by Jackson Lear
Part 2.
The river turned out to be a mark of genius. Two of the guys had nets and we each had a fish to ourselves. I usually don’t like fish but I devoured this one quickly. It only took a few minutes on the fire and it was one of the most satisfying meals I’ve ever had.
There are two Omar’s here, an Akim, Ali, Aziz, and I can’t remember the other names. Forgive me. I will learn them all in time. I introduced myself to everyone and thanked them all. I made an effort to be more social, especially since someone caught me a fish and let me use their water filter so I could drink. Oh, and someone also drove me here and I have no way to pay for their petrol. I did my best to smile and I actually sang a few songs. Everyone knows the Star Wars theme and I tried to re-enact that movie in two minutes. Everything was fine until I started to pew pew lasers with a resounding boom at the end. Only then did I remember that everyone here is escaping a civil war.
It’s getting cold. It might be the first cool night I’ve had since leaving Paris.
There are seventeen of us sitting around five cars. I’m here with people who were born in Algeria, have never left the country, and it took a madman from Haiti to change all of that. Want to know something that’s troubling these people? When the zombies speak as a single voice it isn’t Boyer’s. It belongs to someone else.
You know what? Just about everyone thinks they will survive a zombie apocalypse. I’m looking around everyone and there isn’t a single person who was adequately prepared, even when the first sign of zombies emerged. The only people who think they’re ready are crazy Americans who go off to the wilderness in a cabin with stockpiles of food. That’s not dealing with the situation, that’s running and hiding, like we’re all doing right now. Dealing with it is putting an end to the zombie horde so that humans can reclaim the Earth as their own.
I spent a solid hour helping a guy fix his car. I don’t know anything about the engine but I did what I could to help out. It turns out the notes and diagrams I downloaded are useful only in theory. Practice reveals that I’m inept. I stared under the bonnet then climbed into the car a few times to try and get it started. I’m guessing there was a problem with the radiator and it was rattling against something else, so we tied a bunch of long grass around the grill to hold it in place.
One of the Algerian’s asked how old we all are. They were surprised to hear that I’m twenty three. I’m not sure if I look younger or older to them, but most of the guys here are in their forties or fifties. We’re just kids in their eyes. I’m still waiting for that moment when I feel like an adult. So far it hasn’t happened. My dad said that feeling only really kicks in when your kid starts primary school, so I’m a long way off.
Part 3.
It’s late and few of us can sleep. The Algerians ask us what the rest of the world is like, mostly in regards to the zombie outbreak. We ask the Algerians what it’s like as well. It’s just your basic exchange of information. I was able to go through my diary and pull out some numbers of infected countries. I’m glad I wrote that down, it shows that I might have some use after all. People are still huddled together in whisper mode. Some of them think they can wait it out right where we are. They talk about the previous uprisings in northern Africa, so they have a fair idea of how long it takes rebels or government fighters to battle it out before there is a cease-fire. I can’t imagine the zombies will agree to a cease-fire. Seven months seems to be the consensus of how long it takes to overthrow a government and defeat the last of the old regime. They’ve been at it for two months already, so our group is wondering if they can survive here for five more months before they risk going back home.
I asked Rachel about waiting here. She’s determined to get back to her mum and she’s been crying because she knew it was a mistake to head south in Spain instead of north. I actually agree. We’ve had a clusterfuck of problems since going south. It always felt as though we didn’t have a choice, but we did. We just took the easier way and tagged along. Crossing the Mediterranean was also a mistake. Cristina and Ediz agree. If we stayed in Spain we would’ve had a chance, but we can’t seem to sit still. We’re trying to stay together while having three different destinations in mind.
There’s no way we’re going to wait for five months when even the two weeks next to Gibraltar was a nightmare. I imagine we could stay here for a couple of days but that will be the height of it. We’ll sit around tomorrow, kinda relaxing, trying to settle in, but the next day will be unbearable. There will be the heat of Algeria to contend with and the restless burden that we should be doing something instead of sitting around. Then the third day will be miserable and we’ll come up with contingency plans. People will be sunburned and covered in blisters. We’ll smell. People will start pissing in the river or using it to bathe and it will scare away the fish or make us sick if we drink the water. Then we’ll remember that zombie apocalypses don’t get easier, they only get worse, so while we’re waiting in the middle of nowhere something bad is happening everywhere else. I give us a week, tops. After that, we’re leaving. In the meantime I’ve been studying my arse off with these phrases I’ve got from Rachel, Cristina, Ediz, and other people.
My hands are blistered to hell from trying to light a fire with sticks and tinder. I have a lighter and some matches but I’m going to have to learn how to do this one day. I have a tiny magnifying glass as well but that will only work in direct sunlight.
My first aid kit is running low. I’ve used a lot of disinfectant on people’s hands and feet, wrapped some gauze around cuts and wounds. Mostly people are deciding to leave their cuts to the open air.
I broke the ice by showing my phone and photos to everyone. They liked seeing the pretty girls and the silly faces we made, especially some of the roommates from Madrid. Sofia, Louise, Katy, Camille, Nadia … I have no idea where any of them are. Some of the guys laughed, nodded and pointed to whatever girl I was with. Then they pulled out their own phones and showed me their families. There was a little girl smiling with her hair in a blue ribbon. I was sitting next to her grandfather and he kept repeating her name, but for the life of me I can’t remember. I was running out of battery so I had to turn off my phone. Thankfully I still have my solar powered charger but it’s a cheap piece of shit that will take days to recharge. There’s no signal here. Can’t call anyone or get online.
Once again, we’re sleeping in the wilderness with no protection from a zombie if it happens to stumble along and find us. The wildlife keeps snapping my attention around. We can’t stay here for months. One of those things will eventually get here. They always do. They just keep coming and coming. The wait will drive us towards an act of stupidity.
It was awkward when the men here started to pray. It’s painfully obvious that we are outsiders and dependent on their kindness.
I’ve noticed that people fall into two categories: good guys and arseholes. You can usually tell right away who is who. So far there’s only one arsehole in our group but I’m trying not to jump to any conclusions. He didn’t seem the least bit interested in shaking my hand.
12 September
Boyer is on the radio. Everyone is listening quietly, no one is interrupting. I don’t speak Algerian. I have no idea what’s going on. A couple of times the group looked around at myself, Rachel, and Cristina. I guess Boyer is talking about foreigners.
Part 2.
Okay, we’ve been given a translated summary. Boyer is doing away with the old regime. He’s trying to unite the people. He had a slight mention of the zombie horde, saying that the old government has allowed the misery to rise and that previous atrocities are coming back to haunt them. He also said that foreigners, invaders and ‘The West’ will be hunted down and exiled. Algeria will not fall under a new colonial power. I guess that explains why everyone was looking at us. He called us spies and agents of the Devil.
He’s your typical politician, I suppose. He speaks out against the bad stuff that happens in government while he does exactly the same, then h
e blames someone else and keeps on doing it. If he’s got control of the radio then he has more power than the opposition. Perhaps these zombies have a controlled agenda and they aren’t just mindless wanderers. If they can speak with the one voice then maybe the one voice can guide them towards a radio station and take it over.
Why has no single government trusted its people with the truth? None of them have told us exactly what is going on or how to deal with the situation. They’re just protecting their own arses by keeping everyone else in the dark and hoping we’ll trust them when the dust settles.
15 September
Needless to say, we didn’t stay long by the river. Cristina was eager to leave because she ran out of tampons.
We’ve arrived in Ghardaia, a place that took a few minutes to spell and about an hour to pronounce correctly. I’m told we’re in the middle of the northern part of the country, far from the coast. I asked for a distance and was told we’re a two day drive. It took us two days to drive here from the river. It was too bumpy to write anything in the car. When we did stop it was to repair broken wheels or busted radiators or something else. We worked through last night to fix an exhaust pipe that hit a rock and was rattling about. I may have slept for four hours in the last two days.
The Algerians who brought us have been beyond hospitable. We parked the cars at the entrance of the city. Us, being tourists, waited in the back of the cars while people got a good look at us. The guys we’ve been travelling with went out and tried to find places for us to stay. They were gone for an hour and came back with clothes. We’re dressed in turbans and full desert attire. We don’t blend in at all. I feel like a janitor who’s wearing his first suit to go to a wedding surrounded by upper class snobs. The turbans have face wraps and the guys tried to show us how to put them on correctly. Cristina and Rachel are in burkas. If anyone knows we’re white then they might be compelled to report us to the authorities. The walk from the car to the middle of town was a little surreal. It’s as shoulder to shoulder as Disneyland on a free-entry day. It’s also really obvious with our backpacks and lack of local knowledge that we don’t belong here.
Ghardaia, I must say, is somewhere I would return to if this wasn’t the end of the world. It’s a tightly packed, small city where everything looks like it’s made from mud brick. The city is built in the desert so there’s sand everywhere. There aren’t so much roads as pathways. There’s no concrete at all. Most people are wearing t-shirts and baseball caps, so it’s even harder to blend in with our borrowed outfits. We’re avoiding the main ‘roads’ as much as possible and we’ve kept to the outskirts of town.
We’re staying on someone’s floor. It’s a one-room ground-floor apartment. The owner, Ahmed, lives in this tiny room and has offered it to the four of us. It’s a little scary knowing that all of our Algerian contacts have left. Perhaps they’re rounding up the police, but I’ve had nothing but good vibes from our driver so I’m trying to stay optimistic. Cristina, Rachel, and Ediz are quietly shitting themselves but I’m doing my best to reinforce some positive thinking. If this blows up in my face they’ll never believe me again. If it works well then I might regain some of their trust.
I’m not sure why I think I’ve lost their trust, perhaps because I had a migraine not too long ago and they all but had to carry me to safety. It’s been an uneasy ride through all of this and there are times when we just wanted to kill each other. We’re making nothing but bad decisions and we all recognise it, but sometimes making a bad decision is better than making no decision.
We should have gone to Rabat with Azeem and Lalla.
It’s occurred to me that I’ve been sleeping next to Rachel for two months. The four of us are barely capable of talking to each other, but we don’t dare leave each other in case we get separated for good. Who knows when a zombie will come out here? Who knows when the police will throw us into a cell and go through our things again? I sleep with my back pack as a pillow and I still wake up three times a night to make sure it’s still there.
The convoy of cars decided on Ghardaia because it really is in the middle of nowhere. Algiers could be nuked and Ghardaia will just keep on going. I doubt the zombies would make it far through the desert, either. As strange as it sounds, Africa might end up doing the best out of this apocalypse since there are large stretches of inhospitable land which makes it a nuisance for a zombie to walk through. Not that it would care, mind you.
Part 2.
Ahmed came back. He’s a cook. He’s also just nineteen. He has cracked skin and wrinkles which make him look thirty. He brought us back some dates and dessert from his restaurant. Ediz was speaking to him and he says there hasn’t been a single zombie in the area. Ahmed says it’s ridiculous that the rest of the world believes what is happening. I guess they’re a little isolated here.
We got an update from Algiers. Fighter jets and bombers have been attacking the government buildings. I’m under the impression that what happened in Haiti is now happening here. Ahmed is a little uneasy about the bombings and the militant uprising because someone is attacking his home country.
I say ‘a little uneasy’. Far from it. But there’s little he can do and he’s far away from the carnage.
It’s quiet outside. There isn’t much traffic and there isn’t much music. It seems peaceful. I wonder how long we’ll be here for.
16 September
Last night, Ahmed was making some serious moves on Cristina. She pretended she didn’t understand. He said she could sleep in his bed and when she refused he came down to lie on the ground next to her. As soon as Rachel figured out what he was doing she pulled my arm around her waist. We spent most of the night awkwardly spooning. When we woke up she thanked me for not making a move.
Cristina wants to leave. She said Ahmed kept feeling her up through the night. She even got up to move and he followed her. She farted on him. That got him to leave and go back to his bed. We’re going to be kicked out soon, I can tell. It’s a shame. He was nice yesterday, now he just seems like a prick.
Part 2.
Okay, so we didn’t leave the city, we just moved to another house. This one has a family so already Cristina feels more comfortable, but she told Ediz that as far as anyone else is concerned they are now boyfriend and girlfriend. He countered and said that they would have to be married to deter a lot of people. So, Cristina and Ediz are now ‘married’. Guess what kind of conversation I had with Rachel today? Yeah. We too are ‘married’.
Cristina and Rachel are helping the wife of the family cook. I did my best at waving to the little boy here and playing some basic games. He’s never seen a white guy before and I terrify him with my pasty-white vampire skin.
I haven’t seen much of the city. I’m in full hiding mode, so I can’t go sight seeing when I could be arrested on the spot.
17 September
We’re still in Ghardaia. There are no obvious plans to leave. We want to leave but there’s no one who will take us away from here. Apparently this is the safest place to be – in a desert city five hundred miles from the capital city. I was able to get a few minutes online and I sent an email to my folks. There were a dozen from them and I glanced at the most recent. They’re still alive. England has locked itself off from the rest of the world. I couldn’t read it all because I didn’t have the time. The email that really fucking pissed me off was from work. I’m out of a job. No surprise, really, since I was supposed to be back seventeen days ago. But I sent them emails a month ago explaining my situation.
Rachel and I are not going to be able to get back into England for a long, long time. Not that it really matters right now since we’re not able to leave Ghardaia for a long, long time either.
20 September
Still in Ghardaia. Rachel and Cristina have been staying at ‘home’ with Bahija and the kids. They’re bored out of their minds. Apparently the kids spend all day calling out: “BaBAH! BaBAH!”
Ediz and I have been working for Abbas. We’re working f
or food, basically. I can’t complain because he and Bahija are feeding us and putting us up in their home, plus it’s better being busy than sitting around being bored. We’re doing minimum wage stuff like cleaning, lifting, and carrying crates from one place to another. It’s the least we could do, considering that we’d be dead without someone’s hospitality.
It’s been decent food. Mostly stew. Chickpeas, bits of potato, tomatoes, and onions. Sometimes flat bread on the side. The variation comes in the amount of pepper that goes into the dish.
Ediz and I are out in the streets wearing disguises, which might pass at the first glance but the moment someone locks onto my eyes they know I’m out of place. We’re carrying crates and shopping to other people. They talk to us but we can’t respond, or at least I can’t respond, because I don’t know the language. Ediz doesn’t say much because they can hear his accent and know he’s a foreigner. Sometimes we get shouted at.
We’re being treated well. If I ever get out of here and make some money I might come back and pay everyone a visit, legitimately this time. This whole situation probably sucks for Abbas and Bahija as well. They probably don’t like to have people stay at their house with no end in sight, invading their privacy and begging for work, shelter, and food. If any of us say the wrong thing we’ll be kicked out.
