The Pestilence Collection [Books 1-3]

by Rob Cockerill

  We really weren’t ready for it. I think it must be different in every child, but Prim’s body seemed to react by sending her into night fevers, sickness in her sleep, and a lot of pain, basically. Thankfully there must have been children that lived in this house before the apocalypse, as we found the remnants of some infant oral suspension (Paracetemol) in one of the cupboards, but we’ve all had some horrifically sleepless nights.

  We’re used to sleepless nights during the pestilence, so we’ve become quite immune to sleep deprivation over the last 18 months. But this has been a double-whammy week of sleeplessness. When the teething and related sickness kept us up for hours, when we would normally recover with some belated shut-eye, we’ve been attuned to the dusk drawls of the undead stalking the streets in search of blood and flesh to feast upon. It’s left us drained and desperate, and almost resembling something like the dead that so entrap us.

  But it’s all worth it. The sight of those little white teeth popping up in Prim’s mouth her developing into an actual little girl is incredible – there are barely any words for it. It really is amazing watching it happen day-to-day. It’d also scary in its own way – I’ve suddenly never felt older than I do now! Hopefully Prim will be through this particular development patch shortly and she’ll have some respite before the next tranche of teeth push their way through. For now, we’re happy to see her grow – and the pride on her face when she can see herself growing in the mirror.

  29th July 2017

  What's the longest you've ever had to wait between tubes of toothpaste? A day, or a few hours, perhaps. We've been waiting about three weeks now, getting by with scavenged mouthwash and simply wet toothbrushes, as well as trying to eat apples where possible and cleanse our teeth and palettes naturally with water and nature’s cleansers.

  Prim, in fact, has never brushed her teeth, not that she’s had them for long of course. So today was a mighty fine day. While rummaging through one of the upstairs cupboards, a converted alcove by the looks of it, I found an abandoned black backpack with various bits of paper and receipts, as all as couple of batteries, a pack of crayons and two pre-packed biscuits, presumably taken from an old hotel stay. But inside was also a useful wash bag, full of neat zips and pockets and personable items. Not only were there two toothbrushes and former hotel shower gels, but also a brand new, unopened tube of fluoride's finest.

  It felt like a gold rush finding that firm and fulsome tube of toothpaste. Today was a good day. We all got to brush our teeth and really revelled in it. For the teenager that is Nic, it was a godsend – even during the apocalypse, when the only people you see around you are putrid, decaying and bloody puss-filled walking carcasses of men and women, she wants to keep herself looking her best and feeling fresh. So today’s find was long overdue.

  We even managed to dilute it down a lot and use the tiniest amount to give Prim's baby teeth a once-over – not that she made it easy. She struggled and squirmed and could easily have attracted a whole army of biters to our door with the noise of her screaming. We really are lucky to be in the security of this protected house. But it was so life affirming, especially during these darkest of days, to be brushing our daughter’s teeth. We are parents. We are raising this little girl, our flesh and blood. She is growing right before our eyes. She’s a little person. And it’s the most incredible thing ever, teeth and toothpaste and all.

  10th August 2017

  Food had been something of a nightmare to safely source and stow of late, but we've really hit the jackpot with this place. The cupboards were surprisingly well stocked with basics like rice, pastas, seasonings, beans, and pulses. There were even a few snack foods like tortilla crisps, curly cashew nuts, rice cakes and sultanas.

  And a working fridge-freezer was in operation when we arrived. The fridge section was pretty much wiped out, but the freezer still had some meal options available: half a bag of croquette potatoes; a loaf of bread; a homemade portion of chilli con-carne; two breadcrumb covered fish fillets; four meat-free mozzarella burgers; a couple of portions of homemade soup; half a bag of frozen berries; and just under a quarter of a bag of frozen spinach. All in all, a veritable feast for these apocalyptic days, and a reasonably healthy haul of food too.

  Added to half of the huge haul of organic foodstuffs that I quickly ferried into the house from the van, and we’ve had an incredibly wholesome, heart few weeks of meals and snacks. It’s really replenished us at our time of need and when, at almost eight months old now, Prim is eating solids as and where possible. She’s loving fish, potatoes, fruit (generally) and even spicy food like that chilli we found in the freezer.

  As for the all-important beverages situation, we found three bottles of real ale, two bottles of sparkling perry, half a bottle of bourbon, 1.5 litres of cola, a bottle of merlot, and three small bottles of tropical juice. There's around 40 tea bags, half a bag of sugar, and probably enough instant coffee to make around 30 cups. But, of course, there’s no milk on account of the fridge being bare. It's as if whoever lived here just grabbed the first things that came to mind (fresh produce), threw it in a box and fled. There's far more sustaining things here that I would have taken if it were me, but I guess we don't know exactly what circumstances they left under – or where they were going.

  What I did find to ease the pain of a lack of milk were copious amounts of those hideous 2-in-1 instant coffee sachets – you know the ones, those ones that your Gran might once have bought for you but you never really intended to drink. Or you might have taken them on a camping trip with you, just in the event of an emergency – like there being a shortage of milk. Honestly, the taste of that 2-in-1 milk was just not a patch on the real deal, and yet it's been like liquid gold today; my first real coffee in months and boy did it taste good.

  There’s juice for Prim, though we’re generally preferring to keep her on water where possible, hot chocolate sachets for Jenny and Nic, and herbal teas too (all good for a calming bedtime for Jenny and, occasionally, Prim). We also found a couple of packets of plain old digestive biscuits that are not only good for a biscuit fiend like I used to be, but also good for Prim to suck on and munch when it turns to a gummy-friendly mulch of a snack. I definitely would not have left those behind in the apocalypse, no matter what the situation – and I don't think Prim would have either, judging by how well she’s been tucking into them over the last few days. They’ve been a real tonic for those teething issues.

  16th August 2017

  Prim took her first proper steps today!

  Seven months and 19 days old, and she took those very first steps. Having pulled herself up on the corner of a sofa in the snug and shimmied away from that point of stability, she tottered forward and gradually built up momentum and before she or we knew it, she had a full walk going on. In just a few seconds, she had gone from curious Prim to completely confident, empowered Prim – and from the snug right down the hallway to the front door.

  She’s still to master cornering and pace, but she’d done it. Prim can walk. It was the most incredible moment, something Jenny and I will never forget. The joy on her face was amazing; the pride in herself awe-inspiring. Our little girl can walk!

  She just wants to walk everywhere now and master the skill. It’s infectious. Suddenly a whole new exciting and yet daunting chapter lies ahead for Prim and us. There’s going to be no stopping her! It’s a scary prospect, the thought of her potentially slipping out of our reach out in the open, and into the clutches of the undead. And yet, maybe it’ll be a good thing – she’ll soon be able to outrun them if in danger. That’s one of the pre-requisites for all of us trying to survive the apocalypse, the ability to outrun these savage monsters. Not all of us are cut out for fighting or hiding 100% of the time, sometimes you’ve got to be able to stretch your legs, empty your lungs, run, and put some distance between you and the undead.

  After today, it’s only a matter of time before Prim is taking up that challenge. Let’s hope she doesn’t need to for a while yet
though. Baby steps and all that…

  19th August 2017

  Prim has really begun to pick up a lot more words, it's amazing to see and hear – children really are a sponge, learning and soaking up everything all day long and then just deciding when they're going to reveal all.

  It's incredible, it really is. I just wish Prim had picked up some more positive words to date. So far, her vocabulary includes the words: safe; cold; scary; wild; run; and blood. On the other hand, it does at least also include the words: cosy, warm; cuddle; food; biscuit; apple; water; sleep; and of course, Mummy and Daddy, and Nic.

  I guess it all goes to show what it is to be a child of the apocalypse; to be surrounded by such tense and panicked verbiage. It’s one aspect of the pestilence that I’d not really analysed too much, but when you think about it, we are clearly only ever talking about how entrapped and tired and scared we are. Even when we aren’t, the conversation must be more about the antonyms: that we are cosy rather than cold; that we are safe rather than in danger; that we can cuddle and not run. It’s almost as depressing a thought as the situation itself.

  So, we have to resolve to be more upbeat in our day-to-day conversations. Even when we think we’re not talking loud enough to be heard, she still does somehow. I guess her hearing must be as sharp as her intellect often seems to be. I’m not suggesting we have to mollycoddle her and pretend this isn’t happening, that this isn’t the world we are living in now, but I don’t want her life to be one complete chronicle of depression and anxiety. She needs to know that there are forces for good in life; she needs to learn about the many amazing things that nature gives us; she has to know that life wasn’t always like this. Perhaps it won’t always be.

  21st August 2017

  In the spirit of my previous entry, I braved it and took Prim outside today – out into the back garden for a snatched 20 minutes of ideal Daddy-daughter time.

  I was taking a look through the kitchen blinds at the brooding, stormy skies outside when, quite by chance, I spied a clutch of roses in the far corner of the garden, a real patch of pink blush amidst the greenery. I decided it was the perfect excuse to give Prim some fresh air, to get her out into the open and try to give her a lesson in nature. It won’t have really meant anything to her beyond that moment, sadly, but at least we did have that moment.

  So I cleared the reinforcements from the back doors and ventured outside to scope it out, returning to scoop Prim up and take her over to the roses where I proceeded to explain the origins or meaning of her name, Primrose (first rose). I don’t think she’ll ever recall how we named her Primrose as the first rose of the pestilence, the first bright sign of life amidst a world of death, domination and fortitude. But maybe she will – she seems to absorb and process everything else we say and do.

  And from there we began to forage! Not looting, not ‘finding’ it, actually foraging food. As we turned to walk back to the house I noticed a whole horde of Pennywort growing out of the garden wall and couldn’t resist the opportunity to give Prim another early lesson in nature. There was loads of it, like a rash all over the wall, so we picked as much as I could carry and made our retreat back indoors with our haul before the inevitable downpours began. And then we washed and ate it there and then. I can’t say Prim looked too impressed, but it was the suitable sort of tasteless ‘mulch’ that she still enjoys to chew on these days. In fact, we have to make the most of that before she really develops her sense of taste and begins to demand her favourite foods only.

  And so, our evening is all the brighter for the trio of roses sat in a vase in the kitchen, and the washed Pennywort salad to bulk out our healthy food stocks. Now we just need the storm to pass, the rains to dry up, and the August weather to return.

  23rd August 2017

  We've had some far better weather recently, much more befitting of the summer months that we find ourselves in, and we've even dared to allow some of that sunshine in through the windows of the house, mostly to the rear where we are buffered from view by that long back garden and tall fencing. And yet as I write this in the still of the night, it is not so still at all.

  The downpours that began two days prevail. Rain lashes at the windows and bounces off the flat roof of the conservatory that our bedroom window looks out upon. You can hear the pitter-patter of it to the left of us here, while the wind whistles through the trees and shrubbery and then builds up in waves for huge howls across the back of the street and any objects that get in the way. Plant pots are audibly flying across the decking and I shouldn't wonder if there's damage to some fence panels too, given the sounds we can here right now.

  Meanwhile, to our right, Prim is restless and agitated in her sleep. It's 2am and I wouldn't be surprised if she wakes up inside the next half an hour, she's been so animated. Maybe it's her brain processing the so very much that she's doing and learning at the moment; maybe she's teething again; or maybe she's somehow subconsciously picking up on the atmospheric conditions outside. Whatever it is, she's not getting a good night's rest tonight.

  But then, I guess we're not either; I am writing this journal at 2am after all. Jenny is on edge because of the weather and keeps flitting between the inevitable drift into sleep from not being able to stay awake any longer, and the startled waking moments with every gust of wind that seems to reverberate through the rafters in the loft. At the same time, Nic does appear to be getting forty winks, but pensively so – she looks particularly taut and tense for someone in a deep sleep.

  It's one of those nights. The weather rages outside, the tension reins inside, and behind all of it is a base layer of undead groaning. The dead are out in huge swathes tonight, no doubt about it. They are marauding, hunting. They must be fired up by the inclement conditions and the noises that generates, and they are responding with an especially rapturous chorus of yearning and gnarling themselves. They are insatiable tonight.

  I can see us all being up and awake and mooching around the house shortly, doing everything we can to take our minds off the soundtrack outside while keeping the lights low and the sound minimal to keep our presence under wraps. Even with the many inherent benefits and properties this house affords, one wrong sight or sound this nightfall could attract a whole host of desperate zombies to our door.

  27th August 2017

  You know I was questioning why our Troon bolthole was empty in the first place? It’s been nagging and gnawing away at the back of my mind like a biter tugs and gnaws on bodily sinews. It had to be too good to be true.

  Well, we're not going to stick around to find out. We tried not to make this a decision of haste, but we were growing concerned at the constant level of biter activity outside. Ever since the storms began and the downpours kept us up all night for 3-4 days, we noticed the undead seemed to be at peak levels in the area – and their interest was piqued too. We watched through tiny glimpses in the upstairs windows as zombies appeared to take their chances at the doors of several neighbouring houses in the street. And once one biter breaks rank to satisfy its interest in a particular house, countless others follow. The street was teeming with them, and we were on heightened alert as a result.

  And so we packed up our things and set off for West Cornwall. It was a complete wrench to leave. It really was the best place we've found to date. A modest terrace house, but with all of the inherent features that just happen to make it the perfect secure hideaway. And it boasted the heating, the food, the space and the blanket of reassurance to make it the perfect stay. Prim fell in love with the place as much as we did, if not more, which made it even harder to leave.

  We still can’t fathom why it was empty in the first place, or whether it really was too good to be true. But we vowed not to stay in one place for too long in our pursuit of Jack, Tam and Riley and that, compounded with a nagging feeling of unrest and the monstrous levels of the undead that seemed to be drawn to Troon in the last fortnight, was the motivator behind our decision to cut loose. So we packed up everything we could find, a
nd more. In a series of tense, do or die missions while Nic looked after Prim, we loaded up the van with every kind of foodstuff we could find. We threw in extra duvets, blankets, clothing, bottles of water, weapons and tools, and anything we could find of worth. The van has never been so well stocked or armoured. And with one last glance around the house that once offered to keep us safe and sound for perhaps the entirety of Prim’s childhood, we were off.

  We tried to leave the quieter B roads for a bit, taking our chances out on the faster, more direct A30 trunk road. Once we finally actually got there, it was surprisingly clear. Large stretches were completely empty and even in places where abandoned vehicles lay littered across the carriageways, we were able to pick a way through, slowly but surely. We were making good progress but elected not to push our luck, so as the light began to fade ever so slightly, we pulled off at a quiet little hamlet called Angarrack and slowly negotiated our way toward the back of a sleepy industrial estate to find safe harbour for the night. Thankfully we were able to reverse the van between the sides of two large storage units and out of plain sight. There’s barely any space either side of the vehicle, but we’re happy to be wedged in and secure – in the event that anything should stumble upon us, it will barely be able to get to the side doors, and we can simply apply the revs and plough forward and straight out of here.

  I regret leaving the No.5, and I know Prim is already wondering why we are not at ‘home’. It breaks my heart to see her cooped up in the confines of the van, rather than running free and wild around the house and loving life. I also worry that a prolonged spell on the road could inhibit the great progress she was making physically and linguistically. But we have to remember why we are out here in the first place. And I have to tell myself that we’ve already happened across two great little places of rest so far in Gwennap and Troon that were unexpectedly idyllic, so who’s to say we will not find more solace like that? I will resolve to make it happen, for Prim’s health, happiness and wellbeing if nothing else.