06:25

It's been one hell of a night/morning. Me and four others from the group are in a farm house two miles north of the complex which, James tells me, is very close to Carlisle Airport. I am now officially in England. We passed Gretna on our way here, didn't have time to stop off and visit the famous Gretna Green, but that's fine, I'm not the sentimental type anyway. I'd heard of it from a few people, I even know a couple who got married there, but other than that I'm not really too bothered about missing out. It's just, you know, when you hear about something or somewhere and everyone else you know has either been there or close to it, you kind-of feel left out. I know I can be a bit of a loner but sometimes being left out of a conversation is like being ignored, and no-one likes being ignored. I might see it on the way back if it's not totally overrun by zombies exchanging their vows.

I don't know if it's anything to do with the complex being near, but the amount of zombies in this area is frightening. James didn't tell me it was going to be this bad. I don't think it would have made a difference to my decision to tag along, but it might have prepared me a little bit better for the situation and I probably wouldn't have looked like such a big girl's blouse. If you've been following my journal then you'll already know that I'm not one too shy away from a zombie presence, but at the same time I don't embrace the thought of a zombie horde against seven running bags of fresh meat....us. I suppose I could have got out of there and disappeared from the group if I wanted but, well, it wasn't that easy.

James drove us down the M6 Motorway and it was quite clear for the first twenty miles or so, we only encountered ten, maybe eleven zombies on the road, and the Mitsubishi made quick work of them, mowing them down or pushing them out the way. It wasn't until we got closer to the complex that it became more difficult to navigate the 4x4 along the road. The shogun is fine with handfuls of bodies bumping off it but when there is a constant stream of corpses bashing on the bonnet/hood then falling under the wheels, it gets messy, even though it's a tough girl, the broken bones eventually get into places they shouldn't and start to play havoc with the machinery, or the workings of the wheels.

The team consisted of James, Stephen, Tom, Tess, myself and I can say without an ounce of shame that I was most definitely the worse performer out of the group. I'm trying not to be sexist but even Tess was better then me. She sliced through the zombies with a machete as though they were columns of butter that she was preparing to spread on her toast. I wonder how long she's being doing this for, it must be a whole lot more than me, that's for sure. You don't get to that level of slicing and dicing without climbing up some sort of antisocial ladder, and that worries me a bit. Is Tess as straight forward as she looks, with a natural talent for cutting down zombies, or is she harbouring a shaded background that'll put me right off her? I'm hoping it's the former, because she's really pretty and easy to talk to.

At one point there was 20+ zombies around us, and some of them were managing to hold on to either the door handles or the bull-bars of the Shogun. I don't think it's a calculated move by the zombies, it's probably more of an instinct or automatic action to grab whatever comes to hand. Grab it and hold on tight. Tess kicked the passenger's door open, knocking one zombie back, then leapt out and took down three lame brains with one fast swipe of her machete. She sliced them enough from the top so the blade didn't get stuck in the skull but also low enough to make sure they wouldn't get up. She kept shouting to me The Brain! Always the brain! I didn't think that was the case, but she seems to know what she's doing, so who am I to question her authority on the subject. Stephen jumped out of Tess' door and shouted on me to follow him. He had a different approach to downing the walking dead, preferring to come in hard from the right side with one knife, into the temple, then follow up with another knife, ramming the blade in between the eyes. He done this seven time in quick succession before Tom arrived in this temporary hell. I slashed with my knives at anything that moved and almost sliced Tom. He called me something like a Fucking imbecilic twat and told me to concentrate on the ones that are already dead. Tom is big and strong and is lucky enough to own a chainsaw. He winked at me, pulled on the chord to start up the chainsaw and got on with the cutting. If it was in slow motion he would have looked beautiful, in a non homosexual way. His movements were controlled, not just a maniac waving a dangerous tool around, hoping to hit something, anything that got in his way.

It was great! I actually felt part of something, something special and good, something important that could actually make a difference to this horrible situation.

In a matter of seconds or minutes, I'm not too sure, the dead crowd was levelled, corpses on the ground. I smiled and was about to walk back to the Shogun when something grabbed the left leg of my jeans. I looked down and saw the top half of a zombie hanging on with a vice-like grip. I kicked at it but it still held on and almost bit my sneakers. It pulled itself closer to my leg and opened its mouth ready to bite. I panicked and let out a yelp. The zombie half was almost at my left knee when its head exploded over my jeans accompanied by an ear splitting crack in the air.

I looked over to the Shogun and James was hanging out of the driver's window, sprawled over the windscreen, a pistol in his right hand, a frown on his face. He shook his head and called over to me,

Get chilled, or get killed! We don't want anyone losing their head that shouldn't, OK?

I just nodded and thanked him.

Nice philosophy.

No sooner had we taken down a load of zombies, then there were more approaching...a lot more. James shouted to Tom to get the bait-bags from the back of the truck. Tom opened the back door, threw in his chainsaw and pulled out a large black bin bag and heaved it onto the road away from the Shogun. Tess went to the rear and helped Tom take more bags and throw them onto the ground. James called out some more instructions to Tom and Tess and told and Stephen to get back in. I asked him what was in the bags, he said later then told Tess to get back in. Finally, he called over to Tom and told him to use some decoy. Tom nodded, grabbed a 2ltr milk carton from the rear, opened it and poured the contents over as many of the corpses as he could, before throwing the carton away and running back to the Shogun. He jumped in the passenger's door and Tess closed it behind him. A lot of zombies were coming, and I mean a lot. When I heard the footsteps come closer, I got scared and not just a little bit anxious, but almost pissing my pants scared.

After hearing the footsteps, the shuffling and scuffling, I heard the moans and groans of the dead, hungry moans. It got louder and deeper and more worryingly, closer.

James drove forward about one hundred yards and stopped. I wondered what he was doing, so I asked him. He told me he was just stopping to make sure they were taking the bait.

I peered over Tom's large shoulder out of the side window to see a large number of zombies come out of the dark and make their way toward the truck. There were maybe one hundred or two hundred, I'm not too sure, but there were a lot of them, more than I've ever seen in the one place. A few of the ones at the front of the mass stopped and pulled at the bin bags Tom had thrown on the road. A few seconds after the bag was ripped open there was a popping noise like a large balloon bursting, then a thick, dark liquid went everywhere, covering the zombies. This happened with each bag that was opened by the zombies. Each bag exploded, sending its contents over the zombies, covering twenty, thirty, forty of the fuckers at a time. Then they turned on each other, pulling and biting. Zombie against zombie, it was one of the strangest sights I'd ever seen. Some of the zombies broke away from the main crowd or horde, as people care calling the collective, and they made their way to the pile of massacred zombies we made. As soon as they reached the pile of bodies, instinct kicked in and the teeth started chewing...even on dead flesh.

James turned to me and said, ?n case you're wondering, which you are, it's blood. Exploding bags of uncontaminated blood. Any questions? Nope. Good.”

Then he drove us to the farmhouse where we are now. I've got to hand it to him, he's certainly got his head screwed on the right way. If I was a girl I'd probably want to have his babies, but seeing as I'm not, I reckon I'll just worship him from afar. Only joking. He's a pretty cool character though.

08:45

James called a meeting in the kitchen, with minimum lighting, to ensure no zombies crash the party.

I listen to what he has to to say, and concentrate on the plan as hard as my brain will allow. I think I remember most of it, because it's important. A lot of stuff gets filtered out of my brain because it's either boring or not concerning me, sometimes the two are mutual partners. I've been told that we're not doing anything illegal, so I'll continue to document it as long as I'm this side of the prison bars. I was going to say you don't get a good phone signal in prison anyway, but that's not surprising considering some of the inmates hide mobile phones up their arseholes. I think that's what they do, or maybe it's just the visitors that smuggle them in up their arse? I don't know...suffice to say I don't want to end up having to pull a phone out of my anus to make an entry in my journal.

We'll be leaving 9am on the dot, driving for a mile and a half then covering the rest of the distance on foot. I'm not looking forward to this. It's been a few weeks since I last exercised so this is going to be a test of my strength and stamina.

It's almost 9 now, so I'll see you later. Let you know how it goes....if I make it back.

Keep your fingers crossed.

10:15

We're back at the main farmhouse. Things went a bit mental at the complex, not how we James that is expected but he managed to keep it together.

Before we went in, he paused, rather dramatically and reminded us all to Get Chilled, or Get Killed. I think he's putting that forward as some sort of hero catchphrase of his. I'm sure he made the sign of the cross on his chest too, a catholic maybe?

He ducked through a hole in the wire fence, followed by Tess, then Stephen and me and finally Tom picking up the rear. I was a bit worried about going through the electric fence, even though Tom the spark told me not to worry, it was suitably disabled at the part we were crawling through, just as long as I didn't touch anywhere above the red material he had wrapped round the wire to form an archway, otherwise I might become Johnny Flame. I don't remember a lot about going through the tunnel, under the wall, other than Tess was wearing a nice pair of khaki coloured combat pants.

It took us five minutes to get through the fence and under the wall, pretty quick I thought, then James led the way to the rear of the building. I was starting to panic, I hadn't been told about the security cameras and there was enough of them to spot any movement we made. What was I thinking, that we were just going to stroll right up to the building and calmly walk in, waving to the guards, shading their hands and winking cheeky little gestures to them. Obviously it wasn't going to be easy, and of course there was going to be cameras, why would they put up a thirty foot wall and and a twenty foot fence if there wasn't something worth protecting inside? I asked how we would get past the cameras, Stephen told me, very carefully.

James waved Stephen forward, and the young boy ran, keeping low, over 100 yards of grass until he reached the nearest camera. The camera was attached to the wall, slowly turning through its circle/arc/angle/field of vision. Tom was next to run to the wall, he was a bit slower than Stephen, but he was still quick for his size. When he reached the wall, he put his back against it and gave Stephen a punt up to the camera then passed him up a mobile phone. The phone was in a cradle Tom had created that held it in front of the security camera. Stephen positioned the cradle and phone in front of the camera and gave James the thumbs up, well, one thumb up, he was still using his other hand for balance against the wall. Tess explained it how they had been here plenty of times before and on one occasion filmed the course of the camera. That was the video Stephen played on a loop on his phone, giving the illusion of an empty yard. They have footage of various times during the day and they use whatever one carries the appropriate light for the time they need.

James, Tess and my-good-self ran to Tom and Stephen. There was a door under and to the right of the camera. It had a numeric keypad and a slot to slide an id card. Tom pulled out a card from his pocket and swiped it along the slot. A red light on the keypad turned from red to green and the door clicked open. He turned to me, winked and said, ?ou won't believe the places I've worked as an electrician”

With that, he turned, opened the door and let us into the building.

We stood in a corridor, poorly lit by one strip light on the ceiling. James removed a rucksack he was wearing, pulled out four smaller rucksacks, and divided them between me, Tess, Stephen and himself. He handed Tom the bigger rucksack, as he was the biggest. James asked if we all knew what we had to do? Although, he was mostly looking at me when he said it. That's confidence for you. I gave him my best, OF COURSE I DO! nod, partnered with serious furrowed brows for authenticity. I guess he believed me. Off we all went, Stephen with Tom, me with Tess, and James away to wherever he went, straight along the corridor and through the door at the end. He never really explained his roll in the madness.

There were doors along the corridor, two on each side. Tom and Stephen opened the first on the right and went through. Tess and I, went through the second on the left.

When we went through the door we saw metal stairs leading up a level. Tess moved up and round the stairs with the agility and grace of a cat, whereas I trudged up each step as though my feet were too heavy for me. Tess gave me a heads-up nod then pressed a finger to her pouting lips instruction me to keep quiet. I might be words that imply actions of a more salacious nature, but I'm afraid that' just my libido pushing its way forward again. As I've mentioned before, it's how I feel or felt at the time, and I think it's important to the overall story here. No? If you don't think so, well, you haven't seen Tess, she'd turn a woman's head. I imagine that she's not very well liked by women that don't know her, jealousy is an ugly trait, something I don't think Tess has.

All was quiet on the other side of the door, as far as I could hear, but my ears do have a fair bit of wax built up in them. Tess looked at her watch, (she's one of the very few remaining people I've seen actually wearing a piece of traditional time keeping, what with the advent of the mobile phone) counted twenty seconds then pulled the door open and guided me in through the door by pulling on my t-shirt, quite roughly I may add, and I think she broke a bit of my skin when she nipped me with her nails. She directed me - or pushed me to the right and down another corridor. I looked back briefly at her and noticed another camera, up on the wall, outside an office, turning away from us. It stopped and started its rotation back our way, but by the time Tess got us into the appropriate room, the camera would have missed us...I hope.

Tess felt for the light switch and clicked it on. The strip lights pinged into life, one by one, lighting up the room. The eerie humming noise of the lights was unsettling, it reminded me of the last time I heard that noise in amongst all the apparent quiet of a room. Robert, or that bastard Robert as he'll forever be known to me. Luckily there was no sign of dead bodies in the room we were in. Tess pointed to one of the cupboards on the wall and told me to put everything from it into my bag while she went into the next room and got what she needed.

I opened the door to the cupboard, there were white medicine bottles on the shelves. I grabbed two and three at a time and put them in the rucksack, quickly but quietly as I was instructed earlier. Tess had disappeared into the next room and was very quiet at whatever she was doing. I don't think I would have heard Tess even if she was making a noise because all I could hear was the blood soaring through my ears. BWAP! BWAP! BWAP! This is the sound my blood made, if you think it didn't then you're wrong. The next time you're in a situation anything like the one I was in, then just you pause for a second, listen to the blood being pumped through your ears and let me know what you come up with. Email me or something. I'm telling you, it's a BWAP, BWAP, BWAP sound. At best it's maybe a MWAP! MWAP! MWAP! Sound but anything outside that is just ludicrous.

I just hope we do all survive this. Who am I kidding, I don't really give two fucks about anyone else! I'm in this for me, Connie and, yes, Steph.

The bag was half full with white plastic bottles and I was getting faster and more proficient and grabbing three and sometimes four bottles at a time when I heard footsteps coming along the corridor outside the room. I froze on the spot and listened for the footsteps again. The BWAPS got louder and made it more difficult listening. There was definitely footsteps outside the door. I looked over to the door and it was, thankfully, closed over. Someone stopped outside the door and turned the handle. I panicked, then my stomach panicked and let out some gas. I waved my hand about trying to disperse the odour then I heard another faint Pfft. It was Tess. I turned to see her standing at the other door. She waved me over and pointed to the cupboard. I grabbed the bag, closed the cupboard door and made my way, quickly but quietly (I don't know how many times James said that to us before went to the complex) to Tess. She pulled me in through the doorway. She is very rough. Tess closed the door behind me. I heard it click closed pretty much the same time the other door opened. Someone came into the room and walked around. Sounded like they were wearing heavy boots. Even though it was dark in the room, Tess took me by the arm and guided me to the far end and pulled me in behind a row of metal shelves, where there was a small space, barely enough for two people. We stood face to face, very close. I could feel her breasts press against my chest. I tried not to think about them, I really did. You've got to understand, that yes it was a dangerous position to be in with the possibility of a guard finding us, and yes it could have led to us being arrested or killed or God knows what, but you what, I couldn't keep my mind on the job and off Tess.

I'm ashamed to say that, even with the threat of death looming, I felt a stirring in my trousers. I pulled my arse back and pressed it against the wall that my back was already touching. In a few seconds I counted sheep, I pictured Tess as a zombie (but she just looked like a lovely zombie), I tried to picture Connie coming in and finding me and Tess in an awkward position, but my ?hingjust kept growing, albeit very slowly.

Next thing, I could feel Tess' knee pressing between my legs, she put her hand over my mouth. This made it grow even more, that was until Tess pressed her knee so hard against my thing it almost went between my legs and touched the wall and held my mouth shut. I let out a little squeak of pain but it was stifled by Tess' hand. It was sore and my brain got the message. So did the other brain in my trousers. The excitement subsided very quickly.

I could hear the handle being turned at the end of the room, it opened slightly, letting in a little light, a foot came in through the door and I was ready to shit myself or scream or something totally uncharacteristic, but then a klaxon sounded somewhere in the building. The person removed his or her foot from the doorway, pulled the door shut and ran off out the room. I breathed a sigh of relief, Tess blew in my face and said, ?our breath stinks. Smells like you ate a dead rat for dinner, which indecently, we have not shared (dinner not the rat) as a couple, so I suggest you keep that thing in your pants where it belongs, otherwise I'll be serving it up to you for breakfast. Understand!?”

I told her I understood, completely, and that I was sorry, and that I have a condition that makes it react like that in some situations.

She said, yeah. I know the condition....you're a man.”

Fair point.

Tess said it was time to go, so we took out bags and left the storage cupboard, then the main room itself, pausing briefly at the door for the camera, then back down the stairs towards the exit.

Now, this is where it gets tricky. You would have thought we were out of it, easy, down the stairs, out the door, under the wall and out through the fence, home free. But no, it's wasn't to be.

Tess and I got the bottom of the stairs and out the door into the corridor with one more door to go before we were out, but Tom and Stephen came running up the corridor towards us. They both ran past us up to a door at the end of the corridor, Tom pulled out a gun (which I swear I did not know he had) and pointed it at the door handle. Whilst still running he fired two shots, the first missed the handle, the second hit the target, sending metal shards outward. He ran full speed and drove his right shoulder hand into the door, almost taking it off its hinges. Stephen called on us and we followed him through the door. As soon as we were through, Tom closed the door, told us to stand well back. He dropped his bag to the floor and pulled out a weird looking contraption, like a cross between a vice and something else with a chisel in the middle. He placed one side of the vice on the door and the other on the wall, with the chisel in the door gap. Stephen took a hammer out of the bag and handed it to Tom swung the hammer and struck the chisel dead on the head, driving it into the gap between the door and the frame and embedded the teeth into the door and the wall, sealing it, holding it shut. Nice instrument. I've never seen one of those before, not in the shop, not anywhere online, ever. I'm starting to think Tom is Batman. I could hear people shouting on the other side of the door, men, angry men, kicking and shooting at the door.

“Let's get the fuck outta here, this thing's gone tits up!Was Tom's exact words to the group. I don't remember every single thing that happened in the complex, but I remember Tom's words of encouragement to us all.

I paused for a second to get my bearings, I didn't know exactly where we were in the complex, James hadn't explained the whole layout, but I guessed it wasn't somewhere nice.

I saw nine surgical beds, three rows of three, everything looked immaculate. Each bed had a patient, or body, or whatever lying on it. Tom led the way passed the beds to a door at the other side of the room (why can't there be a door at the side of the room or just next to the one I've came through, it's always over the other side of the fucking room! It's starting to piss me off.). I got a good look at the bodies, even running passed them. It's amazing what your eyes take in when the heart is pumping blood through your system, carrying enough oxygen to start a little fire in your body should your temperature get just that little bit too hot. I wonder if that's how spontaneous combustion happens? Nah, that's just a fallacy.

Each of the bodies I passed had its eyes closed. A drip feed filled with green luminescent substance was suspended from by a chain attached to the ceiling. The hands and legs were bound to the bed with silver metal clamps, not leather or some fibrous material, but metal. This worried me. They all wore white bed gowns, which had a stamp or logo or something on it, I couldn't quite make it out, but I did recognise the two serpents entwined round a dagger and wings at the top. You don't need to be Einstein to know that, I'm sure, though, that the words round it were U.S. Army Medical Department. As I say, we were hurrying through the area at the time so it could have been anything and I have an over-active imagination.

The faces of the patients appeared to be quite dark, mottled, and emaciated. I can still see them now describing them to you. To say that place was eerie wouldn't even scratch the surface.

We finally reached the door at the other end of the room. Tom was first to reach it and as he stretched out his right hand to grab the handle, it opened. I panicked and let out a little shriek that I'm not proud of and I'm sure the others will not let me forget, but when I saw James' face when the door was opened I could have kissed him. He pulled us all in through the door, one by one he didn't nip my skin then closed the door behind us. He was out of breath but still managed to gasp out to us something went wrong. We need to get out of here now!”

I'm not very good under pressure, I admit that, forgetting things on a mental shopping list gets me concerned, negotiating my car onto busy, unfamiliar roundabout does not fill me with confidence, so imagine how I feel when I'm in a building I shouldn't be anywhere near, stealing drugs, being chased by angry men, soldiers or whatever. Even with James shouting instructions and leading the way, I only had room for two words in my head CARDIAC ARREST.

As it happens, I survived, obviously, thanks to James and his quick thinking. I don't know where he went, he didn't really explain his role in the whole event, but I don't suppose he really needed to and I don't think it would have made much difference anyway.

Tess, Tom, Stephen and I followed James' lead as he ran down yet another corridor, this one had offices either side, with windows allowing the workers inside to see out and to see us. They weren't very big offices and there didn't seem to many workers in ploughing through admin or some other paperwork that just doesn't seem relevant anymore in this day and age of zombie infestation. I hope the workers are on a good rate of pay. Some of them pointed at us as we passed the windows but most of them just got on with their work, typing away, inputting boring statistics or other, something that makes their sedentary job even more monotonous and mind numbing. I suppose we were the little bit of excitement that stops them from slitting their throats at night. Is that too much? I've been in a boring job you see, sitting at a computer typing shite after shite into a keyboard, that, with every keystroke removed a minute from my already pointless life. Office people, I empathise with you. Office jobs are quite often captained by middle management arseholes. This is why I believe it is no coincidence that Office sounds so similar to Orifice.

Anyway, we followed James right along the corridor and through the door at the end, into a drop off point for supply trucks. I asked James if we were going to use one of the trucks parked in the depot to smash through the front gates. He looked at me like I was a twelve year old boy who knew nothing and brought the reality of the situation home by reminding me we weren't in a world war 2 movie trying to escape the Nazis. If we we're to take a truck, if the keys were left in it, which they wouldn't be, we wouldn't actually be travelling that far away from the complex making it a quick and easy task for them to find us. Duh!

We, the group, negotiated our way round the parked truck and out of the building, then Tom took over, he pointed us in the direction of a different part of the wall, with another tunnel. We ran to it like Olympic sprinters, I was last, even after Stephen. It was a slightly smaller tunnel than the first one we used on the way in, Tom explained it wasn't completely finished but the chances of it caving in on us were minimal. I took longer going through this tunnel but it was better in the long run as it took us right out under the electric fence too. That's something I didn't relish crawling through again. Once we were out and clear of the complex, we ran into the neighbouring woodlands and headed back to the Mitsubishi. It felt like we ran and jogged and ran some more for about half and hour, all the time I heard voices shouting back at the complex. The sound of a klaxon is an unpleasant one, but it's ten times worse knowing that the hollow sounding howl is for your benefit, you're the one that caused it. It's a sound calling everyone available to find you, catch you and bring you back so people can hurt you. That's what kept me going. I fell over a couple of times in the woods but the sinew coursing through my body picked me up and pushed me on.

So here we are, back at the farmhouse, everyone is celebrating another haul of goodies from the complex but I'm not. I'm very scared. I feel like a marked man now. I don't know if any of the cameras picked up my image, I didn't see them all, I don't think; there must have been more electronic eyes keeping watch on that place. James still hasn't told me what went wrong yet, and I'm not looking forward to going back, but I may have to. I didn't get a chance to find where they are holding Connie or Steph. I still haven't told anyone why I'm in the area, and to be honest, I don't know if I should. It's a hard decision to make, on the one hand they obviously know what they're doing but on the other hand I don't want to get involved. I don't know what to do!!

08:15

I feel a bit stiff this morning. My old body is not as supple as it used to be. I spent the biggest part of the night in the car but I didn't feel secure so not much sleep to be had there. I decided it was best to drive on to the next town (a place called Annan) and find an abandoned house. There are plenty of empties around the country now, and I'll wager all around the world. For me, that is quite a pleasing prospect. It's not a pleasant thought, by any means, that the biggest part of the population of the UK is walking around dead. It's the ease of access to homes that I could only ever have dreamed of owning or even stepping foot inside. I've been inside so many abodes over the past months, it's an eye opener to see how other people lived, and a lot of the times I help myself to the small things, like ipods, watches, and whatever gadgets, although I usually don't, having too much to carry slows me down, and God knows when I'm going to make it back to my own flat to use them. I haven't actually slept in anyone else's bed yet, but I dare say when the time comes it'll be weird. If I'm tired enough, I'll sleep on broken glass.

Right time to move again. And speaking of moving, I need to get my bowls shifting, I've not done a decent shite in days.

08:56

I'm in a house in Annan just of the A75. It's a nice house and they must have left in a hurry, because there's still two suitcases upstairs in the bedroom. I had a quick look through them, nice clothes, nothing that fits me, but still nice. Six 5litre bottles of water in one of the kitchen cupboards, they'll come in handy. I still don't know if the water in the taps is OK to drink. What if this virus can be passed on through water. I'll just stick to whatever is still sealed: bottles of water, cans of cola, tins of pineapple juice or whatever runs the least risk of carrying the infection.

I don't know my exact location but I do know I'm on the outskirts of the town. I no longer venture into the centre unless I have to. Here's the strangest thing I've seen in a while. On my way into Annan I passed a running track, for, I suppose track and field events, on the track were about ten zombies, most of them walking around the track, aimlessly. Three of them were exhibiting strange behaviour,even for a zombie, walking quickly, followed by short bursts of running, then back to walking again. It was kind-of comical, as though they were limbering up for the dead Olympics. I wonder if they get out of breath or anything? Probably not. The thought that bounced around in my head the most when I saw the runners was I wonder if I could outrun them? It's a valid question. So far, any zombie I've come into direct contact with has been a walker. I have seen one's slightly faster than them, but I don't remember ever seeing anything quite like these chaps, actually running, as if it was a calculated action and not just a memory being relived through dead bones.

I've been trying to get onto twitter again to see if there's anyone out there. No luck with twitter. Servers are down, and to be honest with you, I've never been one for sitting at the computer all night, searching for videos of a dog talking then noticing a video link at the right of the screen, then following that one, watching it, moving on to the next link with a lion talking, then the next link with a lion eating some guy in a cage, then on to street fights, and....Have I just inadvertently admitted to spending far too much time on youtube. I'm just the same as everyone else, only I feel like a bigger hypocrite, pretending I'm better than the ones actively seeking out the sick internet thrill. I tried not to watch all the sick shit on the internet, but the horrible truth is, it's out there, and it's getting harder to avoid it. Ten, maybe twenty years ago you had to know where to go to get videos of people getting beaten up, but these days it's everywhere. Youtube has made a lot of not very nice stuff easily available, but I suppose it's not them posting it, and there is a market for it. Once all this is over and the internet is back to normal, just you go on to youtube, or as it's pronounced in Scotland youchoob and search for something you think should not be available for the consumption of human eyes, and I'll bet you a year's wages you'll find at least a dozen videos on the subject, and there'll be over 2,000,000 hits on each of them.

Now that I've had my moan, which I haven't really had for quite a while, I feel a little better, but then I remember that there's a whole world of sick possibilities out there with dead people walking around eating the living. I think I'm losing touch with reality. I've seen more death in the last six months than I could ever have imagined seeing in my whole life. It's a whole new ball game. Youtube is no longer the main purveyor of disturbing imagery, real life is, it has surpassed anything previously available online. Sure, there will be people taking footage of their cleansing, or whatever the term is for acceptable disposal of zombies, and uploading it to youtube or vimeo but that'll only be the tip of the iceberg now. These are not isolated incidents, it's a worldwide threat, happening 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You could leave your house any time of the day or night and find yourself on the receiving end of infected teeth. I used to watch Star Trek, and was nave to think that this pandemic would somehow bring the world together to beat the scourge, one man helping another, all pulling resources together, one massive think tank working for a cure. But no. George was bastard and I don't think he'll be the last one I meet. Not in this world. It seems to have made people worse, the total opposite of what I was hoping.

Am I rambling on again? I think I'm dehydrated, time for a drink of that lovely bottled water.

10:00

I've just had a bowl of coco pops, no milk so I'm afraid all the water turned chocolatey. Not the nicest thing I've tasted but I can see the whole virus situation getting worse and then I'll have to eat some pretty disgusting things, as each food source runs dry. No-one will be working in the factories producing beans, pot noodles, pop-tarts or pineapple chunks. I'll be reduced to eating my own faecal matter....well maybe not. I hope not.

Two cars past the house, one of them stopped outside and looked at the Merc. I didn't think on hiding it, not in a world of walking dead, but it seems to have caught the eye of a few passers by, potential trouble makers. I'll wait until the coast is clear then I'll go and move the car to somewhere less conspicuous. I can't afford to lose the car, not when I'm so close to the complex. If the car goes, it means having to look around for another, and that's going to put me at risk. I've not come this far to be the victim of little shits driving around the scheme....wait a minute, I'm getting carried away. I must be getting a buzz from the chocolate on the coco pops.

11:00

I'm in the toilet. One of the cars I saw earlier came back, and two of the guys are in, downstairs. I'm not too sure of them. The elder of the two, James, is in his mid-thirties, blue jeans, short black hair and glasses, skinny kind-of guy, really prominent cheek bones, if you half shut your eyes and he almost looks like a zombie he carries a baseball bat, which looks pretty filthy, and blood stained. He's the one in charge. The younger guy, Stephen, he's wearing a black adidas tracksuit with white piping down the arms and legs, and white trainers, he keeps his hands in his pockets as if he's hiding a surprise in them. I don't know if I want to see that surprise, because if it's sharp, and things get messy I may get hurt. I haven't yet killed a living human being, but self preservation...let's not forget self preservation.

They tell me they have a safe place if I want to come with them and check it out. I'm not too sure if that's a good idea. They seem friendly enough, but I still don't trust them 100%. They have this big idea that they are a resistance of sorts, but this isn't 1940's France, this is a world full of monsters that don't carry guns and won't go down without a fight. I haven't told them about Connie, because they don't need to know the full story, in fact, the less they know, the better. I have told them, however, the general direction I'm heading in to find a friend. They also said they understand why I don't want to go with them, why should I trust them? I'm hoping they'll go without any trouble and then I can move on out of this place before things get complicated.

14:38

The two guys from earlier, James and Stephen, came back to see if I wanted to go with them, to their cottage on the East side of Annan. I declined and told them I prefer my own company, and that I hope they understood it was nothing personal. They asked if the silver Mercedes out on the street was mine and I told them it was a friend's. They also asked where the keys were, because they weren't inside the car. I told them the keys were in the car and that I always leave them there just in case I need to escape. James wanted to know if I wanted to escape them, and that they were not there to be escaped from. He told me they were there to help me and anyone else that needs a place to stay, which I could almost believe, but how did they know my keys weren't in the car. Obviously they had checked, very quietly, so as not to disturb me. I don't know if that's a bad thing or not, after all, it's not really my car anyway, is it? James said it was his duty to check any new faces in the area, and that means inspecting vehicles as well. Stephen told me that James and his team from east Annan were the first to take action against the zombie outbreak, striking anyone down who showed the symptoms of CZV. Stephen had just turned eighteen when his foster parents returned from a trip, visiting friends in Glasgow. Cath and John, both fell unwell and had a temperature. He hadn't had time to call for help as both parents died pretty soon after returning home. James told me that's where he came in. Luckily, he says, when Stephen's foster parents eventually died and were risen again, James had watched them arrive back in the street, as they coughed and spluttered in their car, so it was no surprise to see them chasing Stephen out of the house. That's when James and three of his team felled the dead Cath and John with a barrage of baseball bats and tyre braces. Stephen has been with James' team ever since.

Suffice to say, James wouldn't take no for an answer and insisted I stay with him at his humble abode an abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of Annan.

I've noticed both him and Stephen look at my knife belt. I don't like the way they look at it. I'll keep my hand close to the handles....you never know.

18:00

I've just been fed. It was a pretty good meal actually, something I wasn't really expecting from a bunch of strangers. I'm at the farmhouse where James and his team are based. There are eight males and four females in his little family. They all seem friendly enough, but isn't that so often the case with murderers? What's that saying? It's the quiet one's you have to watch. I'm still in paranoid mode.

The only reason I came along with James is because the zombie population decided to hold a town meeting just outside the house I was in and he and two of his pals did a good job of mowing a lot of them down with their Mitsubishi shogun.

I'm sharing a room with two other guys, Tom and Ivan. Tom the spark (electrician), as he's known around here, looks a few years younger than me, maybe early to mid-thirties, and is quite funny. He can pull his face into all sorts of shapes as well as do funny voices. His impressions of famous people are rotten, so I can see we're going to get on well. Ivan hasn't really said much to me yet. I don't know if it's me, or if it's just the way he is. Tom tells me I need to give Ivan a a while to come out from his shell. Ivan and his parents arrived in the UK three months before the outbreak began, fleeing the poverty of the Ukraine. While his dad managed to find work in a hotel as a porter, his mum struggled to hold down a job going from restaurant to restaurant, takeaways to pubs and clubs, and anything else that would provide quick, tax free, cash. Things really did get pretty desperate for her, and sometimes she would come home, not only with money, but with bruises and bites and scratches as little reminders of her day's work. That's how Ivan lost his mother and father. Even when the virus was spreading itself through the country, felling people and reanimating them, Ivan's mother still had to pay the bills. She had always tried to shield Ivan from her ?orkand for the most part of it, she did, but one day she couldn't. She had been with a client that was on the turn, a carrier of the virus, still alive but with the virus coursing through him. The man was one of the rougher clients, who liked to bite during his sexual performances. This was enough for the virus to be transmitted into the veins of Ivan's mum. When she returned home that day, she went straight to bed with a fever. Ivan's father tended to her and sat at her bedside unaware of changing state. She died and very quickly came back from the dead only to bite him.

As luck would have it, Tom was rewiring their kitchen at the time and heard the commotion. Ivan came running into the kitchen and almost knocked Tom over in his haste to escape his zombie mum and dad.

Tom took great pleasure in telling me the next part. He waved his hand as though to shrug it off, being something that any decent person worth their salt would have done in a live threatening situation.

Tom, who works out and keeps fit and is a good six inches taller than me demonstrated in an overly animated fashion how he grabbed a length of cable from the spindle on the floor, wrapped it round Ivan's dead mum's head and in between her teeth, pulling it tight, dislocating her jaw and slicing into her spine. He told me how the body fell to the ground and how he quickly grabbed his nailgun and fired four tungsten nails into the skull. ?ight night zombie number onehe said, not being very tactful in front of Ivan. He then went on to describe how Ivan's dad, not a small man himself, came bursting into the kitchen and made a b-line for Ivan. Tom kicked the dead man in the knee causing him to fall, his own weight forcing him down on the floor at speed. Ivan's zombie dad had three tungsten nails shot into his head even before he hit the ground. Tom finished with a smile, blew the tip of his finger and put his gun hand back in its imaginary holster. Let's hope he's not a cowboy by trade otherwise there'll be a lot dodgy wiring around the country.

22:00

The Merc is still outside the house at the other end of town. I hope it's safe, as I've left the folder in glove compartment, you know, the one with info on Connie and Steph's whereabouts. I have the keys with me, and I managed to engage the remote-locking when we passed by in the Mistusbishi. I still don't know if it's safe enough to tell anyone about where I'm heading. I still remember trusting that fucker Robert, until he stole the silver sphere that I acquired from the upstairs flat. Oh, and let's not forget the slaughter of God knows how many people - I don't know if they were innocent or not so I can't say, besides that's a very cliché thing to say so many innocent people, boo hoo!

One of the girl's in the group, Tess Miller, she's a looker, and that's not me being sarcastic. She is a lovely looking girl, 28 years old, long black straight hair and breasts not too large. What is it they say, anything more than a handful is a waste. I've only spoken to her a couple of times but there's a definite spark there, well, I think there's a spark. Then again, I'm a horny sonbitch. She hasn't told me anything about herself, and I haven't really opened up to her, but there was no awkward silence when we did talk. That's always a good sign. Don't get me wrong, I don't expect to jump into bed with her I've still got Connie to find but it's good for the ego to know that at my age (I'm over 35 and that's all you need to know) I'm not totally repulsive to the opposite sex.

The others in the group introduced themselves but I'm afraid their names and faces were instantly forgettable. It's not a conscious thing, forgetting faces and names, it's just that they may not have made enough of an impact on my psyche to leave a lasting impression, therefore my brain sticks them to the rear of the old grey matter.

23:28

James seems very interested in where I'm travelling to, and even more interested in where I've travelled from. I don't want to tell him I came from the exact building where the CZ Virus started, because you just never can tell how people will react to that sort of thing. He may see me as somehow responsible, or connected in some way to the outbreak. It's like the minority of people out there that can't seem to separate the characters in TV soaps from the actors' real lives. Quite a few baddies from soaps have been assaulted whilst walking down the street on their day off simply because some nutter thinks they are the same person as on the box.

I overheard James talking in the kitchen to one of the guys in the group about the complex. I couldn't quite hear everything he said, the rest of the group were involved in their own conversations, which caused too much of a distraction for my small brain. I definitely heard him mention a complex, so I'm hoping it's the one I'm looking for. The way he described it, sounded as though it's in the right direction, where I should be heading. I'll see if I can go out with him when he's going to the complex.

23:32

I'm having some bother uploading my latest....

23:40

Sorry. Having a bit of bother with servers. Trying to upload but everything is going at a snail's pace or else timing out. I'll try a test.

23:45

This is a test. Hope you can see this text.

23:46

Good. The server is back on track. There can't be many servers left running at 100%.

I'm tired but James wants to go and get supplies from the complex. I'm hoping he'll take me with him and I can see if Connie and Steph are there.

23:50

I managed to talk James into taking me with them. I still have my knife belt but I don't have the gun, which is maybe just as well. I don't know how these people would react to a stranger coming into their territory with a gun, it's not exactly a friendly instrument is it?

Hi there,
I had such a great time writing the first book Chemical Z, and was actually surprised that anyone read it, nevermind bought it, so I've started the second one in the series. I wanted to see how the first one was received, and I was pleasantly surprised. This gave me enough confidence to actually get started on the second and not just think about it.

Thanks to anyone who read the first book, and an even bigger thanX to anyone who bought it.

Below is the first chapter of the second book. It is not the final draft, it is the idea on paper (digital format) as it left my mind so don't be too hard on the mistakes, sometimes great things come from great mistakes. We all learn by our mistakes and that's certainly my angle on any faux pas I've made in the writing of this work.

Thanks again, and here it is....enjoy.

Onez

Tuesday 26 July 2011
13:08

I'm just back from snooping around the flats and houses in the area, to see if I could find any food or supplies, clothes or anything I might need for my journey down south. You'll be surprised what people keep in their homes. It's brilliant, from the perspective of a nosey bastard like me, to be able to rummage around peoples' homes without fear of retribution. In my personal view, I do not consider it to be burglary or any other act of law breaking. It's simply redistribution of wealth, or reclaimed goods whichever phrase makes you feel less guilty about theft. I hate waste.

Most of the houses were empty, anyway, save for a few animals mostly rats or mice. That's something I've noticed, it doesn't take the vermin long to realise there's a distinct lack of human presence in the area. Over the past few weeks I've noticed them running around in the backgreen. When I was out earlier, for want of a better word, pilfering, a few of the little furry brown fellows came real close to me. They don't even run away anymore. I was about to check out an abandoned car half way along Union Street, heading toward the high school, when I heard faint movement to my right and behind me. I turned to see a rat, almost the size of a cat, walking along the foot of a wall. Not running or scuttling, but walking, quite calmly. It stopped briefly, stood up on it's hind legs, gave the air a good sniff then moved on, as confidently as it arrived.

Don't tell me this is something else I'm going to have to watch out for? It's bad enough concentrating on my every move so I don't attract the living dead, now I have to be on my guard to avoid being bitten on the arse by a rat. Let's not forget, these furry fuckers spread diseases too, but with them, once you're dead, you stay dead. Let's take a moment out to reminisce about the times when viruses such as the black death and the plague would kill you stone dead! End of game, no coming back from heaven or hell, should they still exist, with an overwhelming desire to bite someone's head off. Ah (Sigh), the good old days.

I'm trying to be as organised as I can without treating it too much like I'm going on vacation. I actually thought about taking an overnight bag, but who am I kidding, there's not going to be a hotel fit for purpose. I reckon I'll be sleeping in the back of the Merc for the duration, so I'm hoping it's got nice comfortable seats. I'm not expecting it to be on a par with a leather recliner or anything but, I do expect it to be at least sleepable.

As I mentioned earlier, it's amazing what people keep in their homes. I managed to pick up a few more knives, some of which I'm convinced are illegal. There have been, over the years, many attempts at the knife amnesty, but what self respecting arsehole would be seen dead in the streets without a blade? My collection now consists of a 3ft machette, a 4ft samurai sword, (+others). Praise Greenock for its knife culture. No. Let's not.

I also took whatever tins of food I could find in peoples' cupboards because I don't think anyone will be back to collect them. If a house is lying open, freezing cold and has a certain unexplainable atmosphere that's as empty as a wideboy's brain, then you be pretty sure, no-one's going to be back and therefore anything in the house is fair game. I shouldn't need to shop at Tesco for a while, anything I need is stuck into the boot of the Merc. I don't have much ammo left for the Smith & Wesson, so I'm hoping to find a gun shop or somewhere I can stock up when I'm down south, or at least on the way down to England. Google has been playing up a bit so I may have to rely on male intuition to find supplies. Male intuition? That's me fucked then. Females got all the best things when they were created: breasts and common sense. I have a cock that has a mind of its own. Not really much use, is it.

I'm really excited about the prospect of seeing Connie again. I really did think I'd seen the last of her, but now that someone, I don't know who, has given me a lifeline.

I've had another look through the contents of the envelope and I think I can get to the place on the map. My coordination is pretty poor but the Merc has a built in satnav so I won't have to rely too much on my own initiative, thank Christ. I won't bother telling you where it is because I still don't know who I can trust. That weirdo Robert, or should I call him Doctor Death, has destroyed my trust in people.

There are a few photographs of the facility that, I'm told, holds Connie, and perhaps Steph, but they are all aerial photographs, bar one. The last photograph is an external shot of the front of the building, which looks like a little bit like my local Health Centre. Only my local Health Centre doesn't have wire fencing with barbed wire at the top to keep people out. The picture makes it look like a horrible place and I'm getting a really bad vibe from it. No matter, I have no option but to travel to the place and then once I'm there, figure out how to break her out. I'm assuming this place is going to be under some sort of guard. I don't expect to walk straight up to the perimeter fence, call them on the entry system and say ?iya. It's me. I've arrived, so I'd appreciate if you let me in now, sweatheart.”

That is not going to happen, no way, not ever, never.

Right, I'm thinking I should trim my hair before I leave. I've got an old pair of hair clippers that someone gave me years ago. They got them as a present and gave me a loan of them, because I resent paying someone to cut my hair. I've saved a small fortune by trimming and shaving my own hair. It's not the tidiest, but when it's shaved right down to the wood there's not really a lot that can go wrong, because there's nothing left to spoil. It's easy to maintain too, in and out of a shower in minutes.

13:35

I feel a lot better having shaved my head using a number 4 setting, so not right into the wood. I've also got a bit of growth on my face, not cancer, but a beard. It's not very attractive looking but who am I going to impress now? Maybe Connie would like to see my clean shaven face when I arrive. Nah. I like having a beard. It makes me feel manly. Kimbo Slice, the notorious streetfighter, had a cool beard. I say had, he may still be alive, punching the living fuck out of American zombies. I don't think the whole world is totally overrun by the undead, just yet. It can't be long now though.

I'm going to keep the beard.

Right, time I left. See you in a while...hopefully.

17:08

I'm at a place called Heathhall, just north of Dumfries, not far from where Robert died. It's been a long drive down here but I seriously don't think I could have done it any quicker, even with a Mercedes.

I'm hiding in a Spar supermarket - although there's nothing super about it - on Auchencrief Road. There's not much left on the shelves, in fact, most of the tinned stuff has gone. I've had a look around with my knife at the ready, just to make sure there is no undead walking around, but the place does seem to be safe. I found a torch, and a pack of C-size batteries to fit it, in the back of the shop. It must be the staff kitchen, but it is very basic. There is a sink, with unwashed crockery that will probably never feel the trickle of water on its porcelain surface ever again. The draining board beside the sink has a few dishes piled up. Most of the dishes, however, have fallen onto the floor and smashed, making it difficult to walk around the small kitchen area without making some sort of snapping, cracking or breaking noise. There is a square table in the middle of the floor, big enough to accommodate 8 chairs; 2 at each side. Two of the seats are occupied by dead bodies. I don't know what went on in the kitchen but the bodies are not that of zombies. The two corpses at the table were not reborn into the undead world, they were killed. For whatever reason, they were spared the transition into the monsters that appears to have befallen the rest of the UK, and the world, by the looks of it.

They had both been shot, in the back of the head, from close range, so I'm assuming that whoever shot them must have known them. I walked round the table and stood behind the bodies. One male; one female. I guess from the clothes they had on that they were both in their mid-thirties. He was my left, she on the right. His right hand was touching hers on the table. Maybe they were holding hands before someone emptied their brains onto the dinner plates sitting on the table. As much as I would like to say they looked so peaceful lying on the table, hands still touching in a last moment of tenderness and love, but it was nothing like that. It was a great big bloody mess. The guy's face was chalk white, on account of his blood having oozed out of his head and onto the table, then dripping onto the floor. And his partner, she was also white, maybe a shade whiter than he. I knelt down to get a better look at her face, or what was left of it. I could just about make out the rouge lipstick on her ruby red lips, as they were forced to pout with the weight of her head pushing her face against the table, parting her once full lips. Unfortunately, no amount of lippy could ever cover up the mess her face was in now. A few pints of blood had escaped from her head too, not as much as her friend, but still a fair amount, covering her side of the table and the front of her clothes.

I'm upstairs in what looks like the staff office. There are three grey metal cabinets, a table and a comfy leather chair in here. I've taken a few tins and a tin opener up with me. Also three x 500ml bottles of water still, not carbonated. I don't want to get wind if I have to make a sharp exit out of this place, burping and farting as I'm chased down the street. I've left the Merc unlocked. I don't see the point in locking it, I've yet to see one of those reborn nightmares drive, plus the car makes a chirp-chip-beeping noise when the locking is activated or deactivated. I can't risk attracting anyone's attention. The lower the profile I keep, the better.

I'll have a cold tin of beans, then pineapple rings in juice, a drink of water then I'll have a shite and then I'll start to think about moving on. My next stop is Carlisle, then hopefully on to Penrith. It may not be as straight forward as I hope because Glasgow was a bastard to get through. It wasn't any better than the last time I drove there, in fact, it was twice as bad in such a short a period of time too. I managed to touch the edges of the city centre, then had to turn back and find another way round.

17:40

I've taken a wrong turn and ended up in a house in Slater.....somewhere or other. It looks like a cul-de-sac, so there's only one way out and it's not a good time. I think it all went wrong when I took the wrong turn off from the roundabout at Milehouse Cottage and tried to recover some time by heading as much east as I could. Then I lost my bearings going along and round many avenues, places, groves and what have you. Too many names for a bloody length of road. Let's just stick with road, or street. I'm happy having an alternative that's been around for ever. Roads and streets are fine thanks. No drives, or courts or any shite like that. My satnav is getting confused. Every place is starting to sound like it's a couple of words just thrown together and then take you pick if you want to make it sound traditional, new age, or fancy schmancy nouveau bollocks. It's thanks to the people who decided on the names of roads that I'm stuck in this house. That said, it's not entirely hopeless, as I've met a new friend. His name is George C. Manning. He seems to be a nice old chap. And he won't mind me calling him old, because he is. I think seventy is fairly old these days. It's also a very optimistic age since the arrival of the virus. It was just luck that his was the first house I ran to, which was good timing. As I got to within a metre of the front door, it opened up and I feel in through it, not expecting the thing to open without any sort of force. He may be old but he's certainly not infirm, in fact, he's quite nimble and he tells me the secret of his youthful looks (his words, not mine) is a nice glass of cucumber juice in the morning. Two cucumbers into the juicer and if he's feeling a little boost may be in order then he simply adds in a baby beetroot. He had me worried briefly because he began by telling me he ads in a baby then he took a coughing fit. I though, fuck, a baby eating geriatric bastard! But the coughing eased off and he carried on with the sentence explaining that baby beetroot complements the cucumber wonderfully and gives him that bit of extra help he needs to get him through the day.

He told me he doesn't get the chance to juice cucumber any more as the noise of the juicer seems to attract the zombies. The cul-de-sac hasn't been the worst hit in the area and he says it has been reasonably quiet for the best part of two months, what with everyone moving away. George asked me where the people would run away to. I told him I didn't know but I'm sure there will be somewhere out there that will be safe. I don't know if he believed me. I don't blame him, because I don't know if I believe me. How can there be somewhere safe? Everywhere you turn there are dead people walking around, not just bad people, but things that used to be people, both bad and good. No-one's staying down anymore. How do you fight that?

18:00

George was kind enough to feed me and give me something to drink. He's very kind and has shown me hospitality that makes me blush. I don't remember the last time anyone was so civil. There is hope for the world after all. I hope he survives the shit because it's people like him that are needed to get us back on track. We don't need any more soldiers or policemen or anti-heroes fighting for the cause. There's already enough of them out there, waiting to chop the head off anything that walks in order to do their bit. But George, he strikes me as the sort of person that uses kind words and gestures. I like him.

One thing though. His wife's dead, only not dead if you see what I mean? He's so sentimental, he can't even kill his infected wife. When he told me she was still alive, I kinof got a shock and felt my right hand wanting to grip a knife. I resisted though. It's not my place to question his motives or morals. Who am I to decide his wife's fate? If it was up to me, I'd slit her throat and remove her head from her torso and kick the fucker into the bin, but it's not my call, is it? He's been trying to convince me that she's harmless. ?ary wouldn't hurt a fly.he keeps saying to me over and over. I want to believe him but I'm not sure he understands the full impact of feeding and keeping a zombie on a long term basis. He's not looking ahead. What happens when he dies? Who's going to feed her then? I don't know if they just rot away until there's no more rancid flesh or muscle left to support the dry, brittle bones.

19:00

I'm in the toilet having a shit, but that's only as a decoy. I really don't know what to do about Mary. I'm not convinced it's entirely the best thing for George. I asked him what he would do once he dies? He had obviously thought it through, so he quite calmly told me...

George made us both a cup of tea by popping the teabag into his cup, pouring in water from the hot tap, squeezing out the flavour, then transferring the bag to my cup. He poured milk, that looked a bit lumpy to me, into his cup. He motioned to pour into mine, but I managed to block my cup with my hand. I told him I don't take milk. When I told him I take two lumps with my tea, I didn't mean two lumps of milk. It was a cheery little cup with the words WORLD'S BEST GRAN on it. There was also a cartoon of an old lady, presumably a granny, standing with a broad smile, waving her clasped hands triumphantly above her head. George had cut out a picture of her face from a photograph and glued it, quite crudely, onto the cartoon granny. I suppose it was a charming sentiment, but it was also pretty fucking freaky. It's the sort of thing serial killers are always portrayed as doing, cutting pictures of people's faces and gluing them onto someone else's body, but it's usually a nice young girl's face onto a naked body, not the face of an old lady onto the two dimensional cartoon body of someone on the side of a tea cup.

I sat on the couch and George treated himself to the recliner and told me a bit about Mary and how he and Mary had met in Blackpool forty years ago. I wasn't really that interested to tell you the truth but I wanted to find out what his plan was, so I sat patiently listening to the past forty years of the George and Mary story until he got to the good stuff.

He apparently knew that it was going to end in tragedy when the virus first came too light. George had worked as a lab technician in the 1960s for a privately owned chemical company producing (?).

George paused before telling me about the day Mary turned. She hadn't been outside the house for months, after being attacked down at the lane, it wasn't even at night time but in broad daylight and that was enough to put her off even going out into her own garden. She would open the door to the garden but that was enough. The possibility of being attacked again was overwhelming, so she stayed within the confines of her home. Simply standing at the open door was a task in itself and she was happy to do so, for months on end. It wasn't easy for George to tell me this, but it all came out in one big mad rush, as though it had been welling up him for years. Something he was dying to scream out, even to a stranger. Maybe it had to be a stranger he told it to. Who knows?

George went into a sort of trance telling me about the date, May 13, when Mary finally succumbed to the virus. He took a sip of his tea, rested the cup on his lap and gave a big sigh.

I asked if he was ok. He said he was fine and then explained how he felt responsible for Mary's dead. She was at the back door, doing her usual, standing looking out into the back garden, but not actually venturing outside. George decided it was time to give a some encouragement to leave the house. He had bought a little plant, which he explained to her, needed care and loving but had to stay outside the house. George brought the plant out from his shed and placed it on a table, on the patio which was right in front of the back door. It took a while and some sweet talking to convince Mary to leave the house. She kicked off her blue slippers, pulled on her outdoor shoes, and walked slowly, with a little helping hand from George, across the patio to the table and plant.

George told me how Mary sat at the table and he sat beside her, on one of the two chairs he had laid out. Mary smiled a smile he hadn't seen in months, and for those few seconds of tranquility, everything seemed perfect and nothing else seemed to matter.

Mary stood up and the metal feet of the chair screeched along the stone of the patio. The sound was loud and attracted zombies. The latch on the gate was very weak. It was never made to keep anyone out. The neighbourhood was always so peaceful, friendly, ideal.

When George was telling me story all I could think of was the screeching of the metal chair on the stone of the patio. I had an idea where his tale was going.

George took another sip of his tea, but I don't think the taste or the action really registered with him. He was too busy in his story, reliving the moment, as Mary walked away from the table and began her short stroll around the garden, a garden that hadn't felt the weight of her feet in months.

I could almost see it as it happened, in George's eyes.

Mary took a few steps, unsure at first, then with a bit more confidence, then (George tells me) she turned to George, smiled and blew him a kiss and thanked him for buying the flowers and bringing her out into the garden.

My mouth hung open, waiting for George to continue.

George took a sharp intake of breath, and sighed a long sigh. He then told me how it was such a short time between Mary's first steps of confidence in the back garden and the latch in the gate being forced open by a dead boy.

I tried to tell George there was no need to carry on; I knew what he was going to say. George just waved a dismissive hand, smiled a stale smile, lips trembling slightly, and continued. It was as though he had to tell it, had to get it out of his system.

The dead boy was about sixteen years old and was handicapped. George had got to know the boy and his family well. The family moved there little over three years ago and were instantly likeable. The boy, Troy Templeton, had downs syndrome but was an absolute joy to be around.

George said he looked horrendous as a zombie, but Mary still saw him as the charming little boy.

Troy made a line straight for Mary. She turned only at the last minute, with a big broad smile on her face, which very quickly gave way to frown and then a face of terror.

George took another large breath, and carried on with his story, as tears began to form in his eyes. The dead boy, Troy, reached Mary and grabbed at her, but in Mary's frail condition, he simply knocked her over onto the grassy ground. She put her hands up as Troy grabbed at her, scratching, trying to bite her.

It was a short lived attack, as George rammed his gardening trowel into the boy's neck, severing the spinal column. Troy's limp body fell like a dead weight onto Mary, who was crying, almost screaming. George eventually managed to roll boy's body off Mary, and get her back into the house. She was in a bad way, but George helped her back into the house, and in to bed where she lay for two hours, building up a temperature, displaying symptoms of the CZ virus, before finally, her heart stopped. George knew what had to be done and tied her wrists and legs to the bed using bed linen.

He has been keeping her alive ever since. I asked him how he was keeping her alive. He told me with meat. Meat? Obviously I had to ask where he got his meat from, because I hadn't had a burger in months and would do pretty much anything for a taste of that cow slice. George said it was dog meat and I didn't think that zombies liked processed stuff like that because it was pretty much dead. He didn't really say much more after that, other than it was becoming increasingly difficult to find food for her and for himself. The only real chance he got was around 7pm, some nights he would go around the area wandering into the other houses, but only the ones with doors lying open, just to be sure there was no-one at home. He would gather whatever supplies he could, usually tinned food, and work his way back home. Each time he would have to go that little bit further from home and increase the risk of running into a zombie on the way back.

Everyone has a story to tell about how the virus has affected them and their lives. This is George and Mary's and now theirs has become part of mine. I'm glad I met George and very grateful he invited me in but he can't keep Mary, not in the state she's in. It's not safe.

19:24

George has asked if I would go out with him to find supplies. I'm not that keen but he has been more than hospitable to me and it seems to be quiet outside. We'll be quick. Out supplies back in. That's it.

21:28

I didn't expect to be out for that long. Luckily George knows this place like the back of his hand. He's also pretty familiar with the surrounding houses, having been in and out of them so much over the past months. He was telling me which cupboards to check, and which one's to ignore, so I didn't wast time looking for tins of beans in amongst the vacuum cleaners and mops.

In one of the houses, George went upstairs as I searched downstairs. I thought I heard a whimper then a thud. I called up to him then walked to the stairs. I was about to make my way upstairs when George appeared at the top holding a polythene bag.

“Big rat said. He told me it was messy and smelled awful. I took his word for it.

It was a good haul with plenty of variety, not just beans but soups, curries jars and tins, macaroni and other stuff that makes my mouth water just thinking about them.

George told me the further out we go from his house, the better the bounty. We stopped a few times, in various abandoned houses, and laid low until the walking dead passed us by. We swapped stories and had a good laugh, and once or twice actually forgot we were in very real danger.

21:45

George has asked a big favour of me. One that I'm not too sure I can carry out....

I helped George put the food away in the kitchen cupboards. He's going to check on Mary. He went upstairs with the bag with the rat in. I think he forgot I was there for a minute. I'm sure he was in a trance, of sorts, so I followed him upstairs. He reached the top of the stairs, and paused. I paused half way up the stairs. George turned to me and said ?o you want to see Mary?”

I hesitated, but then said ?ure.”

I followed him up the stairs, the along the corridor. He stopped outside the bedroom, smiled at me then turned the handle and walked in, beckoning a wave for me to follow him. I entered after him.

The curtains were drawn and the room was dark apart from a shaft of light slipping through the space between the curtains.

The room was small, and tidy but smelled awful. I raised my arm and pressed my sleeve against my nose and mouth, in an attempt to block out the stench. George apologised but I told him not to worry, we all get a bit smelly from time to time and that I was partial to the odd fart. He told me to keep a good distance between me and Mary because even though she was trust to the bed, she seemed to have developed a new lease of life when he began feeding her. Before George opened the bag, he apologised for lying to me. I didn't know what he meant, lying, until he pulled a small dog out from the bag. It was still alive. It whimpered and didn't struggle much. The little furry brown back legs kicked and twitched every now and again, but there was no real struggle. The shivering body jerked but the head didn't move. The neck was broken or fractured or something, preventing any real movement of the head. I called to George and ask what he thought he was doing. I must admit I used the word fuck quite a lot, probably more times than should be in such a short question based sentence. George looked at me and shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, then moved closer to Mary, who was grabbing at the dog.

George held the dog at arm's length and turned his own head away to the side so he wouldn't see the horrible scene of Mary's feeding time. The dog's legs kicked a little more frequently and violently, shuddering, going into spasm. Mary's right hand, still tied to the bed, grabbed hold of the dog. The dog whined. I couldn't believe what was going on, but I still watched. George was careful as he moved closer to the bed and released the hand holding the dog. The dead hand immediately swung the canine dinner up to her mouth, and she took a bite out of its stomach. I nearly vomited. She didn't even chew it, just swallowed it, then bit into both hind legs, crunching them and pulling them from the sockets of the dying body. Each time Mary squeezed the dog, he/she let out a high pitched whine that sent a wave of utter disgust along my spine, almost popping my brain. I looked over at George. He had a look of despair on his face as he slumped down onto a chair beside the window. The dog was no longer moving. Mary was almost finished her meal. She grabbed the tiny torso, or what was left of it, in her mouth and pulled on the head, ripping the two pieces apart. The head looked like a little reddish-brown tennis ball in her hand. She gulped down the body and I heard it making its way down her gullet, slowly rubbing and scraping its way down her throat.

I was still looking at Mary when George hit her with the stick. I hadn't noticed him rise from the chair, but he did, and he had grabbed a walking stick from the floor and was laying into Mary. He was shouting and screaming at her.

“Enough! ENOUGH! No more, Mary!”

He was crying and swinging the stick, bringing it down on Mary, on her face, smashing her face, her teeth, her nose. The stick destroyed anything and everything it touched. I shouted to George and rushed over to him, grabbing the stick from him. He fell to his knees and started to cry. A man of his age shouldn't cry. It was a bit awkward, to start with, then I felt sorry for him. I must be a bit of a soft touch. I told him it was going to be ok. It was the first cliche that came to mind and I knew that as soon as the words left my mouth. George knew it was cliche but told me I could help him make it OK. He looked at the knives on my belt and then to Mary. He asked if I would kill her for him. I told him I couldn't, he looked so helpless and started crying again. I didn't hug him, I'm not comfortable with that but I did sit on the floor in front of him. He asked me again, pleaded with me to kill her, told me he couldn't but she was driving him crazy and he wanted it to end. He said if I didn't do it, then he'd probably kill himself . Her mouth and face were covered in blood, as were the bed sheets, more blood that you would expect to come from a small dog. Chihuahuas, little dogs, big mess . It was a messy business.

She was still animated, chewing on the small blood covered skull. The bashing that George gave her didn't seem to register with her.

So there, you have it. That's the small favour George has asked of me. He wants me to kill his dead wife. That's not a proposition your given every day. I'm going to have to think about it, although I don't know why, it's just disposing of something that has no feelings, and feeds on dogs and God knows what else George is feeding her...it.

22:00

I'm going to do it. I'm going to destroy Mary. I just feel so sorry for George, but it's for the best. One quick slice at the nape of her neck; a good clean, fast strong cut and hopefully severing the spine. It seems the best way to disable them.

George you fucker! Why did you have to invite me into your home?!

23:30

I've done it. Mary is gone. Oh and that's not all......

I thought George would need to convince me a little more than he did, but to be honest I think he was glad to see the back of her too. I hat a chat with George in the kitchen, to make sure he wanted this done. He did, so I made sure my purple kitchen knife was nice and sharp and made my way back up the stairs to the bedroom. George accompanied me. Told me he wanted to say a few words to Mary before I cut her. I told him I would try and make it as quick as possible.

We entered the bedroom, me first, then George. He went over to Mary and started talking to her. She snuffled and snorted and made all sorts of disgusting noises, almost as though she was responding to his words. Once George was finished, he stood up, nodded to me and side stepped over to the window. I asked if he was sure. He nodded, so I moved in closer to Mary, holding the knife in my left hand, hoping to hold her head still with my right hand. I took a deep breath and grabbed Mary by what little hair she had left on her head. She bit at me but couldn't get to me. I brought the knife round to the back of her neck and prepared to pull the blade quickly and deeply into her skin. As I gripped the knife tightly, I felt a thwack on the back of my head. Then another. I dropped the knife on the floor and raised my hands to protect my head. The blows kept raining down. It was George. The prick was hitting me with the walking stick. He was saying ?orryover and over as he brought the wooden stick down me. My hands were beginning to throb and ache. My hair felt damp. Blood was coming from gashes in my head where the walking stick had broken the skin. George kicked me toward the bed and Mary. She was grabbing at me but I was just out of her reach.

My survival instinct kicked in. I saw the knife on the ground, picked it up and as George hit me three more times. On the third time, I stuck my knife in his stomach. He stopped hitting me.

George was an old man, so it didn't take much to fell him, although I didn't really expect him to put so much striking power behind his stick. I got to my feet and kicked the stick out of George's hand. Mary was thrashing around on the bed, trying her damnedest to grab me. I kicked George in the stomach and fell down flat on the floor, face down on top of his hands. I turned to Mary, and walked deliberately and swiftly to the bed. I grabbed her hair tight, as I did earlier, slid the knife behind her neck and drew the blade across her skin. It was a clean cut and I heard gas escaping from the wound. I pulled the head forward, ripping the skin open, revealing her spine. Her chin touched between her old breasts and I hacked at her spine. One, two, three. That's all it took before she stopped. No movement. No noise. Nothing.

I've had enough of this place. George is still on the floor upstairs. I don't know what to do about him. I'll figure something out before I leave. I've had a look out the window and there are a few zombies walking around. I'm going to have to make a run for it and hope I can get to the car.

23:49

I've stopped off at a lay-by after a tricky escape from George's house.

After I stuck him with my knife I gathered some of the tins I'd gathered with George - I figured I was entitled to them, after all I was the one that did most of the carrying. Now I come to think on it, he was probably using me. I threw in whatever I could find in his cupboards, but it didn't feel that good doing it. He was still alive when went through his belongings. I didn't go through everything, but I checked drawers for knives, cello tape, bandages. Then I looked in cupboards, for, well, I didn't know what I was looking for but it didn't hurt having a nose around his house. All the time, George lay on the floor moaning and groaning, I could hear him upstairs rolling around, crawling his way to the door. Once I had everything I needed, I checked outside to see how the zombie situation was. It wasn't good. More than a dozen dead bodies walking around, most of them pretty fresh corpses. I made my way to the front door, opened it, and George came at me with a knife, pushing me out into the street. The bag fell from my shoulder and well rolled onto his driveway. It was an open invitation for the dirty zombie dozen. They walked toward us, but I managed to get to my feet, avoiding George's knife as he swiped at my leg. I double checked the distance between me and the car, and the zombies between me and the car. I was ready to run when I felt a searing pain in my right ankle. George had dug his knife into me, and it hurt like fuck! I've never felt a pain like it before and I hope I never do, ever again. It just about floored me. I reached down and grabbed the knife, George still holding on to it with his pensioner's strength. I pulled my knife from it's belt and hacked at George's hand. He yelped like a pup (one back for the dog he Mary) and let go of the knife. I stood back up, stamp on his hand a few times, and actually had to resist kicking him in the stomach. That was the thing worrying me the most. I've never ever in my life felt the need to kick anyone in the body or the face. It disgusts me, the very idea of one person kicking another in the face, the head. It's barbaric and cowardly, especially when the person is already down. Three of the walking dead had reached us on the driveway and I managed to jump out of the way just as one large male made a grab for me. When he didn't get me, he focused his intentions on George, who was bleeding heavily, and calling after me. He was not just calling after me, but he was calling me every expletive under the sun. For an old man he had quite a collection of derogatory terms and curse words in his vocabulary.

I ran past another three zombies before I reached the car. I aimed the car key at the car and pressed the button triggering the remote-locking. The doors clicked open. I turned and had a quick look toward George's house before getting into the car. I could see shreds of skin being pulled up from his body, his face, pieces of clothing coming away with the flesh. He was still making noises, but the were barely audible whimpers now.

The Merc doesn't have bull bars or anything like that to protect it from a dozen bumps so I had to drive carefully, avoiding all the walking objects that strayed in my path.

I've had it with people. I let my guard down and that's what happens. Arseholes like that. The last person on earth you'd expect to be a threat. An old man, waiting on the next big kill for his dead wife. I'm on no-one's menu.

Anyway, here I am sitting at the edge of the road, yet again. I'm starting to feel a bit like hedgehog.

23:52

Fuck! I don't have a tin opener! I thought I 'd brought one. Two dozen tins of various foods and not an opener in sight. I'll have to try and use a knife to open them, baring in mind I'm not Bear Grills or anything like that.