The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

It’s not fair. It sounds childish, but it’s true. This isn’t justice, or karma, or divine intervention, because it’s just not fair.

I had been dreading finding Dillon’s family. I tried to ignore it, I tried not to say, but there was a part of me that hoped we wouldn’t find them. Because I didn’t want to say goodbye to him. I didn’t want to give him up. I didn’t want there to be Seekers without a Dillon in it. I selfishly wanted him to stay with us – with me – always.

He deserved better. He looked after me, even when he was hurt and hobbling. I remember that hand on my head when I needed it. I tried to do the same for him, but the damage was so bad and he just couldn’t hold on. He tried. He gripped my hand so tightly as I told him, we’re almost there, it’s just a little further, stay with me. Stay with me. Then he smiled and asked if his folks were here yet. I’d really like them, and they’d like me, too. Is that them he can hear?

I don’t think they liked me. I brought them a dead son. I tried to give them more than that as I handed him over, but I don’t know if they heard me.

He looks just like his dad. The little tilt to the corners of his mouth, the way his eyes went solemn and nakedly sad in the face of bad news. Even the way Mr Holt comforted his wife. I think that’s the only reason that I was able to let him go, when my whole body was screaming at me to hold onto him, he’s mine, he’s not allowed to go yet.

It felt wrong to leave him there, but it was right too. All I know is that he got what he wanted – to be with them again. That’s what matters, I guess.

It feels different with him than it did with Ben. Ben left me hollow, hardly able to feel anything. With Dillon, it’s more like losing a limb. The nerves are raw and I keep feeling as if he’s right there. It’s hard to walk forward, as if I have a leg missing. I want to curl around the wound, and shout about how unfair it is. The cuts Ben left on my arm, the pounding that the landslide gave me – it all hurts less than this does.

I woke with heavy eyes and a headache this morning, and Matt was curled up around me. For a moment, I thought it was Dillon, but that was just a wish that slipped through the confusion of waking. I was grateful it was Matt. I turned over and hugged him in return; he needs it as much as I do.

I haven’t seen Matt go grey with grief before; even when his family kicked him out, he put a brave face on it. He’s not even trying to do that this time. I guess it’s because he knows he doesn’t need to. He seems faded, worn through.

Then there’s Thorpe. He got close to the kid too, more than most; Dillon looked up to him, and I think the big fella liked that. But he won’t show it. He knuckles it all down somehow. I guess it’s one way to cope. I’d explode if I tried that.

He gave me a hand this morning, tossing some of the heavier packs into the back of the van. He didn’t need to but I didn’t mind. He asked if I was okay, and it was so unusual I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him.

“Not really,” I told him. There didn’t seem to be any point lying about it.

I returned the question but he didn’t answer. He just put a heavy hand on my shoulder and bowed his head. On impulse, I stepped in and hugged him, partly because I knew he’d never ask for something like that. Hugging him is a bit like being swallowed – I barely come up to his shoulder. I think it was partly the awkwardness of his squeeze that brought the tears up again, and partly because I knew he hadn’t cried yet. So I cried for both of them, the last of the original Seekers.

There’s only Thorpe and me left now, of those who came out of the city. All those miles and months, and there’s only two of us still moving. It’s a frightening attrition.

We’re still moving. We pushed our two battered vehicles until they started and we put miles under our tyres. Heading in a new direction now – north and slightly west, out of the mountains. Moving on to the next dot on the map and leaving a part of us behind. A part we’ll carry with us, at the same time.

I still can’t say goodbye. Goodnight will have to do for now.

Dale came to talk to me today. He’s a private guy, though not in the way that Thorpe is, so I wondered what was up when he came to give me a hand where we wouldn’t be overheard.

I haven’t spent much time with him since he recovered from his shambler-inflicted injuries; I’ve been preoccupied, mostly with all the stuff around Ben. Before then, our exchanges were underpinned by his pain as I changed dressings and checked wounds. He always made an effort to keep his spirits up, though, always tried to bear a smile, even if it was strained. Or he’d make jokes of the subtle, wry kind.

Today, while we were looking through pillaged cupboards for any scraps of food that might be hiding, he couldn’t find that smile. He kept glancing at me, until I eventually gave in and asked him what was going on.

“The others told me what you did,” he said. “For me, at the landslide.”

I stared at him as I tried to figure out what he meant, what might matter that much to him. Then I remembered the CPR, the taste of dirt and growing dizzy as I tried to give him oxygen. They’d had to pull me off him when he came around. And then Dillon–

“I’m the only one who knows how.” It wasn’t the most inspired response, but it was all I could come up with on short notice. I hadn’t noticed how intent his eyes could get before then. They’re blue and just a little bit green.

“Yeah, but you still saved my life.” He shrugged and that strained smile ghosted past us. “I just wanted to… thank you.”

I hadn’t even realised. In all the hurt that followed, that one little fact had slipped right past me. Something small and hard swelled in my chest as I looked up at Dale and realised that he was right: I had saved him. I couldn’t save the ones closest to me, but I did save someone. It felt like that had to mean something, though I’m still figuring out what.

I didn’t want to make a big thing out of it, though; we all kept each other safe. And my tongue didn’t quite know what to do with itself.

“We’re all in this together.” I felt so lame. But what was I supposed to say? “Look after each other, you know?”

I went to pat his arm and he flinched. That was when I realised he was hurt – we were all battered by the landslide, flesh and bone bruised by the rocks and weight of earth, but he had been buried and hauled out rougher than any of us. I hadn’t even checked to see if there were any serious injuries at the time; I was too caught up in Dillon. Today, though, I had the chance to catch up with that. I made Dale show me his arm, saw the familiar swelling and bruising, and went to dig out the forearm brace I had at the bottom of my pack.

I paused when I got it out. I remembered, so clearly, the first time I saw it. My wrist was so sore, and Dillon had found the brace in the hospital and brought it to me. He had looked like such a good puppy when he handed it over and that alone had made me feel better about being broken.

I didn’t want to give it up. It felt like a part of us, Dillon and me, and there were so few left within my reach. But it was silly – just an object we had shared, one I had stained in the weeks that followed that moment, and Dale needed it. I put it on him before I changed my mind. He saw my hesitation and asked if I was all right. So I told him. There didn’t seem any point in beating about the bush. His face fell, but I fastened the straps anyway. It’s not like anyone else was using it.

After Dale’s hurts were dealt with, I went to check on everyone else. Late, but at least I got there in the end. I hadn’t even realised how many of us were still mud-coloured and smeared with the dirt that tried to swallow us. We’re clay people, different shapes made from the same pressed earth.

I’d do anything for a shower. There’s plenty of soap but no water to spare. I think that sums us up perfectly: so many intentions but a vital piece missing.

We have enough to drink, enough to get by. That will have to do for now.

We’re almost free of the foothills. It’s slow going up here, between the ice and the skinny roads easily blocked by abandoned vehicles. We’re stopping at every gathering of buildings to look for supplies. The process is getting faster with familiarity, but it’s still not easy to coordinate seven people.

Seven. We’re uneven now.

We’ve seen more signs of landslides, too. Naked slopes have sheer angles and spaces where the hillside used to be. Stone is pale where it has been stripped bare and exposed to the fresh onslaught of the rain. Rocks and dirt scatter over the road, around and on top of houses. Blocked and swept-away roads have forced us to re-route several times.

Matt and I have been travelling with Thorpe and Dale in the offroader, and all of us went quiet when we saw the first one. Thorpe’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror to meet mine and I leaned forward to put a hand on his shoulder. Matt did the same to Dale; we all needed the contact. None of us remember the landslide happily, though for different reasons.

Tia is the most obviously affected. She keeps refusing to sleep under blankets, preferring to be cold so she can be without their weight. I think she was completely buried under the dirt for a few seconds before someone pulled her out. Now, the pressure is too close to her surface and she can’t stand to be wrapped up.

I don’t blame her. If swimming was a possibility, I’d be afraid of it too. The thought of water closing over my head, of being bowled over like that again, of my whole body being completely victim to another force and unable to even scream – it makes my heart thump uncomfortably and my breaths come short and shallow. I have to close my eyes and suck in a deep lungful of air to make it go away.

I often find myself making a conscious effort to avoid looking up at the rippled earth rising above us. Paranoia prickles, and try not to look just to spite it. The only one I’m proving anything to is myself, but that’s all right.

As if the looming danger wasn’t enough, we’re finding that everything is barren here. The only other people we’ve seen alive are Dillon’s family, but every building around here has been stripped. Food, liquid, fuel, tools, clothing. The only things we’ve found that might be of use are scraps, cast-offs and rejects. We’re running short of everything; even the big bottles of water are emptying fast enough to be a concern. We’re rationing everything as much as we can, but we have to live, too.

It all makes us chafe at the slow pace. We want to get back to the city’s suburbs where there are houses and corner stores to visit. At the same time, we don’t dare pass by a building without checking it, just in case it has something we might be able to use. So we stop and we hurry, and then we grumble as we get back into the vehicles empty-handed again.

Taking things used to bother me. I used to offer small apologies as I did it, running through the excuses of survival and need in my head. I used to feel bad, or naughty, or just a bit wrong. I don’t know when, but somewhere along this road I stopped doing that. There are no apologies for those who didn’t come back here, though sometimes there’s a wish that we could spare enough to leave for those who might follow us. We never have enough, though. We never leave anything we might be able to use. We’re magpies, scarecrow-thin and hungry. I can’t apologise for that. I have enough callouses to be selfish.

We’re almost free now. Almost out of the clutter of hills that makes us hunch our shoulders up. The suburbs aren’t far, with its hopes of forgotten supplies and other people’s beds.

I used to like visiting the mountains, with their landscapes and fresh air. It’s just another thing that has changed, I guess.

We finally left the hills behind today. The road levelled out beneath our tyres and the loom of unsteady earth lifted away from our shoulders. We’re all breathing easier now.

Sometime in the night, there was the underground rumble of rocks giving way, shaking us up out of our slumber. The rain had leeched away enough earth to send scree tumbling down to reshape the land, close enough to make the windows rattle.

Needless to say, more than one of us panicked. We fumbled for lights and then for faces with our beams. I had to count heads twice to be sure that I had everyone, and almost did it a third time because of a niggling feeling that someone was missing. Oddly enough, it was the brace on Dale’s arm that reminded me who was gone.

Once we were sure that everyone was together, we started to look for the rockfall. It was quieter than the last time, though that might have been because of the rain, so we rushed around inside the gutted corner store we had chosen to shelter us for the night. Flashlight beams just didn’t reach far or wide enough – everything is disorienting in the dark. Shadows play tricks, slipping around corners and across surfaces like liquid, making objects look big, or flat, or just not there at all. The faint slither of acid glinting off building exteriors didn’t help, either. I’d have given anything for a good floodlight.

It had been quiet for a while before we were satisfied that we weren’t close to the rockslide, or mudslide, or whatever it was. We peeled ourselves away from our chosen windows and gathered in the middle of the little store, and just looked at each other. Then we shrugged, someone gave a wry laugh at our skittishness (I think that was Matt), we all relaxed and Tia burst into tears. I think it was relief. I looked at Dale and found him pale-faced with tension. Thorpe hovered behind him like an angry bear.

The boys went and stirred up the fire; no-one was going back to sleep after that. Terry was trying to comfort Tia, but she kept shaking her head and hiccuping as if her tears were choking her. He looked so strained that I went over to see if I could help, put my arm around the girl’s shoulders and suggested that he let me try. He looked relieved as he went to join the others; he loves his sister, but I don’t think he gets girls well enough to handle this kind of thing.

I got her to sit down a little way from the fire where we could talk undisturbed. It took a while for her to calm down enough to speak, and I tried not to listen to the dripping of the rain in the meantime. It has taken on a menacing tone now, worming its way in, as inexorable as the monsters it creates if it doesn’t kill us. Watching the ceilings is a common pastime for us.

I tried to tell her that I got it, I understood – she was scared after what happened a few days ago. Afraid of being buried, afraid of dying.

She looked at me with awful eyes and said, “That’s not it. That’s not it at all.” Her voice was torn from the crying, but there was no mistaking her words. “I wasn’t afraid of dying: I wanted it.”

I had no idea what to say to her. The tears weren’t relief – they were disappointment. It wasn’t exactly a problem I had anticipated. The only thing I could think of was to keep her talking, so I asked her what she meant.

“When the ground closed over my head, I thought, ‘this is it, I’m gonna die’.” She sounded reluctant at first, but then it just spilled out. “I thought I’d panic, but I didn’t. I knew I was gonna die, and that was… okay. I could just let go and everything else would go away. This nightmare, this year – all of it. I wouldn’t have to worry about anything any more. All I had to do was take a breath. I was ready, and then… then someone pulled me out.”

She covered her face like that was the worst thing in the world. I mentioned her brother and she shook her head.

“Terry doesn’t understand. He’s been carrying me, this whole time. Making sure I’m all right, making sure I’m safe. I’m a burden; I make things harder for him. After we joined you guys and he didn’t have to worry so much any more – I haven’t seen him that happy in ages.”

I stared at her, mentally filling in her gaps. It’s not what she thought that horrified me: it’s that I could understand how she got to that place. My feet have touched that path before. “He won’t be better off without you.”

“You don’t know that. It’d be easier without me.”

I couldn’t bring myself to lie to her, to make up stuff we would both know wasn’t true. “There are plenty of people who need others to fight for them, to get by,” I told her. “I’m one of them.” I step up when I have to, when there’s no choice, but I know I wouldn’t have got this far without the protection of the others. I’m one of the weakest fighters. “And there are people who need to fight for someone else, or they won’t fight at all.”

She looked at me dubiously. “So what, I’m doing him a favour by being useless?”

“…in a manner of speaking, yeah.” It wasn’t exactly how I’d put it.

To my dismay, her eyes filled up again. “But I don’t want to be here any more. I don’t know if I can fight it any more. What if I’m not strong enough?”

I reached out to squeeze her hand. “Then let us help you. We’re all each other has got.”

I don’t know if she heard me. She nodded and seemed to take it on board, but I really don’t know. I asked her to think about it and left her to collect herself. Dale and Matt were singing some kind of ditty that stopped as soon as I came over and left Terry grinning. I rolled my eyes and told them to sing something we all knew. Eventually, Tia came to join us and even helped us fill the room with sound. We’re not the most musically skilled bunch, but we have bravado and the ability to make stuff up as we go.

We left the threat of landslides and being buried in displaced earth behind, but there’s a part of it still with us. Not just in the cuts and bruises we all bear; there’s that temptation still eating at Tia. We’re going to have to protect her from herself as much as from everything else.

The thing is, if she puts herself in danger, I’m not sure that we should stop her. None of us would blame her for choosing to get out of this life. She’s old enough to make her own decisions, but she’s not even twenty yet.

Once upon a time, I would never have considered this a question: the answer was always ‘no’. Now I’m not sure what I’ll do, faced with her choice. I’m not sure what this says about me.

Hello! Matt here again, but I promise that it’s not bad news this time. I told Faith about my unfortunate pattern with this fun little blog of hers and she told me to do something more regular.

Between you and me, I think she was glad for the excuse to take a break from this. She’s still kinda strung-out after all the stuff with Dillon, though she won’t admit it, and now there’s something going on with Tia. The girls won’t say what it is, but it’s bad enough to make them both unhappy. Faith has that worried face she gets when something’s eating at her.

I hope the kid isn’t getting Sick. Maybe she’s got a burn. I can’t imagine staring at that future rolling up the road towards me, waiting for the cough and the fever and knowing just how hungry I’ll become.

Dammit, I gave myself goosebumps.

Anyway. So there was a bit of excitement today. We’re searching everywhere we can find for supplies, but we haven’t had any luck in days. Not since we hit the mountains, really. Now that we’re out of that area, we had hoped to find stuff again.

We stopped at this little town on the way towards the suburbs. Everything was fine, just as it always is – we shut off the engines and piled out of the vehicles, stiff from sitting. I slipped on the ice and nearly ended up on my ass; grappling onto the big tree that is Thorpe is all that saved me. The less said about that, the better.

The open doors were our first clue that we weren’t going to find much. We wanted to look anyway, just in case whoever was here before us wasn’t as desperate or thorough as they could have been. Who are we kidding – is there anyone around that isn’t desperate and hungry?

Hungry. That brings me to what happened as we moved towards the nearest doors. Terry and Dale were calling to each other, making bets and taunts, and I joined in for the hell of it. Then we heard something down the road.

That thumping. It’s unmistakable. I think my heart was trying to beat a warning, matching their rhythm as they finally figured out how to get onto the street. They fell out of doorways like grains of puffed rice. Or like roasted coffee beans, scorched and tumbling more than walking.

Then Faith was shouting and pushing me back towards the vehicles. I ran along with everyone else, scrabbling to get them ready to move again. What I wouldn’t do for an ignition that worked. Half of us had to grab weapons to deal with the shamblers closest to us, while the others bumped the engines started.

Dan is a demon with a bat. I’ve never noticed it before – hasn’t exactly been high on my list of things to check out – but he stepped right in front of me when I was pushing the offroader. I saw it perfectly: whap whap, and then he was moving on, cool as you like. It’d be scary if he wasn’t on our side.

To my surprise, Faith was one of the fighters, too. She usually deals with the vehicles. Today, she picked up a bat and went to town. More determination than finesse, but she got the job done. I didn’t start worrying about her until we were ready to go and she wasn’t answering us. I had to grab her arm to get her attention, and nearly got smacked for my trouble.

I didn’t like the expression on her face or the way she looked at the sticky end of her bat. Then we were busy cramming ourselves into the vehicles and getting the hell out of there. She said she was okay but I didn’t believe her. She’ll talk to me when she’s ready.

We were much more cautious when we selected a house to hole up in for the night, further down the road. We checked every room, every cupboard, and not just for food. We didn’t find anything, good or bad, but at least we had a place to bed down.

Pickings are slim and spirits are down, but I can report that dog biscuits are actually quite filling, if hard on the teeth. I have no idea how Shaggy ate Scooby Snacks on a regular basis. They really suck the moisture out of you. Cat food is much easier to get down, though it does spark some arguments. I prefer the beef, if you please; fishy ones make me gag.

You know the world has ended when you have a favourite flavour of cat food.

Suburbs. I never thought I’d be so glad to see the suburbs.

I used to chafe at having to live in one. I wanted something cooler – an apartment in the city, a houseboat, a fifty-foot yacht to while away my time on. My dad’s house always seemed so… ordinary.

What I wouldn’t give for ordinary.

The suburbs don’t look like they used to, like the one I grew up in. They’re the same houses, squeezed together on too-narrow plots, but the walls are acid-etched in slowly-dissolving streaks. The yards are stripped, all dirt and concrete. The paint on the cars is dull and wearing thin, showing the underskin metal in places.

We passed a tricycle with plastic ribbons reduced to tatters, its wheels iced into the mud that had seeped up around it. Further along the same street, a roof had caved in completely, the house a collapsed pudding. The acid is deconstructing everything.

The world isn’t just broken. It’s still breaking.

Even with the erosion around us, we were glad to be back within the city’s sprawl. The pickings were no better than out towards the mountains, but at least we have more options now. More places to take shelter.

We’re moving with more caution after yesterday’s attack. I’m trying not to think about all of that too deeply.

Thorpe smacked one down right next to me while I was still trying to grab for a weapon. I glanced at him and I remembered how Dillon looked in that moment, those few days ago. He had smiled at me, it’s all right, Faith. And then they had grabbed him. So I started hitting them. They were too close, so many, too close to everyone. My arms hurt and my chest felt stretched until it couldn’t fit any air in it, but there were so many of them. I had to keep going, keep them away.

It wasn’t until Matt grabbed me that I realised how far I had gone. The middle part is all a blur now, one I don’t ever want to resolve.

We’re all safe. That’s the important thing. A few bites and scratches, but nothing serious. I ache in more places than I care to count.

There’s a warehouse district a little way to the west of here. We spent an hour arguing about it tonight: it’s out of our way, but there might be stores there. Other survivors might not have pillaged all of it yet. Tia is sure that there’s a depot for one of the supermarkets there – she used to work for the chain. If nothing else, maybe we can stock up on cat food.

I have to try not to think about Jones and Nugget when I pick up a can with a ginger cat on it. Why does everything feel so connected?

I just remembered who Tia reminds me of. Ben’s sister, the one we found asleep forever with her son. That changes things. That changes everything.

The rain is eroding everything, including us. Outside in, inside out, we’re all wearing away, down to guts and blood and bone. Our skeletons are showing. The ones it doesn’t kill, it turns into monsters.

Even me. I can feel it seeping in, wearing me down. I’m a grain of rice in the monsoon. I’m the whole damned paddy field, overflowing until I’m empty. How do I fight the weather? How do I fight what’s happening to the whole world? To the people that I care about?

How much is enough?

I just read over the post I wrote yesterday. I don’t usually do that. I don’t usually go back, because there’s too much moving elsewhere to do. But it’s been bothering me.

I read yesterday’s post, and then I read over the first one I put up on this blog. The one I made when my life had shifted and I didn’t know which way to turn, when I couldn’t tell forward from back and struck out in whatever direction I could find. More determination than wisdom.

The things that happen to you crawl in and make themselves at home. That has been bothering me, too.

We got to the warehouse district about midday. The rumbling of our engines reflected back off fences and walls at us, blanketing us in sound until we couldn’t tell where we stopped and the silence began.

When we shut off the engines, the gulf rushed in and swallowed us. Hairs lifted on the back of my neck. It felt like there were things skittering on the edge of hearing, or just out of sight, gone when I turned my head. Then we hopped out of the vehicles and stamped our feet into life, and the feeling shattered.

We were gearing up, taking essential equipment with us, when I noticed that Dale was frowning. He’s one of the more relaxed members of the group, usually lighter than the rest of us, but he has been tense for the past few days. Last night, I saw him talking to Thorpe and not getting the answers he was looking for. Their expressions were enough to tell me that.

I don’t know what’s going on between those two, but I know that Thorpe won’t talk about it with the rest of us here. He’s so private, so protected, and we live on top of each other. We stay within sight for safety, and what we don’t see, we hear.

So I went to Thorpe and suggested that he stay behind to guard the vehicles. Something felt off, so why didn’t he make sure that what supplies we did have were safe? But not alone: Dale should stay behind with him. I wanted to tell him to talk to the poor fella – do something to sort this out – but you can’t approach Thorpe that way. You can’t put it into something as solid as words. All I could do was give them the excuse to be apart from the rest of us long enough to do whatever it was they needed to do.

He tried to say that it wasn’t necessary and I lost patience with him. There’s protected and then there’s isolation. I considered having a go at him, but butting heads wouldn’t have helped anything. Instead, I told the others that Thorpe and Dale were staying behind to guard the vehicles and it was done. The rest of us trudged off without them. I didn’t look back but he was probably glaring at me.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Matt asked me as we worked our way through the first warehouse. Trust him to be aware of the relationships of others, even ones as subtle as Thorpe’s. He’d spotted it long before I did.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re both big boys.”

He couldn’t help himself: he grinned and started making comments about the boys and sizes. I had to smack him before he’d stop, but he made me laugh.

“It really doesn’t bother you?” I asked him when he had restrained himself. He looked puzzled until I admitted that I knew about him and Thorpe, about that one night they’d spent together.

Matt was sheepish about it. They’d been drunk – we were all drunk that night – and it wasn’t more than that. Just one night. “Besides, he’s not my type.”

“You have a type?”

He gave me a playful shove. “Yeah, I do.”

I teased him about all the evidence to the contrary until he told me that the big fireman is a keeper. Not so much into the casual coupling.

“Ah, I see,” I said. “That kind of not your type.”

Matt’s been a casual kinda guy for most of the time I’ve known him. He’s had a few semi-serious partners, but he always goes back to unseriousness in the end. Until the world ended, that is; I think his time with the Sharks altered him. There hasn’t been a lot of opportunity for that kind of thing anyway.

Our foray into the warehouses wasn’t very fruitful. We found lots of useless stuff – toys, baby supplies (I snagged a few bits to bring back to Sally), gardening equipment, furniture. Some clothes, some pet supplies. A lot of the crates had already been broken open and the more useful items taken. We didn’t find any perishables, no food or drink. We have a lot more warehouses to go through, so we haven’t given up yet.

It was hard to tell what had happened while we were gone. Things were definitely less frosty when we got back. Thorpe is never going to say, but Dale wasn’t wearing a frown any more. I don’t think it’s solved, but the work is definitely in progress. That must be a good thing.

Progress. Moving on. Making something new and good despite the mess the world is in. I had forgotten what that was like, but all around me it’s still going on. Even Thorpe is managing to do it, as reluctant as he is.

The things that happen to you put their feet up on your mental couch and ask for another drink.

Well, this bar is closed. This is the old Faith, one who’s done crying and feeling sorry for herself, one who’s done listening to the lies and the poison. I’m not worn down yet. I haven’t been washed away.

I’m still here, and I’m staying.

We had more luck with the warehouses today. Our search for something edible turned up nuts. Boxes and boxes of foil packs of nuts. Peanuts, cashew nuts, brazil nuts, hazelnuts, walnuts.

What is it about Christmas and nuts? They have shiny red and green packets, desperate to remind us of that time of year. Poor things have been sitting here since then, waiting for someone to come along and celebrate with them. Well, we obliged, so happy to find a fresh source of food – and one meant for human consumption – that there was even some dancing.

We rushed back to the vehicles with them. Matt couldn’t wait to ask the two convoy guards if they wanted to eat some nuts, which made Dale laugh and Thorpe look unimpressed. After we had crammed as many boxes as possible into the campervan, we had ourselves a little feast.

Terry was the first one to make himself sick. We all laughed when he rushed off to throw up, but it’s hardly surprising. Too many nuts aren’t good for you; my stomach isn’t entirely happy, and I didn’t stuff myself as much as some of the others.

We think that someone stashed them. They were on the upper floor of a stockroom, tucked away at the back behind a row of action figure boxes. If we hadn’t been desperately checking everything we could, we would have missed them. And I think Terry and Tia were messing around with the action figures.

It all led to a tense debate. As Dan pointed out, if someone stashed them, then they meant to come back. They’re organised and mobile. They sought to hide them from other survivors, which means they’re protecting themselves. Understandable, but it means they probably won’t be friendly if we come across them, even if they never find out that we stole their nuts.

There’s no way to know when this group came through here or if they might still be alive. We’re fairly sure that the Pride never made it this far south – they were spreading eastwards before they were overtaken by the Sickness – so it probably wasn’t them. We could be worrying over nothing, over people long dead or twisted into shamblers. Or they could be on their way back here right now to pick up their stashed food.

If there’s one stash, there’s bound to be another. We don’t dare turn away from that possibility. We need more than nuts to live on – despite them being packed with all kinds of good things for the body – and we haven’t found the supermarket depot yet. There’s too much to do here to let ghosts chase us away.

Nevertheless, we have another reason to guard the vehicles now. And to stick closer together.

Gotta go – time for dinner. Nuts, with a side order of dog biscuits. Who said the end of the world couldn’t be tasty?

That might have been me.

Don’t have a lot of time to post today. We’re not sure we dare show any light, and in the thick undercloud darkness, any glimmer is too much. I have turned the brightness on the screen down so much I can barely make out what I’m typing.

We found the supermarket depot today. Clearly, we’re not the only ones who know about it. There was activity inside, but we didn’t get close enough to see what.

More importantly, there were guards on the gate. Armed guards, with guns. They looked well-equipped – cleaner and less cobbled-together than the rest of us. Clearly, they haven’t had to wear whatever clothes they came across that happened to be the right size. They looked so official – so normal – that we almost didn’t see them at all. We stopped far too late and stared at them. They looked as startled as we did, staring back at us.

Then they grabbed for their weapons and shouted. They weren’t friendly shouts and guards on the gate wouldn’t intimidate away shamblers. They had to be there to defend the store from other survivors. We didn’t even think about it; our instincts told us to run, so that’s what we did.

It’s not a good sign that they chased us. It’s probably worse that we led them straight back to our vehicles – in our panic, we went back to Thorpe and Dale and our fastest ticket out of there. We forgot that it’s not a quick job to get the vehicles started.

There was so much shouting, lost in the frantic effort to get to safety. Get away, anywhere, where the men with guns can’t find us. Push, come on, release the clutch, come on.

The pair that chased us didn’t attack, not right away. They stopped and radioed someone – there’s no mistaking that tilt of the head towards the shoulder. They held their guns ready a short distance away, and when our engines roared and we were scrambling inside, they opened fire.

No-one was hurt. I’m sure about that. But they punctured the vehicles, both of them – the offroader’s rear windscreen is peppered with holes. How they didn’t hit someone, I don’t know.

We drove hell-for-leather in any direction but towards the depot. Tia was behind the wheel of the campervan – she’s small, but crazy. It was her idea to dive right into a warehouse and close up the doors, huddling down while we listened for our pursuit.

It came. Eventually, we heard the engines grumbling slowly along the warehouse district roads. So loud, so obvious – we were right to stop, or they could have just followed our noise right to us. I think that’s what they were looking for, because they didn’t check inside the quiet buildings. They were looking for noisy runners, not rabbits.

They’ve been circling ever since, even through the rain. We don’t dare move or light a fire – back to huddling in blankets and hoping that no-one notices us. I don’t like the look of these people. They’re too organised.

I’m not sure what we’ll do in the morning. What if they’re still out there?

Have to go – time to put the light out.

After a tense night in which none of us slept much, we weren’t sure whether to welcome the leak of orange light back into our world. The sound of distant engines still floated to us and no-one wanted to draw attention to our position by starting our vehicles.

Which left us with a dilemma. Do we abandon the vehicles and sneak away, or take the chance that they’ve given up looking for us? We’ve spent so long gathering supplies that we’re reluctant to leave any of it behind, but we can’t possibly carry it all. There’s just too much.

I spent a little time going over what was packed into the campervan, to see how much we might be able to take and what we could afford to leave behind. Beyond the stacks of nut boxes, I found Dillon’s pack. I stopped then. There’s no way I could leave it behind and I can’t carry it as well as all my own gear. We had to find another way to get out of this.

“Maybe they’re reasonable,” someone said when we gathered together to talk about our options. The group was a morass of hope, doubt, and bruised cynicism. No-one wanted to take that first step into the firing line, just in case.

It’s always me. Faced with a reluctant situation in which someone needed to step forward, I always blink first. This particular choice was more perilous than most we’ve faced, but I didn’t see any reason to break the pattern this time. I’m not completely stupid – I suggested we watch them for a while before introducing ourselves. Matt tensed up and Thorpe managed to look even more closed and unhappy than usual, but they didn’t argue.

So off we went. Sneaking through the streets, creeping up towards the depot, we were like ninja in cracked boots and rainbow scarves. We were less ninja-like when we fumbled around inside a warehouse, trying to find somewhere to watch the depot from without being seen. It was more like a comedy of shushes and thumps and muttered swearing.

We didn’t have to wait long for one of those distant engines to turn up – a big truck rumbled in to turn its empty back end to the depot. Seems like they’re emptying the place, taking the supplies elsewhere. Which means that there are a lot more of them somewhere.

I’d love to know how they got a truck that big started – I have a mental image of people lined up on either side like ants, all hauling the great thing into motion so the engine can stutter into life. Somehow, I think they’ve got a better solution than that. I’m a little jealous.

It all seemed so normal. Ordered, ordinary. One of the guards smoked a cigarette like it was a treat, blowing curls into the air. It seemed safe. I was about to get up and go out there when Thorpe clamped a hand on my shoulder and held me down.

That’s when we heard the flap of feet approaching, the kind of patter that panic brings up an empty street along with the rasp of air over teeth. There were three of them, one of them white-haired, running for all they were worth. From the direction they came from, it looked like they followed the truck in. When they drew close, they started waving their hands, calling out. We didn’t need to hear them to know what they were saying. Help us, help us. The shamblers are coming.

The guards didn’t listen. They lifted their weapons and we ducked down, closing our eyes and ears. There was nothing else we could do. We might have been able to avoid the sight, but we couldn’t escape the sound that bounced off the walls at us. The burning rattle, the screams. The too-soft thuds. Our own hearts thrashing in our chests.

I saw Terry holding his sister tightly. Thorpe still had a hand on my shoulder and I had a grip on Matt on my other side. We barely dared to breathe as the silence fell down around us; I think Dan was the only one of us still looking out of the window.

“We should go now,” he said.

We slunk away like bad dogs. I glanced back once and saw the guards calling for help from within the depot. The stumble of shamblers was already pulling itself into sight up the street and the recently dead wouldn’t distract them for long.

We ran back to the vehicles, detouring wildly around the long tail of the shambler chain. Some of them broke off to follow us; we just kept moving, not daring to stop even to fight. e’ll be fine, we’ll be fine, just keep going.

At least it’s easy to outrun the shamblers. I was terrified for all of us and suddenly aware that we might get lost here. Melted by the rain, the buildings all looked the same. Luckily, Tia has a good sense of direction and led us back.

The fear was notching up in my stomach while we got the vehicles going. We could hear distant gunfire and faint shuffles. We had to get out of there, get away. We shouldered the big doors open and drove out in the direction that would take us far from all of this. Then it was all about scrambling and getting away from that area. We put the warehouses in our rearview mirrors and hoped that the shamblers peppering the streets would keep the men with guns too busy to come after us.

They just tore those people down. They didn’t need to. Just shot them and left them there to be devoured. A nice little delay while they prepared themselves. And we almost went up and offered ourselves to them. I almost did.

I feel like things are falling away from us. We’re short of water, the fuel cans are empty, and the tanks are running dry. We had to find somewhere undercover for the vehicles before the rain came because of the damage to the rear windows. I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be able to use those vehicles. We need to find new ones, and a fresh source of fuel to run them.

We didn’t lose anyone today. I feel like we might at any moment, and the others feel it too. We sat closer together around our sad little fire tonight. But for today, we’re all here.

We’re grateful for small mercies, but we’re not looking forward to tomorrow.