In attempting to look closer at our environment over the last couple of days, we’ve noticed these subtle and yet symbolic differences. We watched last night on the surveillance system as countless streetlights flickered and fizzled out, one by one. It was such a simple and yet strange occurrence to observe. And when we awoke this morning and gazed out from the observatory watchtower, it was striking to see that the windmills on the horizon had ceased revolving.
Day after day, whether windy or still, those windmills that tower tall and strong in the distance have continued to twirl at some pace. Today, however, they do not. Nor does light beam out from the lighthouse off the coast of the next cove along. If you look closely enough, and we have, the lights have gone out at that particular safeguard.
All of which leaves us wondering if the power is gradually winding down across the area. Almost five months since the beginning of the pestilence, and it seems as though the world is quite literally giving up around us. Are we expected to do the same? The feeling of loneliness and impending finale is almost inescapable. Until you’re in such a situation, it’s impossible to describe just how claustrophobic it feels. The world is visibly grinding to a halt before us all. If that has us feeling trapped and condemned, how much more terrifying is it for the children?
It really is beginning to feel like a case of fight or flight for our group, on so many levels. The perception is that time is running out on our battle to survive 2016.
The pressure on the defences is easing, but on an extremely minor scale and not nearly quick enough for us to breathe in the slightly fresher air and make haste on any delusions we might have of leaving the base and looking for something more. Or even some answers. Added to which, we clearly have something of a ticking time bomb within our ranks; Jenny’s increasingly evident state of pregnancy is a powerful reminder that if we are to leave our sanctuary up here, then we need to do it very soon. Jenny is already feeling less mobile by the week, and it will not be long before she feels completely vulnerable and susceptible to even the slowest and clumsiest of cadavers. We already have three children to provide safe passage for, let alone two lives entwined in one full-grown body to carry too. It’s fight or flight, and we have to decide soon.
The decision, of course, is whether we all see a future for ourselves here atop the village and cliffs at the ex-military base that we still know so little about, or if we believe we would be better off taking our chances on another shelter somewhere nearby. The lead contender right at this moment is Porthreth Vean House, the Georgian ‘mansion’ that we are all vaguely familiar with and that sits squarely in the middle of the village below. But that option in itself is full of uncertainty. Is it occupied? Is it safe, and free from cadaver attention? Is it any more robust or sustainable than the customised – and relatively fortified – surroundings we have here? It may not be an option at all. The problem is, we would have no way of knowing until we got there.
Jenny is keen already; she has been for some time, in truth. But even if we could confidently answer all of those questions, we could still not guarantee the safety of Jenny or the children in actually getting there. And getting anywhere without them would be futile. So is it really a huge gamble worth taking?
The base here has served us well so far. It has been oppressive, absorbingly so. It has been harrowing and haunting in equal measure. There have been few moments or weeks without fear. But we are still alive. We are still here. The defences, however shored up, have held firm and proved more than able. Even today, despite the unrelenting pressure of nearly a thousand crazed cadavers pressed on the site’s perimeter fence for weeks, and that fence has still not been compromised. In time, we may be able to make even more of this place.
I have long believed, and still do, that we could build a bigger, brighter and altogether more sustainable future for us all up here. But will we allow ourselves the time to realise that opportunity? Does it even exist? And if the world is slowly winding down and succumbing to society’s collapse, then is there anything worth sticking around for here anyway?
We have a lot of thinking to do, very little time to do it in, and even fewer obvious options.
17th June 2016
With so much decision-making to be done, and questions hanging over our future survival here at the old military base, I’ve spent the last day or so trying to find out more about this place and its purpose again – more specifically, we want to know what the nature of its business is in having five (or more) surveillance cameras set up throughout the village.
Given its clearly MoD nature, there’s little out there for us to draw upon. It’s something of a web lockdown, and it’s really difficult trying to do research without the full wealth of Internet resources available to you, and no-one to seed questions to either. Oh how we really were so digitally dependent in the past.
So Jenny and I reverted back to the disarrayed dossiers that lay waiting for us when we very first arrived here. I’m crying out for some fresh air, to run the length of the base’s runway and do lap after lap of paced jogging. But we remain imprisoned here until the crowds of cadavers disperse into the woodland ether. We don’t want to jeopardise their passing and consign ourselves to even longer torture here in the concrete crypt as we have come to know it, so we are doing what we can while we’re stuck in here. Besides which, Jenny is not too inconvenienced to be sitting down and taking it easy in her condition.
There’s still little to be deciphered from the reams and reams of official filings and status reports, but we might just have pieced something together.
In the depths of deepest, darkest Cornwall, it seems, the site was a subtle ‘listening post’ for counter-terrorism activities. It’s a dark theory, very dark. It implies something we would never want to believe – both that there may have consistently been terrorist links in our otherwise sleepy village community, and that there was an air of suspicion about the village on a higher, governmental level. But it’s plausible. And from the documents we’ve scrutinised for hours on end, it’s very likely.
There’s a lot of wording to the effect of ‘counter-terrorism operation’ or ‘CTO’ as it is often referred to in apparent briefing notes; a lot of references to ‘suspect packages’ and ‘ghost traffic’ in day logs; and ostensible surveillance reports, complete with multiple screenshots, of certain days or points in time. Those too have various code words like CTO and ‘Identified Target’. All documents are littered with technical jargon, covert chitter chatter and (presumably) pseudonyms, as well as being labelled classified and date stamped. The last filing we can find appears to relate to a surveillance operation that took place on 10th January – exactly one week before the first media reports of the apocalypse. Its ominous sounding conclusion reads:
The findings of this intermediate report conclude there is imminent palpable potential for widespread disruption at a human and infrastructural level. Findings consistent with lab analysis of specimen.
Threat level: Severe.
Action: Immediate follow-up required.
Report: Further evidence to follow.
Quite what that is all supposed to mean is anyone’s guess. It sounds to us like there were very clear and present concerns within humble little Porthreth, potentially of a terrorist nature, but what it specifically related to is so vague we have no idea. We can’t understand what the lab specimen may have been, especially since we found no obvious examples of recent work in the lab upon arriving here some months ago. It’s opened up that very gruesome can of worms regarding the base’s possible involvement – however big or small – in this pestilence; Jack is convinced there is some semblance of truth in it. And what role would a camera set-up in Porthreth Vean House have had? That one is beyond us. Was the house used as an undercover reconnaissance post? Perhaps that’s how it’s surely not inconsiderable maintenance costs have been subsidised all of these years.
It’s all theory and conjecture, at the end of the day. We’ve learned a lot more about this pla
ce, and yet in many ways feel no further forward at all. Crucially, I don’t feel any less secure here. If anything, with the passage of another couple of days and the gradual ebb of the tide of undead at our fences, I feel more content with our encampment here. In the coming days the task ahead of us will be to re-asses the site from a physical point of view – taking into account all defences, security and sustainability.
20th June 2016
I saw every inch of its face, up close and very personal. Pores that had been replaced by puss-laden protrusions; eyeballs that had greyed, drained away of colour and identity, looking no different to any other pair of staid eyes amongst the undead; cold, grey, withering lips adorned with random ribbons of congealed blood, browning with every hour; and haggard hair that looked less tousled and more bedraggled, littered with crusted on flecks of rotting flesh and blood.
The teeth beyond those malcontent lips were literally rotting and writhing before me, uncontrollably chewing and grinding in bloodlust and anticipation. Only a pane of reinforced glass divided us when I awoke this morning and took my routine glance out of the postcard-sized window of the rear exit door. Sliding the metallic window cover across to reveal the window pane, that haunting expression stared back at me, it’s eyes visibly dilating and growing wilder for the prey appearing before it.
Somehow, this stray cadaver had found its way to the rear of the site and, against all odds, had managed to bear down on the building itself. How long it had been there, I have no idea. But it had clearly picked up the scent or sense of life lurking within these four walls. The bigger question we have to answer is, how it got there in the first place. Is there a weak spot in the site’s fences that we were not aware of? Has the fence been compromised somewhere? Or has this decaying, hungered corpse been on-site all along? The thought that it may have been laying dormant all of this time, and could have attacked us out of the blue at any moment, makes me feel sick. Meanwhile the thought that the fence has been compromised leaves us fraught with worry.
The consensus amongst us is that the latter could not have happened; if it had, surely a whole flood of cadavers would have followed this putrid pretence of a human through the fence. But we cannot know for sure until we get out there for ourselves and assess the situation. That will not be happening just yet – Jack, Jenny and I are still not convinced that the right window of opportunity to go unnoticed has yet arrived. Another 24 hours, for example, and we believe the crowd of undead will have dispersed enough to the east side of the base to allow us to venture outside.
What could be more worrying right now is if that corpse had been ‘hanging around’ the base all of this time. It throws up so many questions – questions that play into Jenny’s argument to leave the site in search of something better. How could it have gone undetected? How could we have gone undetected? Where, exactly, has it been hiding all of this time and what brought it to our door last night? And how many more could be skulking around within the grounds without us knowing?
22nd June 2016
Today was a better day, reader. Today, we inhaled fresh air, unobstructed and free of threat for the first time in weeks. We removed all barricades, slowly slid back the heavy bolts across the front door, and carefully leveraged the door open with hands that shook from a unique combination of composure and trepidation. We didn’t know for sure what lay on the other side.
Today, we discovered that nothing lay in wait on the other side, not within the perimeter fence at least. Beyond that fence, still there are several hundred blood curdling corpses clambering for our fleshy morsels. But the swell of the undead has eased substantially, the site is secure – just about – and we have some semblance of space and serenity again within this brave bastion.
Today, we enjoyed a few fleeting moments of clarity and respite. Jack, Nic, Tam, Riley, Jenny and I all took a collective sigh of relief. Just for a few seconds there was a kind of idiotic idyllic bliss; blissful because we had not venture outside of either the building or our paranoia for weeks, and idiotic because we know deep down that there is no bliss in this world anymore and perhaps never will be again. But for just a few seconds, we grasped it and bloody well clung on it – before lowering our gaze from the clear blue sky and readjusting to the sight of those ravenous cadavers not forty feet away.
Today, Jack and I carried out a full inspection of the site and drew solace from the conclusions that its defences had held firm. The perimeter fence, the crudely assembled hay bail ballasts, the sturdy gates, the escape tunnel, and even the ‘natural’ log defences erected put in place in the woodland; they had all survived the staunchest of tests. Better still, they all remained relatively fit for purpose. As a result, the sustainable side of the base is in bloom too. The makeshift water butts and filtration systems have been salvaging what seems to be acceptable drinking water; and the once frustrating raised beds are beginning to bear fruit. Those experimental crops have come a long way while we’ve been imprisoned in the base for the last 2-3 weeks.
And with the assurance of security, and Jenny and the children firmly fortressed back inside the base for good measure, Jack and I have sated some bloodlust of our own this afternoon. Sensing a growing need to take control of our own safety, we took out a raft of zombies to a far corner of the base with only the fencing or a rural Cornish stone wall for comfort. Though always quietly and controlled, Jack and I let them come at us and get within a reasonable distance before letting loose a whole month’s worth of vengeance and frustration as we slaughtered those crazed cadavers with vigour. We left showers of maroon blood spraying up into the air around us. The big, bold radar dome to our right took on a garish red façade that leaves it looking more like a fiery comet from outer space than the mega golf ball that it once resembled.
I felt all the stronger for it, for the combat and camaraderie. But it won’t always be like that and as I have so often said before, we won’t always be so lucky. Today we are savouring both our lives and the good things we have experienced over the last 12 hours. Today we are toasting our little victories with glasses of filtered rainwater; tomorrow is another day altogether. That has never been truer than in 2016.
23rd June 2016
Yesterday may have been a welcome reprieve from the deathly dread and tension, but today is indeed another day. As predicted and is so familiar in the survival of 2016, good days are followed by bad.
Nothing drastic has happened, diary, it is more that we have plunged back down to the grim reality of the situation before us. Jack has not been quite himself since we slayed corpse after corpse a couple of days ago, almost as if he was slightly affected by it on some level. Traumatised, perhaps.
I have clearly been affected by the act of battle again, which affirms to me that I am no valiant soldier capable of keeping the end up in terms of brute physicality. I awoke at 4am in cold sweats, thinking about almost every cadaver we ruthlessly butchered. My mind replayed over and over again the moment that countless biters fell to the ground without a sound, offering merely a dull thud as they collapsed in an undignified heap. It was not so much a crisis of conscience, as the haunting image of their contorted carcasses and fevered faces etched into my psyche.
It doesn’t seem to matter how many corpses you pick off, how many close encounters you get embroiled in, or how many months you have been exposed to the unswerving environment of mutilation and mortality – it eats you up inside every single time. It festers in your mind, in your soul. It lingers and gnaws, tugging at the strands of your consciousness until it reaches crescendo and momentarily consumes you completely. That’s when you wake up in the dead of the night, sweating and shaking all at once, crying beyond control. For minutes at a time, it’s impossible to see anything in front of you – your sight is literally filled with the image of dismembered beasts twitching and twisting, snarling and snapping. All the while, you wear a vacant, shaken expression.
It didn’t help today that we spent much of it outside, clearing up the wreckage of our rampage ye
sterday. Jack and I dragged bloodied, shredded carcasses to a nearby field and piled them up out of sight and – hopefully – smell, while Jenny and her siblings tended to the raised beds and tried to busy themselves with other less gruesome tasks. All around us, the stench of a thousand corpses lingered on the increasingly stale air.
And on those pungent notes, our day was done. We had shifted the bulk of the slaughtered cadavers away from the site, with only a few left to tackle, and further etched their somehow visceral viciousness into our consciousness. Jenny, meanwhile, still had no fruits of her labours from the veg patches and little end product for a day meant to bring brighter thoughts out in the open air.
This evening, as zombies zoom in on the base with renewed bloodlust after our daylight display, we will discuss plans for the day and, potentially the months, ahead. It's been five months since I began this diary. Despite the journey we've been on and the relative sanctuary we currently survive amidst, we still know little of the apocalypse, its origins or our future – however dark that may be.
26th June 2016
So, five months on, reader, and we don’t know where we’re going, not really. Our future is still up in the air and has been the subject of much tense discussion over the last few days. I feel like it all might come to a head very soon.
The Pestilence: The Diary of the Trapped Page 21
