07:56

I'm back home. I had a bit of an adventure last night, and that's why there was a distinct lack of my posting. I left the flat just before seven because, as far as I know, or thought, it would be quiet at that time. I like to be kept on my toes, sometimes, it helps keep the brain alert and you know you're alive when your heart is pumping, don't you? Whether it's through a simple stroll along the streets wearing a modified tool belt or taking a leisurely jog because a zombie spots you, or even luckier, sprinting as fast as your legs will carry you, blood pumping through your heart – one of the last remaining to do so in this town – as a dozen or so zombies chase you through the back gardens of your neighborhood, in a desperate bid to catch you and bite chunks out of your skull in hope that they can feast upon the soft, grey matter that lies within.

If I'm going too fast for you then I'll start at the beginning.....

As I said, I left before seven o'clock, I headed out toward the high school, taking the route along Ardgowan Street, rather than the direct route of Union Street, it was one of the busiest streets before this virus and it still seems to be pretty popular with the dead residents. I reached Fox Street, which runs down the side of the cricket club, and that's when I heard a voice. I didn't think it was a voice to begin with, even though my adrenaline was pushing all my senses to the limit, it was, as far as I was concerned, just another distraction in the background.

I moved down Fox Street, keeping close to the wall that surrounds the cricket grounds and the voice came again, but this time it was a lot clearer and I heard it. My head had set aside a little piece of brain to sit quietly and listen for the sound to happen again and sure enough, it did. A faint voice was calling...to me.

“Hey! Mister!”

I was in close to the wall, how could anyone have seen me. If someone could see me, did that mean that zombies could see me? Apparently not, because I could see four zombies at the end of the street, but they couldn't see me. They certainly weren't looking at me, not in my direction, anyway. No, they were looking in the direction of the voice that was in great danger of giving its, and my, position away.

I watched as they turned, slowly, and made their way up the street to the house across from me. If they got close enough to the house they might just see me. And you know what, they did. They promptly changed their direction from the house to me. Yes, I did call the occupant of the house a fucking bastard! I make no apologies, as usual, I could have called them a lot worse had they not opened their front door and called me in. Of course I made a beeline for the poorly lit entrance and stumbled into the hall, almost impaling myself on one of the knives in my tool belt. I pushed the door closed, quietly, but quickly. The zombies may have seen what direction I ran, but they hadn't seen the house I ran to.

I regained what little posture I could, got to my feet and opened my foul mouth ready to turn the air blue when I saw, standing before me, a young girl. I stopped in my tracks. I was speechless, something I that doesn't happen to me that often. She couldn't have been any older than eight years, her face and hair looked as though they hadn't been washed properly in a month. She smelled a little bit, but I tried not to show it. You can't fool kids. She asked me why I was squinting my face, so I told her I had an itchy nose, that's why I covered my nose and mouth every now and then. She took it for what it was...a lie. She stared at me, right through me in fact, then walked upstairs. She told me to follow her, so I did.

She showed me into her bedroom, which I wasn't too comfortable with, I'll admit, but it was all innocent enough. She showed me some of her toys and the bed where she used to sleep on, and now sleeps under. It was a nice little wooden cabin style bed, with loads of cuddly toys under it, and in the corner a pillow and a Spongebob Squarepants duvet, which wasn't very clean looking.

I asked where her mum and dad where but she couldn't tell me. She just knew it was a long time. He older brother and sister were also “missing.” I told her my name and she told me hers. She said she wasn't allowed to talk to strangers, but seeing as I told her my name, I wasn't a stranger any more. She told me her name was Stephanie, but I could call her Steph, because that's what her friends called her, and I was the closest thing she had to a friend. I sat with her, under the bed, she said that's where she felt safest. I let her talk, and boy could she talk. She had wanted to say so much and had no-one to talk to. It was nice. She asked if I was hurt. I said no, then she pointed to the blood on my shirt. When I had jumped through the front door and fell on my knife, it had ripped through my shirt and and cut my stomach. It wasn't a deep cut, just enough to draw blood. It looked worse than it actually was. Still, it was enough for Steph to show some concern. I tried to reassure her that I was fine, but she said that's how her mum started, with a small cut. She went to work the next day, with her dad and brother in the car. They never came back.

I told her I'd stay with her for a while.

It didn't take long for the zombies to work out what house I'd entered. I don't know how good their sense of smell is, but that's what I'm attributing their success to. They didn't bang at the door, not at first, but they stayed at the door, shuffling and banging and scratching, their thoughtless brains trying to figure out a way to get in. They were nothing like the zombies that dragged the soldiers out of the vehicle, thank God.

Steph curled up beside me and held onto my arm. I told her I wasn't going to leave her.

So, here I am, as I said, back home, or to be more precise, here we are.

Steph is staying with me for a while. Well, it's for her sake, not mine. I'm fine on my own. It was quiet this morning and making the way back home was quite easy, Steph already knew that the less noise we made the better.

I must admit, she brightens the place up a little. Not a little, a lot.