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.