Starting the next leg of my journey

Well here I am. I’m still alive. Not sure for how long though.

Five days ago, when I wrote my last post, I was hoping I’d be in Warwick by now. But that wasn’t to be. I've just managed to secure us a place with internet access though. So the last five days...

My dad’s got… had… a Transit van. So I loaded it up with everything from my parents’ larder. Then I found dad’s shotgun shells and put them, along with the shotgun that he’d had to kill my mother with, on the double passenger seat. I also took some of his clothes, and their photo albums, and put them in the back of the van too.

I had one problem left. My son. I’ve just read some of the advice you’ve left me on my page… kill him - he’s not your son anymore. I know that really. But he is to me. His mind may have gone, he may have an arm missing, and he may want nothing more than to kill his daddy… but that’s still my son. It’s still the body, still the flesh… cold, yellow and starting to rot as it Is now… that I’ve bathed, cuddled and laughed with so many times. As much as I knew I should shoot him in the head, I just couldn’t bring myself do it.

So, with trepidation, I opened the boot and stepped back.

My son, who had been in there for over three days flew out, snarling, and fell onto the floor. He looked up at me with white eyes, drooling and groaning, and started trying to get up.

I backed off. And threw him his dinner: the rotting remains of my parents’ kitten, that my dad had only half eaten.

My son ate the rotting flesh and fur - I watched as bits of the stinking flesh fell from his chin onto the gravel - and then he started trying to get up again, to come for me.

I took the thick rug I had found in my parents’ lounge and threw it over him. I quickly rolled him up in it – hoping his snapping teeth couldn’t break through the material - and then secured it with rope. With my son still snarling inside, I threw the rug in the back of the van with the supplies, and then I got in and drove away.

I got about a few hundered yards up the country lane, when

FUCK A ZOMBIE’S BROKEN IN, I’M GONNA HAVE TO GO… IF I SURVIVE THIS I’LL KEEP YOU POSTED WISH ME LUCK I’M A WA