He stuck mainly to the houses on the southern side, as the houses opposite would all have north-facing gardens, which he didn’t want, though he did try some. It was the same as yesterday’s search, with death nearly everywhere he looked. In the houses that didn’t contain corpses, he guessed that they had either been taken into hospital, to die there, or had left to be with loved-ones. Maybe some were second homes or weekend retreats for rich people who had lived elsewhere during the week for their jobs.
He had the same problems as the day before in having to climb many fences, walls and gates to gain access to the rear of the properties. At one house that he broke into to take a closer look, an alarm bell went off, shattering the silence; it obviously had a battery-operated back-up system. He stepped back, looked up and saw the alarm box with its flashing light high up on the wall. He pulled out the shotgun, took aim and blew the alarm box off the wall, then removed the spent cartridge and loaded a fresh one; the house, unfortunately, proved unsuitable.
Half a mile away the woman heard the alarm followed by the shotgun report. Without the noises of modern urban life sound carried a long way in the silence that now surrounded the town. Earlier on, from her apartment, she’d also heard some distant reports that sounded like a shotgun, as the man had practised on the beach. She fingered the hammer that was attached to her belt by a loop, feeling inadequately armed; the thought of meeting a male survivor armed with a shotgun was worrying to her and she resolved to be extra-vigilant while walking around. She, too, was scouting for somewhere new to live and, like the man, had so far been unsuccessful. She carried on with her search, keeping to the rear gardens and avoiding the road as much as possible.
The man was standing outside another house looking at a long-wheelbase Land Rover pickup truck on the drive, with a metal roof over the load-bed. He thought it would be a useful vehicle to have, and much more practical than his hatchback. He could use it for moving all his stuff into the new property when he found it, and it had off-road capability, too, which could be handy. It even had a winch with metal cable on the front. He decided to return later and break into the house to find the keys, then “borrow” it for an indeterminate period of time!
By lunchtime he thought he had found the perfect property. There was a bungalow that looked promising, so he climbed over a high wall with a gate, on the building’s right side, and walked down to the back. The wall enclosed the whole garden and at the rear was a sturdy gate, which led to a flight of steps descending maybe twenty feet to the promenade and the beach. The wall would give good protection from the sea winds and, being a bungalow, roof and gutter maintenance would be easier, too. The mature garden contained several small fruit trees along the western side towards the rear; maybe apple, pear or cherry- he didn’t know which. There were herbaceous borders, a vegetable patch and a good-sized pond with a solar-powered water pump that was still working. He could see koi carp swimming lazily around; Lunch, he thought!
The property had a large conservatory across the back and the windows were all of conventional type, rather than double-glazed, making it easier for him to gain access through a rear window. He was becoming rather a dab-hand at breaking-and-entering and grinned, shaking his head!
Once inside, he got a little excited and his pulse quickened. The large kitchen, which opened into the conservatory and looked onto the garden, had a Rayburn solid-fuel cooker that burned coal or wood. There was an alcove beside it for storing fuel, containing smokeless coal and seasoned logs. He had a suspicion that it might also provide hot water and maybe even central heating. An inglenook fireplace alongside it contained a wood-burning stove. There was no way the kitchen would need both for heating, so he guessed that the log-burner had been there first as it looked older, and they’d fitted the Rayburn later but hadn’t wanted to get rid of the stove; good news for him.
There was no smell of death in the place and as he walked around the property he found it to be empty. There was another wood-burning stove in the lounge with a decorative fire-screen in front of it, for when the doors were open. On the chimney-breast were photos of a nice-looking middle-aged couple, taken in many countries around the world; there were no photos of children that might have been theirs, so he guessed they had been childless. Maybe they had been among the first victims and had died in hospital. In the hall was a traditional telephone table and chair, in which he found spare keys to the doors, windows and garage. The property had three bedrooms and a study, along with the kitchen, bathroom and a large lounge. He opened the front door and went outside; the driveway had parking for at least two or three cars and there was a double-garage to the left side, which could also be accessed from a door in the hallway. He thought it would suit his needs perfectly and felt relieved at finding it. He went into the garage through the hallway door and found a well-equipped workshop; there were work-benches with metal and wood-working vices, tools arranged neatly on racks on the walls, and a pair of small gas bottles with welding equipment. Perfect!
Five
The rain had passed and the sky was now clearer, with periods of sunshine between the clouds. He went out to the garden and ate his lunch on the patio; some homemade drop-scones, with tinned fish and curried lentils. While he ate, his head was filled with plans for his new home. He loved the fact that he would have direct access to the beach for washing, fishing and foraging. He would dig up the lawn and create more vegetable-growing areas. The pond would be filled continually by rain and was also aerated by the solar-powered pump, so he would have fresh water that he could filter or boil for drinking; there was also a rain-water butt collecting run-off from the roof that he could use.
He thought about digging a pit and building a shelter around it for a composting toilet, but then realised that he wouldn’t need to: being by the sea, he could fetch buckets of sea water for flushing the toilet. That was another problem with being in his flat- having to use collected rainwater for flushing the loo, and it wasn’t pleasant when there hadn’t been much rain for a while.
He was eager to start moving his possessions from his flat into this place, so he packed his things away and left by the front door. He walked back down the road to where the Land Rover was and climbed over the fence to look around the property. He managed to gain access through a rear window and the smell of decomposition hit him immediately. He held his breath and hurried through the house; in the hall, on hooks next to the telephone, he found two sets of keys to the Land Rover. He left by the front door, unlocked the vehicle and climbed into the cab. It took a while to start as it had been sitting for a few months and the battery was running down fast as he turned it over. He thought it wouldn’t make it, but then it fired into life; the fuel gauge showed nearly a full tank of diesel.
He drove a circuitous route home to give it a bit of a run and then left it idling outside his flat for half an hour to charge the battery. He decided to move the less important items first and thought about what to take. He didn’t need to take things like bedding and towels as there were plenty at the new place, and the same for cutlery and cooking equipment; though he did pack his favourite items, which he’d had for years and was attached to. He managed to make two trips in the afternoon and would finish the job the following day.
There was still some light remaining before sundown, so he put a hip flask filled with brandy in his coat pocket, slung the sawn-off over his shoulder and walked down Sackville to the seafront. There was a fabulous sunset and he sat on a bench on the promenade listening to the waves, sipping brandy and watching the sun go down beyond Beachy Head. His head was filled with thoughts of life in his new home. It wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that full-well: growing his own food and foraging to be self-sufficient would be incredibly hard and he would be at the mercy of nature and the elements- just as the whole of mankind had been since time immemorial.
He would be living a life that combined the hunter-gatherer existence of the old world and the settled, farming existence of the new: two completely dif
ferent stages of human evolution spanning countless millennia. In his favour was the fact that he was by the sea, and therefore had a bountiful source of protein in the form of fish and shellfish. At least he wouldn’t have to go out hunting animals with a bow and arrow! He had the shotguns and a good supply of ammunition, but what about when that ran out? That was something for the future, so he took out his notebook and wrote it down; maybe there were gunsmiths in the area, or farms that he could visit. He felt sure that farmers would have shotguns and ammo.
The biggest problem, as he saw it, was that modern people, individually, lacked the necessary skills to survive in a world without the technologies and service industries that we had relied on. Our ancient ancestors, by comparison, had passed down their knowledge from generation to generation and people had grown up with the necessary knowledge and skills to survive: from hunting and finding food, to making clothes, building shelters… the list was endless. He was pretty sure, though, that he wouldn’t have to resort to making animal-skin clothing and footwear!
The vast majority of people in the UK had led an easy life in terms of survival- relatively speaking. Their food had come from supermarkets, with all kinds of fruits and vegetables available all year from all around the world. Their meat had come pre-packed and shrink-wrapped in trays, ready to cook. Having to grow their own food, or to hunt, kill and skin it before being able to eat was something unknown to most people because of modern life and civilisation. He knew he had a lot to learn and it was daunting, but he felt he should be able to do it.
The woman saw him from her apartment as he walked down beside the De La Warr Pavilion to the promenade. She’d had a gruesome and unsuccessful day looking for a new home and had walked home feeling sick and frustrated. She got her binoculars and watched him sitting there on a bench overlooking the beach, looking at the sunset and drinking from what looked like a hip flask. In her mind men fell into two groups; either good or bad, basically. And to her way of thinking, bad men weren’t usually the type to sit by a beach at sunset watching the sun go down: not very rational, maybe, but it had usually worked for her. She had the feeling he was lonely and part of her wanted to go down and talk to him, but the other part was still too cautious to do so. She felt lonely herself: lonely, scared and worried about the future. As the light faded, she saw him get up and walk back along Sackville.
By evening of the following day, Sunday, he had completed his move into the bungalow. He’d left behind many things that seemed to have no place in his future life, such as financial records and the like, but had taken with him many personal possessions and photographs of family and friends; all now dead, he assumed. He went upstairs to Paul’s place and gathered the remaining supplies of tinned food, dried produce and bottled water, took a last look at his flat then locked the door and drove off. If there was anything he needed to go back for, it wasn’t far away. He parked the Land Rover in the bungalow’s garage and felt worn out, so he had a quick meal and went to bed not long after. It felt strange not being in his own bed, but it was nice to hear the sea and he fell asleep to the sound of waves crashing on the beach.
Over the next week he organised his new home; familiarising himself with where things were and arranging it more to his liking. He started on some improvements and collected buckets of sea water for the bathroom to flush the toilet.
On Monday morning he looked into using the Rayburn cooker and found it could provide hot water, which pleased him greatly. It appeared to be a gravity-fed system via a hot-water cylinder in the loft, and thus down to the taps. Heating the radiators, however, relied on an electric pump, so that was unavailable. And then it hit him: There’s no bloody water supply, you idiot! He felt foolish, as he’d wasted half an hour reading the manual for it; there was no way to fill the cylinder and header tank with a continual supply of water. He wasted a bit more time dreaming up an elaborate system for diverting rain-water from the gutters into the header tank, but soon realised it was futile and gave up. The thought of having hot water had got the better of him.
At least he would have the Rayburn for cooking on, and its two ovens would be great for baking and roasting. The wood-burning stoves in the kitchen and lounge would heat the place adequately, he thought; especially if all the doors in the place were left open. In colder months he had the option of sleeping in the lounge rather than the bedroom, which would have no heating of its own.
He made two useful discoveries on that first day; the first being a small wine cellar under the study floor. He hadn’t paid much attention to the study, seeing it only as a useful storage area; but while carrying a box in he nearly tripped on the corner of a rug, which rucked-up, revealing a trap-door. Lifting it, he found a short flight of wooden steps into a space about two metres square, lined with bottle racks. He could see by the available light that it was a wine cellar, but got his torch for a better look and climbed down into it. It wasn’t deep enough to stand up straight and he had to crouch. There were only a dozen bottles in there; ten reds and two whites, for which he was grateful, and it was a useful thing to have.
The second discovery was in the kitchen; he found many jars of homemade jams, pickles and chutneys in the larder that would be a welcome addition to his diet. There were also various items of preserving equipment in another cupboard, including many more preserving jars in various sizes.
That set in motion a train of thought he hadn’t addressed before: How am I going to keep fresh food? Without a fridge or freezer, food- and especially meat- would soon spoil. He’d been so accustomed, like everyone, to buying food and storing it in the fridge or freezer in his old life. In recent months he’d been living off tinned and dried food and hadn’t given thought to the problems of storing fresh produce. He’d been excited recently at the prospect of catching fish and foraging coastal vegetables, but how was he going to store and preserve them?
Until he grew vegetables that he could harvest on a daily basis- which would take a long time- he would have to forage for fresh food. What if he caught four fish, maybe, or shot several rabbits; how would he keep them for future meals? If he picked surplus vegetables or fruits, the same applied. And what about bread? He had a good store of flour and he might be able to get more from the supermarkets if there was any left, but what of the future? Any remaining stocks of flour would surely go off within a year, and he had neither the space nor the knowledge to grow and harvest such things- or the equipment to do so.
It wouldn’t be practicable or efficient to go out every day to catch a fish or shoot a rabbit and pick some vegetables for his next meal; he would probably burn more calories doing so than he could replace with each meal, which would be stupid! And what if the weather precluded going fishing for a while- would he go hungry? He needed to think about not just his next meal, but start planning for days, weeks and months ahead if he was to survive! When locally-available fruit and vegetables were abundant from summer to autumn he would need to gather as many as possible and have ways of storing or preserving them for the lean winter months, when little would be available.
His initial jubilance disappeared. He realised he’d been naïve before, in thinking that everything would be okay just because he had a nice house with a garden and would soon be out on the sea catching fish and picking or growing vegetables. The reality of his situation and the practicalities necessary for self-sufficiency and survival dawned on him, and he felt suddenly daunted by what would be involved and the tasks ahead. Furthermore, he was on his own! How would he manage to do it all by himself? And if he got injured or became sick and couldn’t go out to fish or to forage, what would he do?
As the enormity of it all came crashing down on him he had a panic attack. He poured a large brandy, rolled a cigarette with shaking hands then went outside to sit at the patio table; he felt scared and overwhelmed and his heart was thumping. After several minutes he started to calm down as the logical and practical parts of his brain kicked-in with possible solutions.
Mankind had survi
ved for millennia before electricity, fridges or freezers: those inventions were a mere blink of the eye relative to our existence. There were many ways of storing and preserving food; he had a grasp of the basics from his general knowledge and love of food and cooking. He felt that with further research from his books, and with practice, he could master it. He had a book on preserving by Oded Schwartz somewhere in his belongings, which he hadn’t looked at for a long time: years before, he’d intended to do some preserving but had never got around to it.
He knew that meat and fish could be preserved by air-drying, like jerky or biltong; by salting or smoking; or by a combination of all three methods. It could be potted, like pâté, rillettes or confit; where the meat was cooked slowly in fat until tender and then put into dishes or jars and sealed with more fat on top, he seemed to remember. Fish, in particular, could be pickled in vinegar, like rollmops. Fruit and vegetables could be preserved in many ways; using salt, sugar, vinegar, oil or alcohol. They could be salted and preserved in brine by lacto-fermentation, such as sauerkraut; turned into jams and chutneys; pickled in vinegar; stored in oil; air-dried (mainly fruit, he thought); or a combination of these methods. He knew the principles and would need to do more research.
Many fruits and vegetables would also keep in their natural state for far longer than people thought, if they were stored in the correct way. Most people had been accustomed to putting these foods in the fridge, or in a basket in a cupboard, often wrapped in plastic bags; consequently, food would go off quickly due to bruising, condensation or lack of air-flow. If they were hung up, or wrapped in soft, breathable material to prevent bruising in a cool, well-ventilated area, then many foods would keep well for several weeks, or months in some cases.
The Hoffmann Plague Page 4
