Diary of the Displaced (2 page)

The wardrobe drawer proved useful to carry the cans back to camp.

There is so much junk scattered all over the place around here. It makes me wonder where the hell it all came from, and who put it there. Was this some half used underground landfill site that was long abandoned?

Now that I’ve got a bit of energy, I’ve started to build a sort of temporary shelter. I need to have a base to work out of; this place is pitch black, and if I end up stuck in the middle of nowhere, in the dark with no way to find my way back to my supplies, I’m dead. It may sound crazy, staying here and setting up camp. I keep thinking that I should up and move on, keep walking, that soon I would find a way out. But there is something in the back of my mind telling me that it would be a bad idea, that escape isn’t only a few hundred yards away.

But what if I’m wrong? What if just around the corner there is some hidden exit that I hadn’t yet seen?

Made a rough sack out of some old curtains I found.

Still haven’t found my phone.

The fizzy drink is four years out of date, I found a "consume by" date that was readable on one of the cans. I’ll never turn my nose up at cheap fizzy drinks again, ever.

Day 6

Lots to write today, but where to start?

The day began with a stint collecting more wood, breaking bits of furniture that I have found, and carrying it back. I’m taking it slowly, well aware that cans of fizzy drink are not bad for energy, but without any food, I’m not running on full batteries.

I found a stack of chairs, dozens of them, all made of solid wood and nearly new. It’s bizarre what you find in this place. I used them with the curtain material, and managed to make a batch of torches that I can easily carry with me. They don’t burn for long though.

Kept one of the chairs to sit on.

The first sounds came whilst I was hauling a broken sofa back to the camp, a task that is not easy whilst holding a torch. I was dragging it along with one hand, making my way one yard at a time, when I heard the sound cut through the noise that I was making.

It scared the hell out of me. A howl, and quite a distance away, though it is hard to tell in this place, where nothing echoes properly. It didn’t sound like any dog I have come across, and I’ve never heard anything else howl. Do foxes howl? The sound was much too deep. It was throatier than a dog's howl, almost how I imagined that a wolf would sound, but we don’t have wolves in England, do we? I don’t think we do.

The howl was answered by another one, this time much further away. I wasn't sure of the direction the noise was coming from, or even the exact distance.

I finished dragging the sofa back to the camp and leaned it against the wall, until I could clear an area for it. My torch was nearly out at this point, its last flickers nearly dying as I stuffed some cardboard onto the fire.

The howling had stopped.

Panicking, not wanting to lose the fire, I scrambled around with the torch and managed to get the fire going again. There was a lot of smoke at first, but finally it went up in one giant whoosh.

There it was, five yards away, teeth bared at me, growling. I know by its reaction that I was saved only by the campfire. The minute the area was flooded with light again, the creature screeched. It was a high, piercing sound, like a siren, like it had been hurt. It belted away through the junkyard, yelping, to disappear into the darkness. It only took a couple of seconds. The creature moved at a speed I could only imagine. It must have been going thirty miles an hour through the piles of junk. I hate to think what it could move like on the flat, without any obstruction.

Okay, I’ll describe it as best I can, but it’s not like anything I have ever seen, and I only got a brief look at it whilst having what felt like a heart attack. I panicked and nearly fell on my backside into the fire as I tried to back away from it.

Take a large dog, such as a Rottweiler, and mix it about half and half with a tiger or a panther. Give that a mouth of teeth twice the size they should be, cover it with grey and brown spiky hair, and lots of what look like scars, and you have roughly what just bared its teeth at me. I would swear that there were bits of flesh hanging off of it, or its fur is all ripped or something.

The eyes, they were huge, and they didn’t look natural. At least to me, they didn’t. Maybe the thing is accustomed to being in the dark? I presume this from the way it reacted to the light.

How something like that has developed is unfathomable. Is that the right word? There is nothing that I am aware of that is like it. It must be indigenous to this place, wherever this is. That reinforces my belief that I’m a long way from any place I know. Damn, I don’t even know if I’m even on Earth anymore. You read stories about people vanishing, and folk tales of travel to other places, but they are stories, aren’t they?

I’m going to keep the fire burning continuously now, if I can.

I think I’m going to need a weapon.

Day 7

A wrecked car has appeared about twenty feet from my camp, smashed up against the side of the wall. It’s a complete write-off, and there is blood all over the torn and twisted upholstery. There are also, well, bits. It wasn’t there before I went to sleep.

Jammed into the driver’s footwell, which is utterly crushed, is a leg. Well, part of a leg. To make it worse, the bone sticking out of the leg is perfectly flat at the end, as though it had been cut or sawn off.

Yeah, not kidding you, this thing arrived without making a sound. It was just there when I woke up. I can’t even tell what make or model the vehicle is, it’s in that much of a mess.

From the apparent damage at the front of the vehicle, I would say it didn’t crash into the wall here. It’s not the right shape. How the hell a wrecked car got here, I don’t know.

I noticed a smell of petrol wafting in the air, which would be great news if I could get my hands on it somehow. That is if the tank is still intact. Petrol would be useful right now. I keep glancing at the leg in the footwell and shuddering.

Managed to force open the boot of the car. It took about two hours, but was worth it. Inside was a large suitcase, unusually heavy and ticketed to go to Namibia, Africa. Mr. Adam Samuels.

Hauled the suitcase back to the camp. I struggled, but couldn’t open it.

I wonder if that is Mr Samuel’s leg in the footwell.

Genius.

Went back to the car and carefully pulled off some of the damaged metal panelling. There are lots of sharp bits that break off easily, to make cutting implements. A large piece of the frame came away, twisted and jagged at one end.

It didn’t take much effort to wrap more pieces of the door panelling around the thing and some of the curtain material around the handle, tied together with cloth strips cut from the sofa.

Now I’ve got myself a nasty weapon if the Dog thing comes back.

It only occurred to me afterwards that I could have cut myself badly whilst pulling at all that sharp metal. There aren’t exactly any ambulances around here.

As well as the mace (I think that’s what they are called) I’ve managed to put together two usable, makeshift knives using the braces between a chair leg and a large piece of sharp metal from the wreck.

 Before going to sleep, I used a large piece of furniture wood to pry open the side of the car, so I can access the petrol tank. I’ve got nothing to put it in at the moment. Really, I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t leaking out anywhere. It’s not. The petrol smell must be from the battered remains of the engine.

One last thing. It occurred to me that the Dog thing was probably hungry, and a raw leg from the knee down, sitting in this vehicle, might bring it here again. I think I heard movement in the distance once or twice, but whilst I’ve got the torches burning and the campfire lit they seem to be leaving me alone (I’m presuming there is more than one from the answered howls that I heard).

Decided I couldn’t risk it and took half an hour to pry open the foot well with the hefty bit of wood, wrapped another piece of curtain around my hand and pulled out the leg.

Damn thing. It squelched as it came free. I nearly threw up, and probably would have done if I had anything but fizzy drink in my belly. Chucked it over the wall. Barely. I was so glad I didn’t need a second try at it. There’s not a lot I can do about the blood, without wasting fizzy drink. Most of it seems to have dried anyway.

As a last thought before I sleep again, I must venture out, soon, but I need to know that I can survive it first. I can’t stay in this camp forever. For all I know, there might well be a way out a few hundred yards away.

Day 8

The suitcase, when cut open, contained some men’s clothing. It’s all a bit too large for me, and the trousers don’t fit too well, but at least I’ve got some clean pants on now. There are towels. All I need now is some water! Sun tan lotion and sunglasses, you’re having a laugh. A roll-on deodorant, so now I don’t smell too bad. Can DogThing smell it though? I never thought of that before I used it. More pens, Namibia travel guide, mouthwash. Damn mint flavoured.

Stomach is burning with indigestion from only cola cans to live on. I need to find something solid soon otherwise I’m going to have some serious stomach problems, or worse. I think at a guess I must have already lost two stone. Oh well, doctor said I needed to lose weight.

I’m hungry, but somehow I’m not as hungry as I think I should be after so many days without food.

Preparation for travel (Inventory).

Shoulder sack - slightly better fashioned with bits of leather from the car upholstery now that I have something to cut with.

2 knives.

Wicked, nasty, DogThing-killing mace.

15 torches.

Bundle of curtain material to make more torches.

10 cans of fizzy drink.

Cigarette lighter - still part full.

Journal and pens.

Small chunk of sofa foam for pillow.

Small towel and deodorant?

Mouthwash? Too much to carry.

Okay, the torches last about half an hour, roughly. The longer ones last maybe three quarters of an hour, if I am lucky, so I reckon that I have something like seven hours travel time, three and a half hours each way. I’ll have to judge it by the torches.

My stomach is beginning to give me real problems now, so although I should probably leave after I’ve slept, I’m going to head out today.

Day 9

A breakthrough! I’ve discovered something that might be food. I know that sounds odd, but I’ve never seen a three foot tall mushroom before. I stood there, wasting torch time, for about ten minutes, wondering whether it was edible or not. Eventually I decided that the risk was worth it. It’s a pale white colour, which made me think of the mushrooms that you can buy in a supermarket. I hope I’m right. I chopped it up and stashed it in the sack. It’s not heavy stuff, and there is quite a lot of it.

I’m getting too far ahead, so here we go.

Right, I’ve slept again, so it’s pseudo morning once more. I need to catch up on yesterday’s excursion. Again, quite a bit to write, but the first thing is I’m back at the camp.

The Day 8 Expedition

Hour 1

For the first hour I walked about a quarter of a mile through the debris, marking my journey by re-arranging junk, mainly by pulling away a pile of wood or rubble, and laying out a marker pointing back to the previous one. It was slow going, but if I get lost in here, I’ll be in serious trouble, even with my supplies. Although there is a lot of junk there are also some wide, open spaces between it, so I don’t have to climb over junk the whole way.

There’s so much mashed up stuff here that it could be the rubbish dump for a whole town. Most of it is either scrap yard junk, or piles of broken furniture. That’s good, though, at least I’m not running out of firewood any time soon. There’s no rotting filth that I can see, so this isn’t landfill refuse.

Found what I can only believe is DogThing’s droppings, dotted about all over the place, but no signs of DogThing, yet.

As I travelled further away from the wall, the rubbish started to thin out a bit, but there were still quite big piles of it all over the place. I spotted a damaged shopping trolley that I decided to take back with me. The wheels didn’t quite work, but I thought they could be fixed, with a bit of force.

Hour 2

Headed further out, and at about half a mile, I reached the edge of the rubbish. It thinned out into only infrequent larger piles and odd scattered bits. I think I saw at least five washing machines.

I abandoned the shopping trolley. It was too knackered to fix and wouldn’t push straight, plus one of the wheels fell off.

It was at this point that I found the mushrooms. They were dotted around quite a distance from where the ground was covered with scrap, so maybe they favour open areas. The biggest one that I found was about three feet tall and probably the same diameter across the hat. I spent a while examining it before deciding to cook it back at the camp.

Hour 3

As I was wandering along, trying to figure out what the hell all this stuff was doing here, and hoping that I would see some glimmer of inhabitancy in the distance, I came across the most bizarre thing yet.

It was sitting there in a large clearing, rubbish and junk of all kinds stacked up around it.

The first glimpse I got of it was the shape, and the eyes. Or what I thought were eyes. They reflected off of the torchlight, and I nearly turned to run, but it didn’t move.

It was about six yards high, four wide, and as long as a truck. After meeting DogThing, I was positive that this was some gargantuan mutant rhino, or something equally horrendous and deadly. I thought that I was about to die. Then I noticed something up on top of its head and it looked like writing. I took one step closer. Stupid, I know, but I nearly fell over laughing at myself in amazement at what was there.

Number 12.

Not in service.

It was a London bus.