Leaving the car we approached the front of the property, standing outside the front door. The smell of decomposing flesh was overpowering. A mixture of sickly sweat and rotting eggs! Emily placed her hands over her mouth and nose and as expected, I retched, hard. Puking up what remained in my stomach.
A boarded up window creaked open and a female face, heavily camouflaged peered out.
“He can only come in if he promises not to throw up. If I see one spittle of puke he can get fucked and live in the shed!” she said.
Great, a female version of my brother, exactly what I needed!
A rope ladder dropped for us to climb and Butty looked to me and smiled.
“Home sweet home,” he grinned.
This, survivors, brings my journal up to date. As I sit here, in a room surrounded by tins of spam, I can hear my brother through the wall, telling Sky Watcher how he single handily saved our lives with his quick thinking to down the villainous Ged and his gang. I’ll let him have his moment and judging by the cooing I can hear from the next room, Sky Watcher is impressed. I think I’ll leave it for a few days and let him have his time in the sun. Then I’ll tell her that he hasn’t changed his underwear for months and he drinks his own piss.
Emily is in the kitchen with Nick and Sophie whilst baby Gaby sleeps. They are cooking dinner which is, you guessed it, spam. Only they are trying to ponce it up by calling it ‘spam cooked three ways’. Boiled, grilled and raw.
It’s good to see Emily doing something and getting involved. I know she’s suffering but keeping busy will do her the world of good. Butty’s talk had helped a great deal. It’s difficult being a father and not knowing what to do when your child is upset. But when it comes to apocalyptic matters, Butty is more qualified than me. All I could do is be there for her. But I fear the events of the last few days have changed her forever.
80s Dave? Well he’s sat opposite me, smoking a tab, still wearing shades and bobbing his head to music through his retro headphones. I’d ask him what he’s listening to but if I did I’d never get this journal entry finished.
I’m sat here writing this journal whilst reflecting on the events of the past week. The people we’ve met, friends we’ve made and the lives that have been lost. Barry at the newsagents, my stinky boss Simon, reversing the Thunderbird and knocking the undead head off Emily’s best friend Jane. Jonathon, Ed, Steven, Brittain, Rod of the Dead, the pompous headmaster Mr Kelly and Emily’s depressed class mate Louise, the girl with the cape and Hulk fist with an insatiable appetite for killing zombies, Nick, Sophie and baby Gaby, Brockers who’s love of drawing penises resulted in Dave drawing one on his undead forehead, then of course there is Ged and his gang of murderous bastards.
After everything we’ve gone through I could quite happily sit here and never go outside again but Butty, to no surprise to anyone, has other ideas.
Sky Watchers house is in a small cul-de-sac of other, semi-detached houses. Twelve in total and hers is the only one that’s occupied. The other residents had either fled their homes, died or become zombies and ended up nailed to this house. Butty’s plan is to secure the whole cul-de-sac by building walls, a gated entrance and look out towers. He wants to call it Apocalypse Street! I have to admit it does have a nice sound to it. The only person that didn’t like the name is 80s Dave. He said we should call it Electric Avenue.
Well, I’m beat and there is a sleeping bag and a pillow here with my name on. Hopefully, sleep will come a lot easier tonight, not just for me but for all of us. Butty wants us up bright and early to start on Apocalypse Street. He wants us to search and secure each house, making sure every last one is clear of zombies and then he wants us to start work on fortifying the street. This will no doubt involve an eventful road trip to source building materials. But at least tomorrow marks a new chapter in the post-apocalyptic lives of the Diant family. A new day and a new start. A chance for us to rebuild.
Goodnight all.
Alright Daddy O’s, 80s Dave here. Whilst John is fast asleep, dribbling on his pillow, I’ve had off with his journal to give it a quick shufty. For days I’ve been asking him to let me have a read but he keeps saying no. Like his private memoirs might one day be of historical significance! Who the fuck does he think he is? Anne Frank? Anyway, I’ve given it the once over and I just want to clear a few things up as I don’t think he’s put me across in the best light.
Firstly, my name isn’t 80’s Dave. I fucking hate the 80s. I detest everything about that decade. The stupid music, terrible fashion, appalling movies and yuppie self-indulgent culture make the 1980s the worst decade in living memory.
My real name is 70s Steve, and I fucking love the 1970s!
Flared trousers, platform shoes, long hair with ridiculous sideburns and pornstar moustaches. And the music lar, you can’t beat disco or glam rock! Slade, Mark Bolan, Led Zeppelin and for a dose of the psychedelic, Hawkwind!
Ford Thunderbird? I wouldn’t be seen dead driving that heap of junk. It’s a Rover SD 1 all the way kidda. British engineering at its best. So what if one side was longer than the other, they don’t make them like that anymore!
Double Denim and a ‘Choose Life’ t-shirt? I don’t think so lar. I wouldn’t be seen alive never mind dead in those threads! Give me a nylon tracksuit any day. So what if you risked your life every time someone lit a match or you walked past a candle. Or that your clothes were so full of static that stray cats used to stick to you when you walked down the street. It’s better than looking like Andrew fucking Ridgeley.
Only joking aces and acettes. Of course my name is 80s Dave! There’s no-one else like me lar. 70s Steve my arse. As if I’d like anything from a decade where nearly everyone from British TV turned out to be a sex offender!
I had you going though didn’t I? I do have a few gripes about how John has portrayed me though.
For instance, he makes out that I smoke a lot but this isn’t true. I don’t smoke A LOT, I smoke, ALL THE FUCKING TIME KIDDOS! If you ever see me without a tab hanging out of my mouth then one of two things has happened. Either I’m sick or aliens have kidnapped me and I have been turned into an evil 80s Dave cyborg, hell bent on destroying the earth using my awesome wit and excellent battle paddle skills!
Also, he keeps describing the music from my headphones as ‘tinny’, when it’s not; it’s fucking BOSS! But what would he know eh? The last album he bought was The Bodyguard soundtrack. He wouldn’t know a good track even if it walked right up to him and said, “Hi, I’m Rip It Up by Orange Juice, play the shit out of me right now!”
And another thing. He says I rant about the 80s. I don’t rant, I educate. I am an ambassador for the most awesome decade of all time and it is my duty to spread the electric, synthtastic, decadent, shoulder pad wearing, hairspray filled, legwarmer covered, double denim gospel kiddos!
Apart from that, every word is true, even down to John’s over the top hatred of mayonnaise!
Anyway kiddas, kiddos, kids, lars, aces and acettes, I’m off for a smoke, a shit and a kip, in that order. Until we meet again!
Laters lar!
My Diary
By Butty, age 39 ½
Friday 15th February
Bingo!
A meteor has crashed in Russia, landing in a lake right next to a nuclear power plant. The region is known to be the most polluted place on earth.
There is a strong buzz over the A.R.S.E. network about this, prompting me to yet again start an apocalypse diary but unlike my Robot Uprising journal, Alien Lizard People Invasion Memoirs or my Diary Of A Soon To be Mutated Cyborg Government Experiment, I’m not committing myself to an end of days scenario just yet, in case it turns out to be a false lead. I wouldn’t want to look foolish.
I have a very good feeling about this one though. At last this could be the one!
Saturday 16th February
The internet has gone nuts over this meteor. There are videos filling up YouTube showing it flying through the sky heading towards the earth then
you hear a massive crash and there is a blinding flash of light. Believe Nothing thinks it never landed in the lake and that it actually hit the nuclear power plant causing it to explode. He thinks it’s all a cover up and the Russians are trying to keep a lid on things. Sky Watcher, Trust No One and Truth is Out There agree.
I like talking to Sky Watcher, she makes my palms sweaty.
Sunday 17th February
There is nothing coming out of Russia. No news reports, no nothing. It’s like the whole country is on lock down. I can’t find any official confirmation of this, there seems to be a media blackout. Even Google is throwing back zero results when I type anything to do with the meteor crash. It’s as if it never happened. But we know that something sinister is going on and the only evidence of this is one video, which as quickly as it was uploaded, was taken down again. Fortunately for A.R.S.E. Trust No One managed to rip a copy. The video is of a street in the Russian town of Yekaterinburg. Birds have fallen from the sky and lay dead in the road. People are running for their lives, screaming for help. A police officer is appealing for calm when a women staggers towards him and bites into his face, ripping his cheek clean off! Honestly you should see it. She chows down on that cheek like she hasn’t eaten for a month. Then the video ends.
I only had to see that video once to know what this is. ZOMBIES! The day I have been waiting for my whole life is here. If my research is correct then this thing will go global within in a week, maybe even a couple of days. It all depends how the infection spreads but one thing is for sure, we all need to be prepared.
I told the rest of A.R.S.E. what I believe this to be and Sky Watcher and Truth Is Out There agree. Trust No One, the stubborn old git, is having none of it and believes it’s an alien virus designed to make us turn on each other. I plan on working on him tonight to make him see sense.
After chatting to my A.R.S.E. mates I made a list of alterations that I need to make to my house. They are:
1. Board up all windows,
2. Lock and secure front and back exits to the house,
3. Build a rope ladder,
4. Move a large selection of food and weapon supplies from the cellar to the spare bedroom,
5. Make the back garden fences higher and more secure,
6. Set zombie traps in the front garden (may need a trip to B&Q for wooden stakes).
I think I might also remove the stairs as a precaution and live on the first floor, only going to the ground level when need be. If this is as bad as I expect it to be then there’s a chance zombies could force their way into the house and I’ll be safer living off the ground.
Luckily, my years of anticipating the end of the word mean I have two large generators in the cellar so when the power goes out, I’ll be fine for a while and I’ve been hoarding Spam for years so food won’t be a problem. I’ll get to work straight away, right after I’ve called my brother to warn him and my niece.
Monday 18th February
I spent most of the night talking to Trust No One over the airwaves and searching the internet for any information regarding the outbreak. Luckily, I managed to talk him around and he’s now willing to accept that this is zombies. Although he is adamant that the outbreak has been caused by an alien virus that was inside the asteroid that crashed and aliens are turning people into zombies then when the human race is on its knees, they will appear and take us all out, claiming the planet for their own. It’s possible I suppose, I’m just glad he’s listening and preparing to defend himself.
Still nothing coming out of Russia but there are hundreds of videos on YouTube showing birds dropping from the sky posted from Georgia, the Ukraine, Romania and Croatia amongst others. Whilst there’s still a media blackout in Russia, governments are trying to say there is a new virus affecting birds but it is not a threat to humans. Utter bollocks!
I’ve no idea what John is playing at. His phone is off and I even went out of my way to pop round his gaff this afternoon whilst I was out shopping for more supplies but there was no answer. He’s either pulling in extra shifts at the mayo factory or he’s ignoring me on purpose.
I went shopping today for extra supplies. You can never have too much spam and it may have taken me most of the day but I have bought every tin from every supermarket in Runcorn, Widnes, Northwich, Warrington and Wigan. I bought so much that I didn’t have room for any water supplies so I’ll have to go out again tomorrow but I’m not too bothered about that. Luckily, I have been drinking my own urine for years in preparation for the end of the world. Now I’m not stupid, I know that man cannot survive by only drinking his own piss. That is why I will need to stock up on water supplies but water can be rationed, and sipping it in small quantities whilst slurping down slash to quench your thirst is the best way to stay hydrated.
Tuesday 19th February
The house is now fully stocked with supplies. I have enough to keep me, John and Emily going for a long time, if my ignorant brother ever answered his phone that is. What the hell is he playing at? We’re going to have zombies up our arses any day now and he is nowhere to found. I just hope the years of telling John and Emily that in the event of a zombie apocalypse they should get to my place, will be enough. I can’t keep trying to get hold of them, there is too much to do around here.
As well as stocking up on supplies, I have now completed all added security work to the house. The windows are boarded up and I’ve added extra panels to the garden fencing to make them higher. To make the rope ladder, I removed rope from a child’s climbing frame in the local park, which was met with some very angry responses, mostly from the children that were using it at the time.
Now I’m not normally so cold hearted that I would take things from children but at the end of the day, they’ll all be dead in a week and I’ll need to get in and out of my house.
Talking of angry responses. Now over the years I have gotten used to my neighbours looking down at me. I am fully aware they all think I’m mad and to be fair that’s how I think about them. For a long time I’ve had to put up with them talking about me behind my back, complaining about how unkempt my garden is and how run down I’ve let the house become and that I’m ruining the street. But whilst they’ve been mowing their lawns to an inch of its life, painting their fences, weeding their gardens and generally keeping up with the Jones; I’ve been preparing for the end of world. We’ll soon see who’s mad. Paula next door is the worst. Moaning to the council, the environmental health and putting notes through my door saying the state of my house is devaluing hers. If it wasn’t for the fact that she sunbathes topless in her garden, I probably would have said something to her by now but as it stands I’ve kept quiet. Even this morning when she was stood outside calling me a psychopath for boarding up the windows, I didn’t say anything. I’ve got a plan for her though. I intend to decapitate a few zombies and display their heads on spikes outside the house. This is to warn off other survivors that might be looking to ransack or take shelter in my house. Paula’s head is going centre stage right outside my front door!
Right, I’m off for some grub and to check in with A.R.S.E. to see if anymore reports are coming in from Europe.
Wednesday 20th February
I have decided to attempt to wean myself off sleep. The idea is to sleep less and less each night and substitute this with 5 minute power naps throughout the day. I have tried this only once before but it didn’t go quite as planned. Not that I remember much about it to be honest but the police and newspaper reports said that I ended up in Asda, naked apart from a crocodile glove puppet covering my penis, and I was smearing myself in Greek yoghurt whilst proclaiming to be the son of Zeus. The reports said I was shouting “My name is Hercules, come take a ride with me upon my mighty steed,” whilst pointing to my dick covered sock puppet, swinging it about like a helicopter.
Fortunately I don’t remember any of it and as I always say, if you don’t remember then it didn’t happen. Unfortunately, the judge didn’t agree and I got 120 hours community se
rvice and banned from shopping in Asda for life. On the plus side, it now means that the rest of A.R.S.E. still have somewhere to get their spam because everywhere else has sold out.
I was in contact with Trust No one and Sky Watcher last night. Sky Watcher has followed my lead by boarding up her house and stocking up on supplies. Trust No One lives in a high rise apartment block so I’ve told him to come here before the shit hits the fan. He’s a stubborn old bastard though. It wouldn’t surprise me if he stays put.
Believe Nothing wasn’t on air last night, which isn’t like him. I hope he’s ok.
There is a hell of a lot more buzz on line now. Again, the Russians are keeping quiet but reports of ‘rioting’ and more bird deaths are coming in from across Europe. It won’t be long till it hits the UK.
Thursday 21st February
I finally finished removing the stairs today. To replace them I nailed in two hooks to the floor of the upstairs landing so I can attach the rope ladder. The only time I will be needing to go down there is for repairs or to operate the generators when the power fails and to retrieve supplies from the cellar. I have moved everything else I need upstairs. I used the wood from the stairs to secure both the front and back doors. The only way in and out of the house now, is through the front and back bedroom windows.
The neighbours’ curtains are twitching again and Ian from over the road even called the police as he thought I had gone insane and become a serial killer. I know this because he was outside the house last night yelling that the police were coming and he knew what I was up to. Moron. I’m still waiting for the police to turn up but on the plus side, I now have another head to stick on a spike outside my front door. He can keep Paula company.
Got to go as it’s almost time for my five minute power nap, then I have to design my zombie survival armour which will mean another trip to the shops. I can’t wait for a few weeks when everyone is dead and I can pop out without having to deal with people.
The Death in a Northern Town Trilogy (Books 1-3): Welcome To Dead Town Page 43
