by Paul Kane
Look, I’ll start this again some other time.
I’m tired.
Pause.
Resume recording:
You know me too well; I couldn’t just leave it there once I’d started.
Moving on again, just like I did after the collapse of the hospital. If it hadn’t been for another thought, okay another revelation if you like, I’d probably have stalled for good there and then. But something I’d read in those books kept coming back to me, time and time again, about how outbreaks were dealt with in the past. About getting the most information from ‘Ground Zero,’ where the virus first occurred. That could tell you much more than any of this dicking around I was doing.
Right, it’s like the ripples on the lake again, or the glass splintering on the car windscreen, the glass back at the facility. Once I’d made that connection, once I’d thought about it… Dennis, you see; he was the one who threw me off track, had me covering up and pretending I’d come from a hospital, when in fact I’d come from a place where they were experimenting with all kinds of crap. Denied it so often that I think I’d started believing it myself, and I suppose I was in no real hurry to go back there – too many bad memories. Like going back to the scene of a crime.
But that’s where the crack first appeared for me. Not just in the glass window of my room, but when I first heard the alarms, first saw that guard shooting up the place. I had no proof, of course, that anything had originated there – if it had, then the bloody thing spread quickly, and spread everywhere. You know how it is, though, once you get an idea in your head – and it was something to motivate me.
I needed that.
I’d get moving, but not forward this time, I’d retrace my steps. Go back along the motorway I’d followed here, back to Miccleston, and from there the facility – which in its own way might take me forwards, I told myself. Whatever – it was better than just mooching around and waiting for the end to come. Something positive I could do, and in time that would become my sole focus.
Picking myself up, I started the next leg. I thought about trying to preserve the hammer, but by the time I got back ‘home’ it wouldn’t be a fresh sample anyway – plus I figured I might need it. That and the fold-up saw were the only weapons I had left on me… when I set off, that was. Gathered a few more as I went. For instance, it took me off the track a little, but I came across this old castle while I was walking – one of those places that would have been a tourist attraction at one time, but had probably closed its doors long before the Rot. It was another risk getting so close, but I could see through the windows that there were displays of old medieval weaponry behind glass cases. Hard to tell whether the castle had been affected yet, because it was so old and in such a state – but I broke in anyway and quickly grabbed what I could, bundling up armfuls of the things and running off over the hill with them like a kid stealing sweets.
When I was far enough away to be sure that the castle wasn’t going to fall down on top of me, I sat and went through my spoils. They included a rather lethal-looking mace, which had a ball covered in spikes on one end, a sword, and an axe that put its little brother I’d lost in the city brawl to shame. Not that I didn’t come across guns on my travels, it was just that I tended to see those old kinds of weapons as more reliable. Less parts that needed to work than a gun, y’know? – although even these could let you down at the last moment. I remember one time when I came up against a Rotten and I had this—
Oh, right, back on point. More reliable anyway, especially back then. I didn’t encounter too much trouble from the Rotten, anyway – tried to avoid them as much as possible, staying out of the population centres and sticking to the countryside, which itself was changing all around me from day to day. Less and less green and more brown and grey, as everything turned – some stuff slowly, some more quickly. I saw some weird shit on that journey, I can tell you. An entire wood like the one I’d taken cover from the birds in… might have been the same one, even, I’d just come at it from a different angle. But anyway, I saw that entire wood just start to sink gradually into the ground, one tree after the next. Some stopped when they got to the branches, some were just dragged right under, as their roots and the soil around the trunks failed them.
Another time, I saw a row of pylons – and one of them must have rusted away at the leg, causing it to topple over. But because they were all attached, it took the others with it. Metal giants, all tumbling one after the other like dominoes. Nobody had seen anything like it before and I guess nobody ever will again. Only me. I didn’t know whether to feel honoured or cursed. Probably a bit of both.
I also managed to narrowly avoid a stampede of horses, which came trampling over a hill. Again, typical of the behaviour of those actually cursed by the Rot, they were travelling together but not really, if you see what I mean. Their condition varied, as with everything else; some looked like they had only just started to show symptoms of the disease, while others were positively ravaged by it – I saw exposed ribs on the sides of some, bones at the legs, and skulls shining through thinning flesh. None would have looked out of place carrying the Four Horsemen and in fact I had to quickly check that the lead ones weren’t. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised, and it just made me think again about that old farmer who looked like Dad… who’d had his Bible open at a certain page.
I didn’t walk all the way, though. More than once, when I had been really exhausted, I set out to look for a car or something that might carry me a little further; most packed up after only a mile or so, if they even started in the first place, but it was better than nothing. Found a really nice black Lexmoto bike outside one tiny village – it had probably belonged to someone who had been trying to compensate for something, but I wasn’t complaining, especially as it still fired up. Reminded me a bit of the one I used to own when I was rocking up to test those planes.
Should have left the bike where it was, mind. When that packed up, it sent me skidding into a ditch – head over heels. Adrenalin junkie that I am, I couldn’t keep the speed down on that thing, and it cost me. I thought for a minute it had cost me my protection, the SKIN – that maybe the tumble had perforated the suit. Stupid, stupid… I was lucky, however. Got away with just a few bruises, but it could have been so much worse. What if I’d broken a leg or an arm? There were no doctors around to set it, and even if there were, they would have had to take off the SKIN to do it properly. Making my way through this environment was dangerous enough without putting myself in such situations. Took me a few days to recover from that, and I walked pretty much all the way afterwards. Limped to start with.
I admit, I got lost a few times, in spite of the fact I was just heading in a straight line after I passed Miccleston. At one point I realised I’d got turned around, when I came across the same set of drystone walls I’d passed a few days previously – only they were in a much worse state when I found them again, collapsing in any number of spots. My compass was all but useless by now, just kept spinning round and round, so I had to just follow my nose.
Took what felt like weeks to get back there, but when I saw that fencing – which was actually still in quite good shape – it was honestly like the most beautiful thing I’d ever clapped eyes on; even better than the sun. If only the rest of that place had been in such good nick.
The grounds were deserted, and the bodies that had fallen there had been rotting away all this time, becoming a part of the concrete or what was left of the grass. What the fire hadn’t consumed, the Rot had taken. The structure of the building itself was still there, which amazed me, but it bore only a passing resemblance to the place I’d been taken to in the middle of the night; more like some sort of monument to the events that had happened there. Wasn’t somewhere I wanted to go inside, but I was still thinking then that maybe there’d be something in there which could help with my quest. My fight. So I ventured in, the glass at the doors having either smashed or melted away a long time ago, allowing me easy access.
I trod carefully through a blackened foyer, the building as forsaken as the grounds outside. Hardly surprising, though – if anyone had survived this, then they wouldn’t have remained here all this time. Still, I kept my guard up and my mace and sword in my hands. The lifts had been one of the first things to go, so there was no use trying those, but the stairs were intact, just covered in ash. It was almost as if a battle had gone on here, Rot against the flames, each cancelling the other out – or fusing together – and I made a mental note to test that if I ever got out of there alive. Could fire actually beat back the Rot, or even absorb it? I knew it could damage those who’d been affected, but could it drive out the infection, or at the very least put a halt to it?
That wasn’t why I was there. Ground zero… I needed to search each and every level to see if the Rot had actually originated in these labs, get some samples if so – though Christ knows how I thought I was going to look at them; certainly not using any of the equipment in the facility.
But on floor after floor, I found nothing but Rot and charcoal. There were holes in the walls, in the ground – and though it was anything but safe, I ignored what I’d sworn to myself and climbed higher and higher until I was at that rooftop again, the one I’d used to make my escape.
Nothing happened, there was no collapse as I made my way despondently back down again; I wouldn’t have cared if it had buried me right then. There was only sadness and a sense of failure. That and a clarification. You’re probably wondering how I knew exactly how long I’d been out on the road when I started these recordings. Hadn’t been marking the days off or anything – what on? As I once said, couldn’t trust pen or paper… or anything else, come to that. How did I know exactly how long?
I’ll tell you fucking how. One of the only things that survived both the fire and the Rot in that whole place was the clock and calendar in my room. It was supposed to count down that week I was going to be in there, actually counted down the three days before everything went sideways.
And now, fuck me if it wasn’t saying that I’d spent almost three months out there and achieved absolutely nothing. Less than nothing.
So that’s where you caught me at the start, beginning the journal – as I made my way from the facility again. Living whatever existence you could call this. No idea what to do or where to go. Knowing there would be no going back, that you never could.
Just knowing this was the end of everything.
Stop.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Record:
Damn, I left that on a bit of a downer, didn’t I?
Been a while, and I was at a loose end, so I played back my journal – skipped some bits, because well, they were too depressing even for me to listen to again. Even with this newfound hope.
I left off at the facility, going back there and discovering that – whether it was Ground Zero or not, and I still had no way of knowing it for a fact – I would get nothing from the place now. Its secrets had died with it, would rot with it. Oh yeah, that’s right! I did test out that fire thing. Doesn’t have any effect on the disease in the long run – just holds it off a little. Like the other elements, though, eventually it succumbs. Bet you’ve never seen fire rot, have you? I have – it’s bloody terrifying and fascinating at the same time. The laws of nature get bent out of shape with this one.
Speaking of which, remember when I told you about that river and the algae? Well, not long after the facility, and in the spirit of picking myself up, dusting myself off and figuring out what to do next, I thought maybe there might be some mileage in getting off this island and making it to other shores. With that in mind, my first thought was obviously flying again – it always is. Wait, this is relevant, I’ll get back to the water in a moment… Just bear with me, okay?
I’ll start with the airfields. Once I’d got a bee in my bonnet about checking out the world beyond our small neck of the woods – figuring that somewhere there might just be a country that the Rot didn’t reach – the best way seemed to be by air. I managed to find a few airfields and even one RAF base, which I also raided for weaponry – testing it first before taking it. Actually, testing it on some of the Rotten who were still at the base and attacked me en masse. Still up to their old tricks. On this occasion it was actually the sword which let me down. Snapping in two as I brought it round to stave off a lunge from a man whose uniform was still intact; well, enough for me to tell he’d been an officer cadet – only a young man, but his features had been raddled by the disease.
I only hesitated briefly before opening fire with the L85-A2 rifle I had slung over my shoulder, hitting him and the slew of others coming at me – grateful to have the weapon and that it was working at that particular moment. Another narrow escape, but I was getting used to them.
None of the planes I tried, either at the base or elsewhere, would start, though. Probably just as well, as the crashes in the chopper and on the motorbike might only have been a taster of things to come. I was wondering again what I had to lose really, and a short hop like that… might have been able to keep a bird in the air long enough to reach France or, going the other way, Ireland. Might also have ended up being worse than the accident that saw the end of my test-piloting career, as well. That should have put me off going up there altogether, but it never did. I was back on the horse as soon as I was able, even if it was only for pleasure.
Next on my list was by sea – which is where the river comes back into it – get to a port and maybe take a boat out. Full disclosure: I’m not much of a sailor. When I was a kid I’d get seasick going on the pedal boats at the beach, although I’d gotten over that particular weakness as I’d grown into adulthood. Again, I reckoned I’d be able to get a small boat across the ocean to one of those countries – although what I hadn’t reckoned on was the state of the ocean itself, nor the effect it might have on a boat’s hull. Stupid really, having seen what it did to that stick I poked into the ‘algae’.
At one dock I visited, the boats tied up to the dock were in the process of being devoured by patches of Rot – the fronts tipped up into the air, as the backs were decimated. Never could get the hang of which was bow and which stern… look, I wasn’t in the Navy, had no interest in it. Nevertheless, as I made my way along the coastline I saw that there were still stretches of untouched ocean that might be navigated. What put me off was spotting a ship out there – I have no idea how long it had been floating adrift, maybe even since all this first happened? I only know it was big, like a cruise ship or something – easy to see in spite of the fact it was quite far away. And it was going along nicely one minute, flowing through open waters – then the next it was being attacked by a patch of Rot that looked like it had moved towards it. Reminded me of the shark hunting its victims in Jaws. It was almost as if the Rot had a mind of its own; was the predator hunting the prey – and not just on a molecular level this time, but a visible one.
As I watched the ship being attacked, I gave another of those little shivers. Again, nothing to do with being cold – I had the SKIN, plus my other clothes, some of which I’d had to change because they’d begun to rot away; finding unaffected stuff was getting harder and harder as I went along… It was just the sight of that out there – enough to put me off trying to sail to better climes for a while at any rate.
My third bright idea? I made the pilgrimage down to our capital, and from there I would trace the train tracks to Folkestone and the Channel Tunnel entrance. Perhaps being so far under that water might have protected the tunnel itself, I thought. I encountered probably the most Rotten ever in that city, as you can probably imagine, and some were in the worst condition yet. People whose skin was dripping off them like so much melting wax, whose eyes were liquefying in what was left of their skulls. I found a large concentration at St Pancras, something inside them obviously mirroring my own need to get away from this island. All they would do was spread the infection – if it hadn’t already drifted across by air or sea.
It got pretty hairy a f
ew times during my time in that station, but I’ve learned not to let myself get surrounded by them – not to let myself get backed into corners, either, with no way out. These were much slower, which helped; easier to give them the slip. Not saying I didn’t have to fight, because I did – this time with a pistol in one hand and my mace in the other – but invariably I won, like their hearts weren’t in it anymore. I guess the longer the Rot had worked on them, the less they were even able to think about striking effectively… and yet they were all still doing it together. Still in those groups, still flocking – like the birds, like the horses.
There was an even worse sight waiting for me at the end of that line, however. The tunnel entrance, completely caved in – though there was Rotten water spilling out through gaps, having washed up bodies with it. These were covered in sludge and bilge, one piled upon another. It was a heartbreaking thing to see, mainly because I had no idea how many of these folk had still been ‘okay’ when it happened. Had they known, heard the cracking of the tunnel above them, tried to escape as the waves came crashing in through the ceiling?
I closed my eyes, the imagined horrors simply too much – even after everything I’d seen, everything I’d been through. Had to leave that place, once again not really knowing where I would go from there. Everything I thought of, every idea I had – after getting up when I’d been knocked down – none of it was working out. I was beginning to wonder if anything ever would, whether I’d just be doomed to walk amongst the Rotten, in this Rotting place forever.
