Surviving The Evacuation (Book 1): London (18 page)

Day 39, Bermondsey, London.

08:00

My third day in the gym and I've been exploring my surroundings more carefully. I didn’t really examine the outside of the building, but it had at least four storeys, maybe as many as six. The gym takes up a small corner unit, which means on the other side of the wall, and above my head are other properties. I thin
k there
used to be a staircase behind a section of plasterboard in the supply cupboard. I’m not sure, but it's not like I've anything better to do.

12:00

There was nothing behind the plaster but an empty cavity with pipes and ventilation for the showers. Going to try the walls and see if I can break through to next door.

Day 40, Bermondsey, London.

08:00

It's my fourth day here, and They are still outside, milling around, aimless, purposeless, not much different from me. That has got to change. The food I found will be gone in a week, which makes staying put suicidal,
so to is
going outside. I've broken through the plaster around the walls, but the brickwork is solid, the cement relatively new. If I had time I could break through, but to what? I can't go out, I can't go down, I can't go sideways, that only leaves up.

15:30

It took two hours to build a scaffold out of the office furniture. It seems stable enough and from it I can reach the ceiling. Whatever is up there can't be any worse that what's outside.

Day 41, Bermondsey, London.

19:00

This is almost as much fun as looting. It's exhausting but incredibly cathartic, taking my rage and frustration out on the building. I've got the plaster off and was going to rest until the morning, but what's the point in waiting? It's not like I’m going to be able to sleep, and this may take some time.

Day 42, Bermondsey, London.

05:00

I had to give in to sleep for a few hours, due to sheer physical exhaustion. Late last night I got a knife up between the floorboards, it went in up to the hilt so there's no carpet there. I can't hear any noise from upstairs, and with the racket I’ve been making if there was a zombie up there it would have heard me.

I think the zombies outside the gym did. I think They're pushing at the doors, actually trying to get in. I can't see through the window from here to confirm it, and I’m not clearing the stairwell to check. I need to continue. I must keep going.

14:00

I’m upstairs, in the flat above the gym. I had to shift the barrier on the staircase so I could go down to the ground floor and grab one of the long weight bars, with that as a lever I dislodged two of the floorboards, making a space big enough to pull myself through. I pushed everything heavy I could find onto the stairwell, but I was too eager to get up and out of the gym. They saw me when I went downstairs. The sounds from the ground floor changed about half an hour after I climbed up here. I’m sure They are now in the building.

I had packed everything useful from the gym, the excess food and water, the supplements and a few spare towels, into a couple of plastic carriers, tied onto one end of a rope made from strips of towel, with the other end attached to my belt, and then hauled myself up through the gap. That took a lot more effort than I’d expected. The cumulative effect of days of using my arms, first when walking, then to make the hole has taken its toll.

As for up here, it's an unfurnished studio halfway through a rebuild. It's passed the stage when they'd leave the kind of tools that would make good weapons, all that's left are paint pots, brushes and ladders. One of those would have been helpful a few hours ago.

I just re-read that. Weapons. How long since that was an everyday concern of a British citizen?

So this is the 23
rd
April, day 42, not far from the broken remains of London Bridge. I have four days of food, about six litres of water. I’m in an unfinished flat with a hole in the floor. I don't know where I’m going, but I can't stay here.

17:00

If ever there was a staircase that was dark and forbidding it's the one that leads down to the street. I went down far enough to make out a thin line of light surrounding the closed door before heading back up the stairs. The other flat on the lower floor is in a similar state of refurbishment, so I went up to the top floor. The top flats there are in a similar state of renovation to the one I climbed into.

There's a hatch leading, I hope, to an attic crawl space that will lead to the next property. Assuming the building follows a pattern, there's a shop downstairs, next to a stairwell, next to a shop and so on, with four one bedroom apartments split across two levels above each shop. If the undead are gathered around the gym downstairs, then there's a chance the other side of this block will be clear. I’m going to rest up a bit longer, then go and get the ladder from downstairs, and then keep going up.

Day 43, Bermondsey, London.

08:00

I got up to the attic last night, but there's barely enough light to see, let alone write. Hell, there's barely enough room to move. The only part of the floor they bothered to reinforce is the part they stuck the boilers on top of. Boilers that are empty and still wrapped in plastic. The rest of the floor is just thin plaster and ply-board, I spent most of the night staring into the dark balanced precariously on a beam, trying not to move.

The ladder gave me enough height to open the hatch and get halfway through. Again I'd got the bags tied to a rope the other end of which I'd tied round my waist. All was fine until I tried to pull myself up. The rope snagged on the ladder, knocking it over and down the stairs. I'd hoped I could bring it with me, getting down without it's going to be a long hard drop.

But as long as I don't move, as long as I don't roll over and fall through the ceiling I can't see any way They can reach me up here.

And that's the good news.

They must have heard that ladder falling. It echoed around inside the stairwell. The noise from outside increased and the banging at the street door started up again. I think it's the street door, it sounds different to the noise I can hear from the gym where I’m sure They are now upstairs. I could take a chance and risk going down to retrieve the ladder. I've thought about it, and reckon it'd take about five minutes. There would be no way of doing it quietly though, and if They break through I really would be doomed.

It's not worth the risk, but more importantly it's not worth the time. Time is water, and I’m running out.

There's a thin brick wall between this property and the next. Hopefully it isn't load bearing because today's task is to make a hole large enough to clamber through. I think the hardest part will be finding somewhere I can put the bricks. Right. Break over. Back to work.

09:45

I've made a small hole in the wall, enough to see that next door is much the same, an attic with an empty water boiler and little else. I’m taking a breather. It's not the actual job in front of me that's hard, it's the hellish contortions required to balance my good leg on one beam whilst the bad leg hovers over the next ready to take some of my weight if the alternative is to fall through the ceiling, with the rest of my weight taken by my right arm. It doesn’t give me much leverage.

13:00

I'm through. It was thirsty work though. I've already drunk the best part of a litre today. I need to be stricter.

There's an access hatch, locked from the other side. The lock doesn't bother me. What does is the idea of dropping down, finding empty flats but no ladder. I'm going to knock a small hole in the ceiling of one of the flats and see what's down there.

16:00

Both the flats are empty and unfurnished, but they have been painted. From the similarities in layout and colour scheme I think all the flats were being renovated by the same people. My hope is the next one will have been plumbed in.

I've started on the wall to the next building. If the first was Number 217, the second 215, I’m going to assume I’m now trying to break into Number 213. That's a lucky number, right?

19:30

Dinner time. One energy bar and some apple flavoured glucose enhanced, vitamin enriched, mineral drenched goop. I’m pretty sure it was originally designed as baby food before someone realised you could get an even higher mark-up by labelling it as a fitness supplement. “N-ERvate”, it's called, which has to be about the worst name going. There were only a few pouches of it in the office at the gym. It was probably a sample pack. Maybe there's a warehouse full of vats of this stuff. Hope not, it tastes as terrible as the name suggests.

What I wouldn't give for a steak. Or ribs. Or a jacket potato with cheese melted on top. No, mustn't think like that. Back to the wall.

Day 44, Bermondsey, London.

09:15

Lucky number 213 was finished, but unfurnished, the boiler, once again, was empty. I’m not even sure it's plumbed in. I didn’t bother going down. Working on the next, number 211, I suppose. Is that lucky? I don't think so. I dropped the large water bottle, it plummeted through the ceiling. Down to one and a half bottles of lemon flavoured sports drink, one tin of beans and one energy bar.

17:00

Victory! Hallelujah! Rule Britannia in this Land of Hope and Glory! 211C is both furnished and until a few months ago, lived in.

I made a small hole in the floor and checked out both flats before coming down, going so far as to put an extra hole into the bathroom ceiling just in case, but both are empty.

I got down with only minimal jarring to the leg, broke the lock on the most promising door, and am now ensconced on the sofa with a bowl of cornflakes and fruit salad. It wouldn't win any awards on one of those TV cooking shows, but it's about the finest thing I've ever tasted. I’m going to check out 211D in a moment. I could leave it until tomorrow...

No. It's still light enough to see, this is no time to rest on my laurels.

19:00

Oh fraptious day! Rice, homemade jam, olives, gherkins and a few more tins of fruit. Sugar packets collected from the four corners of London and more herbs and spices than I've seen in one place, including on the shelves at the supermarket.

It's enough, more than enough that I can afford to lie low for a few days. I need some rest, after all. I deserve some. Hell, I've been stuck up in the Stygian gloom for long enough.

The jam's pretty good, the label reads “Three Berry Jam, love mum”. Very good stuff. There's no mention of which three berries. I think one's got to be strawberry.

There isn't much water. There was some in the toilet cistern, but only a trickle from the boiler. I’m boiling it all up now, using a broken chair for fuel and a wok as a fire pit. I wish I'd thought of this before, it's so much more efficient than that little stove. I'll add it to my kit. It's heavy, sure, and unwieldy, but the grill tray fits snugly on top and the saucepan on top of that. It's all very neat.

I’m taking an evening off. I've found extra batteries so I feel like I can squander some light. I tried using just the one crutch, seeing if that would be enough to take the weight. Unfortunately not. I was overly optimistic, I suppose. The leg needs a few more weeks. As for the cast, that's getting more ragged by the day. I've added a couple of layers of packing tape to hold it together for now. What I need is a brace of some sort, something sturdy made of metal and then I need time to strengthen the muscles in my leg, but not tonight.

Tomorrow I'll check out the flats downstairs and based on what I find I'll come up with some plan. I've enough food to stay here a week, maybe longer and still leave with as much food as I can carry. The real limiting factor is water, but maybe I can solve that tomorrow.

As to where next, having seen Them falling from the broken bridge into the Thames, the river is looking far less attractive. Certainly I wouldn't risk swimming in it, but a boat should be safe, shouldn't it? Humans float because of air in their lungs, right? And these things don't breath, right? Except I’m sure that noise They make is caused when air accordions in and out of their lungs, so can They float, or not?

The river is close. Travelling by boat would be safer than trying to make my way south, I don't know I'd want to try walking out of London, not with however many more are out there now
.
Maybe if I can hold out long enough I'll be able to ride a bike straight out of the city.

Where to? Lenham Hill? Maybe, if I can find out where that is. I'll see if I can find a map around here.

Day 45, Bermondsey, London.

07:00

Up early with the lark, although for me, getting up later than six am counts as a lie in. I'm going to shop for my breakfast in the downstairs flats. Oh, where for art thou, bacon and eggs?