My parents' house

So, it's Monday - a week since the initial outbreak in Swindon. I'm going to try to get to Warwick soon, but at the moment I'm at my parents' house, on their computer.

I made it out of the window. It still took me until Saturday morning to make the jump. I thought about doing it on Friday night, in the cover of darkness, but those fucking zombies can probably see better than me in the dark. Or smell me.

So Saturday morning, I kept peeking out of the window. I didn't want to look for long at a time, because as soon as they spotted me they would come and clamour under the window for ages, banging on the walls and the door. Some would find their way in from outside through the open back door, and my house was, by then, FULL of the fucking things. Sometimes, though, I could still make out the moans of my dead wife and kids from amongst them.

So, anyway, I capitalised on someone else's misfortune - but hey, I've started to realise it's survival of the fittest. At about 10am on Saturday, I heard screams. I peeked out of the window again, and saw a girl running past my house - I recognised her - I think she lived down the street and used to deliver our newspapers. Anyway, she was screaming hysterically, and the zeds were coming at her from everywhere, all directions. She sidestepped some, but by the time she got to the end of the street they'd got her, and the screaming turned to gurgling. By this time, zombies were streaming down the street to join the feast, including the ones from outside my house. I could hear banging from downstairs - the stupid fucks in my house were trying to get out the front to feed on the girl, but obviously couldn't remember they'd come in the back!

Anyway, I took my chance. I let myself drop out of the bedroom window, holding the stakes I'd made out of the TV cabinet. I landed awkwardly, twisting my ankle, and pain shot up my leg. I stifled a cry, but some of the zombies heard the crunching of the gravel as I landed and looked round. One had a piece of the paper girl's arm hanging out of his mouth, her blood dripping down his ripped shirt. And they came lurching towards me.

I stood up, and fell straight back down again as I tried to put weight on my ankle. I had been going to run for it, but that was going to be a problem now. I had to think quick. I was by my car, next to the front door, and my car key were just the other side of the door which was - if my memory served me correctly - unlocked. However, there were also a load of zeds on the other side of the door.

Fuck it, I had nothing to lose. I opened the door a tad and reached for the car keys on the hallway table. As I grabbed them, a grey, icy hand grabbed my wrist. I tried to pull away, but it was strong. I noticed something on one of the fingers of the hand - it was the wedding ring I had put on my wife's finger seven years ago.

My wife's head - what was left of it - appeared. Her drooling, bloody mouth was heading for the arm of mine she was holding. I had no choice... using my free arm, I stabbed her in the forehead as hard as I could with the stake I held. I heard her head... dear God, forgive me... squelch as the stake entered her brains. Her stinking blood spattered my arm, and she dropped to the floor, dead again.

Congratulate me on my first zombie kill. My own fucking wife. Jesus Christ, this can't be happening.

Crying, I took the keys and limped quickly to my car, just as a zombie from the street reached it too. The other stake was on the ground, under the window where I'd fallen. So, standing on my good foot, I slammed my other foot into the zed's stomach. I screamed with agony; the deadfuck staggered back a few steps and then came at me again, but it gave me time to slip into the car and slam the door. As other zombies began clamouring at the car windows I turned the engine on, slammed it into reverse, and drove backwards out of the driveway, scattering bloodied zombies in all directions as I did so.

I tore down the street, hitting a few more zeds. Then I stopped, as there was something lying in the street I wanted to take with me. God knows why, I must have been mad, but I got out of the car, picked it up and threw it in the boot. I just managed to slam the boot and get back in the car before more zombies got to me.

From there, it's a blur. I drove the five miles to my parents' house, which is out in the country, at breakneck speeds. I didn't see any humans, but then I didn't see any zeds either. I saw just one other car - driving in the opposite direction, it screeched round the corner and flew past me. I only caught a glimpse of the driver, but it looked like his eyes were bulging with terror and his face was tainted with something - blood, maybe.

I arrived at my parent's house. I couldn't see any zombies, so I got out of the car. I thought about getting my find out of the boot, but then thought better of it for now; it was too dangerous, and I needed to find my parents first.

I walked in the back door, into their utility room, and the first thing I saw was the remains of their kitten on the floor - it had been torn apart by something, its intestines spewed all over the linoleum. Retching, I opened the door and then called out, as I always do when I visit, "Mum!!?? Dad!!??"

I felt a wave of relief as my dad came out of the kitchen and started towards me, but the relief turned to horror as I saw that his ear had been ripped off, blood soaking both his beard and the shoulder of his ripped shirt. His pupils were small, so that his eyes appeared almost entirely white. And, stuck around his mouth and in his beard, was the grey fur of their kitten.

Whimpering, I took the hallway lamp and smashed it into my dad's skull. My dad, who had been so kind to me all my life. He dropped to the ground, and I kept hitting him until his head was a bloody pulp and he stopped moving.

I found my mum next. She was in the lounge, her head pretty much missing, with my father's shotgun next to her. She must have turned first and my dad must have shot her... but not before she'd bitten his ear off.

I buried them both in the garden, crying the whole time. With them I buried a photograph. It was taken last summer, in the sunshine, and was a picture of them with their two grandchildren and my wife.

Then I thought about going to the boot of my car. But I didn't have the energy to deal with it. So I went into my parents' house locked their doors, and went to sleep in my old bedroom, cuddling the teddy bear my dad had bought me when I was 3 years old.

That was Saturday evening. It was the first time I'd really slept in days, and I just woke up this morning. 36 hours. Deep sleep, and I'd pissed the bed. I dreamt that I was swimming in a pool full of zombies, and my dead wife kissed me. When she pulled away, her lips stuck to mine, ripping off of her face, and her bare teeth grinned at me.

So, I've just eaten ravenously, showered, and put some of my dead dad's clothes on - they smell of him, and makes it me so sad - and now I'm preparing for the next leg of my journey.

But first, I have one thing to deal with. In the boot of my car. Despite having been in there for more than two days now with no food, no water, and little air, I can still hear him banging, clawing and occasionally screaming.

You see, as I drove out of my street on Saturday, my 3 year old son was laid in the street. He was laying on his front, I'm guessing having been knocked over by the other zombies in their rush to get to me, but having only one arm he was just thrashing around, struggling to get up again. I couldn't leave him like that. So I opened my car boot, picked him up from behind around the abdomen (like I used to when I was getting him out of the bath) and threw him in the boot.

I'm terrified to open the boot now. But I'm going to have to. I've no idea what I'm going to do with him next. My head says shoot him through the brain. I don't know if my heart will let me. Any advice... or support... is welcome.

Anyway, I'm logging off now. If I make it to another computer I'll let you know how my journey's going, and I hope to see you in Warwick soon.

Wish me luck. I'm a warrior.