Surviving The Evacuation (Book 1): London (20 page)

I have no idea what the significance of this is. Something to do with herd mentality or hive minds or scent or senses or I don't know what. I think if I observe Them I'll learn more about Them, but what more do I need to know?

I didn’t have a plan if I really thought I was infected. I guess suicide would be an option, but I can't really see the point, I'd be dead either way.

I guess I’m just like that guy downstairs, thinking I’m somehow different.

Day 48, Bermondsey, London.

09:00

I've three to four weeks worth of food here, but only a few days of fluids left, so I’ve come up to the attic to see how hard it will be to knock a hole in the roof through which I can collect rain water.

Very, is the answer. There's not enough room to stand up properly here and other than the walls between each property, nothing with which to support myself as I stand. The beams are solid but narrow, and too far apart to have a crutch on one and my leg on the other. I've tried standing on one leg, whilst leaning on the wall, and balanced like that I can reach the roof, but it's pretty solid. Given time I think I could break through, but I don't know how long it would take and besides all that, it's not raining.

Instead, I’m going to break through to the next lot of flats and hope I find water in there.

15:00

Not a good day. I broke through to number 209. From the attic I could hear movement below. I broke a small hole through the ceiling and peered down. I could see nothing. I moved over to where I thought the bathroom would be and made another hole. Still nothing. I crawled over to the other side of the attic and checked the other flat, but it too was empty. The noises, I thought, must be coming from the downstairs flats.

If it, or They, were making that much noise then there would have had to be a reason, for instance that someone else was down there. That made me hesitate for a few moments until I realised that if I could hear it from up here then those outside would be able to hear it too.

I was far more concerned about the noise than about the potential for companionship. I guess that's something to do with Sam, or maybe it's just that I've survived so long on my own maybe I don't need help from someone who's managed to get themselves trapped in a clearly escapable flat. Either way that noise had to stop. It was bad enough having Them in the gym at that end of the building, if the undead starting congregating outside here too then I might end up truly stuck here with no way out.

I was better prepared this time. I was wearing extra layers, especially over the cast. The only part of my body not covered was around my eyes. I'd brought the ladder up to the attic with me so getting down would only entail opening the hatch, lowering the ladder and carefully hopping down one rung at a time.

I made too much noise. I should have wrapped the ladder in cloth or something, anything to stop it banging and clattering as I tried to manoeuvre it in such a small space. Eventually the ladder was in place, my good leg was on the top rung, my bad one hanging in mid air. That's when I noticed the heaving wheeze was getting closer. It wasn't inside the flat, It was outside in the hall, coming up the stairs. There was no time to go back up, I had to get down and face it.

Foot down, drop. Foot down, drop.

I was too slow. Twisting my head I saw it, and I know it was just a trick of the light, but I swear its eyes were glowing with a predatory glee. It lunged. I waved the crutch at it, knocked it off balance, dropped down one more rung as it lunged again. This time I twisted on the ladder, balancing on my leg with one hand, lancing the crutch straight at its head. Its momentum and the power of the blow caused it to pivot, to fly off its feet and land on its back. But with the cloth padding I'd done no damage. As soon as it was down it was trying to get back up again. The only advantage I had right then and I know this sounds utterly absurd, was that it couldn’t seem to work out whether to roll onto its right side or its left.

I dropped down one more rung. Now I was three feet from the landing. I jumped the rest of the way, hopping and twisting to face it. Now I was closer it stopped trying to roll and started thrashing at me with its arms. I knocked its arms out of the way with the crutch, stepped forward and brought down the hammer. It died.

I was breathing so hard it sounded like it was in stereo. Then I realised that it wasn't me. There were two more coming up the stairs.

One thing always puzzled me as a child, every summer we'd visit these old medieval castles and we'd be told that the staircases were designed like that so the right-handed defenders could use their swords to full effect. All those interminable tours, with their tedious re-enactments came back to me as I stood at the top of the stairs and watched as the first zombie half crawled, half walked its way towards me.

I pushed at it with the crutch, pushing it off balance and back into the creature behind it. I suppose if I had been facing living people wearing twice their body weight in metal armour this would have been a good strategy. As it was I just had to wait whilst They disentangled themselves and climbed back up.

I couldn’t reach the zombie whilst it was on the stairs, not with its arms flailing in front of it, I had to back up and wait until it was on the landing. It's hands got to the top step, onto the landing, and as it was straightening up, its hands waving in front of it as it tried to grab me, I pushed the crutch down on its shoulders, pinning it to the ground before killing it with one blow from the hammer. Then I pushed its body backwards toppling the third zombie over, knocking it down to the landing, giving myself another thirty seconds or so to catch my breath, before repeating the technique.

Finally it was over. I waited, my body tense, in case there were more but I could hear nothing beyond that eternal scuffling sound from outside.

I had to check the apartments. I mean, it was clear these were the former residents. They were just wearing normal clothes, not the kind you'd expect if they'd been outside and sought refuge here. But first I had to make sure my escape route was clear. I'd learnt my lesson, you see. I checked the ladder was secure, then pushed the two bodies to the top of the stairs. It wasn't much of a barricade, but good enough to give me a little time whilst I went inside the flats. There was nothing there. No undead, no food, no water.

I pushed the bodies to one side then went downstairs. One room was locked. From the stains, the other looked as if it was where at least one had turned. Finally I turned my attention to the room I thought the zombies had been trying to get inside.

There was a body lying on the bed. An empty pill bottle stood on the small bedside table next to an empty glass. A letter was clutched in his hands.

“To whom it may concern.

My name is Tamotso Yoshida, from Kyoto, Japan. I came to England to continue my studies in Applied Fluid Dynamics at King's College London. I am 27 years old.

I rented this flat through an agency provided by the University. Beyond an occasional nod of greeting when we passed in the hallway, I did not know the other tenants. We met properly the first day of the curfew. I returned from the laboratory to discover them huddled around the front door. With no shops open they had no reason to go out, but they were too terrified to stay in their flats.

We didn’t bond. We weren't friends. We never entirely trusted one another, but we agreed to stay together, to pool our resources, to help each other survive. We went to the University, broke into the coffee shop and stole all we could carry. It wasn't much, enough, we thought, for a month, by then the crisis would be over.

We decided not to leave when we were ordered to. The conditions the evacuees would face wherever they ended up would, at best, be unsanitary, but more likely, it would be lethal. There is no way that I can see how the government will ensure that no one who is infected will not be amongst those leaving. There simply are not the resources to examine everyone.

It was this argument that persuaded the others to stay, but I do not accept responsibility for their decision. It was theirs alone. They wanted to stay, they felt safe here. It was their choice.

We went out, always in pairs, in search of food. We broke into houses and shops and took whatever we could find. It was never more than we could carry. At first it was terrifying, then it was thrilling, but that faded as more and more of the undead appeared on the streets.

When the electricity was cut off we started to worry. When the water stopped flowing, Kashandra wanted to go outside, to get more supplies. I did not. I wanted to wait. We had enough to last for weeks. We voted. I lost.

She left early on Saturday morning. There were no undead out there at the time. She was planning to check the shops in the next street, to confirm if they were empty or not. She left with Max.

They were gone three hours and returned empty handed and silent. I knew something was wrong. But they would not say any more than they had been unsuccessful.

Kashandra developed a fever around two pm. By three she was unconscious. At four she died, a minute later she came back and attacked Max. I ran from the room into here, where we'd stored our food. I closed the door in Talil's face. He hammered at the door. I ignored him, ignored his screams as they killed him. Ignored him when he came back and began hammering at the door once more.

Now the food is gone, and I am down to the last glass of water.

This is not death, it is peace. Good bye.”

16:30

Who am I to judge him? Would I have done any differently? I'd like to think I'd have fought, but how long did I stay in my house, all locked up and safe. When I was trapped in the gym, or when I thought I’d been infected, if I'd still had enough pills... No, it isn't for me to judge him or anyone else.

I’ve run out of water, and now all I have left is the last bottle of coke. I've taken a look around, but there isn't anything here, not even clean clothes. I've returned the letter and pulled the door to, maybe someone will come looking for him one day, but I doubt it.

19:00

The wall sealing the attic in Tomotso's flat with the next one is much thicker, at least three bricks deep, with fresh looking cement. I just spent an hour working at it and only managed to remove two bricks. At this rate I'll have died of dehydration before I break through, and then what? I can't risk finding nothing on the other side. Instead, tomorrow, I’m going out the front door.

I've brought everything useful I can't carry up to the attic space and I’m going to take the door key with me. It comes to at least three weeks worth of food. That's no guarantee I’ll be able to get back in, but I like the idea of somewhere to fall back to. I'll carry what I can and make a run (ha) for it.

I can't work out if I've had mostly good luck so far, or mostly bad.

Day 49, Bermondsey, London.

16:00

Either They are getting slower or I’m getting faster. I’m sure it's the latter. I didn't have to kill any of Them today. Then again, I’m only a few hundred yards from where I started and the day is far from over.

They didn’t notice me at first, I had time to close the door to the flats and maybe, just maybe They didn’t spot where I was coming from. Maybe that flat will still be safe if I need to go back. Maybe the undead don't care where I came from, maybe that would require more reasoning than They are capable of, but I only got twelve paces before I was spotted and the chase began.

We can manage about the same speed, Them and me, and by the time I'd reached the junction at the end of the block the zombies from the side of the building had spotted me. It became quickly apparent that I'd no chance outpacing Them.

I know glancing behind is meant to slow you down, or maybe that's only for sprinters, but I had to look. I wish I hadn't. There were dozens of gaping snarling mouths, pursuing me with one terrible purpose. I knew, out in the open, They would catch me. Without the time to select a refuge, I headed to this building site. It's the was-soon-to-
open
-but-now-never-will Havingdon Estate. A mixture of prime retail and premium housing, in one of the most desirable, yada-yada. It was going to be just another generic block of flats with shops underneath. They got as far as putting in the concrete structure, the foundations, the lift shafts and four of the floors, but not the plumbing, walls, windows or doors.

The padlock on the entrance had already been broken, a chain looped around the door kept it closed. Clearly someone else has been here, but whoever they are they've left no trace of where they went.

I’m on the second floor of a small low building off to one side of the main construction site. There's no lift shaft, so it clearly wasn't going to be as big as the main building, but what it was intended to be, I've no idea. What it has become is my fortress for the night, and it's a good one!

There was a scaffolding walkway between it and the next building and no other way to get up here. I've pulled the walkway back now. Even if the undead do get into the site I can pull the walkway across and over onto the other side, balance it on the fence and sort of drop down onto the street below.