The Pestilence: The Diary of the Trapped

by Rob Cockerill

  The Pestilence

  The Diary of the Trapped

  By Rob Cockerill

  Copyright © 2016 Rob Cockerill

  All rights reserved

  Foreword

  I've never been able to put my name to other forms of fiction before, it's like my grounding in reality has blunted my childhood imagination. I couldn't have written about a drug that would make a man limitless. I couldn't conjure up the idea of a boyhood wizard and a world of magic, goblins and good sorcery versus evil. Likewise, I couldn't imagine a new superhero and I wouldn’t know where to start a story about werewolves versus vampires. My mind puts up barriers and stops me from letting the idea flourish. Well that couldn't happen, I think.

  Yet I can imagine a zombie apocalypse, of some sorts at least. I have always been strangely drawn toward all manner of end of the world fiction. From modern adaptations of The War of the Worlds and The Day of the Triffids to zombie thrillers such as 28 Days Later, World War Z and I Am Legend, and even Mother Nature-based apocalyptic flicks like 2012 and The Day After Tomorrow, I've always been strangely fascinated by the genre and love getting absorbed in those carefully crafted stories.

  I enjoyed power cuts as a child, and through the years I’ve come to realise that I really am more of winter person than a sun-seeker – so I guess it should come as no surprise that I find myself easily imbibed in the whole ‘hunker down and ride it out’ spirit. I've always liked to imagine what I would do in such apocalyptic circumstances. It's one of the few things I can immerse myself in the idea of and run with it. So with The Pestilence: The Diary of the Trapped, I did.

  First and foremost, I wanted to see if I could do it. I wanted to live out my own apocalyptic thoughts, my own inner survivor, and see where that might take me. I wanted to see if I could really turn those musings into a fiction piece of any note. Secondly, I wanted to take this experience and make it as real or gritty as possible. I wanted it to be far more of the 'boring' side of a zombie apocalypse.

  Blockbuster films often have little more than 90 minutes to get through as much of the plot, the backstory, the character profiles and of course the action as possible. They have to do that as effectively as possible and generally do – they can't go for the 'boring' angle, they have to be successful, they have to win ratings and revenues. Even TV series cannot give over too much time to the basic drudgery of a given situation. But with my own interpretation of the genre and none of those pressures, I had the opportunity to tackle the other side; the monotony, the drudge of fear and entrapment, the gloomy realism without necessarily providing a hero versus villain narrative.

  I can't claim that what I portray is necessarily new, but in questioning what 'new' I could bring to the genre I realised that I wanted to go for a pragmatic approach. I had hoped it would encapsulate the intensely lonely, lost and purposelessness that I imagine such an oppressive, terrifying tragedy would bring. I wanted to bring it to life as it was me, in my home, going through this ordeal. It needed to show how I might think, how I might have to endure the things I do and the strategies I might take to survive in such a fatal world. I had the opportunity to cast ordinary people rather than employ heroes-in-the-making.

  What was surely new was my combination of gritty realism with that location in Cornwall. And that was my third goal – to make the narrative in rural Cornwall. It's where I've grown up, it's my home and my life, and where better to write about than somewhere you know so well? So this is my humble take on the apocalypse genre – there surely can't be too many first-person zombie apocalypse stories based in Cornwall. I hope you enjoy living and breathing it as much as I did.

  For Dad, I did it!

  Thanks to my friends and family for their incredible support.

  Table of Contents

  FOREWORD

  PROLOGUE

  23RD JANUARY 2016

  24TH JANUARY 2016

  25TH JANUARY 2016

  26TH JANUARY 2016

  27TH JANUARY 2016

  28TH JANUARY 2016

  29TH JANUARY 2016

  30TH JANUARY 2016

  31ST JANUARY 2016

  1ST FEBRUARY 2016

  2ND FEBRUARY 2016

  3RD FEBRUARY 2016

  4TH FEBRUARY 2016

  5TH FEBRUARY 2016

  6TH FEBRUARY 2016

  7TH FEBRUARY 2016

  8TH FEBRUARY 2016

  9TH FEBRUARY 2016

  10TH FEBRUARY 2016

  11TH FEBRUARY 2016

  12TH FEBRUARY 2016

  13TH FEBRUARY 2016

  14TH FEBRUARY 2016

  15TH FEBRUARY 2016

  16TH FEBRUARY 2016

  17TH FEBRUARY 2016

  18TH FEBRUARY 2016

  19TH FEBRUARY 2016

  20TH FEBRUARY 2016

  21ST FEBRUARY 2016

  22ND FEBRUARY 2016

  23RD FEBRUARY 2016

  24TH FEBRUARY 2016

  25TH FEBRUARY 2016

  26TH FEBRUARY 2016

  28TH FEBRUARY 2016

  29TH FEBRUARY 2016

  1ST MARCH 2016

  2ND MARCH 2016

  3RD MARCH 2016

  4TH MARCH 2016

  5TH MARCH 2016

  6TH MARCH 2016

  7TH MARCH 2016

  8TH MARCH 2016

  9TH MARCH 2016

  10TH MARCH 2016

  11TH MARCH 2016

  12TH MARCH 2016

  13TH MARCH 2016

  14TH MARCH 2016

  15TH MARCH 2016

  17TH MARCH 2016

  18TH MARCH 2016

  19TH MARCH 2016

  20TH MARCH 2016

  21ST MARCH 2016

  22ND MARCH 2016

  23RD MARCH 2016

  24TH MARCH 2016

  25TH MARCH 2016

  25TH MARCH 2016

  27TH MARCH 2016

  28TH MARCH 2016

  29TH MARCH 2016

  30TH MARCH 2016

  31ST MARCH 2016

  1ST APRIL 2016

  9TH APRIL 2016

  14TH APRIL 2016

  27TH APRIL 2016

  28TH APRIL 2016

  29TH APRIL 2016

  30TH APRIL 2016

  1ST MAY 2016

  2ND MAY 2016

  3RD MAY 2016

  4TH MAY 2016

  5TH MAY 2016

  6TH MAY 2016

  8TH MAY 2016

  9TH MAY 2016

  10TH MAY 2016

  15TH MAY 2016

  16TH MAY 2016

  17TH MAY 2016

  18TH MAY 2016

  20TH MAY 2016

  22ND MAY 2016

  24TH MAY 2016

  27TH MAY 2016

  6TH JUNE 2016

  8TH JUNE 2016

  9TH JUNE 2016

  12TH JUNE 2016

  14TH JUNE 2016

  15TH JUNE 2016

  17TH JUNE 2016

  20TH JUNE 2016

  22ND JUNE 2016

  23RD JUNE 2016

  26TH JUNE 2016

  28TH JUNE 2016

  30TH JUNE 2016

  4TH JULY 2016

  12TH JULY 2016

  15TH JULY 2016

  18TH JULY 2016

  20TH JULY 2016

  23RD JULY 2016

  28TH JULY 2016

  31ST JULY 2016

  5TH AUGUST 2016

  8TH AUGUST 2016

  9TH AUGUST 2016

  11TH AUGUST 2016

  2ND SEPTEMBER 2016

  5TH SEPTEMBER 2016

  7TH SEPTEMBER 2016

  10TH SEPTEMBER 2016

  15TH SEPTEMBER 2016

  19TH SEPTEMBER 2016

  2
3RD SEPTEMBER 2016

  27TH SEPTEMBER 2016

  30TH SEPTEMBER 2016

  5TH OCTOBER 2016

  10TH OCTOBER 2016

  14TH OCTOBER 2016

  23RD OCTOBER 2016

  26TH OCTOBER 2016

  30TH OCTOBER 2016

  5TH NOVEMBER 2016

  12TH NOVEMBER 2016

  16TH NOVEMBER 2016

  15TH DECEMBER 2016

  16TH DECEMBER 2016

  20TH DECEMBER 2016

  EPILOGUE

  Prologue

  Antibacterials, commonly referred to and known by us all as antibiotics, were first developed in the 1940s and are widely used throughout the developed world to treat a plethora of infections and antimicrobial compounds.

  A whole range of infections and bacteria are remedied by thousands of different antibacterials, from natural compounds to semi-synthetic modifications of these compounds, and even entirely synthetic antibiotics. Yet a cure for the common cold and influenza still eludes modern society today, affecting thousands – perhaps millions – of people throughout the world each and every day.

  The body of each individual reacts differently; some effectively fight off these infections without even knowing they had them, while others need to visit a GP for antibiotics and assistance. It’s thought that each individual generally contracts up to eight different ‘bugs’ or viruses per year. What if just one of these, somewhere, some day, takes a sinister twist for the worse? What if one person’s unique DNA reacts differently to a particular virus, and bonds with it or mutates as a result of it? What if, in an age of increasing automation and digital reliance, including in the field of medical research and pharmaceuticals, one stream of biological data is modified? What if...

  The Diary of the Trapped

  23rd January 2016

  They told us this day might come. Fantasists. There were reports in the news and medical journals that an ‘antibiotic apocalypse’ was coming. Apparently, we were turning to antibiotics all the time, for the slightest of infections, and now we were running out of new antibacterials to treat things with. Scientists couldn’t come up with any new types of antibiotics to fight disease. Superbugs were becoming resistant to medication. At least that’s what the newspapers said, anyway. Disaster was just around the corner, they claimed.

  Well here it is – we just didn’t think it would come so soon. How did it come to this? How did it happen so soon? Was it an accident? All I know is, we’re scared shitless. We’re scared shitless of the vicious animals that lay in wait outside. We’re trapped here, slowly running out of food and one-by-one, our creature comforts as we know them are running out. God only knows how much longer the power will be on for; I’ve charged everything up as much as I can, just in case.

  The water’s fine at the moment, but will that run out soon? If there’s no-one to run the water companies, does that mean the supply will stop? We don’t know anything. There’s no information available. We’ve filled as many pans and bottles as we can, but it’s surely only a matter of time. What we could do with is some more supplies – basic food and drinks. Fortunately we’d only just done our grocery shopping when this shit began, but we still weren’t ready. Who really is?

  Fiction had always speculated this day might come, but we didn’t really pay attention. Did anyone? Did government have a plan for this? I know we’re sat here in deepest, darkest rural Cornwall, stuck inside the four walls of our small apartment, but it doesn’t seem so. Right now it feels like we’re trapped in a very scary, very lonely new world.

  24th January 2016

  I was always a huge fan of the zombie genre, it fascinated me and left me intrigued how we would cope if it ever happened. But I didn't want this, nor was I ever excited that it might happen. I guess I thought it never actually would, but I did think I'd be better prepared.

  I had all sorts of ‘plans’ and ideas at the back of my mind – how to fortify the flat, what rations we might need, where we might need to escape to if our safety was compromised. I had even thought about a long-term plan for survival, based upon a brave new world out on the high seas. But that all went to shit seven days ago when the fiction became reality.

  Stories began to emerge – on rolling news channels – of bizarre acts of terrorism, with victims bitten or ravaged in unprovoked assaults. Attackers would go on rampages, taking out several innocent people in each frenzied incident. At first no-one seemed to pay any great attention – it was surreal, but apparently not big enough in that first 24 hours to knock a celebrity death off the front pages. Suddenly the attacks became more frequent and spread out, and the authorities, media and the public alike began to join the dots. These were no terrorist attacks. These were graphic, violent mutilations – and every mutilated corpse seemed to come back to life within hours and carry out its own feeding frenzy. That’s the only way I can describe it. The ‘undead’ were taking over.

  With every mouthful of fresh blood they were growing stronger and more ferocious, satisfied and yet all at once thirsty for more. With every feed, every new victim, the collapse of every region, the army of the undead was becoming ever stronger, ever more switched on, ever more overpowering.

  There had been barely any reprieve since the outbreak began, so much so that not only had the bulk of the country been taken over, save for the rural strongholds that had remained resolute off the beaten track, but there had been no known understanding of how or where the plague had begun. Some early reports pointed to the Cotswolds as the first source of the attacks.

  Within three days, what little media outlets were still broadcasting ran reports that up to 60% of the country had been ‘taken’ by these killers. The undead reached us here in Cornwall three days ago. Word began to spread that it had started. There were reports of deaths in both Penzance in the far west and Launceston further eastwards. The undead – the virus, whatever it is – had been carried into the county somehow. Perhaps someone was infected but didn’t declare it. It would have been easy to still board a plane or train in the early days of the crisis. Perhaps they drove down as far as they could to escape the chaos. It doesn’t really matter now; it’s here and we’re dealing with it. Except, we’re not. Not really.

  You could pretend it was cosy at first, in many ways. It was like one big, long weekend of lazing around in bed with nowhere to go and nothing to do; just resting between the sheets, idly chatting in more awake moments, and getting up every now and then for some convenience food. It was almost idyllic. But it wasn't really like that at all.

  We weren't resting between the sheets; we were cowering beneath them. We weren't idly chatting about our hopes and dreams; we were seriously questioning whether this would ever be over. And we weren't getting up whenever we felt like it for some tasty treats; instead we were sneaking around the house as little as possible to avoid creating any noise, unable to strike up the cooker and actually cook any proper meals for the same reason. We weren't enjoying our home comforts; we were imprisoned with them. We still are, seven days on.

  I may have been better-prepared than some, and clearly calmer than some of our neighbours. But nothing can prepare you for this. The undead stalk the streets everywhere. They’re dominating us. This is the end of the world as we know it. The year has only just begun, but we’re trapped in 2016. At best, we’re surviving 2016 – for now.

  25th January 2016

  Have I told you about the day this all started, the day it reached our once idyllic village? With only the same four walls to stare at and our lives changed forever, it’s difficult not to think about that day, over and over.

  Have you ever sat and watched people and their dogs at play on the beach? That’s exactly what I found myself doing that day, just for a few moments, as the sun shone down on the cold winter sands of this hamlet. In those cherished moments there was a sense of hope, a kind of freedom and collective spirit.

  Though the rest of the country was seemingly at war, beset by beasts and brutality and with
all of it unfolding on our TV screen, our little community had unofficially gathered at the beach in a forlorn yet hopeful ambience. Against all government advice, at least half the village had assembled at the beach to walk dogs, take a stroll alongside the breaking waves, or simply stare out to sea like me. It wasn’t planned, it just seemed to be one of those rare moments where everyone had the same idea; like driving out to the woods to jump in muddy puddles with children on rainy days.

  Perhaps subconsciously we all recognised it might be our last chance. We had all seen it unfolding on rolling news channels and emergency bulletins, we had heard it playing out across the radio waves and – how very 21st century – many of us had updates pulled down to our smartphones. The plague was everywhere. And then it really was everywhere, for us.

  There we all were, drinking in those treasured moments on the sand in the cool, crisp air. As dogs ran about and people walked almost aimlessly, it happened – someone got an update through their headphones as they wandered among the caves and rocks; the first zombie-like deaths were reported in Cornwall. Within minutes there was pandemonium.

  People darted to and fro as the news spread and I immediately realised what had happened. It snapped me from my pondering and I stole a march on those around me, calmly striding back home to Jenny and planning our first lines of defence. I surveyed the beach again one last time, to take in the view and soak it in. That was when I decided to document everything, to write this blog.

  Within hours, carnage had reached Porthreth. Collectively, the village wasn’t ready. So many lives were lost in mere minutes; we heard them, we saw them. Now the blood-soaked streets tell their story, while their corpses beat at our doors.