Surviving The Evacuation (Book 1): London Read Online Free Page A
most of my time sitting here by the window, watching. At first I saw people skulking away in the middle of the night, then there was the evacuation when people went by in droves. Then the undead started to appear.
At first it was just one or two heading off down the street at that slow ambling gait that I'd describe as a stroll if it wasn't for the bloody stains on their clothing. Over the past few days They've stopped moving on. Now They just stand or sit in that weird sort of half squat, half crouch, like They're waiting for something, and I just sit and watch waiting for any kind of movement, any indication that They know I’m here. Last night I couldn't sleep. I knew They were there, outside in the dark but I couldn't see Them. It was the worst night of my life and I know tonight will be worse.
I've not much of a view. The house is built on a corner with a slight elevation. From up here in the attic I can see the rooftops of this street and the next. Below the roofs there are sixty or so windows most of which belong to flats and below that is a hundred yard stretch of road.
I inherited the house three years ago from an uncle who'd been halfway and a million pounds into renovating the place. When I say halfway, I mean the place had been gutted and half the floors were ripped up. He'd been an investor in the firm Jen and I set up. What I didn't realise until after he'd died was that he'd bought the house in the company's name saddling me very neatly with the mortgage. I had to give up my flat in Pimlico and moved in up here, converting the downstairs into four apartments with money I borrowed from Jen's parents.
My flat in Pimlico was spectacular. It had an open plan sitting room/kitchen, an office, a proper walk in shower and a bedroom big enough to fit an Emperor size bed, all within ten minutes saunter of Westminster. Now my entire living space would fit in my old bedroom with space to spare.
My uncle had lived up here, it was the only part of the house he'd finished before his death. He was the one who'd put in the balcony and fitted the big glass doors so there'd be enough natural light for his painting. I had the tinted glass fitted after a very polite letter from a neighbour pointed out that my morning walk from bed to the shower left nothing to the imagination.
And the worst part, you want to know the worst part? In a month's time they were going to announce an express service from the train station. You'd be able to get to central London in 8 minutes or the coast in 40. I could have flogged the place to a developer for enough to pay off the debt and afford a proper London flat like a civilised person.
13:10, 13 th March.
I thought I heard a car again. I’m sure it is a car, but there are so many houses for the sound to bounce off, it could be coming from anywhere within a half mile radius of here. In the summer, if I left the balcony doors open at night, I could hear goods trains rattling by in the distance, and the railway has to be at least a half a mile from here. Now those sounds are gone, there's nothing but the quiet rustling of wind and the constant shuffling of feet along the road outside.
I don't know if the undead would be able to see me if I stood in front of the glass. How could They? But how can They be out there in the first place? I don't want to risk it, nor do I want to lose the chance to see the world outside by blocking up the window, so I sit on the bed, waiting for my leg to cramp up.
I tried the phone again, just in case, but there's no answer. Maybe it's broken. It must be broken, Jen would have noticed that her driver didn’t come back wouldn't she? Of course she would. She'll send someone else, but I've got to be patient. She's got millions of evacuees to feed and house. She knows where I am. I've just got to be patient.
My four tenants moved out with the first wave of evacuees. That was on the 6 th March, a few hours after Jen had appeared on TV to announce the
At first it was just one or two heading off down the street at that slow ambling gait that I'd describe as a stroll if it wasn't for the bloody stains on their clothing. Over the past few days They've stopped moving on. Now They just stand or sit in that weird sort of half squat, half crouch, like They're waiting for something, and I just sit and watch waiting for any kind of movement, any indication that They know I’m here. Last night I couldn't sleep. I knew They were there, outside in the dark but I couldn't see Them. It was the worst night of my life and I know tonight will be worse.
I've not much of a view. The house is built on a corner with a slight elevation. From up here in the attic I can see the rooftops of this street and the next. Below the roofs there are sixty or so windows most of which belong to flats and below that is a hundred yard stretch of road.
I inherited the house three years ago from an uncle who'd been halfway and a million pounds into renovating the place. When I say halfway, I mean the place had been gutted and half the floors were ripped up. He'd been an investor in the firm Jen and I set up. What I didn't realise until after he'd died was that he'd bought the house in the company's name saddling me very neatly with the mortgage. I had to give up my flat in Pimlico and moved in up here, converting the downstairs into four apartments with money I borrowed from Jen's parents.
My flat in Pimlico was spectacular. It had an open plan sitting room/kitchen, an office, a proper walk in shower and a bedroom big enough to fit an Emperor size bed, all within ten minutes saunter of Westminster. Now my entire living space would fit in my old bedroom with space to spare.
My uncle had lived up here, it was the only part of the house he'd finished before his death. He was the one who'd put in the balcony and fitted the big glass doors so there'd be enough natural light for his painting. I had the tinted glass fitted after a very polite letter from a neighbour pointed out that my morning walk from bed to the shower left nothing to the imagination.
And the worst part, you want to know the worst part? In a month's time they were going to announce an express service from the train station. You'd be able to get to central London in 8 minutes or the coast in 40. I could have flogged the place to a developer for enough to pay off the debt and afford a proper London flat like a civilised person.
13:10, 13 th March.
I thought I heard a car again. I’m sure it is a car, but there are so many houses for the sound to bounce off, it could be coming from anywhere within a half mile radius of here. In the summer, if I left the balcony doors open at night, I could hear goods trains rattling by in the distance, and the railway has to be at least a half a mile from here. Now those sounds are gone, there's nothing but the quiet rustling of wind and the constant shuffling of feet along the road outside.
I don't know if the undead would be able to see me if I stood in front of the glass. How could They? But how can They be out there in the first place? I don't want to risk it, nor do I want to lose the chance to see the world outside by blocking up the window, so I sit on the bed, waiting for my leg to cramp up.
I tried the phone again, just in case, but there's no answer. Maybe it's broken. It must be broken, Jen would have noticed that her driver didn’t come back wouldn't she? Of course she would. She'll send someone else, but I've got to be patient. She's got millions of evacuees to feed and house. She knows where I am. I've just got to be patient.
My four tenants moved out with the first wave of evacuees. That was on the 6 th March, a few hours after Jen had appeared on TV to announce the
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