Diary of the Displaced Box Set

by Glynn James

  The wall was quite low by the time I faced off against the zombie. I approached slowly, pointing my mace and my torch at it. The reek of the creature was nasty, hitting me like a cloud of gas at about ten feet. It was a massive one, not tall or anything, but fat, monstrously fat, and it had something sticking out of its stomach, piercing right through its body. It looked like it was a metal girder or something similar. Its innards were wrapped round the metal and dangling out all over the place, dragging along the floor as it stumbled about.

  A totally random thought entered my head, and I laughed. How odd. Here I am, faced with a horde of the living dead, and I'm laughing as I remember being told by my mum to tie my shoelaces or I would trip on them. Did this creature ever have a problem tripping on its own guts?

  For its weapon, this zombie had chosen a head. Yeah, a zombie head. It had hold of it by the hair, which was long and drenched through with dried blood and other crap. As it swung it in my direction, the head cursed and swore at me. I think that's what freaked me out more than the obese size of the creature – that swinging, screaming head that it was trying to hit me with.

  I didn't think I had much luck by ending up in this place, but luck has had a lot to do with my survival after that moment, and it played a huge role right then. I was about to step forward and try to take the thing on. Even though I was convinced that I stood no chance, but then I noticed what it was standing on. Cardboard! Another immense pile of it, spread out across the floor, and this time not drenched in muck and water. One jab of my torch and it took like a treat, and the giant zombie went up with it. I had to jump back a few steps to avoid getting toasted myself.

  I've never been a hateful person, but the sheer joy in watching that creature roast was immense. So much so that I wasn't expecting the damn thing to come walking off the cardboard towards me, burning like a failed Catherine wheel as it flailed that screaming head and its other arm around in its fury. I had no choice. I dived over the wall, hit the ground hard, and then frantically crawled away. Not a moment too soon either, because barely a second or two after I tumbled away from the wall, the burning zombie came crashing down over the rock, in an inferno, and fell to pieces on the cobbled floor. The head, still on fire, rolled over towards me and came to stop a few inches from my feet.

  It screamed.

  Up until then I had been avoiding going over that wall. I dreaded the thought that when I got there it would be as vast and endless as the side I was living on, and there was something reassuring about sleeping with your back to solid wall. I was right to be wary.

  Broken ground stretched out into the darkness, and there was no sign of an ending to the open space this side of the wall. I didn't have time to look around, and I wasn't going to go stumbling into somewhere else unknown if I could help it, so I hurried off in the only direction that I could remember. Towards the bus, leaving the zombie collapsed in flames with the putrid stench of rotten, burning flesh hanging in the air and tearing at my nostrils. The head screamed even worse insults at me as I scurried away. How typical is that? The first time I hear another human voice, and it's not attached to a body. It couldn't even have had vocal cords.

  This place is nuts.

  It would seem that my memory isn't completely gone! I'm starting to get some little bits back about the day I ended up here. I think I would have remembered more, but the dream that brought it to me ended rather abruptly when the zombies arrived at the camp.

  I was on my way to a major client, to talk to them about their latest order, when I hit a traffic jam. The M25 can get quite frustrating, during rush hour, but it wasn't normally so congested mid-afternoon, so that was unusual. Still, that didn't suggest anything weird to me.

  It took about an hour extra to get there, so I had phoned ahead to let them know I was going to be late. That was when I noticed my phone was getting low on charge. I couldn't find the car adapter for recharging it, and I remember making a mental note to do so later on, but I guess that the opportunity never came.

  The last thing I recall was stopping off at a service station to use their toilet. I have this thing, you see, call it an obsession if you will, about not appearing untidy, or being a nuisance of any kind. Turning up to a client's place and using the toilet straight away was rude. Well, it was to me.

  So I went to use the toilet at the side of the service station, and that's about as much as I can remember. Sometime after I used that toilet, something bad must have happened, and somehow I ended up here.

  Even more interesting! This bus has a rough bed laid out on the upper deck, and a whole bundle of personal stuff tucked away in the corners. Somebody used this place as a home at some point, and from the dust that has settled over most of it, I think that it wasn't recently. It's a shame. Even though it's a relief to see any signs of life here that might be human, the place being abandoned for so long, or so I presume, is another reminder that I'm alone here.

  I spent most of the day hiding away in the bus, trying not to attract any more attention from the zombies, and catching up on my sleep. It was reassuring to be barricaded in somewhere for a change.

  Never would have thought it, but sun tan lotion works ok as a makeshift soap. It's not brilliant, and I think it's a cheap brand, but it does freshen you up a bit. It's a shame there is only one bottle of it.

  Day 12

  A few more zombies passed by this morning, but they didn't come too close and didn't bother investigating the bus. I don't think they even noticed it.

  DogThing has wandered off somewhere. I didn't realise until about an hour ago that he had gone. There is something disconcerting about not knowing where he is.

  Gave in to curiosity and tried to start the bus, but the engine didn't even turn over. Not surprising really, it must have been sat here for years. It's strange what you become accustomed to. After fighting zombies and eating three-foot-tall mushrooms, a London bus sitting in the middle of nowhere doesn't seem so odd any more.

  Found some useful things after having a rummage through all the stuff on the bus. There is a lot of random, useless junk, like a box of dishwasher tablets, but I found a knife for starters. Yes, a real one. It's only one of those small cheese knives with a curly, two-pronged tip, and it's a little blunt, but it's better than the makeshift knives that I botched together. There was also a torch, minus the batteries. You never know, I may come across some at some point, so I will keep hold of it for now.

  In the front corner, on the upper floor, was a pile of magazines. Mostly gardening and craft ones. Some of them are over thirty years old. Behind the magazines was a small pile of books. Six of them are the same book "A Thesis by Professor Adler". They look quite old and are all signed, presumably by Mr Adler himself, though I can't make out the signature clearly enough to be sure.

  In a pile, in the middle of the floor, was a thick woollen blanket that was sizable enough to cover a double bed. It's quite smelly, and could definitely do with a wash, but will be a lot better than the curtain that I no longer have. Damn. I lost a lot of stuff back at the camp.

  Plastic bottles. There were dozens of them, all stuffed into a massive cloth sack. If only I could find some water. Unfortunately, all of them were empty.

  Hanging on small metal hooks on two of the walls were a pair of lamps. They were both empty of fuel, but if I could siphon some from the car wreck, I might be able to get them going. There was also an empty hook.

  Covering most of the walls and windows on the top floor were posters from various time periods. Some of them were of bands from the eighties, and others that I'm certain go way back, possibly even to pre-Second World War, maybe further.

  I'm saving the best find until the end (as they say). On the bottom floor, right at the back, among all the litter (the bottom floor must have been the last occupant's rubbish bin) was a small metal box with a broken handle. Inside it was a rusty set of tools that were mostly knackered, but there is a screwdriver, a hammer, and a rusty but usable adjustable spanner. All fantastic
finds. I'm getting all happy about a damn toolset.

  Lingering in the back of my mind, there is an unsettling feeling that someone lived here for quite a long time, and then went off one day, never to come back. Maybe they were trapped here like me and found somewhere better, not bothering to come back? I'm not convinced of that. I think I would have come back even if it was only to collect a few things. Which reminds me, I still have to go back to the old camp and salvage whatever I can, hopefully avoiding any zombies on the way. I also need to find somewhere other than this bus to stay. There seem to be zombies wandering by every few hours. I'm lucky – they either don't seem to notice me or they aren't interested, but that doesn't mean it will stay that way.

  I'm convinced that the zombies are heading somewhere. They are always walking in the same direction, and I've never seen any of them twice. Trust me, I would know. They are all grotesquely different.

  The strangest one I have seen so far came past yesterday, while I was having a smoke and peering out of the window, hoping to see DogThing. It wandered by, about thirty feet away, right on the edge of the light. I'm damn sure the creature had been put together, because there were two heads sticking out at the top, and another jutting out of its waist. It had far too many arms and legs, almost like three different people had been wrapped together deliberately. The top two heads were staring at each other, like they were in shock at being attached to one another (wouldn't you be?) while the third, the one sticking out of its waist, was looking around. I'm not sure whether the two heads that were facing each other were even alive, or animate, or whatever they are.

  There are only three cans of fizzy drink left. I'm surprised they have lasted this long. Either way, I'm going to run out. This is a good thing and a bad thing – if I drink much more of the stuff I'm going to end up with serious stomach problems. Not that I don't already have them. Fizzy pop is not good as a staple diet, but I've got nothing else.

  From the empty bottles, I've come to two possible conclusions. Either there is water nearby, or it is so far away that whoever owned these bottles needed a lot of storage to be able to live here.

  I'm going back to the old camp tomorrow, in an attempt to recover the last few bits of my possessions. I remember seeing a hosepipe somewhere in the junk, not too far from the camp, while I was hurrying on my way to the bus, so will attempt to find it.

  I ventured out briefly to see if I could find anything else to drink, but I didn't go too far. I did find something intriguing though. Hidden away, behind a massive pile of empty tin cans around the corner from the bus, was a small heap of mangled-up bicycles and prams. None of them were in a condition to be used as they were, but it did mean one thing to me. Wheels. I'm determined to fix up one of the prams to use as a cart; then I wouldn't have to lug everything on my back.

  Will pass by the pile on the way back to the camp. A second reason to take a different route back there.

  I hope the zombies have gone.

  Day 13

  To say that today has been an interesting experience would be an understatement, but before I go into that I need to sort out last night's dream, in my head.

  I hadn't even noticed, until I woke up, that I hadn't been having any dreams at all that I could remember. I used to dream so vividly before, back in the real world (is that the right thing to call it? This place seems real). It's strange that I don't recall dreaming at all while I've been here, so much so that I'd forgotten all about it until last night.

  It started off a bit vague. Don't all dreams start that way? I was on a bus that was driving slowly through London, like the world was going through one of those film clips that they play in slow motion, so that you don't miss the details they cleverly placed in there. It wasn't as slow as a film, but the dial was definitely turned down slightly. Everyone outside the bus was walking slower, and everyone inside the bus seemed to be in complete time stop, apart from me and one old fellow, who was sitting right at the front of the bus, smoking a pipe and chattering to himself.

  I recognised the route the bus was taking. I'd taken it many times when I'd been working in the East End of London, years ago, back when I was just learning the trade. It always worked out easier to park up and go by bus than to drive through the streets.

  As always on that journey, I watched the busy traffic outside and occasionally glanced down at my newspaper. The print in the paper seemed to be changing every time I looked at it, though I wasn't turning the pages. Then it occurred to me. Had I been there before, on this bus? I mean on this particular bus.

  Yes, I had.

  It was a long time ago, back when I was a kid. The theatre poster stuck on the top panel over the stairs, the one slightly torn in one corner, was identical to the one I’d seen back then. I was convinced of it. I was very young at the time and out on a day trip with my parents, to the London museums. It was the exact same poster.

  I remember the old man getting off the bus a stop before us. He peered at me as he went by, and my dad nearly leapt out of the stall behind me. The old boy just smiled at me, and pointed at the empty cream soda bottle that I had been sitting squeezing the air out of, so it made a whistling sound. I remembered him so clearly because of his distinctive appearance. He was scruffy beyond scruffy, half of his clothes in tatters, with rips and holes dotted all about him. I think his boots were held together with masking tape or something similar. His beard was long and plaited, almost like thin dreadlocks, with multi-coloured string, or threads of some sort, woven into the braids. How he managed it, I don't know, but he must have been wearing at least six or maybe seven layers of coats and jumpers in varying stages of disrepair. Finally, there was the hat. A baseball cap that had faded over the many years that he must have been wearing it, until it was a light shade of muddy brown. That hadn't stopped him from attaching about half a million tiny pin badges to it.

  He had the strangest face I think I've ever seen. His nose was huge and bulbous, his eyes deeply inset and smaller than I thought was possible. To me, he looked exactly like I had imagined a goblin would appear, except grimier, if you could get grimier than a goblin.

  "You finished with that, son?" he had said, with a wink. I just stared at him and held the bottle out. I imagine that my mouth was wide open, my jaw ready to bounce off my lap. He took the bottle, winked at me a second time and said "You'll be fine," then he gave me another toothy grin, and shuffled off down the stairwell.

  I woke soon afterwards, startled by a noise outside, but the dream was still fresh in my mind, and the images overlaid reality for a few seconds. From where I was lying, huddled in the blanket (which was damn warm if a bit smelly), I could see all the other posters on the walls. There, stuck right where it had been back then, though partially covered by a few newer posters, was the same one, ripped corner and all.

  Evita. Starring Marti Webb.

  There it was, right in front of me.

  I sat there for a while, going over it in my head, and although I'm uncertain, I think that was how it happened. It's not all in my imagination.

  The noise outside repeated once more. Shuffling, scratching. It brought me round in a second. I lit up the torch as quietly as I could, and tentatively peered out of the window.

  DogThing was shuffling about at the front of the bus, and although he only stayed for a few minutes before heading back out into the darkness, I've never been so relieved to see a mutt from hell.

  An hour later and I was out the back of the bus, cooking mushroom on a small fire. I was tempted to cook inside the bus, but if the thing went up in flames I would be homeless. I figured I would hear a zombie coming in plenty of time.

  I was wrong.

  It was already past me and moving off into the darkness when I became aware of it, just visible on the edge of the light cast by the fire. This one was only small and carried its own severed arm in its other hand. It went on, lumbering its way past, into the darkness, and off in the direction of the old camp, and the wall.

  Where were th
ey going?

  I hadn't been totally stupid. The mace was leaning against the side of the bus, barely a foot away from me, and I leapt round the fire to grab it. I was still standing there, shaking and nervous as hell, thinking that the thing would come back again, when two more shuffled into the light. They were leaning on each other, or maybe one was dragging the other along. The shorter of the two had a leg dragging behind it, barely attached. They completely ignored me and followed the same path.

  You know what's worse than having to fight zombies? Being ignored by the damn things. It makes you wonder if you are even there. I suspect that if I wandered near them, they would probably attack me (which I'm not going to test), but the way they just carried on, ignorant of my existence, made me wonder if they sense much at all. Maybe they can't even see you unless you are right on them.

  It's starting to grate on me. The need to know where the hell they are all going. I know that I'm going to be daft enough at some point to follow them and find out, but right now I'm down to two cans of drink. I'm surprised that I've managed to make the remaining few last this long.

  I want to go back to the old camp, and disregard the need to head off somewhere that I don't know to find more supplies. Food isn't a problem, as there are about a million mushrooms growing in the dark all over the place. Water is a problem, though.

  Ok, I'm heading out now. Got my satchel and a few bits and pieces. Got the tools, the mace, lighter, a couple of empty bottles (one of which looks remarkably like that bottle I gave the old man on the bus), a few torches, and one of the lanterns.

  I decided to go for the bike and pram pile, to see if I can put together some form of trolley to move stuff in. It's right on the edge of an area I haven't been far into, with plenty of mushrooms, so I can explore a little and grab some food at the same time.