The Journal of Tom Barnett: Vampire Apocalypse Survivor

by Daniel S. Atkinson

  I slumped back on the bed and morbidly wondered what would be worse: burning to death or being eaten alive by those creatures below.

  3rd December. 10.05pm.

  Nearly lasted the whole day without eating. Funny I don’t feel as hungry as I should be. I thought I better eat though. Only one carrot and some cornflakes left. The empty cupboard is depressing to look at. I find myself opening it every couple of hours, even though I know I won’t find anything.

  4th December. 8.58pm.

  The Robinson’s are getting bolder. I can see a few candles on in their house. I’ve been watching them from my room upstairs for an hour or so. I far as I can tell there are only two people inside, an adult and a child. Their shadows look graceful and fragile in the flickering candlelight. One of the parents must’ve died during that initial infection. I wonder how they dealt with the resulting re-animated vampire.

  Just imagine one minute you are tending to your sick wife, and then she suddenly dies. You would be out of your mind with grief, no authorities to help out. The next moment, she has turned into a ravenous ghoul, attacking every member of the household. No wonder this calamity struck so fast, it’s like a blood soaked chain reaction.

  Unfortunately the vampires have noticed the Robinson’s as well. I can count at least twenty of them congregating around the Robinson’s house. They are wandering around, almost aimlessly. Every so often one will look longingly at the Robinson’s house, bear its fangs and hiss. I can’t actually hear them, but that’s what it looks like from here. I doubt they will spot me looking through the blinds. Their ravenous yellow eyes are fixated on the Robinson’s. Why aren’t they attacking them? Oh shit, the laptop is out of bat…..

  5th December. 12.06pm.

  I managed to charge the laptop. Obviously, else I wouldn’t be typing this at the moment. When the battery died I almost flung the computer across the room in frustration. It was now just a worthless brick. I sat most of the night in a morose mood. I came to the realisation that this journal has been the thing that’s been keeping me going. Just remember that first night after Dad left. I had some kind of psychotic break I reckon. My mind just couldn’t handle the situation. So I though I must get this journal back online, to keep me sane. For a while I was resigned to the fact I would have to continue this with paper and ink. But then I thought fuck it, I’m a child of the twenty-first century, I need my digital fix.

  Dad used to tinker with little electrical devices all the time. It was a hobby of his. Once he made a little battery converter that would charge his phone from a car battery. Not in the car, from a car battery removed from the car. I don’t think he ever used it in a practical sense, but I know it worked. It was one of the very few projects that he actually completed. We were planning to use it on a camping trip. We were going to hike up near Mansfield for a weekend. Just the two of us. Wait a minute. Imagine lugging around that heavy ass car battery, typical Dad with his hair-brained schemes. But that never happened, like most of Dad’s grand plans. I think he had to work or something, then just plain forgot. I don’t blame him though. He was always working pretty hard. He had to support both of us on one modest wage. Forget about Mum kicking in a few dollars, she could barely finance her own destructive lifestyle. I’m sure that Dad even helped her out sometimes, although he would never tell me about it.

  Anyway, I knew where the charger was, in the garage. This meant going outside for the first time in nearly two weeks. Our back door opens onto a small, enclosed yard. The fences are higher than my head, so I was fairly confident I was out of sight. I slowly opened the door, cringing at the squeaking hinges. I paused and listened for a moment. The only thing I could hear was the occasional birdcall. No people, cars, nothing. It was as still as a tomb, not that I know from experience, must have read that somewhere. I sniffed the air, afraid I might get contaminated or something. But it smelt so sweet. Fresh cool air. I felt almost drunk on it, light-headed

  It’s funny the birds are unaffected by all this. I wonder about all the other animals as well. We never had a dog, being renters rules you out of that particular joy. There must be thousands of pets trapped in their backyards with no water or food. Just another thing to add to the mounting pile of misery.

  I peeked tentatively over the fence, just like Dad three nights ago. Our yard and the Robinson’s were deserted, completely devoid of all signs of life. I took a deep breath and climbed over before I lost my nerve. It was an odd feeling to be on the other side of the fence. I felt so exposed and vulnerable. I thought of the closet I had hid in during my mini breakdown. So small, comfortable, safe and secure. It would be so easy to crawl back in there and shut off the outside world and all its death.

  But no. I knew if I went back in there I would never come out again. That closet is a death trap. Fuck the closet, I’m going to live. So I need that battery charger, without it I have no journal. And without that I’d lose my mind.

  I crept through the front yard to the garage. There was a person lying amongst the bushes. For one horrible moment I thought it might be one of my parents. I think it was a young lady. It was hard to tell at first because it was missing its head. She must have been the woman I had heard screaming the other night. This is the first time I have ever heard of a victim not returning from the dead as a vampire. With all their healing powers, even a vampire can’t grow a new head. Now if I could just figure out a way to get all the thousands of ghouls out there to line up like good little Marie Antoinette’s. Problem solved!

  I got a shock at seeing the garage wide open. But of course Dad had driven out without closing it. There were too many vamps around at the time. Lucky it was open because I didn’t have a key. What was I thinking coming out here without one?

  It was dark in the garage so I stood at the entrance till my eyes adjusted to the gloom. There were no vampires inside but plenty of places for one to hide. I was nervous as hell going in there. My mind reeled with the deadly possibilities, will one of those things burst out of that cupboard and tear me apart. I shook my head like a wet dog to clear my morbid imagination. I steeled myself and rushed in. That’s when I slipped. I landed hard on my elbow and hip. I scrambled to my feet on the slippery cement floor and spun around 360 degrees. I was still alone. I leapt over to a shelf and collected the battery and charger. Once I made it into the sunlight again I breathed a sigh of relief. I looked down at my clothes to see I was smeared in blood. I didn’t appear to be bleeding anywhere. Then I realised I had slipped in a pool of blood.

  I fell to my knees as the revelation hit me. That vampire had wounded Dad. I knew it had followed him too closely into the garage. He must have beaten it off and got in the car somehow. The blood didn’t look real, not like you see in the movies or video games. It was a dull reddish grey colour. There was a lot of it too. He couldn’t have survived very long after losing that much blood. I curled up in the driveway of the home I had shared with him and wept.

  Anyway the charger works fine. Don’t feel like writing now.

  6th December. 21:56pm.

  I feel like a peeping Tom. I spend most of the night looking out my bedroom window. I tried to count the number of vampires lurking around outside. There are so many now I always lose my place. I wonder where they go in the daytime. The Robinson’s have given up all pretence of hiding. Their house is lit up like a Christmas tree. The vamps are attracted like moths to a flame. I can even hear music coming from inside. Sounds like The Rolling Stones, but I can’t be sure.

  It’s an incredible contrast to all the other townhouses around us. They look like colourless grey tombstones in comparison. I still can’t understand why the vampires don’t tear the Robinson townhouse apart.

  7th December. 10:44am.

  That’s it. I have officially run out of food. Just ate the last carrot. I washed it down with one of Dad’s beers. The beer was warm, so I tipped half of it down the sink. I wonder if there is any nutritious content in a plastic pot plant. Sorry for the bad joke.

 
; 8th December. 14:40pm.

  Haven’t written much today. I was bored this morning so I started going through the downstairs closet, thought Dad might have hidden a gun or something like that. No such luck. I did find a battered copy of Watership Down. I started reading the first page just for something to do. The next thing I know I am a hundred pages in. It’s so wonderfully told. Just had to pause to go to the toilet, then I’m going to keep reading.

  8th December. 14:56pm.

  The dunny is making this weird sound after I flushed it. Kind of like a gurgling, drawing noise. I took the cistern lid off and reset that floaty device. Pretty gross job. However it didn’t fill back up again with water. This wasn’t a good sign. I quickly started filling up the bathroom sink. I got it half full before the tap dried up. I checked all the other taps in the house. Nothing but air.

  First I run out of food, now I’ve run out of water.

  9th December. 06:08am.

  Fell asleep early while reading. Something woke me up just before dawn. Not sure what is was, but I felt really uneasy. I peered out my window rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. The usual scene greeted me. The number of vampires hadn’t changed. If anything they might have increased. There was a single candle flickering in the Robinson’s lounge room.

  I was about to climb back into bed when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Movement in itself wasn’t unusual but this was coming from the rooftop next door to the Robinson’s. I crouched down below the windowsill and peered through the tiniest of openings.

  Someone or something was standing on the roof of the house opposite. Not climbing or sneaking along, it was just standing there like it owned the world. Initially I thought it was looking at me, but its attention was on my neighbour’s house. At about this time it started to grow lighter outside. The figure took a glance to the east where the sun rises and leapt off the roof to the ground. That fall would have broken every bone in my body, but it landed as nimbly as a cat. Whatever it was, it was male and dressed all in black. It studied the Robinson’s house one last time before disappearing into the retreating shadows.

  9th December. 10:44am.

  I’ve been pottering around in Dad’s bedroom. It is kind of weird going in there. I have never really been in his room before. I could probably count the number of times on one hand. I wonder why that is? Living in this small townhouse, I guess we both had to have our own space.

  I had to go in there to see what shaving gear he has. I was examining myself in the mirror. The black smudges under my eyes stand out alarmingly against my pale skin. I’ve been cooped up in here too long without sunlight. Even more alarming are the fairly pathetic few whiskers starting to grow on my chin and upper lip. They look kind of gross being so few, but so long.

  It’s kind of embarrassing really. Especially compared to Rory. He’s been shaving quite regularly for a year now, but he is a year older than me. I usually borrow his electric shaver whenever I’m due for my weekly stubble removal. Rory is really good about it. He doesn’t make fun of my awkwardness at all. It seems to be a popular source of derision at school at the moment amongst the boys.

  I hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk to Dad about my burgeoning grooming needs. I don’t think he had noticed. I guess he wouldn’t have, seeing I was shaving at Rory’s house. I know that Dad used a regular razor and shaving cream, he would often come down to breakfast with his face dotted with little pieces of toilet paper. He would grumble often about the quality of his razors. Once I suggested to him that he should change brands. He just stared at me dumbly, his eyes darting down to my sparse chin. He didn’t say anything but he might as well as said, “What would you know about it, little boy.” I didn’t bring it up again. We may never have had the whole father / son shaving chat, but now I needed his equipment, even if I couldn’t get his advice.

  I stood at the doorway to Dad’s room stunned for a moment. The covers on his bed were neatly made and a glass of water was half full on the bedside table. A copy of New Scientist magazine was lying on the floor. It was as if he was just out for a few hours. He would be home soon, maybe with a pizza or fish and chips. We would eat it together and watch the footy on TV. My eyes glazed over and I felt my throat begin to tighten. I sat on the bed and hung my head.

  After a while I recovered and opened the door to his ensuite. I had to squint as natural light poured out of the skylight. I had forgotten the skylight, probably because this was my least visited room in the entire house. I stood underneath the skylight for a good couple of minutes, the warm sunlight causing goose bumps to erupt over my flesh. It felt really good, almost as good as a real hot shower. I think I’ll have to come in here more often, just to bathe in the light.

  Dad’s shaving gear was next to the sink. I gave it my best shot, but I wasn’t very successful. Shaving with a razor is nothing like using Rory’s electric one. I smeared the shaving cream over my face and grasped the razor. I bought the blade up from my neck to my cheek and smarted at the friction. It bloody hurt! I turned the tap on to rinse the blade, forgetting that we had run out of water. I swore and wondered what to do. I grabbed a towel and wiped off the shaving cream and straggling whiskers as best I could. I shaved the other side, this time bringing the blade downwards from the top of my cheek. It worked a lot better this time. I found out by trial and error the best direction to work the razor over the rest of my face. I had made quite a mess by the time I was finished.

  I found some aftershave lotion in the cupboard under the sink. I poured out a handful and splashed it on generously. I think I yelled in surprise, it bloody hurt. My face felt as if a million bees were stinging it. Maybe I put too much on. I’ll try a little less next time.

  I studied my handiwork in the mirror. My skin was a little raw, but I thought I had done a pretty good job. As I watched, little globs of blood began to form in a couple of locations. I grinned stupidly as I placed little pieces of toilet paper to stem the bleeding. I was grinning because I saw for the first time how much I resembled my father. It made me feel good rather than sad. I don’t know why. It just did.

  10th December. 14.20pm.

  Lethargy has set in. I need food badly. It has been over 24 hours since I last ate. I found myself turning the house upside down trying to find any morsels I might have missed. In my school bag I found a mouldy apple. Its skin was mottled and dotted with bruises. My mouth was salivating as I took it to the kitchen. I’m not a big fan of apples at the best of times but this was like having a capriccioso pizza served up to me. I took a knife and trimmed all the bad bits away. I was left with about a third of the original volume. It tasted pretty good considering its original condition. My stomach demanded more after this little morsel. As I was eyeing off the bad pieces of apple left in the sink, I knew I couldn’t go on like this. I must get some more food. I had survived my one little trip outside, so I’ll have to venture out again.

  I left via the backyard, once more making sure the coast was clear. The only noise was a distant dog barking. It sounded lonely and desperate. Just like me. I sprinted across to the townhouse next to ours, the one that weird vampire was standing on top of. Afterwards I mused whether he could have been inside waiting for me. Luckily I didn’t think of it at the time, else I would never have gone in.

  The reason I chose this house was the front door was wide open. I was hoping the owners had fled long ago. I entered wielding the same knife I had cut the apple with. It helped a little holding that steel in my trembling hand. It was very dark inside this townhouse but I knew the layout well. It was virtually identical to my place. Without even looking around I moved to the front window and threw back the blinds. Huge plumes of dust swirled lazily in the shafts of sunlight. I was alone. I moved to the cupboards and began my search. They had been ransacked previously. Either that or the owners had gathered all their food and fled the suburbs. Maybe they are holed up somewhere safe in the country. Away from all these infected vampires. I did find a tin of peaches tucked away in the farthes
t corner of the cupboard. My mouth began watering again.

  I looked in the fridge and found half a litre of apple juice. What little remained in the fridge had spoiled. I’m sure the apple juice will be fine though. I was standing at the bottom of their stairs deciding whether to go up when I heard something. A low moan was drifting down to me, like a waterfall of pain and misery. I panicked big time. I turned and ran out as fast as I could. I didn’t stop once or even look around. Only when I had closed my backdoor and collapsed on the floor did I begin to breathe in great volumes of air. My lungs felt like someone had tipped petrol down my throat and followed it up with a lit match.

  I don’t think I have ever panicked like that before. The only time in my life I have felt fear like that was when Billy Thompson followed me home from school. I was in fifth grade and rather slight for my age. Billy was in grade six but should have been in year eight. He had been kept down twice. They didn’t call him Big Billy for nothing. He was huge. You have seen The Simpsons right? Well the school bully in that show, Nelson, looks a heck of a lot like Billy, but crossed with a pit bull on steroids. His nose is pushed inwards and he has these piggy little eyes that can bore holes in you from twenty paces.

  Thinking back I can’t even remember why I had pissed him off. The schoolyard rumours had been circulating all through lunchtime that Billy had it in for me and was going to fix me up after school. It was the longest afternoon of my life, starting at that big clock above Mrs. Carter’s blackboard. When the home bell inevitably rang, all eyes in the classroom turned to me. About half the faces were sympathetic. The rest were vultures keen to circle the soon to be corpse of young Tom Barnett.