The Journal of Tom Barnett: Vampire Apocalypse Survivor

by Daniel S. Atkinson

  Once Maroondah widened out to four lanes the going was smoother. There were still abandoned cars and debris every now and then but we could maintain forty kilometres an hour easily. No bad all things considered. I stopped at the intersection of Springvale Road and hopped out. I strolled into the middle of the intersection and looked around. This used to be the busiest spot in the eastern burbs. Eight empty lanes stretched out to the four corners of the compass. The McDonalds and KFC stores stood like sentinels guarding our passage south. Zoe stepped up beside me and said, “Weird huh?” I nodded and took her hand. “Let’s keep going,” I said. We turned south down Springvale Road until I found a petrol station. I topped up the Jeep and the spare cans while Zoe liberated some snacks from the store.

  It was smooth sailing heading south for at least half an hour. At one point I even got the Jeep up to the seventy kph speed limit. Once we passed into Glen Waverley the situation changed for the worse. A tanker truck had crashed right in the middle of the road. There were blackened and burnt vehicles strewn across all lanes, in all directions. We stopped in front of carnage and had a break. We snacked on chocolate bars and water. I strolled among the destroyed cars in mild wonderment. The heat must have been intense. I could see where the metal had melted into the road surface. In the remains of one station wagon I made an interesting discovery. Even though the majority of the car was blackened and ruined, one spot wasn’t. The passenger seat was only partially singed. The part that wasn’t burnt was human shaped. You could actually see where a body had protected the seat material. No way could a normal body have withstood that inferno. I wrenched the door open, the twisted metal squealing in protest. I poked around a little more and found that the seatbelt was still done up. There was also some pale coloured ash and bone fragments under the seat. I reckon a vampire had been strapped into that seat, the flames consuming everything around it but having no effect on its undead flesh. The poor thing hadn’t been unable to undo the belt so having survived one heat wave was then subjected to another when the sun has risen.

  Even though they are evil, I still pity them. They aren’t like the masters. They are just mindless automatons. The master’s are actively hunting the normal humans. The lesser vamps are only driven by an instinct to feed, they have no sense of self or reasoning. Not like the vicious, cold and calculating masters. The lessers don’t deserve the curse that’s been forced upon them. The masters however deserve everything that’s coming their way.

  After studying the Melway we decided to cut through the suburban streets of Wheeler’s Hill in order to find an onramp to the Monash Freeway. We wound through the backstreets, me driving and Zoe navigating. We got lost at one stage and I pulled over to consult the map. Zoe was starting to get a bit peeved at me for taking over. I could sense an argument was about to erupt when I heard a cracking noise. It sounded like a stick being snapped in half, only fifty times louder. We looked at each other wondering what the hell it was. Then another crack split the air and the windshield of a car beside us exploded. Instinctively I put the Jeep in reverse and backed up as fast as I could. Too fast actually, as I slammed into a tree behind us. Zoe cried out as her head careened into the headrest. I cursed and tried to put the Jeep into first gear. We heard another crack and I looked up. A man was approaching us from a house up the street. He raised a rifle to his shoulder and fired again. The bullet ricocheted off the pavement less than a metre from my door. Either this guy was a bad shot or he knew exactly what he was doing. I didn’t care, all I knew was he didn’t want our company. I finally found the right gear and we swerved away from the advancing gunman and took off in the opposite direction.

  I pulled over five minutes later and Zoe fell into my arms sobbing. I held her there for a long time. When she had settled down I gave her a tissue and she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. It made a little trumpeting sound and I laughed softly. She joined in briefly and then took long shaky breaths. She looked up at me with those big doe eyes, now puffy and red. “Why would he do that? We didn’t do anything to him.” I realised that this was the first human she had met, apart from me. I tried to reason it out, “He’s probably just as scared as us. I think about all the awful things I’ve seen and I guess he’s gone through the same stuff.”

  “But it’s not like we are like those creatures out there, he must have known we were normal.”

  “That’s true,” I said, “if he has survived this long, he would know the difference.” I thought it through for a moment, and then added, “He’s most likely had run-ins with some nasty people. Take me for example.”

  “You’re not a bad guy,” Zoe interjected. I smiled gratefully, “Thanks. But I meant the people I have run into so far. First there was that feral kid and then that psycho who tried to feed me to the vamps.” Zoe nodded, understanding my line of thinking, “That gunman might just have been protecting his family. He doesn’t know who the hell we are.” “Yeah. And if he lets anyone get too close, it could be too late. He’ll end up with a bullet in his head and his family will be at the mercy of the attackers.”

  “Mmm. I guess I can understand why he did it.”

  “You’ve got to look on the bright side Zoe,” I said, starting the car up again. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “If he wanted to kill us I’m sure he could have. Those were just warning shots.” She began to look concerned again, so I quickly followed up, “Don’t worry, we’ll give him a wide berth. See if you can find another way around.” The task seemed to distract her and we soon found an onramp to the freeway. We sped down onto the Monash and six empty lanes stretched out before us. The open space seemed to lighten our mood considerably. I resisted the temptation to go any faster than 60 kph. We cruised comfortably all the way to the Eastlink junction. At the junction we ran into a traffic jam. Zoe tensed beside me and I knew what she was thinking: possible ambush. The cars ahead were neatly arranged across the lanes, blocking passage on both sides. I did a U-turn and we had to backtrack almost all the way to where we had gotten on the freeway.

  We had a bit of a fight then. Nothing serious, it was just the tension of the days events combined with our lack of progress. Zoe was smart enough to realise it was senseless bickering and put a stop to it. We decided to change our plan. Now we would travel the back roads, keeping as parallel as possible to the freeway. This proved to take longer but we steadily made progress. After a couple of hours we had left the suburbs behind. The countryside began to open out and the distance between houses increased. We made it to the last major suburb of Pakenham and turned south down Koo-Wee-Rup Road. This would take us down to the South Gippsland Highway, which led to Phillip Island.

  We had another rest break just before the highway started. We paused outside the little town of Koo-Wee-Rup and decided what to do next. We had about 3 hours left of daylight. The trip to the island should only take about an hour and a half from here. So that would leave us with an hour and a half to find somewhere to stay. We agreed that was cutting it too fine. The plan we came up with was to cut our losses here and find the closest safe house. That would give us plenty of time.

  We skirted the fringes of the town and settled on a little weatherboard house with a neat garden. Zoe hung back while I checked it out. The backdoor was locked but a couple of windows were wide open, letting in the summer breeze. This wasn’t a good sign, any resident vamps have probably been using these to come and go. I was about to give up on it when the front door burst open. I whirled around, desperately reaching for my gun. I heard a wavering voice behind me call out, “Hello there young man.” I turned back and saw a little old lady standing on the porch. She was wiping her hands on her apron and beaming at me. I left my gun in the bag and tentatively said, “Hello?” She kept smiling that 100watt smile and beckoned me over. “Let me have a look at you sonny.” I stood in front of her like a schoolboy being inspected. She said, “You’ll have to come closer, my peepers don’t work so well these days.” She took my hand and drew me in. She smelt like fre
shly baked bread and Windex. A weird but comforting combination. She ran her hand over my chest and across my face. “Sorry about that my boy, I just wanted to make sure you were one of the good ones,” she said.

  “Did I pass the test?” I asked.

  “With flying colours. Now why don’t you invite your lady friend inside and we can have a cuppa and a sit.” I waved Zoe in and she ran up the little path. She didn’t break stride at all, flying into the little old lady’s open arms and embracing her like an old friend. Our host crackled with joy and hugged her fiercely. “Hello there pet,” she said warmly.

  It seems odd now that I’m looking back and writing this. Who just accepts two strangers into their house like that? But at the time it felt like the most natural thing in the world. You’ve got to understand that old Marjorie was probably the warmest sweetest person on the planet. She was all hands. In a good way of course! She would reach over and give your hand a squeeze or pat you on the leg when walking past. We had a great afternoon with her, listening to how she had managed to remain unscathed out here in the country.

  It happened that the biggest curses of her life had also managed to save her life. Her husband had died over forty years ago, so she was alone in the house on the night of the return. Obviously she didn’t fall ill herself and therefore had no vamp loved ones in the house to attack her. Secondly she was nearly one hundred percent blind, so she didn’t like to venture out at night. “I only go out at daytime, when I can see the big blobs of green and stop myself from crashing into a tree,” she had said over tea and scones. (Oh man, let me come back to her cooking in a moment) So she had avoided the local ghouls by staying in at night and going to bed early. I guess she goes to bed around nightfall and being blind doesn’t have any lights on to draw unwelcome attention.

  Marjorie walks around the little town once a day but has yet to find another living soul. She is fairly certain that she is the only person left alive in Koo-Wee-Rup, which had a population of 2800. I whistled at that figure, it meant there was going to be 2799 vamps wandering the countryside in a few hours. She actually thought she was the last person left in the world until we turned up today. “That’s why I was so happy to see you my dears,” she had beamed, pouring more tea.

  We have accepted her invitation to stay with her tonight. I’ve spoken with Zoe and she is happy to stay here for at least a few days. Marjorie won’t have to ask me twice, she’s got a veggie patch, chickens, a cow and fully stocked larder at her disposal. We had cottage pie, fresh bread and butter and more tea for dinner. I can’t remember eating so well in my life. Zoe and I are in her son’s room in these old bunk beds. Marjorie choked up at bit when telling us of him earlier but seemed happy for us to use the room.

  The sun is going down now and we are ready for bed. I’ve been typing for nearly an hour now on the bottom bunk. Zoe is telling me to finish typing so she can hop in with me. Yes Ma’am.

  24th February. 18.11pm.

  I haven’t slept that well in weeks. I didn’t even hear any vamps during the night. Zoe said she heard a few scratching around, but it wasn’t like being in the city.

  We spent the entire day with Marjorie. We were happy to help out around the property. She needed a few things done that she couldn’t do by herself. We weeded the veggie patch for her and a few other bits and pieces. We went on her walk around the town, finding it as empty as before. I took the Jeep in later and raided the supermarket. If Marjorie’s larder wasn’t full before, it is now. I also filled half of her son’s room with canned goods. She should be able to cope for a long time yet.

  At lunch we did ask her to come along with us to Phillip Island. Her rheumy eyes began to mist up even at the thought of leaving so I changed the subject. She told us that she had lived in this very house for 80 years, been born here in fact. So I was happy to get those provisions for her. Zoe helped Marjorie in the kitchen and really seemed to enjoy herself.

  We contemplated staying on here indefinitely but decided against it. If the island is vamp free then you can’t buy that kind of freedom these days. We’re going to push on tomorrow.

  25th February. 12.55pm.

  We’ve stopped at Grantville for some lunch. Marjorie baked us some apple pie and sour dough bread. She’s a marvel. Zoe is still a bit upset after saying goodbye to Marjorie. I am too. It was bloody hard actually. The old dear never begged us to stay or anything, but I could tell she was profoundly sad as well. We promised to come back soon and we meant it. If the island is a big bust then we might be back there sooner than later. On the upside though, we left her in better condition than when we arrived. She should be fine.

  It won’t take long to get to Phillip Island now, probably an hour at most.

  25th February. 20.16pm.

  We made it all the way to San Remo in good time. San Remo is a little coastal town on the mainland. A large suspension bridge spans the gap from this town to Phillip Island. A deep, cold channel churns underneath the bridge. When the tide changes you can see how powerful the current is. The bridge itself is two lanes wide, 600 odd metres long and rises 20m above the ocean. They used to have a channel swim in the nineties but had to cancel due to someone being swept away. By the way I don’t know all this off the top of my head, I’m reading it in this computer shop we’ve sequestered.

  We stopped here to scout out the bridge and see if the way forward is safe. We’re being very wary now, especially after that gunman back in Melbourne. Marjorie seems to be the only sane person we’ve found so far, besides each other of course. Earlier we climbed the hill at the back of San Remo and looked out over the bridge and channel. Looking through my binoculars we spotted a camp on the island side of the bridge. There are two caravans parked there and we can make out a few people walking around. Two huge semi-trailers block their end of the bridge and they appear to have set up sentry posts on top of the trucks. Two more trucks block this end of the bridge, but it isn’t guarded.

  We’ve talked about what to do many times in the past hour. The only approach to their barricade is on foot over the long bridge. Tomorrow I’m going to approach them with a white flag, unarmed. Zoe is upset. She’s worried about what might happen to me, whether these guys are who they say they are. We’re just going to have to trust their message. The fact that they have priest in charge gives me hope. The safest I’ve felt in these past few months was in that little bluestone church. We need to find that safety again, Zoe deserves to be safe.

  But the message could be bogus and we realise this. If the unthinkable happens and I am shot down, then we agreed that Zoe could return to Marjorie and not be alone. No one will last very long alone in this world.

  We have been wandering around the little town all afternoon. We haven’t been talking much, just holding hands. Every now and then Zoe stops and holds onto me like it will be the last time. I try to comfort here but even I don’t know what the future will hold.

  I found something very interesting in this little computer shop. Someone had been living here at least some part of the time following the crisis. It is well stocked with camp beds, lanterns and canned foods. Maybe they have joined the burgeoning colony on the island since. The most fascinating discovery was the generator. I’ve been tinkering with it for a while now. There are power cords and PC cabling snaking all over the building. It culminates on the rooftop where a little antenna dish points into the hemisphere. Satellite communication. Or more accurately: satellite internet communication.

  I’ve managed to get it online after much trial and error. Frustratingly I can’t seem to receive any information, I just don’t know enough about this stuff. But I think I can send emails via this store’s address. Zoe and I sat around for an hour thinking of how best to compose an email. Where the hell do we even start? Who do we send it to? Then Zoe said I should just upload this journal. Attach it to an email and send it. We’ve managed to find the email addresses of some newspapers in London and New York. Their homepages are stored in the history of this store’s w
eb browser. We don’t even know if the rest of the world is still normal. We hope it is.

  I have reread through parts of my/our story and have decided to split it into three parts. I toyed with the idea of adding a title to each third and eventually settled on using a few lines from my favourite song. This song was Mum’s favourite too. Her love of music was about the only thing of note that she passed on to me so it is fitting that my story be briefly punctuated with her contribution.

  The early portions of the journal are hard for me to read. More than once I had to stop and wipe my eyes. The loss of my father is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to bear. I would like to think he would be proud of how far I have come since we parted. If this journal can achieve anything it is that the memory of Dad will never be lost. I much prefer looking back over the time Zoe and I got together. As crazy as it sounds I am glad that the world has been decimated. If this plague never happened I would never have meet her.

  So this is it, the end of the journal. At least up to now. I hope to continue it of course but I have to send this version off now, to you the dear reader. If by some miracle my journal does reach someone, then I have a final, simple message:

  We are alive. Please don’t forsake us. And don’t forget us.