Diary of the Displaced Box Set Read online

  I noticed a smell of petrol wafting in the air, which would be great news if I could get my hands on it, somehow. That is if the tank is still intact. Petrol would be useful right now. I keep glancing at the leg in the footwell and shuddering.

  Managed to force open the boot of the car. It took about two hours, but was worth it. Inside was a large suitcase, unusually heavy and ticketed to go to Namibia, Africa. Mr Adam Samuels.

  Hauled the suitcase back to the camp. I struggled, but couldn't open it.

  I wonder if that is Mr Samuels’ leg in the footwell.

  Genius.

  Went back to the car and carefully pulled off some of the damaged metal panelling. There are lots of sharp bits that break off easily, to make cutting implements. A large piece of the frame came away, twisted and jagged at one end.

  It didn't take much effort to wrap more pieces of the door panelling round the thing and some of the curtain material around the handle, tied together with cloth strips cut from the sofa.

  Now I've got myself a nasty weapon if the dog thing comes back.

  It only occurred to me afterwards that I could have cut myself badly while pulling at all that sharp metal. There aren't exactly any ambulances around here.

  As well as the mace (I think that's what they are called) I've managed to put together two usable, makeshift knives using the braces between a chair leg and a large piece of sharp metal from the wreck.

  Before going to sleep, I used a large piece of furniture wood to prise open the side of the car, so I can access the petrol tank. I've got nothing to put it in at the moment. Really, I just wanted to make sure it wasn't leaking out anywhere. It's not. The petrol smell must be from the battered remains of the engine.

  One last thing. It occurred to me that the dog thing was probably hungry, and a raw leg from the knee down, sitting in this vehicle, might bring it here again. I think I heard movement in the distance once or twice, but while I've got the torches burning and the campfire lit they seem to be leaving me alone (I'm presuming there is more than one from the answering howls that I heard).

  Decided I couldn't risk it and took half an hour to prise open the footwell with the hefty bit of wood, wrapped another piece of curtain round my hand and pulled out the leg.

  Damn thing. It squelched as it came free. I nearly threw up, and probably would have done if I had anything but fizzy drink in my belly. Chucked it over the wall. Barely. I was so glad I didn't need a second try at it. There's not a lot I can do about the blood, without wasting fizzy drink. Most of it seems to have dried anyway.

  As a last thought before I sleep again, I must venture out, soon, but I need to know that I can survive it first. I can't stay in this camp forever. For all I know, there might well be a way out a few hundred yards away.

  Day 8

  The suitcase, when cut open, contained some men's clothing. It's all a bit too large for me, and the trousers don't fit too well, but at least I've got some clean pants on now. There are towels. All I need now is some water! Sun tan lotion and sunglasses – you're having a laugh. A roll-on deodorant, so now I don't smell too bad. Can DogThing smell it, though? I never thought of that before I used it. More pens, Namibia travel guide, mouthwash. Damn, mint flavoured.

  Stomach is burning with indigestion from only cola cans to live on. I need to find something solid soon, otherwise I'm going to have some serious stomach problems, or worse. I think at a guess I must have already lost two stone. Oh well, Doctor said I needed to lose weight.

  I'm hungry, but somehow not as hungry as I think I should be after so many days without food.

  Preparation for travel (Inventory).

  Shoulder sack – slightly better fashioned with bits of leather from the car upholstery, now that I have something to cut with.

  2 knives.

  Wicked, nasty, DogThing-killing mace.

  15 torches.

  Bundle of curtain material to make more torches.

  10 cans of fizzy drink.

  Cigarette lighter – still part full.

  Journal and pens.

  Small chunk of sofa foam for pillow.

  Small towel and deodorant?

  Mouthwash? Too much to carry.

  Ok, the torches last about half an hour, roughly. The longer ones last maybe three quarters of an hour, if I'm lucky, so I reckon that I have something like seven hours travel time, three and a half hours each way. I'll have to judge it by the torches.

  My stomach is beginning to give me real problems now, so although I should probably leave after I've slept, I'm going to head out today.

  Day 9

  A breakthrough! I've discovered something that might be food. I know that sounds odd, but I've never seen a three-foot-tall mushroom before. I stood there, wasting torch time, for about ten minutes, wondering whether it was edible or not. Eventually I decided that the risk was worth it. It's a pale white colour, which made me think of the mushrooms that you can buy in a supermarket. I hope I'm right. I chopped it up and stashed it in the sack. It's not heavy stuff, and there is quite a lot of it.

  I'm getting too far ahead, so here we go.

  Right, I've slept again, so it's pseudo-morning once more. I need to catch up on yesterday's excursion. Again, quite a bit to write, but the first thing is I'm back at the camp.

  The Day 8 Expedition

  Hour 1

  For the first hour I walked about a quarter of a mile through the debris, marking my journey by re-arranging junk, mainly by pulling away a pile of wood or rubble, and laying out a marker pointing back to the previous one. It was slow going, but if I get lost in here, I'll be in serious trouble, even with my supplies. Although there is a lot of junk there are also some wide, open spaces between it, so I don't have to climb over junk the whole way.

  There's so much mashed-up stuff here that it could be the rubbish dump for a whole town. Most of it is either scrapyard junk or piles of broken furniture. That's good, though – at least I'm not running out of firewood any time soon. There's no rotting filth that I can see, so this isn't landfill refuse.

  Found what I can only believe is DogThing's droppings, dotted about all over the place, but no signs of DogThing itself, yet.

  As I travelled further away from the wall, the rubbish started to thin out a bit, but there were still quite big piles of it all over the place. I spotted a damaged shopping trolley that I decided to take back with me. The wheels didn't quite work, but I thought they could be fixed, with a bit of force.

  Hour 2

  Headed further out, and at about half a mile, I reached the edge of the rubbish. It thinned out into only infrequent larger piles and odd scattered bits. I think I saw at least five washing machines.

  I abandoned the shopping trolley. It was too knackered to fix and wouldn't push straight, plus one of the wheels fell off.

  It was at this point that I found the mushrooms. They were dotted around quite a distance from where the ground was covered with scrap, so maybe they favour open areas. The biggest one that I found was about three feet tall and probably the same diameter across the hat. I spent a while examining it before deciding to cook it back at the camp.

  Hour 3

  As I was wandering along, trying to figure out what the hell all this stuff was doing here, and hoping that I would see some glimmer of inhabitancy in the distance, I came across the most bizarre thing yet.

  It was sitting there in a large clearing, rubbish and junk of all kinds stacked up around it.

  The first glimpse I got of it was the shape, and the eyes. Or what I thought were eyes. They reflected off the torchlight, and I nearly turned to run, but it didn't move.

  It was about six yards high, four wide, and as long as a truck. After meeting DogThing, I was positive that this was some gargantuan mutant rhino, or something equally horrendous and deadly. I thought that I was about to die. Then I noticed something up on top of its head and it looked like writing. I took one step closer. Stupid, I know, but I nearly fell over laughing at myself
in amazement at what was there.

  Number 12.

  Not in service.

  It was a London bus.

  I was about to walk over to it and investigate, when I heard the scream. Crazy. I have been on edge ever since I arrived in this place, and the one moment I relaxed, something caught me ill prepared.

  I've never heard anything that made my spine tingle as much as that scream did. It was stomach wrenching, long, and turned into a gargling wail seconds later. For the second time in as many minutes I nearly fled the area, but something, call it instinct if you want, compelled me to try and help. That scream was coming from something or someone in extreme distress, and I knew what I was going to do, even though every part of me said it was stupid.

  I ran. Not quite blindly, but barely able to see ten yards in the darkness. My torch in one hand – newly lit only a few minutes before – and my mace in the other.

  The scene unfolded far too quickly for me. The fight was going on much closer than I had first thought. I had barely run twenty yards, and there they were. DogThing was cowering back, blood streaming from a wound in its side. Looming over it with weapons in their hands, were two people.

  I had hoped it would be possible, and for a few brief seconds, I felt relief. There were other people here. I wasn't totally alone. But that relief was short lived as I ran towards the scene to help them.

  The stench hit my senses as I got within about ten feet and then one of them spun round to face me. What I saw staring out of that hooded cloak was disgusting and terrifying beyond anything I've ever seen in my life.

  It may have once been human, but what was left was unrecognisable enough that I was unsure whether it was male or female. Most of what was visible of the creature was either rotting or falling off. It began lumbering towards me. Its face was half missing, and I could see its jawbone shining in the torchlight, hanging on by one or two putrid strips of muscle. The cloak opened a little as it moved, and underneath I could see maggots falling out of holes in its flesh and scattering across the ground.

  I've seen a lot of Living Dead films, and I know a zombie when I see one, or at least what a zombie really looks like. Let's face it, you watch the films, but it never occurs to you that you might meet one in person, let alone two.

  I was surprised enough that the slow, shuffling thing nearly got to me before I reacted. It tried to hit me with the broken stick that it was carrying, an improvised club, but I took a couple of steps back, waited for it to get in range, bit back the fear, and tried my new mace, ironically made to defend against the creature I now fought a common enemy with.

  I lunged at it, missed and stumbled forward, nearly dropping the torch and the mace. This stuff always looks easier in the films.

  Fortunately, I wasn't the only one with little control over my faculties. The zombie was having a hard time turning round, so I had time to wind up and aim the second attempt. As I pulled back my mace for another shot, I was vaguely aware that yards away, another violent struggle was going on between DogThing and the other zombie.

  Impact. Its head erupted into pieces, splattering the ground behind it. My arm jarred, and the pain shot all the way up to my shoulder. I stumbled backwards. The creature still staggered in my direction for a moment, but then collapsed sideways, tumbling to the ground with a wet thud.

  Behind me, the furious growling from DogThing had stopped, and silence came once more. I spun round to look, swinging my torch in front of me, realising that I still had DogThing and possibly another zombie to deal with, but DogThing was just watching me warily, and nudging the remains of the other cadaver, which it had quite literally torn to pieces.

  Both zombies down, and only a demon dog to deal with. We stood there, ten feet between us, breathing heavily, watching each other.

  I backed away slowly, leaving it to poke around the bodies. I needed to be away from the scene. I staggered back to where the bus was and leaned against the side.

  It took me a while to stop throwing my guts up and get my breath back. I called out in frustration, into the darkness, but only a dog and two smashed up zombies were there to listen to me.

  Realising that I was over my expedition outward time, I rushed some of the way back, and decided to leave investigating the bus for another time.

  DogThing followed me back to camp, keeping its distance.

  Today (Day 9) I spent the most of the day shifting some of the junk in an attempt to build some kind of wall defence round my camp.

  It occurred to me as I sat back at the camp that I was wrong about DogThing being hurt by the light. I suspect it merely frightened him.

  Yes. I decided to presume that DogThing is a male. He sat just on the edge of the light of the campfire for most of the evening, watching me warily, and licking his wound. It looked a bit nasty. He's not looking at me hungrily, so I'm trying to presume that I'm not what he has planned for dinner.

  Facts I've learned about DogThing

  DogThing likes roasted mushroom. So do I.

  DogThing isn't a Living Dead thing. The bits hanging off him are just dirty bits of crusty fur. I am beginning to wonder if I have found an ally in him. I hope so. I certainly don't want him as an enemy, and sleeping might be easier with him nearby. Knowing that there are zombies and things wandering around in here doesn't set you up for a peaceful night.

  He doesn't smell anywhere near as rank as I thought he would.

  He doesn't like the campfire light.

  Back to the mushrooms. They don't taste that much different to supermarket mushrooms, and they come in bigger bits. I guess I will find out quite soon if they are edible or not, but for now it feels good to have something solid in my stomach.

  I can't believe I have been here over a week.

  Day 10

  I haven't slept for hours now. It may be day 11 for all I know, but I'm sticking to a day being between each sleep (ish). Thank God for DogThing, and to hell with zombies.

  I'm about to try and get a few hours’ sleep, but I doubt very much that it's going to happen. If it wasn't for DogThing, I would be dead right now. There is no doubt about that.

  I was fast asleep and far too comfortable, with a belly full of mushroom and a warm fire going. I guess I nearly forgot about the dead things that I had fought earlier that day.

  The noise made me start, and I sat bolt upright, fumbling for a torch, and my weapon. That same long, drawn-out moan resounded nearby, and I could hear DogThing having a go at something. The unwelcome and familiar sound of zombie flesh ripping, and the grating of DogThing's teeth, was too close for my liking. He must still have been sitting nearby when they arrived.

  The torch flooded the area with light, and I wished it hadn't, because I could see at least four of them loping slowly towards the camp. Worse still, there were bits enough to account for a few others, strewn about the clearing that DogThing had been lounging around in. They don't leave a lot of blood, just bits.

  I hurriedly put my torch into the fire again, stoking it frantically to try and get more light into the area. It was almost out, and I didn't have the time to lug any wood from the pile. I managed to get it going a bit more, and regretted it straight away, as the fire roared to life and lit up the entire area around me.

  There were dozens of them, at varying distances. All shapes and sizes, and at different stages of decay. The nearest to me was at least twenty feet away, and it seemed to be stuck in the junk. Most were still staggering, trying to negotiate the piles of scrap. I am so glad that they are slow, or I would have been overrun before I'd even noticed that they were coming.

  I hesitated for a moment. Would I be able to fight them all off? DogThing was doing an awesome job, but me? Not a chance. My trip out earlier proved to me that I was useless with this mace. Yeah, sure, I killed it, but only after nearly landing on my backside after my first swing.

  Time to run.

  Time to get the hell out of here as fast as I can.

  My kit was still packed from the expedition
, so I grabbed it, and as much other stuff as I could carry, and made my way along the wall away from the camp, in the only direction that was reasonably clear. As I shuffled along through the rubbish, I saw that there was only one of the creatures in that direction. I figured that if I moved quickly, I may not even have to fight it.

  So here I was, tucked inside the bus with the doors all jammed shut, and DogThing prowling the area outside. I was exhausted.

  DogThing followed me, after side-tracking to make a meal out of one or two of the zombies along the way. I think I now know why I've not become a DogThing meal. He seems to have a taste for the living dead. Sick, yeah, but I'd rather it was them and not me.

  The zombies didn't follow me. They seemed intent on continuing into the camp. I don't know where they are heading, or what has attracted them to the area, but I'm just glad it isn't me. Well, I think it isn't me. They didn't follow me to the bus, so they must have had some other reason to be there. What that was I don't know, and I don't think that I want to find out.

  Need to sleep now. Struggling to write.

  Day 11

  I'm still alive, still inside the bus, and still got me a demon DogThing patrolling on the edge of the torchlight. Can you feel love for a mutt from hell? Damn right you can. He won't come into the bus, and seems to be afraid of it for some reason. Maybe I should take heed of that, but I'm too tired.

  I'm glad I made a large supply of torches now.

  Anyway, back to my escape.

  My exodus wasn't entirely uneventful. That one zombie that I was hoping to avoid moved quicker than expected. As I edged away along the wall, it closed the gap. I looked back, but DogThing was busy tearing into another of the monsters that had entered his clearing. I whistled, but he didn't respond. I would have called him, but I didn't think he would answer to "DogThing," and I didn't have a name for him yet. I must give him a name, he deserves that at least.