Eight Days - original content - exclusive to Steemit

I finally gave up the fight to remain in my home and took a leap into the unknown. Three months on and I’m not exactly living on the streets, that’s far too dangerous, but I am of ‘no fixed abode’.

It’s surprising how resourceful one can become if pushed to the limits.

I lived on my own before, so loneliness isn’t really a factor but I do cherish my dog, Rex. He’s been a faithful and loyal companion over the years and has proven his worth just lately.

I took a few things as I left my house for the last time, a large, warm, if scruffy coat, an over-sized workman’s coat which fits snug over the other one so adds waterproofing to the warmth, an extra pair of boots, a thick blanket, a set of National Trust binoculars I’d received as a thank you for joining, a bottle of water and a roll of bin liners. Everything was packed into a rucksack with one of the bin liners keeping the contents dry. There was no food to take, I’d eaten it, even the pre-sell by dated macaroni cheese – needs must and all that but I won’t be trying it again – ever!

My car was gone, stolen by some scumbag no doubt. It wasn’t much and it had hardly any petrol in it, which is probably why I found it abandoned less than a mile from home. The key to the car was in my coat pocket, I locked the door to my house perhaps by habit and the keys were on the same key ring. On a whim I opened the lid of the boot and I’m glad I did. The handle for the jack has come in handy a few times.

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It’s not so bad living on my wits, finding shelter in an abandoned house or shop every few days. I always wondered what would happen under these circumstances, when the great steaming pile of everything the gods could throw finally hit the whirling turbine of the universal fan, I never realised I could adapt so well. I suppose living as a recluse for three months holed up in my house helped a hell of a lot. I’ve got an advantage over everyone that spent the winter months outside through the mild, but wet winter. I don’t have trench foot or pleurisy (yet). I have good health because I’ve had clean water and have eaten relatively regularly.

Contrary to popular belief, when the end of the world came, the electricity supplies didn’t shut down, they’re powered by nuclear power stations and wind turbines for a good proportion so a lot of things are still running on auto pilot – although I’m not sure how long it will be the case.

I think people panicked and left their homes in droves hoping the government would take care of them – fat chance! The government didn’t do much to take care of Joe Public when there wasn’t an emergency situation; it certainly wasn’t going to put itself in harm’s way once everything went to hell. That’s what got the majority of them killed. Instead of hiding away out of sight for as long as they could; going out into the mayhem meant death for most people.

I used to stand up in my attic and watch crowds walking along the motorway between the cars. On the first day there were hundreds, thousands perhaps. I have no idea why all the cars were grid locked, it wouldn’t have been my choice to take the same road that every man and his dog would be travelling. The second and third days were much the same as the first. I suppose the people got it into their heads that the grass would be greener elsewhere and the motorway was the straightest route to get them there. They should have known better.

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I spent the first week making sure my home was as secure as I could make it and that it looked abandoned and not worth the effort to ransack. I didn’t want anyone breaking in, not for any reason.

Days four and five I was too busy to look out of the attic window but on day six the motorway was deserted, nothing moved. It was eerie and gave me the creeps.

The television was still working but I hadn’t thought to watch it since the announcement that the country was in a state of national emergency and everyone should stay in their homes until further notice.

There wasn’t a newsreader, there wasn’t even a picture to speak of, just a test card saying ‘National Emergency, remain in your homes if possible.’

I don’t have a radio so I couldn’t try to tune in a local station to get any more news. I went back up into the attic and watched from my window.

Day eight was when things took a turn for the worse. The motorway was no longer deserted, there were people dodging through the stationary traffic; I suppose they were looting the vehicles. Fights broke out and though my house isn’t close enough to see many details, the National Trust binoculars I’d found in a drawer gave me the opportunity to see more than I wanted to.

I saw a gang of young men discover a woman and her three young children in the car where they had been taking shelter overnight. The young men dragged them from the car and the little forlorn group stood huddled together as mum talked to them. Suddenly, the negotiations were over and the kid she was carrying was ripped from her arms. As she went to grab it back, one of her attackers punched her in the face. The two older kids tried to run. They ran between the cars, keeping low and holding hands. I kept losing sight of them because I was trying to keep an eye on their mother and her struggle. The two little runaways were caught and dragged back to their mother’s side. I couldn’t stop watching, it was compelling viewing I’m afraid. I was fascinated and disgusted and then, when they had finished with her, they killed the kids as she screamed.

It was just like watching a particularly gruesome film on TV – for a short while. Then I realised what I’d seen and I got scared and I started to formulate my plan.

Eight days for the civilised world to turn feral. Eight days for anarchy and violence to erupt. Eight days, one more day than God (if you believe the stories) took to create the world – the mind boggles.

The street I lived on was vacated. Most of the cars were gone, stolen or used by their owners, to flee. I hope they made it; my neighbours weren’t so bad I suppose, I didn’t speak with many of them.

The first time I saw the reason for the National Emergency up close and personal, my blood ran cold. I know that’s an old cliché but when the time comes, it’s a real phenomena, trust me. If it hadn’t have been for Rex, I’d be dead now.

I was out scouting the area for supplies – yeah, scavenging for food doesn’t have the same ring, does it? OK, I was three doors down from my house; I’d hopped over the back fences and was trying the doors to see if any were unlocked. The third house was unlocked and I walked in. I knew Mr and Mrs Russell, they were nice people. I called out to see if they were still there. “Mr Russell? Eric? Betty?” But there was no answer. I suppose I should have just left once I’d filled the rucksack from the kitchen cupboards and legged it but I didn’t. I went upstairs to see if they were still there.

There was no one in the house but I’d left the back door open – yes, it was a novice mistake but it was a lesson I’ve never forgotten. Eric Russell’s corpse came lumbering in through the back door as I was making my way down the stairs and as I said before, my blood ran cold and I stared at it. They’re not fast, but they’re faster than I was at that moment. I was rooted to the stairs, my feet wouldn’t shift, my fingers were gripped to the banister and I was simply waiting for it to come and pluck me like a ripe apple. All it had to do was reach up.

Well, they’re not so clever, are they? It was trying to reach through the stair rails, rather than continuing along the hall to the bottom of the staircase. I was a little too high up but it was trying anyway.

Rex came barrelling in through the back door, snarling for all he’s worth and believe me, a full grown Rottie is worth his weight in gold when it comes to saving his buddy (me).
Rex hit the corpse at around thigh height and sent it sprawling. He leaped off it without biting but kept his eye on it. My feet unfroze, my fingers let go and I descended a couple of stairs, leaped over the banister and blazed a trail after Rex. I grabbed my rucksack and followed him home.

I didn’t even know how he’d got over (through) the fence at that point; I was just pleased that he had. I calmed my nerves and went back out into the garden with Rex on guard as I repaired the Rottie-sized hole in one fence panel. The back garden was secure again.
Day twelve and I saw the corpses start collecting together in greater numbers. It seems even in death, humans like to be amongst company. There’s safety in numbers – I crack myself up sometimes.

I would have stayed in my house for longer than three months but next door, though they weren’t ‘so bad’ were terrible DIYers, always drilling and banging, and I think one of their projects had either been interrupted in the middle or they hadn’t completed it properly. One of the pipes was leaking from their attic into mine. If it had been water, I would have coped, channelled it off and used the main stopcock in the street to stop the water, but it was their gas pipes that had gone and I’m resilient and all that, but not explosion-proof.

“I’ll find another base for us,” I told Rex as we set off.

Standing in the attic all those times had given me a fair idea of how the corpses worked. They seemed to have a semblance of a routine – if you can call it that. Cold certainly hinders them, they can’t function well in the freezing temperatures but as spring comes on and turns to summer, I suppose they’ll be more active. It would be best if I had established a base before the weather got too good.

I haven’t ventured far from home, I know the area better than anywhere else and anything that gives me an advantage is welcome.

I’ve seen a lot more violence in recent weeks than I’ve ever known. It’s traumatising and my sleep is fitful at best, shot through with nightmares. Rex is a great guard and his senses are far better than mine but I can’t sleep properly, not even on the odd occasion when I find us somewhere secure to stay.

I’m learning more about the corpses all the time; they’re dead and reanimated of course. It’s the dreaded ‘zombie apocalypse’ but it’s not like anything I ever saw in the films or read in stories. For a start, a headshot doesn’t work, destroying the brain is difficult and useless - what brain, they’re dead. Decapitating doesn’t work; it just sends a headless corpse stumbling about, bumping into things and even then their hands still try to claw and tear and I can’t think of anything more ironic than to be killed for food by something that couldn’t eat you. The only thing I’ve found that stops them is fire.

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It’s macabre and disturbing watching bodies burn. Yeah I saw the SFX on films as a flailing body thrashed in the middle of flames until it collapsed, dead. That’s not how it works with these corpses. They carry on stumbling towards you as they burn (that’s why you have to run away) and even when the fire is out, they’re still moving for a while. I don’t know if anything kills them, but fire stops them coming after me.

The corpses aren’t as dangerous as other things I’ve encountered. True they’re mindless eating machines but set them on fire and run away and you’re relatively safe. No, it’s the live humans that are dangerous. Dog eat dog, kill or be killed, survival of the fittest have never been truer than now. I’ve been attacked for my coat, my boots, my rucksack and even Rex but I’ve been lucky so far. Well, when I say ‘lucky’ I mean I’ve been good at wielding the jack handle and Rex has been faithful. I really need to get myself a great base to fortify and a long-range weapon would be useful too. Guns are out of the question, where on earth would I get a gun from? The only places I can think of that would hold firearms are an Army base or a police station that had armed officers – I live out in the sticks, not the metropolis so there’s no chance. If I found a way in to the police station, the best I could hope to find would be an extendable baton. I may as well save myself the bother and keep tight hold of the jack handle.

I had an idea and I was slowly making my way towards it; there was a place out in the countryside where they had archery and knife throwing; target practice etc. It may be a long shot but I think I’ll make my way there.

If you find this journal, know this, I won’t give up. I’ll find somewhere to hole up in and I’ll survive – me and Rex will make it.

“Come on Rex, time to go.”