep in the habit of writing in a proper diary. My online world is simply gone. I have no communication with the outside world. I have no idea what is going on. The fever which has kept me in bed for most of a week now has cleared up at least. I feel much stronger. I am not sure I want to test my endurance, but the time to leave here approaches fast.

Food is running out too. I have three tins of baked beans and I can make the rice I have last a few weeks, but there is nothing else. The stuff in the freezer wont last another day. If cooked, maybe two days worth of food before that starts to turn foul. Cooking anything means starting a fire. I have six matches. Starting a fire indoors is a very bad idea. Doing that outdoors means attracting the attention of 'them'.

There are a great deal more of 'them' than I realised. After cooking some of my precious dwindling food supply I heard the sound of glass breaking outside. Without getting too close, I looked through the upstairs bedroom window that faces out across the main road. People were walking around. After what happened with my ride to the police station I am about as afraid of contact with the outside world as I have ever been. Many of them were clearly delirious, and some were injured, one quite badly. Movement appears to attract their attention as a curtain twitch in the window of a house opposite was swiftly investigated by one of the people standing around outside. Others noticed him and followed suit. The first one to notice must have seen something as he threw himself through the window. A cat flew out and escaped past them. Scared, I drew back from the window.

Something has clearly affected the people in this area. Some sickness. Perhaps I am lucky I had this flu. Whatever madness this is, I can only assume it is some infectious agent. Does it affect everybody? And in the same way? It might be in the water. Or the air. Maybe it passes from person to person. I must assume the news reports from Manchester were connected with this too. How can they not be? I wish I could remember more of what they were reporting on TV. It did not seem important at the time. All I remember is the violence.

Several things are clear. I need to find food. Protein especially, but anything to supplement the rice. Water I just need to boil in case it has anything to do with what's making people go nuts. I have to hope the trouble is just Manchester and its environs. If I can find a working phone or internet connection, I can contact family and find out what's going on. My best course of action is to head to my sister's place, in Leeds. It's a hell of a ride in my condition. The only alternative is to wait here and hope someone comes. Somehow, that doesn't feel at all likely.

I did consider trying to sneak into my next door neighbour's house. I can hear noises on one side though. Someone moves around, then stops, like they are listening or searching for something. I am so careful not to make a sound when I move around. A part of me wants to tap on the wall and see what the reaction is, but most of me is terrified of not getting a human response. The house to the other side is silent, which scares me almost as much. That's part of the reason I have to leave. I am too afraid to remain.

So, I made my mind up to leave tonight. Hard to know what the time is, but its dark outside and I'm damned if I am going to try going out in daylight again. Not until I am certain of my recovery. I have to travel light, so I am just taking a few bare essentials. A bike I am just going to have to steal at the first opportunity. Otherwise, I carry only what I can fit into my backpack. A certain pessimism is already nagging at the back of my mind to pack all kinds of things 'just in case'. Time for a list.

• Food (2x tin beans)
• Water, 2x 500 ml bottle.
• Aspirin (1 strip with 5 left)
• Toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss.
• Large black marker pen (can get me high if nothing else)
• Butcher's knife (sharp) 
• spoon
• 2x t-shirt
• 2x socks
• 2x boxer shorts
• 1x jeans
• Box matches (6 remaining)
• 1x roll toilet paper.
• Diary + 2 pens.

I'm rusty on a bike, and while dirty jeans is not the end of the world, slime-fouled jeans the likes of which I got from falling in the ditch would be. The floss... takes up no space and I go mad if I can't floss even for a day. The tins are ring-pull so no need for a tin opener. I wish I had a first aid kit of any kind, but that was one of those things I was always putting off. This just has to get me to Leeds. After that my Sister can put up with me for a while until this is sorted out.

Getting the bike out without making too much noise is going to be a challenge. Once I am off, I should be safe. Let's hope I get to write in you again. Until later then. Wish me luck.