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

Entry 23

Dad and I settled into a routine and I eventually stopped keeping track of time. I didn't have a watch but turned on my phone or Dad's every once in a while, to try Uncle Nevin, Tata, and Tati, or anyone else on our contact lists and to check if we had any messages. We never managed to get through, and there weren't any messages. The lines were dead. The internet was also dead. I asked Dad several times if we should try and find them.

"It is too dangerous out there. We must wait for things to calm down."

He told me how, after we watched the video of the American girl coming to life, he had gone online and done his own research. He watched a lot of videos by what he called survivalists.

"I used to think these guys were exaggerating, but they weren't, and I thought it best we prepare. People thought I was being weird, and that everything would be okay. Yeah right."

In the meantime, he wanted me to be equipped to deal with any possibility, good or bad. I learned how to use a knife. Dad wasn't a knife fighter or martial arts expert, so we practiced on one of the banana trees, figuring it out as we went along.

"Go for their brains," he would say. I pretended the tree was a tall person and attacked the top where the head was supposed to be. I soon got the hang of it.

I told him about Andy and how I killed him.

"You didn't kill, Andy, baby." He hugged me. "Andy was already dead. Whatever attacked you, it wasn't Andy."

I wasn't so sure about that then. But now I am, although there's always a bit of doubt in the furthest recesses of my mind.

Dad made me promise. "If something happens, don't let me turn into one of those things."

I swore I would do what was needed and asked him to do the same for me. He gave me another hug. "Nothing is going to happen to you."

No, Dad, nothing is going to happen to me. I'm just going to survive and live with all this shit.

Although we had enough food, Dad rationed everything. He felt we should live off the land as much as possible, so I spent a lot of my mornings gardening, making sure the plants were okay. After lunch Dad had me do some studying or reading. I couldn't believe it when he brought out some of my school books.

"Dad!" I said.

I protested there was no point, but he wasn't having any of it. If things got back to normal, I would not have missed out. He was right, the maths and physics I studied help me do my job today.

We also spent time fishing in the river, mostly for eel, which was disgusting and slimy, but fresh and full of protein. Dad set a hook with spam on it and left it overnight. The next morning there was always one hooked and they fought hard when pulled out of the water, slithering and twisting as we pulled them on to land. I can't say I enjoyed it. It was gross. My job was to hit them over the head with this club Dad had made from a length of guava branch. I couldn't face gutting and cleaning them, but Dad forced me to do it. That was really, I mean really, gross and even writing this is making me squirm. The meat itself wasn't so bad when cooked. Once Dad made me eat it raw.

"The Japanese eat it raw. It's called sashimi."

I reminded him we weren't Japanese.

"It doesn't matter. You need to be ready for whatever."

So, I learned to eat raw vegetables and raw fish. There was always the possibility we might have to leave Deux Bras in a hurry with no supplies or access to supplies.

Since we didn't use the lights, not wanting to draw any attention, we went to bed as soon as the sun went down and woke up at sunrise. I swept the hut which I had started to call the house, whilst Dad made breakfast, mostly rice and vegetables. Lunch was whatever was left over from breakfast and for dinner we made something fresh. Most days Dad fried semi ripe bananas and used that instead of rice. It wasn't so bad, and I got used to it.

One afternoon I told Dad I wanted to go for a ride. I had been cooped up inside the compound for at least three weeks. At first, he didn't want to, but when I told him we needed to check for any living dead that might be close to us and to see what else what was going on, he relented. Dad said I could ride the bike whilst he jogged alongside me.

"I need to stay in shape," he said. "Plus, it makes less noise than the truck."

He gave me one of the small axes which I had been using to practice with and made me take one of the kitchen knives. It was a sharp knife so he made me a little sheath from cardboard for me to carry it in. We locked the gate behind us and took the main road. When we got to a little rise, Dad stopped and checked the area with his binoculars. He passed them on to me. There wasn't much going on. It was all very quiet. We kept on going until we got to a bigger hill. Dad had me stop as he climbed the hill first. When he got to the top he gently peeked over the other side and signalled for me to come join him. I took the binoculars and looked around as Dad found a spot where he could lie down. "Wake me up if you see anything weird," he said and was soon asleep.

I could see the airport from our spot; the living dead were all over the tarmac. From where I was they looked like ants. The highway around the airport was packed with them too. I saw one of the living dead, a couple of hundred meters from us, but with the binoculars he looked closer. I let out a little cry and dropped down. Dad got up. I pointed, and he took the binoculars from me.

"He's far away," he whispered. "Don't speak loudly. He might hear us."

I watched. It was trying to catch some doves that were pecking at something on the ground and kept missing them. The doves would do a hop, fly thing and land just a bit out of reach. The fiend would try again and miss. But it didn't seem to get mad or frustrated. It kept going. At some point, it kind of stumbled and I giggled. It immediately looked in our direction. I froze. Dad sat up and put his finger to his lips. We both watched as it stared in our direction before the doves distracted it again.

We started going out every other day. There wasn't much, except for the occasional living dead. This gave me a chance to observe them, how they moved. Dad said they moved like super drunk old people at a wedding on a cruise ship during a storm. I didn't know what he meant. I'm not even sure now. They do move listlessly. It doesn't necessarily make them slow—I know that from Andy—but they're not quick either, and as long as the head is functional they keep coming.

Dad decided to give trapping a try, the area was full of hare and these small birds called francolins that made a bicycle-bell like call when alarmed. He set traps for them but was unsuccessful. Until one night he caught a hare, a big one. The snare hadn't killed it, I asked Dad to let it go. But he said the meat was good. He took out his diving knife. Dad had set a noose in the fence which was big for it to pass through, but the noose hadn't strangled it, instead it had caught it in the middle. Dad couldn't bring himself to finish it off; to my relief he let it go. In hindsight, we should have killed that hare, either Dad or me.

At the time, surviving like we were was all fresh and new for us and for millions of people who were not used to this sudden change in life. Those who had already been living a life where they had to survive on a daily basis before the outbreak found it easier to adapt. Those who hadn't were the first to go. They were the people who stayed in their homes until all the food ran out, hoping the power would come back on and they'd be able to order a pizza. Those were the ones who went first. The people who lived in the slums, the people who had been homeless, they knew what they needed to do and many of them are the ones who are today teaching the others.

Teaching them how to survive should this happen again.