Valli : Personal Journal of Valli Pillay, a Living Dead Pandemic Survivor

Entry 21

The following morning, I lay in bed. It had been a rough night. Every little sound woke me up. Daylight felt reassuring, and I fell asleep again. When I finally woke up, the first thing I did was switch on my phone. It was one or two in the afternoon. I can't remember for sure. There was a text from Dad, from around noon, asking me where I was. I called him, but the line was dead again. I texted him back saying I was at the hut. I spent the day inside. I helped myself to a pack of instant noodles. I was halfway done when I stopped. I couldn't eat any more. I kept the leftovers on the stovetop. I thought I should stay where I was in case Mom, Dad and Vani showed up. I slept some more. Time went by slowly. Night came, and Dad hadn't showed up yet. I made sure the gate was locked before turning in. I ate the rest of the instant noodles and a papaya I had plucked from the garden. It started to rain again. I couldn't sleep. I was so scared. I started thinking, what if no one came? What if I was the only person left? These thoughts kept running through my head, feeding off one another and multiplying like bacteria under a microscope. Even now, sometimes, this way of thinking gets into my head and it grows and spreads, taking over everything. Feelings of hopelessness grow. I fight back though. The fight leaves me exhausted, but I fight it.

The next day I thought why not go for a bit of a bike ride, do a bit of exploring. I did not plan on going far. I was careful to close the hut and the gate behind me. I pedalled up the slope and kept going along the dirt road, which led to the main dirt road that crossed most of Deux Bras. I stopped at the intersection. Most of the plot owners here had either planted vegetables or flowers, which gave me an unobstructed view up to the airport. I had taken the binoculars with me. I took them out and looked in the direction of the airport. There were people moving along the tarmac. A small plane, the one they used for inter-island connections, an ATR-72, or rather what was left of it sat on the runway. It was burnt. As for the people walking around I was pretty sure they were the living dead. I wasn't keen to go find out. I kept pedalling.

I soon found myself close to the remains of the Paris Express airplane. I stopped my bike. The plane was in three parts. The forward section had broken off just ahead of the wings. There was the middle part with the wings still attached, and finally the tail section. It was lying there like a giant fish that had been chopped into three. Most of the plane was burnt and covered with the foam used by the emergency services. Yellow police tape still surrounded the aircraft. I went underneath the tape and entered the forward section. A faint rancid smell hung in the air, like when you clear the fridge of rotten food, and even after a few days the smell is still there, and you need to clean it again. It didn't stop me. I wanted to see the cockpit. Teenage curiosity I guess. Most of the seats were burnt. The door to the cockpit was open. I entered. The pilot seats had melted and there was a white residue on the seats. Now that I think about it, it must have been melted human fat. Most of the cockpit was covered with the foam and burnt out. I went back into the middle section. One of the overhead luggage compartments suddenly popped open which gave me a bit of a fright. People still had their luggage stored there. I didn't take anything. After a while of nosing around I left.

I pedalled a bit further away heading towards the main road, when the sound of a car caught my attention. I stopped my bike and took out my binoculars pointing them in the direction of the noise. It was a small car, like Mom's Nissan, driving up one of the dirt roads, a car not suited for these types of roads. It was being driven way too fast for these roads and swerving left to right. I watched as it went over a rock slab, which you found in this area, Mauritius being a volcanic island and all. The car did a few barrel rolls, someone was thrown out of the car which eventually stopped when it hit a huge banyan tree on its left side. The car was upside down and all was still.

I wasn't sure of the distance I was from the car, but I went to check it out. Maybe somebody was injured. Part of me wanted to meet someone, an adult, someone who could help me. I rode my bike towards the car. It took me about two minutes to get there. I stopped my bike not far from the person who had been thrown out of the car. It was a woman. I put the bike on the ground and went up to her. She was lying on her back; her eyes were open. She wasn't blinking. There were no obvious wounds. I called to her asking her if she was okay but got no answer. I touched her right arm and pushed her a bit. She had a huge bite mark right above her right wrist. I guessed she was dead. I did not know then that when you've been bitten, and you die it's not over. You need to die again.

I went over to the car and the all too familiar growling and the crunching of bones came from inside. I knew what was waiting for me. I came to the front of the car; the windshield had come off. Inside the car, someone was feeding on the driver, who was strapped in his seat. I slowly backed away and when I felt I was far away enough I raced to my bike. I rode fast not turning back and hoping the thing would not find me or follow me or come searching for me.

As I was putting the bike away at the farm, there was the sound of a pickup coming down the road. I knew that engine, an Isuzu. Dad! I ran to meet him. He stopped the truck at the gate and got out and ran to me. We hugged.

"Daddy!"

"Thank God you're alive!" He kissed and hugged me tight.

I pushed him back and turned towards the truck. "Where are Mommy and Vani?"

Dad's face changed, and tears streamed down his face.

"Valli, baby, I'm so sorry...," Dad started to say.

I felt the world spinning under my feet and everything went dark.