ILL VI

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Previously on ILL… Everybody except me is either a zombie or has been eaten by zombies. Me? They don’t want to eat me. Go figure. Oh, and I met an annoying parrot…

‘My apocalypse’ has taken a turn for the worse. Sorry, I’m speaking from my own selfish point of view, of course. After all, who else’s point of view do I have to worry about?

You remember that I was placing ‘people’ (I use that word loosely) back into their former environment? Well, it was coming along nicely. For instance, the local Morrison’s, where it had all started with Maggie, now boasts three cashiers, including Maggie, one friendly butcher and two staff on the self-service buffet counter, although I steer well clear of it lately. After so many weeks, the salads look decidedly unappetizing!

And there, my imaginary friends, lies the problem. Rot, decay, decomposition, whatever you want to call it. To put it simply, the town is getting high and not in a good way.

The handful of refuse collectors that I’ve rounded up and strapped to the back of their truck are, unfortunately, just for show, so the garbage that was left out for collection (What is it? Six weeks ago?) is kinda stinking up the streets. Add to that the ripeness of the town’s populace and I’m left with a pollution problem and a severe case of ‘I-don’t-want-to-live-here-any-more’ syndrome.

I attempted another school reunion to try to cheer myself up but simply entering the Community Centre again turned out to be a bad idea. A few of my old school friends have started to shed flesh. Yes, shed flesh. Maybe it’s the stuffy heat inside the building that’s causing it but I really don’t care why. I just don’t want to party with my old school chums if they’re going to keep dropping lumps of themselves all over the dance floor!

Also, there’s no longer any power, or running water. There’s no mobile networks or internet. Nope, no Google, no Wikipedia, no You Tube. On the plus side, I no longer receive any random phone calls asking about an accident I might have had in the last two years that wasn’t my fault or whether or not I’ve claimed against my bank or credit-card provider for mis-sold PPI. Swings and fucking roundabouts.

If only I’d seen it coming! I could have been better prepared. I’ve watched programmes about these survivalists who build bunkers and stow supplies of food, water, weapons and everything that is needed to get by in situations like the one in which I find myself stuck. I’ve watched them and I’ve thought: “Look at these idiots, what do they think is going to happen? A zombie apocalypse? Ha! What a waste of time and money!” Well “D’oh!”

So, I think it’s time for a change of location. My best bet is to find somewhere remote, where I won’t need to clear away too many gradually disintegrating, walking cadavers. Somewhere that has its own generators, perhaps a propane-tank gas supply and a natural water source. A farm perhaps, or a house on a small island. In any case, at some point in the near future, and I’m showing my age by thinking about The Good Life and Felicity Kendall’s nationally lauded rear end here, I’ll need to become completely self-sustaining.

I could find out how, quite easily, if I still had Google! “Ok Google, how do I survive a zombie apocalypse and live without everything that I’ve completely taken for granted all my life?” However will I manage? Well, for a start, I guess I’ll have to find and then (gulp!) read a book! Wish me luck.

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