We didn't spend any time on the run or in the road as such in the first year of the pestilence; we were mostly between buildings or forts. In hindsight, we were so good at fortifying our surroundings that we had little need to go out on the road. But all that changed this year, since Prim came along and heightened our need for greater breadth of supplies. We also had another reason to be on the road – searching for our missing.
We’ve driven through several little coastal hamlets along the North Coast of mid-Cornwall, navigating our way through roadblocks, pockets of the undead, flood and wind damage at the hands of the wildly changing weather systems of the last few months, and desperately checking over every biter that we dare to come across. We have power and fuel, for now, relative warmth and food, and each other. We have a bouncing, beautiful little baby girl in Prim, now five months young. What we don't have, still, is her granddad Jack, her auntie Tam and her uncle Riley. But we will find them, one day.
We are also not incredibly blessed with time. That is precious, but if there is any possibility at all that we might one day look back on these moments in 10, 20 or 25 years time, then there is time to document Prim's learning journey. We have to enjoy that at least. So having vowed not to write again, I will break that silence here and do my best to give a regular account of our time together, of your milestone’s Primrose, as much as time, safety, power and dongle connection permits.
10th June 2017
Thick grooves in white emulsion from one side of the canvas to the other, once barely noticeable but now inescapable. Ruts run wild in the texture, disclosing the coarse strokes with which the ceiling was last painted. I feel as though I know the artist, as though I know his character and demeanour and yet, I've been staring unknowingly at a ceiling I've never seen before for the last two hours.
Thanks to Prim's curiosity and incredibly loud set of lungs to match, we were forced to hastily flee a small supermarket we were stealthily looting in the small village of Threemilestone yesterday. We’ve been on the road for months. We’ve taken in all manner of towns and villages along mid-Cornwall in the time since we left Porthreth, journeying through Cambrose, Mawla, Porthtowan, Mount Hawke, Goonbell, Mithian, and more recently trying out places further inland like Blackwater, Chacewater, Gloweth and until just 12 hours ago, Threemilestone. We’ve picked up all sorts of bits and pieces along the way, from powdered milk and tea bags in ransacked local community shops to filling cans with fuel from a former car dealership near Scorrier, and an abundance of heavy cake from a bakery warehouse in-between.
Yet we’ve not had such a gold rush of food supplies in all of those places as we did yesterday. You just couldn’t have predicted it. And just as we were hurling it all into the back of the van and getting our groove on, Prim decided she wanted to call time on it. Her unashamed, unabated wailing quickly drew unwanted attention. Before we knew it we must have had a small pack of 50 gnarling biters bearing down on us from car parks, side streets, houses and the shop itself. We had to pile in the van and go.
The undead have been raging again for months. When the Big Thaw really began to unfurl at the end of January, the living resistance was over. Biters began to gnarl and gnash again at the thin air around them. They began to twitch and twinge enough to send survivors running back into their hidden solitude. Great pyres still burned as they fled back into retreat, ironically bringing added warmth and renewal to the undead all around them. Within 48 hours those biters began to rise to their feet, still twitching and jerking, snarling and snapping. It was like a great big reboot. They were as hungered as ever, and they seemed angrier than ever as they fanned out again across towns and localities. It was as if they sensed the straight jacket of Mother Nature had deprived them of their bloodlust for a period. To all intents and purposes, it seemed as though Man’s fight-back was long since over.
Now, we find ourselves here in a rundown cottage in a tiny little place called Cusgarne, where Prim continues to learn all about the act of rolling over on her side and what seems like the first stages of crawling. After we got the hell out of Threemilestone and decided to put some distance between us and that potential tempest in a teacup, we drove cross-country on some proper rural roads and settled here for the evening. Though I was reluctant to leave our haul of supplies unattended, Jenny convinced me we needed to find a building to stay in overnight. Prim needed some space.
She was right. And Prim is loving the space. It’s been coming for a few weeks, but now she has the room she can roll from side to side, and laugh so joyously it makes you want to cry. She loves just lying on her tummy and exploring the carpeted floor, wiggling around down there and making efforts to crawl forward. She tries to catch her big aunt Nic and giggles uncontrollably when Jenny pulls her back by the legs and tickles her. She’ll have the knack of it soon and then we won’t know what hit us – she’ll be crawling here, there and everywhere!
I hope that’s soon, because I don’t feel comfortable here in this Cusgarne cottage. I want to get out of here and get back on the road again. We’re heading down toward West Cornwall; we’re going to try our luck down there, especially as that was Jack’s stomping ground when he was a child and a young man finding his way in the world. He loved that part of the county, all of the untouched headlands of St Just and Cape Cornwall, of Pendeen and Geevor, and if he happened to get a vehicle of some kind underneath him there’s a small chance that he may have headed that way. If he was going to go anywhere at all of distance, it would that neck of the woods, Jenny thinks It’s just her gut instinct, but she knew her Dad better than anyone and it’s all we have to go on at the moment. That’s where we’re heading, as soon as possible, so hopefully Prim can master her rolling and crawling over the next couple of days and we can make hay.
14th June 2017
Prim did indeed get to grips with her rolling and crawling and I felt like a bad Dad taking her away from that little sense of freedom she had for a couple of days, but we needed to make our move again. It just didn’t feel right there and as we were leaving in the dead of the night, so my gut feeling was proven.
The undead must have somehow smelt us on the air or something, for they were heading our way. We had inadvertently dodged a bullet by leaving when we did; as we kept the revs low and slowly pulled away from the grounds of the cottage, Nic and I could see them beginning to flank each side of the building in our mirrors. We were so close to being swarmed upon, right there and then. In hindsight it was not only a good instinct to leave, but even better thinking of Jenny to flee in the middle of the night while Prim was in a deep sleep.
She slept through it all, thankfully, and when she awoke we were already here in this little parish of Gwennap, probably about five miles southeast of the nearest major postal town, Redruth. The narrow back roads were actually pretty kind to us, there was little in the way of walkers or debris of the past 18 months, and we were able to make good ground. By dawn, and Prim’s first feed of the day, we were parked up in a little wooded area near to the parish Church, a fearsome, eerie complexion of a building these days.
As a former copper mining district, the place is full of little miner’s cottages and traditionally Cornish properties. With a little wandering – and back carrying in Prim’s case – we found a larger miner’s cottage, clearly renovated and converted to appeal to the tourism trade of 21st century Cornwall. It took a long old time to stake it out, check out every corner and crevice and surrounding woodland, but we eventually found our way in and pitched up here for the night.
Jenny is still breastfeeding Prim as we count our lucky stars for the shelter we’ve stumbled upon. There are thick oak floors with under-floor heating, a log burner to provide warmth, thick dark drapes to mask our presence and a heavy bolted door, a fully equipped, modern kitchen, a communal bathroom and an en suite in the master bedroom too. Technically it provides six beds – one double and four singles – and more than enough sheets and linen for a whole family. There’s even a small hot tub outside on the
rear decking, not that you’d even think about using it.
The place was clearly a premium price tag stay for a luxurious stay in Cornwall in days gone by, but right now it doubles up as a thick, sturdy, robust feeling log cabin. Secluded and off the beaten track, it boasts thick walls, solid doors, and an enclave of surrounding birch, larch, pine, oak and copper beech trees that provide perfect detection for any oncoming undead.
I’ve been gazing out into the distance through the irregular, odd shape lattice of branches that reach out into the sky like blood vessels splaying out in human lungs, and it breaks my heart knowing deep down that as incredible as this rest stop it, it is just that – a rest stop. As idyllic and brilliantly fortified as this lodge is, it will be short-lived. I can see already that Jenny is torn and knows Prim can be both safe and happy here, but that it also isn’t enough for her; both Jenny and Nic need their Dad, Jack, and their brother and sister. They need to know they’re okay. They need to know they’re still alive and if they’re not, then they need to know that too and reconcile with it. And we won't find them by sitting back with our feet up in Gwennap.
21st June 2017
Prim laughed deliberately for the first time today – five months and 24 days old (yes I am counting, Prim), and her first proper laughing out loud at the funny faces and noises I was pulling. It was just the best feeling ever.
Prim has laughed a number of times before of course, whenever she’s rolled around or sometimes fallen over in her attempts to crawl, or most of all when she has ‘wind’. Apparently it’s common for ‘wind laughs’ to be confused with actual laughing, so you shouldn’t set too much stall by what you think are giggles in those first few months. But I know this was real, genuine laughter at what a silly Daddy I was being – so I’m taking this one! We don't get many opportunities to properly laugh these days; we haven’t for a long, long time in fact. Nor do we really get to say that we had the best feeling ever. So today was a big day for us all.
Prim’s happiness is part of the reason that, for the time being, we’re still here in Gwennap. It’s been a week now, just over, and the cosy lodge and log fire have given us much to think about – first and foremost whether we even move on from here at all. This stop-gap is working out so well for everyone. Prim is really blossoming in the freedom that these surroundings give her. She just loves the time and space and the lack of limitation that we’re putting on her. She loves trying to pull herself up on the different furnishings. I can’t help thinking she’s picking up on the good vibes that the rest of us are giving off too.
Nic is finally getting some proper sleep, she’s not been as restless over the last few days. I keep checking in on her during the night and she doesn’t seem to be talking and panic stricken in her sleep either. All of which is having a noticeable effect on her wellbeing the next day. Likewise, Jenny is getting some much-needed warmth and recuperation at the moment. I feel like she’s sleeping better too, even if she doesn’t want to admit it for fear of feeling and sounding guilty. She’s just a little de-stressed during the days, and the bountiful supply of foodstuffs that we brought in from the van, combined with the luxury of a real-life log fire and underfloor heating, are all contributing to a greater sense of wellbeing. It’s probably the first time since Prim was born and perhaps even before then that Jenny looks more radiant and relaxed.
For me, knowing that the girls are all safe and content is enough to make me feel a little better – and more relaxed – about life too. I’m not sleeping so well, hence why I’m keeping an eye on the others, and I’m also conscious that we can’t rest on our laurels and think that we’re impervious to the all-encompassing threat outside, so I’m regularly keeping watch outside for any movements whatsoever in the wooded vista.
It’s still grim out there, and our entirely fake existence in this lodge belies that truth. And as it turned out we were just seconds away from being completely compromised, potentially fatally, at that cottage in Cusgarne. Despite all of that, I’m naturally just that bit more relaxed here. The surroundings, the smile on Prim’s face, and the heart melting feeling conjured by her laughter engender that.
28th June 2017
Well, seven days on and we've made it as far as a desolate reservoir just outside a place called Penhalvean.
We reluctantly decided to leave the lodge a couple of days ago, against all of our better judgements really, but the fundamentals behind us being on the road remain. If we were out looking for something better alone, then we might have stayed at that lodge indefinitely, or at least as long as anyone can stay in one place these days. But that’s not the only reason we’re out here; we’re looking for Jack, Tam and Riley. So we grabbed everything we had, and more besides from the lodge, packed up the van and left in the quiet of the night again while Prim was sleeping.
We had a rough couple of days actually. It seems strange that there was probably only about four miles between the lodge and where we are now, and we were probably only ever about half a mile away from an army of the undead. The wooded resort of the lodge must have been giving us even more protection than we realised. As soon as we strayed about half a mile out, we ran into a whole host of barriers and stumbling blocks. Scores and scores of gaunt, hungered biters seemed to be loitering in all directions. We hadn’t been that close, that face-to-face, with the undead since January that we were all visibly shaken by it. It was just like when the pestilence first began; they were voracious, rampant at the sight of our being, and puss-filled blood seemed to ooze out of every dead pore these days.
As we pressed on, we saw more and more pockets of the undead blocking off roads and fields, some aimlessly ambling and others clearly moving on the scent on something, perhaps us. Masses of other biters were crowding around a particular clearing and, as we would discover, were fighting over the carcass of a poor defenceless rabbit that must have fallen into their clutches. Though we watched for mere seconds, it was enough to see them ripping that rabbit to pieces, violently, uncontrollably feeding off whatever morsel of flesh they could garner. Just as before, with every mouthful of fresh blood they were growing stronger and more ferocious, satisfied and yet all at once thirsty for more. It was savage. If they were like that over one small animal, I dread to think how they will react to any human that they come across. You could see it on their pained, enraged faces – every second of quenched appetite only bred more wild hunger.
It was like that for a good few miles of swerving and re-routing. Four different roads along the way were blocked altogether, with car pile-ups and other apocalypse debris as we call it forcing us to turn around and find another way through. A journey that probably should have taken about 10 minutes ended up with an overnight stop in the van and around 20 hours of travelling, all told.
We didn’t even intend to arrive here at Penhalvean. But I’m pretty sure I stayed here once in a school camping trip and we did cool activities like windsurfing on the reservoir; after the harrowing journey we’d inadvertently been through, we thought it would be a great place for Prim to get some outdoor time and space. We’d put a good mile between us and the last sighting of any kind of biter activity, and opted to pitch up here at a huge clearing where people would normally park and camp. Having scouted the area out, we just Prim run riot.
There wasn't actually a lot of running going on, but lots of rolling and crawling and springing around here there and everywhere. It was a joy to watch her play and express herself. We even had the time and freedom to get a blanket out and have a family picnic…we needed something to drag our thoughts back from the scenes we had just witnessed, if only for a few minutes.
28th June 2017 – postscript
So I had a swim, an actual swim today – my first meaningful exercise and hobby since this all began, if we're not counting all of the running involved in fleeing from the undead for the last 18 months. I took a very quick dip in the reservoir here and it was a strange, scary and very surreal moment. I don’t think I actually enjoyed it for the anx
iety I was feeling, and at first seemed to be paralysed by fear. In other ways it was liberating.
But far more importantly, the reason I’m writing this postscript is, Prim said 'Daddy’ for the first time this afternoon! She's been saying Mummy or rather 'Mumma' for several weeks now and it was kind of a given since they're so close and still share the impenetrable bond of breastfeeding. I was happy to be overlooked in terms of that all-important first word, her Mumma did carry her and nurture her for nine months after all. But when you hear her say your name for the first time as she did today, and second only to that famous Mumma in her vocab, it's an incredibly proud, moving moment. I cried, I cried a lot. And I felt like I had to add this second note in today’s diary – this was a big deal in Prim’s journey, for her and us.
She said Daddy again and again, over and over and over, all afternoon. She was so happy, so content and free. She has no idea what kind of world we're living in. She has that complete and utter innocence of youth and I hope that stays for as long as humanly possible. I don't want her to be corrupted and scared by the threats we face, the vile, flesh-hungry monsters that we come face-to-face with every day, every week, every month.
I don’t want to her to have remembered those gnarling, emaciated, blood-covered skeletal faces that we were confronted with at every turn today. I want her to remember playing out in the grass, no limitations; I want her to remember me jumping in the reservoir for a dip; I want her to remember having her first solid foods on a stolen picnic blanket; I want her to be happy. And I want her to keep saying ‘Daddy’ for as long as she finds it funny.
The Pestilence Collection [Books 1-3] Page 35
