The Journal of Tom Barnett: Vampire Apocalypse Survivor

by Daniel S. Atkinson

  16th January. 09.05am.

  We spent half the night talking. It is very comfortable up in that attic. You can hardly hear the lesser vampires stalking around outside. Zoe calls the lesser ones zombies. We had a spirited argument about whether they were more like zombies than vampires. I eventually won after I detailed my experiments using the various mythologies. The clincher was when I told her about shooting a vampire in the head. ‘Damn,’ she exclaimed excitedly, ‘that is the only way to kill a zombie. You sure it didn’t work?’ Unfortunately I had to tell her no.

  We finally got around to discussing how she helped me defeat the Master vampire. She had sensed I didn’t want to bring it up. Why would I want to talk about that while basking in her presence? It was one thing to write about the ordeal (I had a burning desire to document it the day after) but another to discuss it openly.

  She had seen the Master coming and going for the last few nights, he had taken up residence in that house after coaxing out the former occupants. Zoe spent a terrifying night listening to the Master’s cold yet seductive voice calling out to her neighbours. He knew somehow she was in this house as he had tried to talk to her from the front yard. She had stuffed the pillow into her ears and cried herself to sleep on more than one night. Some nights he wouldn’t bother her at all. We both correlated our run-ins with him and worked out he was tracking me on those nights.

  The worst night Zoe experienced was the night before I arrived. She was asleep in this very attic when a massive bang woke her up. She then heard footsteps on the roof, only metres above her head. The Master spent the entire night banging rhythmically on the roof calling for her to come out. Zoe buried her head in the relative safety of her bedding and rode out the storm. I am amazed that she could withstand that kind of psychological punishment and still be sane. But she just shook it off and said, ‘the alternative is to die, so there is no real alternative. Is there?’ The next morning she heard my Jeep roar up the street.

  Little did I know, but she watched me search every house along that street. She was afraid that I would enter her house. She made ready to retreat to her attic hideout, when she saw me enter the Master’s house. Zoe said she felt ashamed that she didn’t rush out and warn me, but she was too frightened of the Master. Plus she didn’t know who I was either. I could’ve been some psycho kid waving a gun around for all she knew. Zoe didn’t know what to make of the situation when I exited the Master’s house and left unharmed. Things began to make more sense when she watched me again the next day.

  Her father had pair of field binoculars that he took to the footy every weekend. Zoe had used them to peer inside the Master’s bedroom. She had watched, Jimmy Stewart style, my whole half assed attempt to stake that bastard. When things turned sour, Zoe had rushed outside and fired up the Jeep. The only problem was she didn’t know how to drive a manual. She grew a bit upset at this confession, her brown eyes rimmed with tears. She said, ‘you could’ve died in there and it would have been all my fault. All because I never bothered to learn to drive stick.’ I pointed out two vital facts that exonerated her of all guilt. Number one: I was the stupid asshole who tried to kill the powerful monster and number two: I would really be dead right now if it wasn’t for her.

  Anyway she did manage to get the car moving and the rest is history. The record will state: ‘One Master vampire dead’. We then theorised on whether there were any more Master vampires out there. Zoe grew excited by the possibility that he may have been the original source of the plague that created the lesser vamps, that he was the one and only. I pointed out that it doesn’t really matter, as there were millions of those things out there. Almost at that exact moment we could hear a particularly loud moan outside. We didn’t talk much after that. Zoe blew out the candles and we tried to sleep. It was hard.

  17th January. 10.47am.

  I worked up the courage this morning to suggest we leave. I think the main reason I was so worried about this conversation was her answer. What if she said no. I can’t force her to do anything and I don’t want to either.

  I was really dreading this conversation but knew it was necessary. If there are other Master vampires out there, we will be too vulnerable here. The lesser ones we can handle as long as we stay indoors at night. But the Masters can think and reason and make plans. The old church is much more secure

  I had all these arguments cued up in my brain, ready to convince and coax. But it turned out they were unnecessary. Zoe simply agreed without elaborating. I believe she needed these past couple of days together to suss me out and to say goodbye to her home. I told her I knew how she felt, as I had to leave my house behind too. She just gave me a wane smile and began to pack some belongings. I gave her some space and thought about transport. In a nearby backyard shed I found two mountain bikes. They were in serviceable condition. It actually took me longer to find a bike pump than it did to find the bikes.

  We stood in the front yard gazing up at the house Zoe had grown up in. I could tell she was distraught but I didn’t know whether to put an arm around her or not. She eventually rested her head on my shoulder and shed a few quiet tears. I gave her all the time she needed. Finally we mounted our bikes and took off towards Blackburn.

  17th January. 13.58pm.

  This was the first time Zoe had left her street in two months. It must have been a shock to the system. She came off the bike at one stage. We were riding through the built up section of Box Hill, straight down Whitehorse Road. The entire area had been razed by fire. It was a hideous sight, this area used to be so vibrant and alive with people. Now it was a burnt wasteland. Zoe was too busy trying to look at the devastation when she collided with a tyre lying in the middle of the road. The fall wasn’t too bad luckily. She applied some of her precious Bactine to her scraped elbows and we continued.

  It took longer than I expected to reach the church. Zoe isn’t the fastest rider and the spectacles around her further slower us down. But I didn’t hurry her along. We stopped for lunch at the intersection of Marrondah Highway and Middleborough Rd. Three lanes stretched emptily in four directions. We sat right in the middle of the intersection eating pickled onions, sardines and crackers. Luckily Zoe had some chewy gum in her pocket. We chatted about how this place used to get grid locked every morning. Zoe grew quiet then. Sometimes this happens to me as well if I get stuck remembering the past. So I decided to get us moving again. This seemed to snap her out of it.

  17th January. 14.33pm.

  I could tell instantly that she hated the place.

  I just scrolled through to my earlier journal entries and realised I didn’t describe it at all. Things were hectic back then. So here goes, this is what Zoe saw when I revealed our new home.

  The church is located in a suburban street in Blackburn. This area was once full of orchards. I’m guessing that many decades ago the church stood here alone, surrounded by apple and orange trees. The church sits right in the middle of a very large block of land. It would be about four times the size of the adjoining residential blocks. A knee-high bluestone fence provides the street frontage. Peppered around the grounds are some of the original trees from the orchard days. I’ll have to try one of them apples later.

  The church itself is small, no bigger than a tennis court. It is a simple rectangular shape with a gabled roof. The bluestone walls keep the interior nice and cool during the hot afternoons. Unfortunately it gets a bit chilly at night. Two massive oak doors provide the only entrance and are situated front and centre. I don’t think the church had been used for some years. It is rather dusty inside. The interior houses only two rooms. The first and largest is the congregation area. Twenty rows of pews lead up to the raised altar. A little room out back contains a desk and various church supplies. There is no plumbing on site except for a rusty water tank out the back. It is connected to the guttering to collect rainwater. The water may not be safe to drink, but I have discovered a better use for it: Holy water. Don’t ask me how it works, all I know is it does. />
  She wrinkled her nose when she first laid eyes on the place. I know it’s not exactly a modern masterpiece but it’s safe, damn it. I must admit I was peeved at her dislike of my abode. I pretended to be busy while she wandered around the grounds and the building, inspecting the joint like a schoolteacher. She held her arms to her chest while she walked. It looked like she was afraid to touch anything.

  She eventually settled down on the couch I had dragged in from next door and wrinkled her nose again. I would have grown angry at her indignation but her face looked cute that way. She said to me nervously, “This won’t do.” I began to protest but she cut me off, “I didn’t mean that I don’t want to stay here.” “Then what’s wrong?” I asked. “It’s just, I don’t know how to say it.” “Just blurt it out.” “OK. Don’t take any offence but this place looks like a boy has been living here.” I laughed but I wasn’t exactly sure how to take it. I don’t think she understood me either because she quickly said, “I’m happy to be here, really I am. It just needs . . . work” “I know,” I said, “this place is your now too. If you are going to stay here then you can do anything you want.”

  She seemed satisfied with this outcome. She sat quietly in thought for a while then got up and continued her inspection. This time she no longer clutched her arms together so I knew she was more comfortable. I guess we are still sounding each other out as well.

  Over dinner Zoe said she has some ideas on how to make the place more liveable. That’s fine by me. It’ll give us something to do.

  18th January. 17.19pm.

  Man I’m beat. We’ve been hauling stuff back and forth all day. Zoe seems satisfied with our renovations. I must admit it looks a lot better than my previous set-up. I only had a couch and a mattress on the floor. Plus the rest of my junk was spread out everywhere. I can see why she wrinkled her nose yesterday.

  We started this morning by carrying most of the pews outside. We left two along the walls so we can have somewhere to sit. Zoe didn’t mind my couch but insisted we also bring over the two matching armchairs from next door. We also brought over the bed frame for my mattress. “We don’t have to sleep on the floor like dogs,” she had teased. This irked me a bit but I bit my tongue on the snappy reply that attempted to boil out. I don’t know if she meant it as an insult. Sometimes I feel like she thinks I’m just a little kid. Anyway I tell myself there’s nothing I can do about it, just try and act more responsible.

  We found a suitable bed for her a couple of houses down. We did find other better beds but they were occupied, if you know what I mean. Zoe also won’t go inside any houses with vamps inside, so this made things more difficult. We searched high and low for a large length of curtain. Stupidly I asked what this was for and she told me bluntly, “I need my privacy Tom.” I felt my face grow hot and quickly turned away, pretending to be busy. We did find a curtain eventually and hung it from a beam at the far end of the church. It worked well actually, it screened off her bed from the rest of the room.

  We finished the day by having dinner on our last acquisition: a small round table and two dining chairs. Dinner was tinned spaghetti and tinned potatoes heated up on the camp stove. Zoe said she wanted to read while there was still light. It’s obvious she wants to be alone. Fair enough.

  19th January. 13.01pm.

  Nothing much of note to report today. I’ve just been pottering around the church grounds. Zoe seems content to just read most of the time.

  20th January. 09.49am.

  I wonder if she hates me for some reason. I can’t think of anything I said or did that might have upset her. She has been standoffish the last two days. I asked her this morning if she wanted to go on a bike ride and she declined. She’s not mean to me or anything, it more she is uninterested in interacting. I don’t know what to do.

  21st January. 11.40am.

  I decided to say something today. I had to do it. I watched her stare into space for at least half an hour straight. That’s not healthy. I’m not psychologist but I can tell she isn’t coping well. I sat down beside her and it took her a moment to register that I was there. She gave me a wan smile and picked up her book. I said, “Are you OK?” She said, “I’m fine Tom.” I’m not very good at this so I sat there in silence until I thought of something appropriate to say. “Do you want to go back to your old house?” She gave me a queer look but didn’t answer. “I can take you back there if you want. We’ll get some supplies for you and . . .” She stood up, cutting me off mid sentence. She walked to the door. I called out, “Zoe?” She just kept going. I went to the door and watched her leave. She just walked down the street without saying a word.

  I have been sitting outside for an hour in a semi state of shock. What the hell is going on? Is she coming back? Should I go look for her?

  21st January. 19.20pm.

  She still hasn’t come back. It is too late to travel to her old house. It will be dark in an hour. Shit. I hope she’s not in trouble.

  21st January. 22.50pm.

  She came back just before sunset. I was going out of my mind waiting. Four times I had circled the streets on my bike trying to find her. When she walked up the path I jumped out of my chair and rushed over. She just muttered, “Hi” under hear breath and headed for her bed. She hasn’t moved since. I offered her some food but she was either asleep for pretending to be.

  22nd January. 12.59pm.

  She’s the same today. Incommunicable. Like a statue. She eats and drinks, but it’s like she’s on automatic pilot. I’m too scared to say anything in case she runs off again.

  23rd January. 08.47am.

  Zoe woke me up last night. I was dead asleep until I felt someone pushing on me. I started with a fright, half imaging one of those ghouls clawing at me. But it was just her. She didn’t say a word, just climbed in under the covers and buried her head against my chest. Instinctively I wrapped my arms around her and she clung to me. It was almost painful such was the intensity of her grip. Shivers wracked her body and I rubbed her back. Then the tears came like a waterfall. Soon my shoulder and chest were damp. It went on for a long time. I didn’t say anything, just held her. The tears stopped. Her long drawn out sobs grew shorter and shorter. She fell asleep leaving me wide-awake. I could feel her sadness and felt sorry for her. But at the same time I couldn’t relax because there was a girl lying next to me in bed. I feel like a bit of a douche thinking this way. But I can’t help it. I’m seventeen!

  I do hope she feels better though. She’s still asleep back in there, in my bed.

  24th January. 19.13pm.

  Things seem to be picking up. She’s more talkative today. She still has moments of introspection but they don’t last that long. I even saw her smiling at me when I was trying to hang another curtain without success.

  We spoke a little bit about what we used to watch on TV. She hasn’t mentioned what happened last night.

  25th January. 08.50am.

  I laid awake last night for hours. I couldn’t help wondering if she would come to me again. Sure enough around midnight she slipped under the covers and cuddled in close. There were a few more tears but nothing like the outpouring of emotion of the night before. She fell asleep quickly and surprisingly so did I. This morning she was back in her own bed.

  26th January. 09.48am.

  Zoe gently shook me awake this morning. I blinked and smiled up at her. She returned the smile shyly and sat cross-legged at the foot of my bed. She started to speak but her voice got caught in her throat. I could tell she was struggling with some emotion, so I let her take her time. Once she started to speak, it came out in a rush. I listened patiently for a very long time. I don’t want to write all the sordid details here, that’s not my place (plus she asked me not to). Let’s just say she had her own horrific ordeals concerning family members. I’m surprised she has held up so well, considering the circumstances. She finished by saying the one thing that kept her going was the knowledge that her mum is safe. I spoke for the first time then, and asked how
that was possible. She said her mother was in California on business when the tragedy struck. Wow.

  26th January. 4.40pm.

  We’ve both been really talkative this morning, no awkwardness at all. Zoe even suggested a bike ride, so that should be fun. She wants to get some supplies and other things. I think she got some things off her chest yesterday and feels better for it. I’ve had this journal to confide in, she’s had no outlet at all for weeks.

  We got ready to go for a bike ride. Zoe gave me a querying look as she fastened her chinstrap. I returned the look in an exaggerated manner and she chuckled. Her round cheeks looked cute framed by the colourful helmet. “So where are we going fearless leader?” she asked. “I don’t know.” I automatically replied, “How about you just start riding and we see where we end up?” This must have sounded good to her because I had to scramble to catch up. We weaved through the leafy streets with the sun beating down on our backs. The day was very hot but it felt good to have the cool rush of air generated by the bike. I often stole glimpses at my companion to see how she was going. She rode with a straight back and her head held high. And while she wasn’t smiling or outwardly happy, she seemed calm and content. I couldn’t help but stare sometimes at the brown curve of her neck glistening with perspiration. I think she caught me gawking once but I can’t be sure.

  We eventually found Surrey Rd and followed it north. Zoe stopped at the freeway overpass and handed me her drink bottle after she had taken a swig. We looked down at the eight empty lanes of the Eastern Freeway. They seemed to stretch on for miles until the blacktop was swallowed up in a hazy mirage. Nothing moved, not even a single bird flew within our sight. I was worried that this forlorn vista would dampen Zoe’s spirits but she gave me a nudge with her elbow and said, “You ready for this?”