by Jackson Lear
Part 2.
Rachel just came in with news. She’s lost eight kilos since arriving in Spain. She’s back to wearing some of her old clothes from this time last year.
I, too, have lost some weight, as a result of walking around Europe for two months.
I really hope the government doesn’t consider me as a high risk traveller, given all the countries I’ve visited in the last two months. (Yes, dumbass, that’s exactly what they think you are. Stop being an idiot.)
It’s still sweltering here. I’m sticky from sweat all day and all night. I wake up at dawn and fall asleep several times during the day until the heat gets the better of me and I wake up again. God damn no air conditioning. The day time isn’t too bad. It gets to a high of 35, but the night … fucking hell. It doesn’t go below 25. I can’t sleep at anything above 22. 20 would be ideal. I’ve been stuffing t-shirts into the freezer for an hour before I try to go to bed, then I put that on and shiver for a few minutes. Just as I’m about to drift off I become too hot again and have to take off my t-shirt.
Shaun of the Dead. I’ve seen this one three times already. Don’t intentionally crash a car so that you have to use someone else’s Jaguar. You might need that car after all. Don’t stand next to windows. Never give up.
Part 3.
Rachel’s good mood didn’t last long. She’s asked me to keep this to myself: Katy found a lump in her breast. Rachel was asked to check it out. Rachel couldn’t find it but Katy said she could feel it whenever Rachel pressed her fingers in. There are no marks or spots but Katy is freaking out. Rachel is torn between believing Katy or thinking that it might be psychosomatic. I wouldn’t know which to believe either. Katy has been known to be a drama queen but even this seems cruel, so I’m going to believe her until something is confirmed. It’s just safer that way.
We’re running out of booze and food again. Someone is watching old episodes of South Park on the computer in the lounge.
I don’t know how many more zombie films I can watch. I guess the overall lesson is: be overly prepared, overly cautious, find somewhere inaccessible by walkers.
I also don’t know how many more of Ediz’s jokes I can write down before I really have to start apologising to everyone I’ve ever met. “My brother was in a bad accident when he was a kid. To cheer him up we got him a dog. The pet shelter warned us that the one we picked out was particularly retarded, so my brother called him Names.”
25 July
Oh, for fuck’s sake! Eastbourne has been quarantined. Mum called and now wishes that she and Dad had stayed in London. It wasn’t worth the three day drive just to be quarantined. There are reported cases in Eastbourne and there have been shots fired, presumably by the police or the army, but who knows?
This thing is certainly helping my geography. The Brazilian infection has spread to Uruguay, Argentina, Paraguay, and Suriname. Andorra, on the border of Spain and France, has reported twelve fatalities. This thing is right on our doorstep. The east side of India has close to a thousand resurrected. Greece and Turkey have more than a hundred fatalities each. Egypt has reported an infection as well.
So, 23 countries are in trouble. We’re going to have a 24th if this thing travels a few kilometres south from Andorra and reaches Barcelona.
The last estimate (and still wildly inaccurate) is 20,000 fatalities. It seems as though the news are just guessing these numbers right now.
The pesticide thing they’re spraying throughout the city is awful. None of the windows are open and still we can smell and taste it. It reaks of bile. I caught a whiff and it actually sealed up my throat so that I couldn’t breathe any more of it in. Worse still, they haven’t got to our area yet. They’re focussing on the more likely areas first and slowly making their way down.
There’s no real conversation here. I asked Rachel what she really would do if Madrid was hit. She said she would stuff her face with food and not care about her looks any more. I was hoping for more of an actual strategy, since I’m her guest and I might need her help to get me out of the country. Derek said he would try to sleep with every girl in the apartment. Cristina was open to that only if Madrid was closed off, but she told Derek that he better promise to be spectacular before she even considered it.
So far they’re saying that animals aren’t infected (not even the rats), but they can carry it. So a dog bite can pass on the virus even if the dog isn’t a zombie.
The National Guard in the States have lined up along the border of Mexico. There are helicopters, gun ships, and drones flying around shooting anyone who crosses the border illegally. Note how I said ‘shooting anyone’ and not ‘ready to shoot anyone’.
Rachel, Louise, and I have to go to the British embassy today (Louise, despite being Irish, is here on a British passport). We’ve all called them and they have our details already, but they need to see our passports and find out how we’re doing. They’ll probably also make us do a health check. I wish we could just stay indoors and not leave the apartment. If there is someone infected then making everyone go together in a giant mob isn’t going to be real helpful. We have to be there at 12:45.
No one has slept properly in a week.
Part 2.
We’re back from the embassy. It was two hours of waiting and three hours of being questioned. They made us do a health check and they wanted to verify all of our details. Sure enough, they weren’t remotely happy when I told them that I’ve been backpacking through Europe for two months. They brought me into a special room where they checked my shoes and the dirt on them (these were my spare shoes, my travelling shoes were still at Rachel’s). They asked for dates and specific locations for where I was, what hostel I stayed at, who my roommates were, what time did I arrive and all that. I couldn’t remember most of it. The longest I stayed in a single hostel was four nights. I suspect that if I brought my diary along (as it actually has the dates and locations within) then it would have been taken and read by someone who doesn’t need to read it. I should have also brought my old sudoku book. I was writing notes to myself just after finishing each puzzle, like: ‘On the train to Amsterdam now, there’s a girl here who looks like Donna Noble, only she’s 20.’ Stupid stuff like that. I finished that book in Nice and wouldn’t have brought it to the embassy either. So I was bored. Rachel and Louise were done first and went back home. For a while I wondered what would happen if they detained me until after the curfew kicked in. Would they give me a comfy bed in an air conditioned room? Or would I be in a hospital bed being jabbed and prodded?
The landlady came while we were gone. Apparently she is not happy at all. She expects everyone to pay extra because some of us have overstayed our visit. She wanted the money upfront, right then, in cash. It’s a good thing I wasn’t there because I’m staying there … illegally? There’s hardly anything legal about this place. It’s an apartment with twelve people (supposedly) crammed inside.
Cristina wasn’t having any of it. She and the landlady were battling it out for an hour. Everyone has already paid (except for myself and Louise). Cristina said that price gouging was illegal and we have all paid at least until the end of the month. She also demanded to see a return of the deposit that the newbie had paid for Louise’s bed. That stumped the landlady for a while and she didn’t understand why Cristina wanted to see it. It turns out that the landlady stumbled a bit and asked why she would have to pay it back. It looks like the landlady wanted to charge double use of Louise’s bed at an increased price. Cristina jumped on the phone to register her complaint against the landlady, who is also in violation of numerous laws and terms of service, things like ensuring the maintenance of the apartment (hey, remember the clogged toilet that the landlady said was not her problem and that we had to fix it? Cristina asked how expensive it would be for the landlady to fix overflowing sewage once everyone left). She also demanded to know where the air conditioners are as it is specified in the rental agreement that there are three in the apartment. Turns out there are zero. Cristina k
ept saying, “Shut the fuck up and show me where the air conditioners are.” Only she did it in Spanish. The landlady feigned a language barrier so Cristina grabbed her contract and highlighted the section in question.
“You understood me perfectly well the other day over the phone when you told me to contact a plumber. You didn’t even ask me to repeat myself. How about you write down exactly what your demands are, date it, sign it, and we’ll make a few copies so that everyone here can compare their rental agreement to your new one.”
I need to marry an Italian, plain and simple.
The landlady left, presumably to get her husband. Cristina instigated a new policy with the door. She left her key in the lock, thereby preventing anyone from unlocking the door from the outside. People had to knock to be let in and only housemates (and me) are allowed inside. After hearing that, I offered the last of my wine and vodka to the household as a thank you for not kicking me out. Cristina said I was like family so of course she wouldn’t kick me out.
Nadia came back to start packing her things. She’s going to stay here tonight and then head back to her friends tomorrow.
The French girl is having sex again next door. No one else is really in the mood. I have a headache from the pesticide, plus over drinking and under sleeping has put a strain on my libido. I mumbled something to Rachel. She said, “Well I just got my period today, so no.” I swear I wasn’t even talking about sex. I can’t remember what I was talking about but I know she misheard me. Either way, Rachel and I will not be getting it on any time soon. I’m okay with that. As much as I would like to sleep with every girl in here (except for Louise, she seems like a bad lay), I don’t expect any of them to start putting out. Plus, I have to live in such close proximity to Rachel that I don’t want to risk getting in her bad books. I’m also hiding my diary in my bag in case someone starts reading it.
Oh, I did walk in on the French girl and her guy in the bathroom today. It wasn’t anything terrific. She had a towel around her waist and he was hugging her from behind. I saw them for all of one second and jumped back while apologising.
Which reminds me, I was sitting on the toilet yesterday and Ediz walked in on me. I’ve adopted the attitude of not caring.
We have problems here with laundry. There are no clothes racks to dry our clothes indoors and there’s no way we can leave them out all day with the pesticide in the air. It’s awkward and everything is drying on what few hangers we have. Michael put up a length of cord between some of the rooms so now everyone’s underwear and t-shirts are on display for the world to see. I mean, we’ve all walked in on each other in the bathroom, we’ve all seen pretty much everything up on the rooftop, so what’s the big deal with a little underwear action?
I’ve been downloading a lot of Youtube videos covering basic survival skills. How to light a fire, how to perform CPR, how to treat burns, bites, cuts.
Undead: watch your naughty language, don’t be pregnant. Half-headless zombies can still be a threat so if you’re going to blow someone’s head off you have to blow it all off. Don’t leave the brain stem in tact.
26 July
It’s barely 1am and I can’t imagine anyone in the city is asleep. There’s gunfire in the street and lots of it. A constant pop pop pop and the sound of trucks and cars driving through. We don’t have a great view of Gran Vía from our apartment but we can hear it loud and clear. Every building we can see has a light on and people are staring out the window. It’s not coming from one direction either. The gunfire has covered the city and there’s nothing on the TV or Internet about it. We were all standing in Katy and Louise’s bedroom trying to get the best view.
Pop pop pop. Ten minutes go by, then another quick burst. We have no idea what’s going on. Everyone in the house is dressed with shoes on, ready to run. It’s the middle of the night and we wouldn’t stand a chance at surviving until dawn if the zombies pounced now.
We’re surrounded by the desert and still we’re not safe here. It doesn’t take a single zombie to crawl through the desert to mess us up, it takes a single flea that travelled here two weeks ago to do that job. I have no idea what the police are shooting at but hopefully it’s just looters.
Let’s also hope that the shops will be open in the morning so that we don’t become looters ourselves.
Part 2.
It’s 3am. The gun battle is over but now there is a more pressing issue: the Internet is down. None of us can get online. The phone lines are down as well. The TV is playing static as if Spain has flipped the switch to ‘off’. What the hell are they trying to do, stop us from panicking? I thought the Internet was designed to be non-offable during a time of crisis. That’s what it was built for!
Part 3.
I managed to sleep from about 4:30 until 8. Now I’m wrecked. Rachel is still asleep so I’m out in the lounge. No one else is here. I guess they’re all asleep, although I do hear someone in the shower. No idea who. Still no TV. Still no Internet.
Part 4.
Holy crap, did I pass out or what? With no open windows, no fans, no AC, a Spanish summer … we’re all dying in here.
It’s almost 10pm now and I must have slept for twelve hours straight. I didn’t even realise it. Rachel said she got up at twelve, had something to eat, a cold shower, even got changed in here, and I never even stirred. She said I was either a gentleman or completely zonked out. At 3 o’clock Rachel went back to bed. It seems to be the same with everyone else. Now we can’t leave the house again and we have no idea what was happening with the gun battle. Cristina was trying to find out from the neighbours across the stairs but they don’t know either. Still no threatening landlady, so that’s good.
I’ve been here now for two weeks and was only expecting to stay for five days or so. I really owe Rachel a big favour for putting up with me. She’s dying for some chocolate but there’s nothing in the house. She wants an emergency care package flown in.
I’ve done a quick stocktake of my supplies. 7 boxers, 7 pairs of socks, 7 t-shirts, 1 good shirt, 2 hoodies, 4 pairs of shorts, 2 pairs of jeans, 1 pair of black cargo pants, 1 bum bag, 1 belt wallet, 2 pairs of shoes, shaving kit, after-sun skin-care kit, moisturiser, basic walking around first-aid kit (mostly band-aids, vaseline, blister needle, aspirin), 1 bottle of water, toilet paper, 3 packs of tissues, 5 plastic bags, 1 hat, wallet, watch, sunglasses, phone, phone charger, tablet, mp3 player, a deck of cards, 3 pens, sudoku book, diary.
Things I need to get: a can opener, matches and fire lighters, a proper first-aid kit.
There’s a quiet game of cards going on in the lounge. People are smoking pot. Rachel is watching and getting passively stoned. She’s a giggler, it seems.
Sofia was a little glass-half-full a while ago. She wrote up thirteen sheets of paper with her contact details and emergency numbers. We’ve all filled them out, which took forever, so now we each have everyone’s name and a couple of phone numbers and addresses. We’ve all accepted friend requests but this gives us another way to stay in contact with no Internet.
Finally, after two weeks, I have the names of the three French kids: Camille, Luke, and Robert. I can figure out who Camille is but I have no idea which of the guys is which.
Tomorrow it’s vital we get to the shops.
28 July
Well shit. This is extremely very not good. Yesterday I didn’t write anything for one simple reason: I was too depressed. We went to the shops and they were closed. So we went to the other shops and they were closed. We walked around for three hours trying to find somewhere that was open and we managed to find a small fruit and vegetable place that was selling the last of their food. The guy assured us it would all be gone by the evening. Rachel and I were able to get two single kilo packs of pasta shells and a five kilo pack of rice (plus fruit and vegetables). The rice was a bitch to carry.
On our way back to the apartment we saw something disconcerting: a mob of people, all walking down the street with suitcases, all directed by the military. People are
being evacuated. I couldn’t see the front of the crowd nor the rear, but I did see a lot of wheeled tanks. Rachel and I kept out of sight and remained quiet but the feeling was loud and clear: don’t let the guys with guns take us away. We didn’t have our backpacks so we’d be fucked if we had to survive without them. Of course, at that point all of our shopping became incredibly heavy and the bags were cutting into our fingers. It took an hour of detours just to get back home.
We saw a couple of dead rats on the street. That didn’t fill us with much joy either. We’ve each checked ourselves over for any red spots. We’re covered in them. I’m hoping it’s just a heat rash and not actual flea bites.
Everyone in the apartment sat around and got stoned. There wasn’t much else to do with no TV or Internet. It’s the end of the world and we’re getting stoned. Wheee. I soon fell asleep.
There were more gun battles in the evening, starting at 9pm. There was a helicopter flying nearby with a loud speaker and a spotlight repeatedly telling the person to stop moving and lie on the ground. After five minutes there were a number of gun shots.
So: zombies appear to have arrived in Madrid. I can’t confirm anything with my own two eyes but that seems to be what’s happened.
What good are these stupid apps if there is no Internet?
Last night we came up with a list of rules and good ideas for surviving a zombie apocalypse. It’s a shame we were still stoned because a lot of them were quite funny.
1) Always travel with someone else, even to the bathroom. (We haven’t started doing that one yet.)
