My name is Stephen Mulligan, and I’m not sure how long I’m going to live.
I want to tell you what happened, how this all came about. But I only know some of it. I don’t even know what the point of me writing this is, because who the hell is there left to read it? There are only three of us now, and we haven’t seen anyone new in days. Maybe once we get out of here we will find more people, but I’m not too hopeful.
Gary, my mate, thinks the same way as me. If it wasn’t for Claire, we probably would have given up. Claire is Gary’s Girlfriend, and her passion for life is almost as infective as the virus that turned everyone I know into blood crazed maniacs. To be honest, writing this was Claire’s idea, and I’m not sure my heart is in it. She says it’s important. I think she could detect the utter hopelessness I now saw in everything.
Claire says it’s important to have a record of what happened. Maybe she can see the way I keep eyeing the shotgun.
So where did it all start? That’s where stories are supposed to start right? At the beginning.
I was in the supermarket when I heard the news. Considering how little food I had in the house I was pretty lucky when you think about it. I was walking towards the checkout aisle when everyone around me started to get agitated. You could almost taste it on the air. That was when Gary rang me, said to check the news, said things were going to shit. Social Media had been on fire about the Riots in London all morning, but then some soldier with ribbons all over his chest went live on the BBC and told us all that the country was under attack by a bio weapon.
I think for a brief moment the whole country went insane.
It took me a few minutes to get my head around it, and by that time the number of people coming into the store had risen markedly. I looked down at my shopping cart, and just turned right around and headed straight for the canned goods section. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much on food in one go. When I had emptied out the trolley into my car, panic overtook me and I went right back in and did it again. The store was already full by then, scuffles breaking out between people. I filled the cart to the top again, this time with bottled water and alcohol. Most people, the ones who weren’t now fighting with each other over a loaf of fucking bread, were glued to their phones, the news getting ever more horrific by the minute. I thought my credit card was going to melt with the amount that second trolley came to. By the time I was filling up my car, there was fighting right out in the open. And the police, they were nowhere to be seen.
I got home without much difficulty, because most of the traffic seemed to be coming the other way. It still hadn’t sunk in, the shock yet to unravel my soon to be resigned mind. It took me several trips to drag all my shopping from the underground car park up to my flat. I ended up leaving about half of it (including most of the water and alcohol) in the boot….thank God I did that. Thank God for my laziness.
Turning on the TV, I quickly learnt that the Prime Minister and most of the Cabinet were dead. My hands shaking as I write this remembering what happened. I’m too tired to write anymore.