Don't Be Dead- Heartache After The Outbreak

by Paul Wilcock

  I’m 27, it’s September 2006, Kelly’s dead, I killed her, in more ways than one if you listened to Kelly, but I guess just one way is bad enough, I tell myself that me and Kelly were doomed from the start so maybe I shouldn’t be beating myself up about how we left things. Maybe.

  I pack my emergency supply kit and clothes and draw up the list of ex’s. I’ll track each of them down, if they’re still alive, and see if I can reconnect, see if I really am worthless, see if I can change their minds about me, see me for the hero I am in my mind, give my life some meaning, some kind of purpose other than just hiding away, surviving until I die, alone, maybe get some sex too.

  The main ex on my list, the one I never fully got over, the one I always wanted to try again with, would also be the hardest to find as she’d gotten semi-famous, starring in a few low budget movies, I didn’t even know if she still lived in this country. She’d have to wait until last, I needed to start local; unfortunately that meant starting with the girl that hated me the most after our break up. The one that even I have to admit I didn’t treat so good, it seemed like a guaranteed tick in the Dick column on my list but I had to start somewhere.

  Gemma

  The first girl on my list was Gemma, she still lived nearby before the infection, just over in the next village, I saw her around a couple of times and I’d try to be friendly and say “Hi”, nothing more, just being civil but she wouldn’t let me get away with just saying “Hi” without ripping into me about the things I’d done wrong. Starting with Gemma may be a mistake but she’s closest so fuck it. I choose the Porsche 928, black, 0-60 in 5.9 seconds, it’s running low on petrol so this short journey might be the last one I get to do in it as its been getting harder and harder to find petrol around here, one more reason to move on I suppose. I just can’t seem to bring myself to drive something more economical though, they all look so lame, I never understood why car manufacturers never made an economical family car that looked like a bad-ass sports car. I connect up my iPod to the stereo and select Roberto Sanchez - Another Chance. My wheels spin for a second, wall behind me sprayed with gravel, then I’m accelerating, I’m up to 100mph in 14 seconds. The streets are deserted in this area, I’d cleared any vehicles, bodies and belongings months ago so I’m able to just enjoy the drive, Roberto is replaced with Jan Hammer – Crockett's Theme, it’s a nice sunny day, still feels like Summer but I can tell Autumn is just around the corner, for now though the sky is blue, the sun is shining and I’m Sonny Crockett driving through Miami on my way to a drugs bust, I put my shades on, getting into it; until I spot my neighbour’s car abandoned at the side of the road, on its side, blood on the windows, they were one of the first to leave the village; looks like they didn’t get very far. They had two kids. Maybe it’s not their car, maybe it just looks like it, shit; I take off my sunglasses, no longer in the Miami sunshine.

  I think back to when I was with Gemma and how it all ended, I met her at a club, I never met girls in clubs no matter how hard I tried, my friends always said that was the problem, I tried too hard, came off as desperate. I vaguely wonder if any of those friends are still alive, push the thought away, I try not to wonder who survived, it just makes me feel sad. Gemma immediately thought I was a dick, the more I tried to convince her otherwise the more she believed she was right. I was surprised when I had a message on my answer-phone from her asking me to call her. I tried to call her from the pub, on the payphone, couldn’t figure out how it worked, when I should put the money in, before I dial or after they answer? Her step-dad hung up on me twice before I managed to get it right and he actually heard me, he probably thought I was a dick too after that, they say first impressions count the most. After playing phone tag for a few nights, never managing to get hold of each other, we finally arranged to meet up for a date.

  I’m 19, its early October 1998 and I’m meeting Gemma in town, we’re clubbing at the Iron Bucket nightclub, the same rock club where we first met, she’s meeting me at a nearby pub with her friends first, I get off the bus and realise that I have no idea where the pub actually is so I stop an old woman in the street and she points me in the right direction. Gemma is with her friends in the beer garden, she’s wearing a black vest top, khaki combats, her hair is in pigtails, not the plaited schoolgirl type, the type that are like pony tails but there’s two of them, one on each side, are they still called pigtails if they’re not plaited? I don’t know and I guess it doesn’t matter, she looks good. She’s introducing me to her friends now, I’ve already forgotten their names, all pretty weird looking but friendly enough I guess, I stand out as not being a heavy metal freak but I don’t feel bad about being an outsider in this case. I’m just wearing a simple black t-shirt and black combats, rock n roll.

  We head to the club and start drinking, the drinks are ridiculously cheap so I’m drinking a lot, something I’ve never been great at. The club is fairly empty but the music’s good, we dance to Hole – Celebrity Skin, it’s not romantic in the slightest but she looks like she’s having a good time. The song finishes and I’m not keen on the new one, I don’t even know who it is so I ask Gemma to come and sit on the sofas with me. We get four more bottles of cheap lager on the way and drop onto the sofas, make out for a bit, then she says

  “I still think you’re a dick, by the way did you know your friends were warning me away from you when we met the other night?”

  I didn’t know that, I wasn’t overly surprised but did expect a bit more support from them when they knew I’d been after a girlfriend for so long,

  “So how come you called me then if you’re so convinced I’m a dick; I’m not by the way, I use dickish behaviour as a defence mechanism, I’m actually really cool.”

  “It’s comments like that, that make you a dick!” she pulls away, I pull her back.

  “I’m messing with you, I’m seriously not as bad as my friends make me out to be, trust me.”

  She doesn’t trust me and never will, not fully, which is a shame because I actually really enjoy being around her.

  Its 3am, we get out of the taxi and head towards Gemma’s friend Nicola’s house, apparently we’re sleeping there tonight. As we get to the gate I suddenly need to puke and head off running around the corner, puking noisily into the bushes, not a great way to impress her before we get to a bed I admit, but in my defence I’ve had more drinks than I can remember. As I stagger back towards the house she doesn’t look too disgusted so maybe I’m still in with a chance. We quietly creep up the stairs being careful not to wake Nicola’s parents and Nicola leads us into the bedroom. The girls take the bed and I’m sleeping on the floor with no blankets apparently, I wish I hadn’t puked in front of her, I almost suggest a threesome but decide I’m way too drunk to enjoy it and I try to stop thinking about being sick as the room starts spinning and I pass out.

  I’ve been seeing Gemma for two weeks now, spending most nights with her but things are already starting to fall apart, I’m not sure how I manage it but I keep screwing things up, she bought me an eternity ring a few days ago and yes, I think it may be a bit early to buy someone an eternity ring after one week and expect eternity to hold any significance, but unfortunately the ring didn’t fit and the one I chose instead when I took it back to the store turned out to not be an eternity ring. It was a genuine mistake, I honestly hadn’t realised that that was what she’d got me, and my choosing a “normal” ring, what turned out to be a four month ring rather than eternity, was completely guided by the design on the ring more than any ideas about our longevity. I should have realised then that she had issues, issues that seemed to have been caused by her previous boyfriend, Johnny or Donny or something like that, definitely an “onny” type name. She talked about him a lot, always slagging him off, he sounded like a dick, I would later realise that he was probably a decent guy and Gemma’s next boyfriend would be hearing all of the same stuff about me.

  We’ve been together for two months now but her jealousy and paranoia is getting stupid, it’s 2
am, and I’m just getting in from working my bar job, the telephone is flashing it’s red light at me to let me know there’s a message. I grab a Pepsi from the fridge and hit play before flopping down onto the sofa. It’s Gemma, she sounds tearful and also pissed off, what now?

  I can’t make out every word of it as she’s really screaming at me in some parts and sobbing in others, I play it back four times and think I get the gist, basically she thinks I was lying to her about having to work tonight and wants to know why I’d rather be hanging around with my mates on the street corner, and something about me wearing a wool hat that I don’t understand.

  I decide I’d best call her back and sort this out now, she picks up after one ring.

  “Hi, listen I got your message and I promise you it wasn’t me that you saw tonight, I’ve just got in from work just now.”

  She doesn’t believe me.

  “I drove through your village and saw you and your best friend standing there laughing and drinking outside the off-license, you were wearing a wool hat.”

  The hat seems to be an important factor in this for some reason so I focus on that.

  “I don’t wear hats, when have you ever seen me wear a hat? Hats mess up my hair and you know how much I hate that, hats and hair gel just don’t mix, and you can ask Stu tomorrow if we were out tonight, he’ll tell you he wasn’t with me, I promise you I wouldn’t miss a night with you to stand around drinking on the street.”

  She seems to believe me but I’m betting we’ll need to ask Stu in the morning just to make sure. I hate it when she cries, even if I haven’t actually done anything wrong I still feel bad, I promise her I won’t do anything to hurt her but neither of us know at this moment that somehow I’ll end up making her cry three more times before we break up.

  I’m 27, it’s September 2006, I slow the car down as I reach the village where she lived, maybe still lives for all I know, and cruise the streets, looking for signs of survivors, I pass her old house and a few memories are triggered, being forced to play some songs I’d written on the guitar in front of her family, really not wanting to, knowing they wouldn’t like my songs, them not being impressed by songs called “Crap Kiss” and “Hamburger Slut” as expected; listening to Limp Bizkit’s Three Dollar Bill Y’all album over and over (I flick the iPod onto one of the tracks from that album while I’m reminded how good it is), standing on her front step after we’d spent the night watching a crappy made for TV movie, “Death of a Cheerleader”, telling her to meet me at the club the next night, her saying maybe, me getting cocky telling her she would. She didn’t, and we broke up for a third time, and I didn’t feel quite so cocky sat in the nightclub waiting for her, feeling miserable; more memories of that particular night come filtering through, it’s a night I’d rather forget, Gemma not turning up was just the start of my misery that night.

  I’m 20, it’s May 1999, a Monday night in the Iron Bucket rock club, the DJ keeps playing songs that remind me of a dead friend, none of my live friends will dance or talk to me, I get told to go and dance by myself, I do but it’s rubbish, I’m reminded of the Ultravox song, Dancing With Tears in my Eyes, I ask the DJ to play it but he won’t, it’s not rock and although I understand where he’s coming from I’m still pissed off. I sit back down next to my friends and I cry, not bawling like a baby, drawing attention to myself, just the odd tear making its way down my face, I’m sat next to my friends in a busy nightclub and I’m crying because I feel so lonely. If Gemma had turned up none of this would have happened, we won’t get back together for a fourth time.

  I’m 27, it’s September 2006, Gemma’s a bitch. I accelerate away, turn the music right up to try and drown out the memories, Limp Bizkit replaced now with Bill Withers – Lovely Day, the Sunshine Mix, released in 1988, I’m already thinking this whole trip might be a big mistake.

  Gemma ii

  The streets around here seem fairly clear of wreckage and bodies which is a good sign that there are people still here holding back the infected, I learned the hard way just how bad bodies start to smell if you just leave them out in the street, if you’re planning on sticking around it’s best to burn or bury asap. I drive around for a while just checking things out, keeping my eyes peeled for any signs of movement that might mean survivors or infected, The Lemonheads – Rudderless plays on the stereo and I sing along quietly. I spot a sign pointing people towards the village hall; that must be where the residents of the village have holed up so I take a left and drive up to the car park. The hall looks like it’s been fortified quite well, a barricade has been built around the perimeter of the car park and the hall itself has all of the windows and doors covered with metal shutters, there are also four lookouts on the roof, all with their attention and rifles focused on me.

  I pull up outside the makeshift gate that’s mainly comprised of a car with a big sheet of fencing bolted to the side, I admire the way that it’s simplistic and inventive at the same time but my thoughts are interrupted by a voice calling out to me “State your business here!”

  I call back “Just passing through town, I’m looking for someone that used to live here, in the village I mean, not in the hall, wondered if she might be living here, in the hall, now though?”

  The voice, quieter than before instructs somebody to open the gate and the car/gate slowly moves backwards, pushed by three men. I drive inside and park in the spot indicated by a large bearded man, it’s an impressive beard, bushy but not wild, the way he stands and how the others look at him for direction casts him as leader and presumably the same man that let me enter. He’s dressed in a long red coat with what looks like mayoral chains around his neck. He doesn’t look like the kind of man that was Mayor before the infection spread, more like a builder. Behind him a small crowd has gathered; people curious to see who the new arrival in their camp is. I scan the faces, don’t recognise anyone. I get out of the car and walk over to the Mayor, hand outstretched, looking for a welcoming handshake. I get one.

  “Hi, we don’t see many new faces around here anymore, we weren’t sure if there was even anybody else alive out there!”

  I smile at him, it’s actually good to be amongst people for a change, “I haven’t seen many people myself in the last few months,” I tell him, “but I guess there must be places like this in most of the towns, especially the more remote places like this. I think the major cities must have been overwhelmed with the infection pretty quickly though, it spread so fast.”

  He gently takes hold of my arm just above the elbow and leads me inside. The main part of the hall has been sectioned into sleeping quarters, what looks like a workshop and a communal sitting area, I spot a kitchen off to one side, it doesn’t look like there are many people living here, maybe twenty or so, I’m led past them, they stare, some smile shyly, some glare suspiciously. Outside, what was once a football pitch is now an allotment, and beyond that more barricades.

  I ask the Mayor “How long have you been living here like this?”

  He answers fast like he counts every day that they survive “Since the beginning, when the outbreak first started, fourteen months, twenty three days, it took a good few months for us to get the place totally secure and set up like this though, those first months were hard and we lost a lot of people.” His eyes show pain as he remembers so I move the conversation on.

  “How many do you have living here?” I haven’t seen Gemma among the inhabitants and I’m wondering if there are more elsewhere.

  “There’s eighteen of us now, we had fifty six at one time, not all of them died, some left, looking for something better, I hope they found it.”

  I’d almost guessed it right, only two off, I ask him if he knows Gemma, he doesn’t, he didn’t live here before, he was doing a building job nearby when it all kicked off and he never left, he helped to fight back the infected and organise the village defences and the people ended up looking to him as their leader; he tells me he cried when they officially made him Mayor one night. I’m not really pa
ying attention to his story, I’m focussing on the fact that I guessed his previous job spot on and was only two off on the population count, damn I’m good.

  I’m offered a bed for the night and am glad to take it, at dinner I ask around to see if anybody knows Gemma or what happened to her, one of the older women does, she’s still in the village somewhere or at least she was roughly two months ago, one of the scavenger parties reported seeing her fighting off a couple of infected men, when they tried to help her she fought them off too, apparently she’s gone totally wild and the scavengers have been staying away from that part of town since, more scared of her than they are of the infected. I get the details for where she was last seen and decide to head out there in the morning, see if I can talk to her. The woman accuses me of being as crazy as Gemma for wanting to risk it, I tell her to go fuck herself under my breath.