The Pestilence Collection [Books 1-3]

by Rob Cockerill

  But that's okay, because it's better than I've been feeling for the last 10 days. My absence from this diary has not been lost on me, quite the opposite in fact; at times I have made a conscious effort to stay away.

  The first few days of abstinence from my one-way conversation with you were enforced – the power went off yet again, and for several days. It came out of the blue given that the shockingly stormy weather of early April had all but disappeared to be replaced by bright blue skies and a crisp Spring air. But take us by surprise it did and we just had to roll with those cold, uninviting punches.

  As it would transpire over the last 10 days, it was probably for the best. I've been overcome with anger for the last few days, the kind of anger and anguish that we all felt in the first few days and weeks of this apocalypse and which essentially resurfaced in me some three months on. I just kept aggravating inside over the same question – why didn't we have a plan for any of this?

  I get that this zombie apocalypse is the epitome of the unexpected, it's so unforeseen it's off the scale. But was there seriously no plan or strategy of any kind, at all? No covert Government disaster plan or contingency committee? No local authority briefing on potentially apocalyptic matters? Not even a memo of a looming threat? Nothing? Or was it simply that everything moved so frightening quickly that there was no time to implement plans or coordinate any kind of tangible response? Either way, it wasn't good enough, certainly not in this day and age.

  It is all bloody, corpse-laden water under the bridge now of course, but it's been seriously eating up me up all over again over the last week or so and I didn't feel I could really write anything constructive here. I'm afraid to say that reasoned thought or discourse was beyond me, reader, so I opted to keep my counsel and work through it with Jenny in the only way I know how – keeping busy and venting frustration in my activities.

  One of my biggest steam valves has been exercise; it always has been throughout my life. I've been trying to keep fit over the last 10 days, sprinting lengths of the runway and doing endurance laps around the base, skirting along the perimeter fence and ‘keeping it real’ as I figuratively brushed face-to-face with the snarling corpses on the other side – reminding myself of the terrifying danger we live amongst.

  Cadaver activity has been quite static over the last fortnight or so, which may be good for us but can't help leaving us concerned for whoever else is courting their attention right now. That's the bittersweet feeling that comes with these dark days of apocalypse – if it isn't you in the hungered sights of the undead, it's definitely someone else. These monsters don't rest; they don't sleep; they don't go dormant or take it easy; they don't take their eye of ball. Instead they yearn; they pang for flesh; they lust for blood and slimy sinews around the clock – they do not and will not stop in their quest for fresh food. They're unrelenting, and completely menacing. While their absence from our vicinity is good for us, it engenders a natural apprehension for others that may be less fortunate.

  I’ve also busied myself investigating the power supply to the base – or trying to – and getting my fairly limited head around how it all comes together. We need to establish if we are currently running off the generators or if we're back to full power supply from the mains. If it's the former, we just don't know how much longer we have, although to be fair we could probably say the same of the mains power. Either way, we need to know and we need to put a plan of some kind in place for whatever eventualities we might face, and my work in this regard is ongoing…

  28th April 2016

  You know that feeling of being watched? I’m pretty sure everyone has felt it at some point in their life, whether they were in fact the object of someone’s attention or not – that feeling of unnerving insecurity, that someone is staring at you or surveying your behaviour.

  Well I’ve had that feeling now for the last two days, and it’s leaving me with a distinctly uneasy feeling. You could of course say that there must always be a feeling of being watched during this dawn of the undead, especially given our position in what is essentially a huge goldfish bowl for corpses to gaze longingly at. It’s also true that the zombie apocalypse leaves you feeling more than uneasy. I get that – I’m living in it. Or rather, surviving it, just about. But this is different. It’s weird.

  We’re used to the snarling corpses, and the crazed cadavers, we’ve been literally surrounded by them for more than three months. That’s a whole quarter of a year that we’ve had our very lives pinned back and imprisoned by these insatiable bloodthirsty beasts. We’ve almost come to terms with it, and we’re certainly more than familiar with the feeling of being surrounded. But like I said, this is different.

  I can’t quite put my finger on it; it just feels very unsettling. Even with the makeshift hay bail screens that I’ve erected against two sections of the perimeter fence, and the relative safety that this fortified base gives us, there’s been an aura of scrutiny or inspection over the last 48 hours. More than that, though, it’s a disturbing, disconcerting atmosphere. The worst thing about it of course, is that there’s very little explanation for what it could be.

  Our very own ‘stalker walker’ has the ability to strike a similar kind of fear into us even without any of its compulsory twitches, but we haven’t caught sight of it for at least four days now. We know it seems to like to play some kind of uncharacteristically intelligent waiting game with us, so maybe it’s just readying itself to pounce somewhere, but we usually have at least an inkling of its whereabouts. It was last seen to the rear of the base, loitering around almost inquisitively you would have said, if it wasn’t a creature of the undead. So we’re fairly sure it isn’t the clever cadaver that’s causing this unsettling sensation.

  So what is it? Survivors? Surely not. Why not just rock up and either acquaint or attack? New corpses? That’s unlikely, given how exposed and familiar we are to them. Something else? Paranoia, perhaps? That’s entirely possible of course. Like I said, we’re now more than three months into this nightmare, alone up here on the cliff top and slowly running out of the tiny semblances of comfort that we not only took for granted not so long ago, but have been clinging to for sanity in many respects.

  Maybe it is paranoia. We’ll see over the coming days and weeks, I guess. It’s a shame because it’s such beautiful weather outside at the moment. It’s still quite chilly, perhaps more so because we're so exposed up here atop the 200 feet high cliff, but it’s certainly enough to take the joyousness away from the sunshine at the moment. It's proper spring air; cool, crisp and bracing, with barely a cloud in the sky. And it’s been perfect weather to maintain my fitness kick while Jenny attempts to soak up some much-needed vitamin D from the safety of one of the 4X4 rooftops. We hope it will also allow us to put some of our bold new security plans in place in the next few days – either that or it will expose just how much heady sunshine has warped our thinking.

  29th April 2016

  A fortnight on and we’re still tying up the loose ends from the storm damage. As far as my limited understanding can tell, we are back on the mains power and on that note, the power is still on, the water is still running and we are ever thankful for those small mercies.

  We feel like we may have been lulled into a false sense of security for the last month or so where those two fundamental commodities are concerned, such has been the level of preparedness up here compared to our situation at the start of this crisis. So we’ve reverted back to some old practices that we used to routinely do in our apartment during the first weeks of the apocalypse – charging every electronic device in sight and keeping them charged where possible, and filling every possible bottle, pan and vessel with drinking water.

  We’ve even made up some improvised water butts around the site to catch as much rainwater as possible, primarily for watering our crops but also for potential drinking water should any kind of worst case scenario become reality. Speaking of which, there’s no sign of any life emerging from the raised beds as yet, but we'
ve still got every finger and toe crossed for the most random, eclectic batch of crops that we sowed recently.

  There’s no evidence of the surveillance system making an appearance yet either. It’s been down since the storms but unlike the showers, hot water, lighting and electrical appliances that were restored with the return to power, it shows no sign of rebooting just yet. We’re still anxious to get a perspective on the scene down in the village right now, but unless we head down there we’re unlikely to have any handle on that.

  One of the potentially warped ideas we had in the last few days was to work out a way to get back to our apartment for some much-needed supplies. I’d have to do this alone to avoid putting Jenny and our little bump in any risky situations, but the reward could be huge. We know there are stacks of medical supplies, foodstuffs, frozen meals, long-life foods and rations, clothes and all sorts down there that we could do with right now, and we did of course leave ourselves a swift exit/re-entry route into the building when we left which is good to know – but it’s a case of how I would get down there in the first place.

  Is there a clear path to our apartment these days? How’s it looking on the streets? Is there storm damage? Has corpse activity spiked in the last fortnight? We really need to get the surveillance system up and running again so that we can get a hold on the situation back down in the village, and establish where I could make it or if it’s a risk too far this time. If it was a matter of sheer speed and agility alone, then I’m confident – and especially so after all of the light running sessions I’ve been doing recently. But if it comes to combat and the village is swamped, I just don’t know that I could manage that again. Though some kind of scary primordial fighter may have come out in me the last time we were truly face-to-face with clusters of the savage undead, I am no warrior. And if there’s one thing that pounding the laps of the asphalt gives you, then it’s some extra clarity of thought; and I am in no doubt about my survival limitations in the field.

  I have been pushing my limitations in strength over the last few days, though. Under Jenny’s watchful eye from the security of the other side of the fence, I’ve ventured briefly out of the compound to attempt to manoeuvre some of those trees that came down in the storms into a more strategic position. It’s taken hours, but some of the more manageable, lighter weight trunks that were felled have been propped up firmly against corner posts in the perimeter fence to add some fortification. The storm winds whipped and rippled the fencing and I’m hopeful that this added buttress will prevent that from happening again. It could just prove to be the warped thinking of the heady sunshine, however. Mad dogs and Englishman, and all that…

  Some definitely warped thinking was my idea to use some of the heavier, more robust trees as natural defences against the corpses. Jenny told me it was ridiculous to even think I could achieve it, but my hope was to use them as chest-height barricades in the woodland, to act as natural blockades that would stop meandering cadavers from leaving the woodland and reaching the base itself. So far, Jenny was right – I can barely move some of the heavier trunks, while the occasional onrushing biter gets a little too close for comfort and I have to either retreat for an indeterminable break until it loses interest, or engage in another bloody-spattered splaying. There never seems to be a clean kill.

  But I’m determined to make this work, so as soon as I have summoned enough energy and there's a clearing in cadaver activity, I will get those woodland blockades in place.

  30th April 2016

  Back-breaking, tireless work continues with those fallen trees. I’m determined to get them in place as some kind of natural defences, but my presence beyond the fence is capturing more and more unwanted attention from our undead menaces, and efforts are being persistently punctuated by their advances. We’ve had a few too many close calls for our liking and this one task has dominated the whole day today.

  As I write this at 6pm and wait for a hot bath to run so that I can have a deep soak for my weary muscles, the sun is just showing signs of weakening and I am still not much nearer to having those barricades in position. I’m wondering whether Jenny was right and I should just let this one go, but I’m not usually in any mood to give up and admit defeat. Especially where our long-term security in the relentless bloodshed of the zombie apocalypse is concerned.

  Part of me still thinks I can get it done, with a fair wind and some of the corpse heat taken off. I need to have a soak and think it through…

  In the meantime, we have a few other things to get to grips with – like some creative meal ideas, trying to come up with any new ideas to get the surveillance system up and running again, working out why we still have that unsettling feeling of being watched, and some smart thinking on how we see our long-term future unfolding here. That’s a deep one indeed, and poses many questions about how we choose to go about our survival and raise a child.

  Tomorrow’s itinerary is to tend some more to the raised beds and encourage those crops to grow, a little light running, and some other less intensive tasks to not only pass the time, but make this place work for us as best we can. I need 24 hours away from the woodland.

  1st May 2016

  I must have been recounting too many ‘kills’ or close encounters recently. It’s almost all I’ve been thinking about, subconsciously, as we’ve worked to shore up our means of resistance. But constantly reminding yourself of what you’re doing it all for isn’t working for me anymore. I've been waking up in cold sweats throughout the night, wrestling with vicious, violent nightmares over all the dead I have 'killed' or slain.

  When you're already tired, drained from the recent over-exertions of shifting woodland, and living in fear every minute of every day, losing even more sleep to trepidation and paranoia is the last thing you need. It's really not good for Jenny either, she needs every bit of sleep and rest she can get, especially with a second wind of morning sickness extending into what must now be her second trimester. We don't know a lot about pregnancy and there's clearly no-one to talk to about it, in fact we don’t even know if she is in her second trimester, but from our limited knowledge we thought the whole morning sickness thing was supposed to ease off in the second phase. If anything it's gotten worse over the last week. The generally dwindling food supply and crazy conceptions of meals due to depleting resources is probably not helping. What we wouldn’t do right now for a good square meal.

  The nightmares began last night with my most recent slaughters – in the woods, en route to the military base that we’ve called home for a couple of months now. It was like a montage or mash-up of every brandishing of the kitchen knife into their corpse faces, every struggle and punch and kick, every second of lost footing and near falls in the muddy coppices; every moment of blood-flinging mutilation and held breath. Cue cold sweat one.

  Then it was right back to the start, the harrowing day that Jake ‘Dog’ Penberthy was torn from limb to limb right before my self-preserved eyes. I tossed and turned as I was subjected to every frothy mouthful of bloody puss that spilled out of his mouth, every last breath he drew, and each aggressive bite of veins and sinews that was stripped from his body all over again. Cold sweat two.

  Cold sweat three came courtesy of our former parish councillor Jane, recollecting in slow motion the moments she succumbed feebly, helplessly, to an advancing pack of hungered cadavers who would proceed to shred her submissive body right in front of us. They may not have been my kills, but in many ways the cowering dismemberment of both ‘Dog’ and Jane is on me; I was there, I couldn’t save them and in some way, I was willing to save them. Their bloody, withering faces taunted me as I shivered and shook in the early hours.

  But the worst of my mind’s gruesome games of the night was the remembrance of our neighbour Andrew White; my first zombie kill. It must have started around 4am. I had already been through hours of wrangling and emotional writhing, and my sleep deprived body couldn’t take much more. Then it hit me, the slow build up of our anxious wait on the outside of
his apartment door on that day in February, the nerves trembling, and then fast-forwarding into every frantic, frenzied moment of struggle – every spewing of rusting red blood up into the air and flaking flesh showering down on me. I jolted and contorted with each renewed snarl of the battle, beads of clammy sweat emanating from my body with every montaged memory of Andrew’s undeterred being snapping at my face. Despite my slumber, I re-enacted each clumsy, ultimately decisive blow to the corpse’s carcass until the final puncture of its disfigured head woke me with a startle. Cold sweat four.

  Being up all night reliving the memories that I had hoped were banished to the back of my mind, and having countless flashbacks this morning, did have some purpose though – I realised we need to get serious with our weaponry. It took several daylight hours to get there, but it suddenly dawned on me that so much of the messiness, the ungainliness of those bloodbaths may have been averted if we had been better equipped in the first place.

  The timing of it all was apt. Jenny's also been kicking my ass a little for a few days or more about the amount of effort being put into securing the base rather than defending it. She's rightly concerned that if our makeshift barricades are compromised – and possibly quite easily if we come up against the kind of cadaver numbers we saw here not too long ago – then we have little in the way of personal defence. We may have firearms now, which are invaluable for complete novice citizens such as ourselves (it's been about 20 years since we even fired super-soakers), but we have no effective weapons for when things get up close and personal.