Still no email from next door neighbours. Mary and Kevin – I don’t know their second names. Really wishing I did now.
Watched out of the attic skylight last night with Anne as the yet more police cars rushed by. They’re all heading to Hockwell Ring, the evil ridden council flats a mile or so up the road from us. Police cars and gunshots aren’t unusual up there, but it was genuinely frightening to hear the shots, sirens and screams so clearly through the night. Anne and I were still there when the sun started to come up, and the shots became less and less frequent – and eventually stopped.
It’s still quiet this morning. Only two zombies in the street – one of which is the little bastard child who let down my tyres last winter. Part of me wants to laugh – but I can’t. Her left arm is broken and bent out of shape, and there’s a vile oozing wound on her cheek.
Assume that the police are clearing it street by street. Can’t wait for them to get to ours. The front door hasn’t opened in a week.
Anne and I split the last apple today, and joked about growing a tree in the attic with the seeds. What would we use as soil? Poop of course. Oh how we laughed. Getting a bit cabin fevery.