The Journal of Tom Barnett: Vampire Apocalypse Survivor

by Daniel S. Atkinson

  26th November. 21.15pm.

  Two-minute noodles for dinner. I was still hungry even before I’d finished, but we have to ration the food, just in case. We spent the night watching the TV. All the channels are broadcasting 24-hour news. Every one of them is following this crisis. The community Channel 31 and SBS are both off the air. The major focus seems to be on the federal government’s decision to call for a national curfew. This is to be enforced by federal and state police and the Australian Defence forces.

  The host of the show took calls detailing how heavy handed the armed forces are getting. One frantic caller claimed he watched on horrified as a group of soldiers burst into his neighbour’s house. He heard screams and machine gun fire. Shortly after, three bodies were dragged outside. It was hard for him to see what happened next, but he thinks the bodies were then burnt in the front yard.

  A government spokesman stressed the point that martial law is not in effect and the army is only being used to contain the crisis and protect the greater population. Dad snorted derisively when he heard this. I guess his run in with those army guys is still on his mind.

  It is so frustrating. Why don’t they tell us what the hell is going on?

  27th November. 0.54am.

  Just before Dad sent me up to bed we saw a special report from Channel 9. The announcer stated that the following images were highly disturbing. Any children should not view the following footage. Dad started to open his mouth, but I got in first. “Dad there is no need to shelter me from this, how else will we survive if I don’t know what we’re dealing with?” He just furrowed his brow and looked at me, deeply troubled.

  The footage began with a male reporter talking to camera out the front of a trendy high-rise apartment block. Dad thought it was Southbank, here in Melbourne. It is nighttime. A Police Special Operations Group is gathered at the entrance. They are fully kitted out, bulletproof vests, submachine guns, full-face helmets, the works. The reporter tells us that there have been numerous 000 calls coming from this building. The SOG team swarm through the front door, guns held at shoulder height. There is silence for a few long heartbeats. The reporter tries to fill the quiet withy some vacuous commentary. He is cut off as something slams into the pavement behind him. The cameraman bypasses the reporter and gives us a close up of a mangled corpse, its throat torn out. The twitching corpse is still clutching its submachine gun. The cameraman pans upward to focus on a shattered window three stories up. An ominous figure stands at the precipice. The jagged glass framing him looks like a gaping black maw. Gunfire sporadically illuminates the apartment behind him. The figure’s chest erupts in a shower of blood. I assume a SOG member has unloaded his weapon into its back. It falls out the window in slow motion, landing next to its victim.

  Incredibly the cameraman is still shooting all this. I would have run for the hills. He zooms in on the crumpled form. And I mean crumpled, the whole left side of its face is caved in, blood and skull fragments everywhere. Its left eyeball has popped like an egg, the ruined remains sliding obscenely down the pale cheek. Within seconds the left side of its head starts to inflate from the inside, the flesh knitting over the open wounds. The eye socket fills with blood until something white pushes through the muck. Conscious again, it blinks the blood away, revealing a new yellow tinged eyeball.

  The cameraman backs away as the creature starts to rise. It draws itself up to full height, and then doubles over, as if in pain, coughing up great gouts of blackish blood. When it’s finished it turns towards the newsmen, black gore dripping from its mouth. Gleaming teeth shine through the murk. The newsmen finally discover their self-preservation gene and get the hell out of there. They made it to safety, but not one of the SOG team ever made it out of that building.

  What chance have we got if they can heal like that? Dad is going to stay up tonight and keep watch. He wants me to get some rest. I’ll try.

  27th November. 4.04am.

  I think I fell asleep for a few hours. It’s so hard to tell, you know when you are drifting in and out of sleep but you don’t really know if you are awake or not. Who could sleep with what’s going on?

  There are some very strange noises outside. About half and hour ago a huge thump woke me up. I couldn’t tell where it came from, but my heart was beating so hard I was worried it would burst out of my chest. Dad slinked into my room so quietly that I thought he was one of them. I almost screamed in horror, but he clamped his big hand over my mouth. He whispered into my ear that someone was in the front lawn sniffing around. It had slammed heavily into the front door. It seems to have lost interest in us, but I can still hear them shuffling around out there.

  27th November. 12.33pm.

  Had to wake Dad up. The Prime Minister just broadcast a press conference. I will try to paraphrase as much as I can recall.

  The Prime Minister started off by declaring that the entire continent of Australia is under international quarantine. That means no person can leave the country and no one can get in. Tasmania, which lies 609 kilometres south of the mainland, is as yet unaffected by the infection. The federal government will be relocating from Canberra to Hobart within the hour following the press conference. A special army task force has been created in order to combat the escalating crisis. Further information regarding their strategies will be released soon. International concern has been extraordinary. Unfortunately we are unable to receive the aid we desperately require due to the quarantine measures. However our country’s top scientific minds are in consultation with their international counterparts and are working feverishly towards a solution.

  At this point she seemed to lose her composure, as if she struggling with something, then she dropped a bombshell. She read from a typed sheet, ‘It appears that the plague affecting our fair country is extremely virulent. All victims that are struck down by the disease become . . . homicidal. It appears that any subsequent victims of these psychotic citizens are then in turn infected. At the current rate of infection we are unable to contain the crisis.’ You could’ve heard a pin drop inside the pressroom, even the photographers had stopped their flashing. She then tried to reassure the population with a message of hope, saying we must remain vigilant and hold out hope for a cure to this horrible infection that has blighted our country. I don’t think she believed her own words.

  She finished the conference without taking any questions from the throng of journalists. One bold lady yelled out a query, which stopped the Prime Minister in her tracks just as she was walking off stage. I didn’t catch the question, but the Prime Minister answered in a wavering voice, “Let’s just say we cannot give any reason to disprove a supernatural explanation.”

  An interesting side note: the PM was wearing something around her neck, half hidden under her collar. It was hard to spot, but I backed up the TIVO and paused it. Dangling from a necklace, she was wearing a small silver cross. A few months ago the Christians were up in arms because she refused to be sworn into office using a bible. Why the sudden change of heart?

  It was about this time that I first uttered the word ‘vampire’. As it popped into my head, it suddenly made more sense. These infected people have to be vampires, attacking at night, the gleaming white fangs and now the Prime Minister’s cross. I expounded my revelations to Dad. The severity of his reply shocked me. He told me off for mentioning it, saying that this is not a time for jokes. I was surprised by this outburst. Maybe he just can’t comprehend something so far-fetched.

  27th November. 5.46pm.

  Dad and I shared the can of tomato soup. Our one meal of the day. God it tasted good, we also finished the bread off. I think the bowl was cleaner after I had finished than when we began. I feel kind of bad getting such enjoyment out of eating, with all the suffering going on out there. Nothing new on the television. They are just rehashing the Prime Minister’s press conference.

  27th November. 9.10pm.

  Oh my God. It has been chaotic here. I don’t know what to do. Let me calm down a bit and expla
in what happened.

  27th November. 9.22pm.

  Had a drink of water. My hand was shaking so much that I spilt half of it. Hopefully I can type ok. Doesn’t matter, I’ll fix up the mistakes later. Just want to get this written down.

  I’m all alone in the house now. Dad has gone. About an hour ago the house phone starts ringing. It scared the shit out of me, sounded like it was a hundred decibels. Dad knocked over the table rushing to pick it up. He is super paranoid about noise. The crashing table didn’t help his malady.

  Dad answers the phone, his face twisted in concentration, like he was trying to figure out what the caller was saying. Eventually he said, “Slow down Katie, I can’t understand you.” It was Mum on the phone. I rushed to his side but he pushed me away gently. It must have been a difficult conversation, because he would only respond in short bursts. Mum was hysterical on the other line. I shuddered to think what was happening at her flat.

  Eventually Dad got sick of it and yelled at her to shut up. She must have, because he then spoke to her in a more soothing tone. “Listen to me very carefully Katie. Are you sure he is dead? Ok, it’s ok, I believe you. Now do exactly what I tell you. Good. I want you to drag his body outside. But be very careful, check that nobody is out there first. Do that right now, before he comes back to life. Jesus woman! Of course he’ll come back. It’s happening everywhere. Do what I say. I’ll hold the line. Don’t hang up.”

  Dad dropped the phone to his chest. I asked him something stupid like, “How is Mum?” He just hushed me. Mum came back on the line again. Dad kept talking. “He’s moving around? But you put him outside right? Great. You locked the door? Don’t worry he can’t get back in. Just be very quiet.” Just then Dad tore the phone away from his ear. I could hear why. There was a horrible crashing sound. It must have been Mum’s window, followed by a blood-curdling scream. Then there was the sound of a slamming door followed by heavy breathing. It sounded like she had just run a marathon.

  Dad put her on speaker. “I’m in the bedroom now. He threw himself through the window to get to me. Oh, I can’t stand it. He dragged himself over the broken windowpane, cutting up his belly. His guts were falling out everywhere, but he kept coming.” Dad quickly shut off the speaker to save me the anguish. He talked to Mum,. “Does the door lock? Shit. Umm, is there a chair in the bedroom? Good. Shove it under the handle. Yeah, at an angle. Now try to breathe.” I could hear her wailing hysterically, even though Dad had the handset jammed against his ear.

  Dad eventually calmed her down. She was still sobbing though. I looked at Dad’s tortured face and could tell what he was going to do. I have never been more proud of him when he said, “Katie, I’m coming to get you. Stay where you are. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He looked at me, his face white, grim but determined. I said, “Thanks Dad.” He just nodded and replied, “We couldn’t live with ourselves. She’s your mother and my wife.” I didn’t correct him by adding the ‘ex’ (which would have suited ex-mother as well as ex-wife). I knew he still loved her on some level, just like me.

  Then he got ready to go. He had is mobile phone and car keys. He also took the hammer out of the toolbox. He looked at it hanging limply for a moment. He cracked a rare joke. “Not much use against a horde of the undead.” I tried to help by saying “From what we’ve seen on telly, they don’t move as fast as a human, try to stay away from them as much as possible.”

  “Don’t worry son, I’ll stay away from them all right.” We shared a strained laugh.

  Before he left he took my face in his big hands and said, “I love you son.” I’ve never heard him say that before. I mean come on. We’re both Aussie blokes here. I didn’t realise I was crying till I felt my wet cheeks later on.

  He left out the back door. He seemed to wait an eternity at the fence, stealing glances over the top. When it was clear, he gave me a tortured smile. I watched him climb over the fence and drop down. I then locked the door and re-sealed the curtains. I rushed upstairs to my room to get a better view of the garage. Dad was at the garage door fumbling with his keys. He kept looking over his shoulder. I followed the direction of his gaze and spotted one of those vampires. It was making a B-line straight for him. I wanted to shout a warning, but he already knew that death was breathing down his neck.

  He dropped the keys at least once, but managed to get the door open. He swung the door up and out. The vampire was very close now, less than five metres away. It began to pick up pace, arms outstretched. Dad stumbled into the garage, now fumbling with a different key. The vampire entered the garage, hot on his heels. I lost sight of both of them. After an agonising wait, I heard the engine roar to life. Dad backed it out. He must have made a decent amount of noise, because there were at least ten of the ghouls in the front yard now. They battered harmlessly against his car, trying to reach him. He took one longing look at the house and drove away

  I am totally exhausted. Got to rest.

  28th November. 06.53am.

  Can’t believe I slept the entire night through. What an idiot. What if Dad tried to call? Tried to get back in the house? I can’t believe what a jerk I am.

  28th November. 07.22am.

  Just searched the house. Checked the backyard and front yard through the curtains. Nothing. The phone is still working. I can hear a dial tone. I’m sure I would have heard the phone during the night. For sure would have heard anyone banging on the door. I had been asleep on the couch. It was only three metres away from the door. Still feel like a jerk though. But there’s nothing I could have done anyway, except wait.

  Tried Dad’s mobile and Mums house phone. There is no answer at either. My mobile is dead, no credit. Dad tops it up for me once a month and he’s gone. It’s practically worthless now. Hopefully Dad got to Mum in time and they hid during the night. Somewhere safe. Together. The sun has been up for only an hour or so. They should get here soon.

  28th November. 09.01am.

  Maybe Dad’s car broke down. Or the roads are blocked somehow. That means they will have to walk to get back here. I once walked home from Mum’s place. It took me three hours. Dad dropped me there because she wanted to take me to the movies or something. I waited for four hours on her doorstep, not wanting to admit she had forgotten. I was so angry I didn’t speak to her for three months. It took Dad nearly a year.

  It would probably take them four hours to get here on foot, just in time for lunch.

  28th November. 13.03pm.

  Just ate the last tin of soup.

  28th November. 18.00pm.

  Fuck.

  28th November. 19.22pm.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  28th November. 21.01pm.

  I don’t know what to do. Mum and Dad’s phones are not working. No message bank, they don’t even ring. I tried 000 emergency. After the automated prompt I waited ninety minutes on hold, until it hung up on me. I don’t feel very well. My stomach hurts.

  It is pitch black out there now.

  28th November. 23.11pm.

  I think there is something seriously wrong with me. My stomach hurts so badly now, I can hardly move. I’ve managed to crawl upstairs to my room. Been sitting in the corner for an hour now. I can hear them outside, sounds like there must be a hundred of them. They make this odd vocalization, like a cross between a guttural moan and a hiss. It’s really freaking me out. I put my ear buds in but I can still hear them.

  Oh shit, what was that? I can hear a woman screaming. It’s the most awful noise I’ve ever heard. The moaning is getting louder. They must have found her. I don’t want to think what is happening to that poor lady. What if it is Mum? Should I help her? I can’t leave though, they’ll get me too. I can’t even stand up. My stomach is killing me.

  28th November. 23.59pm.

  I can’t stand it. Help me please. Anybody. They are going to get in here, I know it. I don’t want to die. Help me.

  29th November. 00:00am.

  -

  30th November. 05.58am.

  M
y bladder felt like it was going to explode. I pissed for what felt like ten minutes. My stomach doesn’t hurt anymore, but I’m hungry.

  I woke up in my closet, completely disorientated. My clothes were flung all over the bedroom. I was in the there with my doona and pillow. Weird, can’t remember doing any of that.

  My laptop is telling me it’s the 30th, but I thought it was the 29th. Can’t be right.

  It is the 30th, just checked on the desktop PC. I’ve lost an entire day somehow. Must have slept the entire time. That explains the huge leak.

  Dad is not here. I wasn’t expecting him to be, but it hurts. Searched the entire house to make sure he wasn’t hiding like I was. I guess theoretically he could be in the garage, maybe he returned home while I was out of it. I can see it in my mind’s eye; he drives up dodging those things, slides the car in and closes the garage in one smooth motion, sealing himself in there till morning. I could go check but that means venturing outside. Have to work up the courage for that one.

  Just tried his mobile phone, it goes to voice bank. Tried Mum’s phone, it just rings out. She doesn’t have a mobile. Nana and Pop’s phone rings out too. I forgot all about them, hope they’re ok.

  Called my mate Rory’s house, his Dad answered. He sounded awful, not like the guy I know at all. Usually when I hang out with Rory, his Dad is one of the gang. Almost like another mate. You know how some parents try to act all chummy and cool, well Ted isn’t like that at all. He’s just his enthusiastic self, kind of goofy but not a try hard at all. We play basketball, go fishing together. But this morning it felt like I was talking to another person entirely. He spoke in a monotone, not giving me much at all. I was able to gather that they are all safe, holed up in their house like me. The only time he became slightly animated was when I said I was alone and Dad was missing. He sounded concerned but was quick to blurt out that he wasn’t in the position to help. I don’t blame him at all. I’m too scared to even open the blinds after the other night. He wouldn’t let me talk to Rory either. I guess he’s afraid that Rory might try to leave the relative safety of their home in order to mount an ill-advised rescue attempt.