Bloody tourists. Heh. I crack me up. Watching Hot Fuzz does that to the brain.
I'm watching from one floor above ground. I always wanted a real journalism thing, you know? Live and direct, beaming to the world from where the shit was happening. But the shit was happening everywhere at once, and I guess my reportage doesn't count for much. But it'll keep me saner that saying nothing.
They struck while most people were out. Which is fortunate — we're up above a not particularly climbable shop, with three solid doors between us and the outside world. We could be in a worse position. These primitive bastards haven't figured out how to turn hand-held objects into missile weapons.
And to think, all those times we talked through the plans as idle pub conversations... gominokouhai and stormsearch are alive. Which is good. Though from the look of things, the mobile networks are dying. I dread to think how we're going to get in touch when the power dies.
EDIT: Motherfucking cockbandits! Steps to one side of the cocking shop. Just a matter of time until they made the leap. We were lucky it took them this long. One of them smashed the bedroom window. J. was in there, trying to sleep. Lucky I heard the smash. Lucky with the whisky as well. Auchentoshan wasn't the nicest I've ever had. Best part of a litre and a lighter. I didn't know if it would work, but it seemed to. Why they never allowed us double fucking glazing I do not know...
The place is a mess. I had to improvise a barrier out of one of the bookcases. Hence, there's lots of books every-fucking-where. We grabbed everything we could out of the bedroom and I nailed the door shut with another set of shelves. I wish I'd not left my power tools with horza, I could have used a jigsaw or a hammer drill. As it is, the secondary barrier won't hold for too long. It'll give us warning, and give us time, and until they get in it makes us feel a bit safer about going to the khazi. Because I am shitting myself.
EDIT: Standard zombie apocalypse survival plan is obvious to anyone who's read enough Wyndham or who reads The Waking Dead. Gather into groups for survival. Acquire transport, preferably secure transport — convertibles and motorbikes are right out — and stockpile essentials. Get to a safe location. Acquire larger transport if possible and make with the acquisition of food that will keep, of medicine, of things we can turn into weapons, of alcohol — for sterilisation purposes, at least for now — and cigarettes.
I've started smoking again. I can't let myself drink because then I'd be no fucking use to anyone. If I'm drunk, I can't think straight. If I can't think straight, J. and I are both dead. I'm an idealist. I think we have a chance of survival. Smart or happy, never both. Could go for happy boozeoholic oblivion right now, but no. I have to be fucking smart. So I'm smoking. I am allowing myself this one cocking vice.
Our plan breaks down because the power is not yet dead. The national grid is still up. That means that we still have light. I'm too scared to turn off the light. I threw a bottle of burning Highland Park down there, but it didn't do fuck all. I was hoping for a response.
Our plan breaks down because the power is not yet dead, and that means they know where we are and are trying to get in. We have barricaded ourselves inside, which means we can't get any fucking transport. Our plan failed because we're surrounded, and there's no bloody cars on the Mile. It's either George IV or the Mound, and either way is too much of a run in the open. If I had a weapon, if I had more whisky, I could stand a chance. As it is, I've got three bottles and seven cigarettes remaining.
Fucking plans aren't worth a thing. I'm going to get eaten in my own fucking home.
EDIT: The Hub's burning.
The cocking Hub's burning. I don't know how and I don't know why, but it's burning and the light's attracting them. I had to turn off everything here in the end. Killed all the power. I think they could hear the wifi signal or something even with the lights off. Irnbru Online is dead to the world. There's still cellphone signal, and they're ignoring or out of range of Bluetooth: that's how I'm able to put this up.
My holdall's a bit heavier than I expected. Food and sawdust for Artemis. Fuck you all, I am not letting our hamster die. Not now. Not after all this.
I have a bottle. Edradour cask strength. It's got a pair of my old boxers in the neck. It's our ticket from the door to the street. There's a chelsea tractor on the Bridge with the door hanging open. I have to hope that there's keys to it somewhere. That's just the first one, I can see half a dozen more without trying.
It's amazing, how much we're leaving behind. Four cases worth of books. Two computers — one and one without a hard drive, but shit happens. A big telly. I liked that telly. And so many books. Kilograms per megabyte, maybe, but I don't give a fuck. So many words that I'll never read again.
EDIT: I'm fucking crying. This is all too much.
Phone. Laptop. Chargers for both. Hard disk. All that in my satchel. Holdall has the essentials: clothes, drugs, hamster food, sawdust, toolkit. Hamster. Artemis is traveling in J's backpack.
I don't want to go. It's the scariest thing I've ever done. Knowing that we can't turn back.
I can't go. But I can't stay. And damn me for a bastard if I let anything happen to J.
There's nothing more we can do.
I hope I remember how to drive. Actually, I just hope I find a vehicle with the keys in the ignition. I also hope I don't die. That would be bad. Living this long just to fuck up when it matters. Hope that doesn't happen to you.
Goodnight, and good luck.