The End of Things - Diary of a Survivor

37. Bleak Midwinter

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 18:04:00 +0000

1/12/09

It's December.

I'm up the tower. I will write here everyday. Here I don't have to act; I can think.

And I can watch.

We were right about the crane. I've been watching it. Working with the lorries to lead people away.

And it's December.
I should be buying presents, fighting the crowds.
Can Christmas happen when you're on your own?

B. and I need to talk about that.

Trial 1, Area 3, Subject B: Observation Note 1

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 17:46:00 +0000

Due to an unobserved change in the subject's habits, the team were unable to monitor the subject's own account for a period of 2 months.

Analysis of the subject's account for this period shows only that the on-going observation of behaviour gave an acccurate picture of actions. It was considered that those not observed were not of detriment to the project.

However, the team have been unaware of some emotional and medical issues which could be key to the successful continuation of this project.

The team will increase surveillance on vital signs and will alert the medical team should an intervention prove necessary.

This subject has been referred to the management team as a priority match.

36. Looking Out

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Sun, 30 Nov 2008 19:00:00 +0000

30/11/08

We've learned something. I don't know how it changes things; if it changes things.

This was the second time we'd entered the church. This time it did feel spiritual, perhaps because we knew we were at turning point, perhaps because of the steadfast smell of oak and stone, or the way shafts of light reached in through the windows and lit up scenes of disciples and apostles looking upwards for salvation. I whispered prayers in my head, while B. clattered the ladder, sending motes of dust to dance in the light.

The hatch was reluctant to let us through, but B. forced it, disturbing jackdaws into flight out over the churchyard. We climbed up into the belfry. It seemed that the birds had claimed the bells as soon as they'd been positioned, surrounding them with their own detritus, in spite of the power and majesty.

Above us, another ceiling and another hatch. B. hauled the ladders up after us and started work on the rusted bolts that secured our way. And then we were through.

We looked out over trees, roofs and fields, the cold air and brightness making us blink and draw breath. The tower wasn't high enough to show us everything - nearby buildings hid their neighbours, but we still enjoyed that feeling of being all-seeing, and for then (for now), we were lords of all we surveyed. That is, all that was within the wall.

From our vantage point we could see most of the wall, wrapping itself around our enclosure like a serpent. At points where the wall ran close to houses, we could just make out its top. And beyond it?

The wall itself obscured the area directly behind. An area which we could now see had been made into a no man's land between our wall and a second, which ran parallel to it. Away from the walls, things looked much as they always had. There was no traffic on the road which had once brought cars, lorries, buses and their noise through our village. On the hillside to the South, where I had often cycled, enjoying the quiet wood-edged lane, we could make out unnatural colours, a crane? Maybe construction traffic? They must be widening the road - making a bypass, steering travellers away from us.

So the world goes on. But how do we rejoin it?

35. Take a Deep Breath and...

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Sun, 30 Nov 2008 07:00:00 +0000

30/11/08

A beautiful crisp, clear Sunday. The field we look onto is white with frost. It's silent.

It seems the right day to look out onto the world.

To count to three and open our eyes.

34. Clip Boarding

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 07:12:00 +0000

27/11/08

I think it's been a month now. We'll be in December soon. Outside the nation will be going Christmas mad too early - shopping, decorations. I suppose I'm glad to be out of that part. Just as long as we're out in time for Christmas Day itself, I'll be happy.

We've been busy this week. No more having fun. I haven't been writing because, well, there's not much to write about. But I need to keep in the habit.

Of course we've been looking after the animals. They're doing really well. I'm a bit worried they might need more fresh stuff than I'm able to give them by hauling up weeds. I haven't got the confidence to take them out to grass yet. Shouldn't be much longer before I can put them back in more capable hands though, thank goodness.

B. agreed, reluctantly, that we should leave the houses alone for a while and focus on gardens, sheds and garages. We're working our way through one road at a time. I can't even begin to estimate how long it will take. We still haven't even finished the main street yet, never mind all the closes, crescents, avenues and courts! Still, the longer it takes, the less people we'll have offended by the time we get out.
I'm drawing up a register - house by house, street by street. While B. starts the search of the garage (if there is one) I record what's in the garden; Rhubarb patches, fruit bushes, apple trees, I've even found an asparagus bed. Of course most of them won't be useful to us till the summer, so it's something of a pointless exercise, but I feel better knowing I'm preparing for the worst. Every so often I come across a plot with a few late vegetables hanging on - we've been having winter stews most nights since we started, fortified with a tin of beans from the Spar. It's great to have fresh vegetables again.

We decided that we'd keep this search up till B. comes across something we can transmit with. Also high on the list to look out for are fuels. When the power goes off, we need to be ready, so we're listing coal, wood, batteries and hoping to find generators or solar panels. So far, no luck. We have found ladders though - one to every 3 garages. We can go up the church tower now. We could have gone up on Saturday. We just need to pick the right time.

33. Cold Water

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 06:04:00 +0000

22/11/08

I woke up with a start this morning, out of one of those dreams it takes you a while to shake, anxiety tugging at you. My mind full of guilt, regret - for what we had and had not done yesterday and fear for what may follow.

Yesterday we plundered another house. One protected by high walls, electric gates and security cameras. One we'd never, in normal life, have been able to enter. As with the houses B. had already visited, the gates were open and the door unlocked. That made me feel better about it - perhaps there had been an agreement to leave the houses open in case someone was left behind, in case someone needed to help themselves. I still whispered as we went in, looked around nervously for signs of life, hanging back behind B.

It was a gorgeous house, built for entertaining, a huge staircase sweeping into the entrance hall. Beautiful antique furniture. It had the feel of a place that had 'been in the family for years'. I walked around, awestruck. For now this place was part of our estate.

A shout from B. - I followed the call and found him racking up a pool table. I scooted back to the kitchen and came back with kettle chips and beer. In other words, we spent the day mucking about with someone else's stuff. And yes, it was fun and it's important to keep your spirits up. But we're just kidding ourselves here. We are in a total mess and we need to get out of it. We haven't done any of the things we said we would, we haven't even checked on the animals. How can we be so reckless? Do we actually want to keep living like this? Do we seriously think it's going to stay this easy? That the food won't run out? That we won't get ill? That the world is going to let us keep on taking without giving? That we aren't sometime very soon going to find ourselves without heat or power or water? And then what do we do? And if we think we're going to get rescued any moment, what are we doing trampling over other people's privacy?

No. Either we think we're getting out of here, in which case we use only what we need to make that happen. Or we accept that maybe we're not in which case...

I've got to talk to B.

And now the radio comes on. And it doesn't give me its usual comfort.

Why do they have to mess around with perfectly good programs?

32. Voyeurism

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 07:45:00 +0000

21/11/08

I headed for home when I began to feel the sun sink. The walk is colder and longer after dark. I dragged my feet to avoid more argument and hurried to put things right.

B. was already in the kitchen cooking away and listening to some crazy jazz thing.
Another change in mood.
He was in his element - two houses explored and then revealed to me in gleeful detail. One spell-binding in the tacky nicknacks, stack of unwashed washing and cringeworthy items hidden under beds and in drawers. The other a tantalising store of treasures, from the delicatessent delights being prepared for tea, to the pile of records ready to provide the evening's entertainment.
His eyes shone and he laughed as he described his tours of the houses, room by room, cupboard, by cupboard, box, bag, tin. The moment he found the 'mint jazz' - original Sun-Ra vinyl, Miles Davies, John Coltrane, Cecil Taylor. The rather unfortunate underwear, he'd kindly left draped where he found it.
Against my better judgement I got drawn in, wishing I'd been there on this first exploration into the secret lives of local folk we only knew as faces.

The need to leave was forgotten as a world of infiltration opened its doors and beckoned us in.

31. Loneliness

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 14:30:00 +0000

20/11/08

I'm in the barn, on my own. Since we found out it was just the two of us here, we've done everything together, worked together.

But today B. was determined to start looking through the houses and I just couldn't bring myself to do it, even though I know we have to, can't just keep waiting for something to happen. He was annoyed with me. Says I should wake up, realise things have changed, that I can't worry about the feelings of people who left us for dead sealed up in our house. Says they won't be back.

But what if they decide the area's clear, open it up again? We'll be looters, trespassers and no one will feel comfortable with us again.

B. laughs. Typical of me to think of niceties when our lives are at stake. I shout that we're alive and we've got food and we'll be out soon. He shouts back: I'm a fool; he's going to get us out. And slams the door.

And then I cry. And I feel so lonely - all the people that I miss crash around me. How are they? What are they doing? And I feel the ache they must feel, thinking that I'm dead. And I cry because they don't have to feel that and I can't tell them. I imagine flowers up against the wall, final messages that didn't need to be written. It's all so stupid and I'm powerless.

But B. will get us out. He's not going to sit here like me. He's going to find something to help us. He's going to find a way out.

So I pull myself round and do my part. Start the 10 minute walk to the farm.
I'm greeted by goats jumping up at the side of the pen, they make me feel less lonely although I know it's only food they want from me. They indulge me in my need to pat their warm necks. The chickens are already scratching around in their coop - a miracle recovery. We're going to have to find them somewhere bigger to live. They're beginning to look more like adult birds, I'm wondering how many will be hens. I'd love to get fresh eggs.

I always go to the cattle last. They're my favourites. I still worry every time that we'll have lost one, but they keep getting stronger. Now they stand I know we've two heifers and a young bull. Goodness knows what will happen when he grows up. But by then, he'll be back with people who know what they're doing.

30. Facing Facts, Hiding Truths

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 05:37:00 +0000

20/11/08

We hit another low yesterday, but we had to fight it. Facing facts, if we don't make them know we're here, then the inside of this wall is all we've got and the world is closed to us - no rivers, no mountains, no sea, no cities; no families, no friends, no neighbours. I won't go on, I can already feel the panic rising, the tightness in my chest.
No, we have to stay positive, to act. If we collapse, so do our chances of leaving.

So we pulled ourselves up, made each other focus, took it in turns to be strong. We planned. Each time a new consequence, problem, obstacle hit one of us, knocking us to despair, the other stayed calm, had a solution, helped the other back to standing.

We agreed. They must have had to clear an area around the wall. Must have to keep people away. To stop the infection they think is still here. So no one's there to hear us banging or notice the bell or pick up our notes. We need to think bigger. Start to search. Look for some kind of transmitter. Make the fire and sign we talked about. Get up high, find out what's on the other side, find out if we can get over.

We need to think about what we eat and what we're going to eat. No more snacking on what we fancy. Balanced meals. And we need to look for fresher foods. There must be vegetable gardens, fruit trees. We need to think ahead, be realisitic. We could be here another month and we need to stay healthy.

There's one more. But it's too enormous, too scary and it doesn't make sense. We're hiding it from ourselves. Keeping the focus on staying healthy and getting out. Hoping that getting out comes first.

29. Perspective

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 06:45:00 +0000

19/11/08

This morning B. was awake first.
In fact he never slept.
He woke me up to talk to me.
Tried to break it gently - but you know when something bad is coming.

"You know it's been a week since we sent those first notes? I don't think anyone's going to come. Not because of the notes, or the banging or the bell. They'd have come by now. We've heard no helicopters, not one. We've got to face it. To get out, we've got to do more. And we can't just live one day at a time. We have to plan."

It came out in a rush. I know there was more in his head. What we should do. The enormity of being abandoned, completely.

But first I have to let this sink in.
No, admit what I've known all along.
Change my perspective again.

28. Drop by Drop

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 18:15:00 +0000

18/11/08

B. and I have cared for sick animals before. A nestling robin brought in by one of the cats was given a warm nest in a bowl and took small worms from our fingers. It's 'peeping' woke us in the morning awoke us and filled us with parental warmth. A hedgehog picked up from where it sat dazed by the road ate dog food and the next day delighted us by trotting round the spare room.
By the end of their second days in our care they were dead.

So what hope for us of bringing 3 cows and 6 chickens back from the brink? Very little. Each time we've returned, we've approached with trepidation. Each time we're surprised to see 9 pairs of eyes still looking back.

The goats seem built for anything. That first day they gulped down the water we gave them and pushed each other out of the way to reach the food we threw in. We saw to them first. Easier than tending to the dying.

The chickens came next. We used pieces of straws as pipettes to drop, drop, drop water onto the side of each beak. The birds just blinked and let the water spill onto their feathers. But we continued. 3 drops for each. Guess work. Step by step, feel your way. We topped up the feeder with the grain and left them.

The cows. What do you do to save a starving cow? We went for water again, this time in the bottles left for the lambs. They were only small, perhaps they had been bottle fed too. As we stepped into the pen, they stirred, alarmed at the intrusion and heaved onto their knees. We froze. So did they. We made sounds, like seasoned farmers - sounds that come without you thinking. They stayed still. We took a step forward, then slowly inched toward them. At last we were close enough to touch. A tentative pat on the neck. Still they stayed. Too ill to move? Unsure?
We each took one. One hand gently on the neck, then slowly the bottle, all of the time making these strange sounds that we seemed to think would calm them. At first, nothing. But as the first drops left the bottle and touched their tongues, they sprang to life and sucked. The magic of water, instant effect, like a drop on an ink blot. The bottles were so small and the cows suddenly so strong, they were emptied in seconds. While I tended to the third, smallest calf, B. went to fill buckets.

Back to the chickens, 3 more drops. This time, from one a shake of the head, from another a swallow.

Next to keep them warm and clean. We found wheelbarrows and spades. Hauled out the bodies and the excrement. We dug a hole together. It was hard work, but important. Part of a mission.

The farm was well stocked - food for a full farm, so plenty for the remnants. We filled stalls with fresh hay, filled troughs with feed and water. We found a stock of UHT milk in the cafe - the cows drank it down. The chickens accepted some drops.

We slept on the hay bales that night under tablecloths. It was cold and scratchy. But it didn't seem right to leave.

27. The Burden of Responsibility

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 05:31:00 +0000

17/11/08

It's been a few days since I wrote. Our routine has changed. We've kept up the phone and radio checks, the perimeter walk and the church bell. The rest of the time we've been up at the farm.

When we walked in that first day, it was absolute horror that we felt. Revulsion. The barn was set up to appeal to children - cartoon character animals and their names around the wall, speech bubbles. Everything cute and colourful. Hay bales were set out amphitheatre style so the children could watch the lambs being fed and hold the smaller animals.
At one side were a group of hutches and cages and a large aviary, filling the other end, pens. Each had a little info card 'Tilly and Ludo, Dexter twins, born January 08'.

We heard a movement as we walked in, but couldn't immediately see where it had come from. It smelled bad in there, the usual farmyard smell mixed with something much worse. The cages had bodies in them. The bodies of some of the rodents told of an uglier scene past, as animals trapped with no food turned on each other. The rabbits had died a gentler death, laid out as thirst or hunger took away their energy. In the aviary, small birds were littered the floor, the incubator was horrible - tiny chicks dry and eyeless. But that wasn't the end.

The first of the pens was covered with mesh. Inside, 6 young bantams blinked up at us. Scraggy, motionless, but still alive.
Then then the source of the noise, the goats - a nubian, a pygmy and an angora made themselves known to us, coming straight to the side. Their eyes perhaps duller than they should be, but they were on their feet and expecting food. The next pen was still and the main source of the smell - a litter of piglets, perhaps taken to early from their sow. The same with the lambs - kept penned in and motherless so that children could love them.
We could see that the next enclosure would have held cattle, but as we approached we couldn't see or hear anything to suggest they were there. It wasn't till we looked over that we saw there were 3. Lying listless, mouths open showing teeth. Flies sitting on the stickiness around their eyes. But their bodies still rose and fell with breath.

And so we gained responsibility and with it purpose, meaning. No more marking time. Now we were working against it. When they bring us out, it will be with those animals who had been trapped to starve and we will tell their story.

26. Two by Two

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 22:19:00 +0000

14/11/08

The World changes so quickly when it's only 3 square miles.

It changed when we entered the last barn.

We had thought we were truly alone - the fields were empty, the cattle stalls, the pig sties, the stables, the reptile house, the dovecotes, coops and aviaries, the pet shop. All the animals spirited away. Just like the horses.

The farmyard smells remained. Lingering to remind us of how much Life had been there and how much Life had left us.
The hay filled pens with the ghost of an impression where an animal had lain. The incubators, lights still on but empty of chicks or eggs.
How could they whisk them all away like that - I mean physically. How is it possible to empty a whole village of life while two people sit in the centre listening and waiting?

Thinking about that, talking about it made us reel, need to sit and take breath. The feeling of being forgotten, discounted, excluded - waves of the sickness I used to feel when I'd walk over to a group of friends at school; one would look up, make frosty eye contact and then turn back to the giggling huddle.

But we shrugged those feelings away. We'd excluded ourselves, we'd missed the information, but we could make them hear us, allow us back into the race. So we continued our search. Through the cafe. On through the play area - trampolines and bouncy slides and rope bridges - not today, the mood was wrong, but another day. Into the petting barn.

And there we found it again. Life.
Life and death.
Like walking into the Ark, but finding Noah had left, with the strong and wild, leaving the weak and the pathetic to fester. The end of their line.

25. Operation Stone's Throw

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 21:02:00 +0000

13/11/08

No one came today and we didn't hear any helicopters. The phones don't work. They didn't mention us on the radio. How can you evacuate and seal off an entire village and not make headline news? I guess it all happened when the elections were in full flow and the story got buried - perhaps we missed the one mention. We'll keep listening; part of the communications plan we started today.

Check the phones every morning and every night.
Keep the radio on whenever we're in.
Create big signs on the ground for air traffic to spot.
Find a CB or transmitter.
Build a fire.
Ring the church bell everyday.
Perimeter Patrol and 'Operation Stone's Throw'.

The first 2 are fine - we did those!

Big signs? We couldn't agree where or how and to be honest, I don't think we were in the mood today. Hopefully tomorrow we'll feel driven enough to get out there in the rain and set something up.

Transmitters - I'm not ready to go into people's houses. It feels wrong. B. says that's stupid - but I think he'll hold on a couple of days. It would be really embarrassing to admit to going through everyone's stuff after just 2 days of awaiting rescue.

Fire - If we don't do the signs tomorrow, we'll build a fire. Probably.

Church Bell - We did that and it was wicked!! The church was open. I'd like to say it was 'strangely comforting' but it wasn't. It was really cold and the human touches - the hymn books, the sunday school display, the 'flower' rota - really brought our desertion home. They say that the Church is the people, not the building, and now I know it's true. Anyway, we went straight to the bell tower (we didn't climb up - there's a hatch, but we're going to need a ladder to get up there) and we both picked a rope. It takes some power to get the bells moving, but once you do, wow, the sound is phenomenal. Cacophonal actually - and that's what we wanted.

Perimeter Patrol - We've agreed that we'll do this everyday, no matter what. We walk the full length of the wall - from the time it takes us to do it, I think it must be about 6 miles. As we walk, we run a stick along it (like a child enjoying the noise along railings). The surface of the wall is like the side of one of those... I think they're called containers... that carry cargo on trains and the backs of lorries. Ridged. And when you run a heavy stick over it it sets a deep, resonant clanging. We take 4 notes on rocks with us - one for each of the points where the wall crosses a road. We decided that was where check points were most likely to be set up and where people were most likely to chance upon the wall. East, where we first encountered the wall as it crosses the main road. North and South, both really quiet back roads. And West - the other end of the main road and the furthest out of the village, as the wall reaches out to include the 'Family Farm', "Where Daisy and her friends are waiting to meet you!"

I've just thought. We checked the houses, but we never checked the farm. Just skirted round it with the wall. Are the animals still there trapped in the barns?
That's the routine out tomorrow morning - we have to go and check. If they are there and they are alive, they'll be barely alive. How long has it been? 2 weeks since it all started? How long since everyone left? How long can animals survive in a barn?

I'm feeling quite wound up about this. I have to go talk to B.

24. Chocolate Milk

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 07:48:00 +0000

13/11/08

Life goes on, even when you're presumed dead.
You still have to eat.

After the hollering and the shouting and the walking and the throwing and after 24 hours of forgetting about being alive. We found ourselves thirsty and hungry.

And that was really nice. It brought us back round. And you know, when you've been left for dead and your village has been cut off from the world. There's certain things you can do, that no one's going to mind. And you might as well because everything else is rubbish. So go ahead and do it.

Walk to the Spar, walk right in and take what you want. Like in 28 days, but without the zombies.

And you know? The door wasn't locked. The shelves were full and the fridges were on.

We grabbed what we fancied and then rode the trolley back to the house, skidding and crashing and laughing; for cheese, sun-dried tomato & celery sandwiches (hooray for the preservatives in white sliced bread!), oven chips, chocolate milk, Heinz treacle pudding and Ambrosia custard. All rounded off with a mug of tea - whoever invented UHT is a genius.

Yes, Wednesday was a good day.
We'd sent our messages, help would come soon and in the meantime Farnsworth was ours, all ours!!!

23. Shouting

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 13:57:00 +0000

12/11/08

We woke this morning as if we hadn't woken. Nothing felt real.

But even in a dream, you move, you act, so we did.

First we talked:
What had happened?
Everyone else had had their instructions. They'd found the radio station, they'd had TV. They knew when to leave and they'd left us behind.
Why a wall?
The infection is still here. In the soil or the animals or the buildings. No one can enter.
But the people who left?
Were treated. Or it doesn't work that way, doesn't pass from human to human.
We're going to die?
It seems that way.
Why did they leave us?
We didn't come.
But our families?
They thought we were dead.
Are we?
Not yet.

We have to get out.
We have to tell them.
We have to make them hear.

Then we acted:
We wrote 100 notes on A4 paper with thick red markers.

"We are alive. We are trapped. We are well. Please send help at once. R. and B. 12/11/08"

We sealed each note in plastic and headed for the wall.

We shouted and screamed and hit the wall and kicked the wall and through rocks at the wall. I chose a stone, wrapped a note around it, secured it with tape and handed it to B.. B. hurled the stone high into the air up, up and over. We stood still, silently counting 1, 2,..., 60.

Then on 200 yards? 500 yards? and repeat. Count, listen, move on, repeat.

Till all our notes were over.

Just a matter of time.

22. Mute

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 07:14:00 +0000

12/11/08

I've been in shock, we've been in shock.

But I need to get down what happened when we went out.

I didn't want to, B. knew that. But we had to and I knew that.

We went out of the front - peeled the tape away, unlocked the door and stepped right out.
What were we expecting? Something. But it was still, silent, no change except for the leaves we stepped onto.

So we walked - first next door. No sign, no one there, no car. The next house - the same. And on.

I've never felt panic like that. All of my muscles constricted, impossible to move to breathe. Complete confusion, dizziness, sickness. Without speaking we just sat, in the leaves, on the road.

If the cold hadn't begun to creep around us, I don't think we'd have moved.
But the desire to keep living was there somewhere and it took us back home, where we stayed, holding each other, not speaking, for hours.

Finally B. broke the silence. "They're dead then."
"Everyone?"
"We need to know."

So we steeled ourselves. Wrapped up warm against the shock to come and left our shelter again. Every house on the main street we stopped at. Every one the same. Curtains open, doors closed, no sound, no life. We didn't speak, the silence ruled and it wasn't ours to break.

Then, finally, a change. Something new, unexpected. A barrier, visible, awaiting us further down the road, just where the houses stopped.

We ran, hurtled. This will be the checkpoint. This is where we get our information. This is where life begins again.

The closer we got the greater the fear, the fear that we could trust our eyes. What we saw was a wall, tall, white, metal, which stretched out both left and right. And we could hear it, an insistent crackle like a pylon. At the top circles of steel spikes. It had been designed to keep people out. Or in.

Still no words. We just started walking, following this snake, looking for the break, the entrance, the exit. Underfoot was earth, where obstacles had been cleared. We walked through gardens, fields, yards unhindered. The smooth white always beside us. And saw no one. Heard no one. Until, hours later we knew we had travelled the full perimeter and that our wall had no break, no entrance, no exit. And then we went home and lay, not knowing what to say or do or think. Letting the silence keep its reign.

21.The End of Things

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 21:26:00 +0000

11/11/08

Why did I call my diary 'The End of Things'?
Did I know?

It really is the end of things.

For us.

For me and B.

We went out.

There's no one there.

And we are stranded.

20. Nothing

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 11:47:00 +0000

11/11/08

It's 11:45

There's still no phone signal.
No internet.
No local radio.
No mention on Radio 4.
Noone outside.

In 15 minutes B. is going to peel away the tape and we will be committed.
To going out.
Without permission.

I
Don't
Want
To

But we agreed. I don't want to argue. And B. is right, we can't sit here forever.

13 minutes...

19. On Faith

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 09:08:00 +0000

11/11/08

When I was little I believed in God.

When I was a teenager, I was a Christian.

Now, if I weigh up the evidence, consider the arguments, it makes no sense.

But deep down inside in the core of me, I know that there is a god. Not necessarily as described on the tin. But there; and He cares and He listens.

So, when times are hard I find myself praying. Not kneeling, not with hands together and eyes closed. But thinking to Someone.

That's what I'm doing now, that's what I've been doing all night.
I can't stand another day of this.
And I don't want to have to step through that door without being told it's OK.

They will tell us. It's definitely 10 days now.
If there was a problem, they'd tell us.

18. Please Let Them Come

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 06:03:00 +0000

11/11/08

Please let them come,
Please let them come,
Please,
Let them come.

17. Anticipation, Frustration, Despondency

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 23:55:00 +0000

10/11/08

We got up really early this morning. In fact we were both wide awake before the alarm went off.
You can't imagine how excited we were - more excited than I'd expected. We were babbling away about seeing our families again, what we were going to eat, feeling the wind, what we'd say to the press...

It was great, better than setting off on holiday, with the car packed and the music on, heading for the sea or the mountains. It was better than waking up on Christmas morning knowing there's a load of presents waiting for you and that your loved ones were going to be so pleased with what you'd chosen for them.

The idea that we were going to do all the things we'd taken for granted and enjoying them so much more. The idea of telling everyone all about it. The idea of being free.

I took quite a long time getting ready - getting the hair straight, the make-up perfect, but keeping an ear on the radio. Meanwhile B. was systematically trying phones, testing the internet, checking out of the window, again and again in a loop.

We skipped breakfast - not to spoil whatever feast was coming shortly. I joined B. in the watch, but we heard nothing, had no signal and saw no change outside.

At about 10:00 we decided that we were going to give ourselves ulcers and tried to stop ourselves thinking about it by playing computer games - with the sound off of course. This was the 'watched pot' theory.

At 12:00pm we ate crackers with honey, then got changed and worked out for a bit. This was the 'sod's law' theory.

At 2:00pm we started discussing what time we could reasonably expect to hear. We decided that perhaps they'd delay till after working hours so loved ones could be there.

At 5:00pm we concluded that they must want to wait till after the rush hour to avoid traffic congestion.

At 8:00pm we agreed they were waiting till really late for minimum publicity.

At 11:00 I started crying, B. said he was going outside to find someone. I cried more. He shouted. I got hysterical. We both cried.

And now... we've come to an agreement. Perhaps the first or last day didn't count. Perhaps tomorrow is the day we go out.

They have till 12:00 pm tomorrow and then we go out.

16. Nothing to Report

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 22:07:00 +0000

09/11/08

It's 10:00pm and we still haven't heard anything. We still can't find a local radio station, the TVs still incomprehensible, the landline's dead and the mobiles have no signal.

It does say on the postcard that They'd '...be in touch nearer the time'. How much nearer can you get? And if it was safe to drive through with the loudspeaker and safe to deliver parcels, why isn't it safe enough to give us a bit of information? Argh it's maddening. Even B.'s getting wound up about it - boy are they going to get a tirade of complaints tomorrow!!!!

Oh well, we're drinking wine - the best bottle B. could find in the rack (I don't know how he remembers!!) and we found a jar of olives and some cheese straws. We made a bean chilli with a tin of tomatoes, a tin of beans and some dried chillies. Would have been nice to add some vegetables, grate some cheese on top and wrap it up in a tortilla with some sour cream. But it was still nice. We made it a candle lit dinner and even had coffee and (slightly crispy) After Eights. I had a genius idea to make the coffee nicer - add Bailey's. Why didn't I think of that before?

Our outfits are picked out, the alarm is set for 5:00 am, and I am really looking forward to tomorrow.

You know what though? I'm really glad this happened. It's been a really different experience and in many ways it's been fun. I'm also going to really appreciate so many things that I've been taking for granted. It's been a lesson.

15. Irrational Explanation

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 07:42:00 +0000

09/11/08

That really shook us up for a bit. We were near to going outside to look for hidden corners. But somehow we both accepted that at this late stage, going out would be pretty stupid and we know that field well. The horses don't disappear from view.

So we started digging for another rational explanation:

The owners got worried about them and broke quarantine to bring them somewhere nearer to them or more sheltered. Highly plausible - people with horses can be quite obsessive about them and likely to take extreme measures. But why didn't we hear them and where could they take them within the village?
The horses became desperate and managed to break through or jump over the fence. Reasonably plausible - the body can do extraordinary things when placed in a life or death situation, so maybe that's true for horses. However, last time we saw them they looked as though they'd got no motivation or energy left.
Local dogs have been shut out of their houses and have become a hungry pack capable of completely consuming 3 horses. Not plausible, and anyway we'd hear them howling!
'They' saw the horses plight and rescued them. Not very plausible; I can't imagine 'Them' saving horses unless to avoid an outcry later on. And anyway, we'd have heard them.
'They' saw the horses plight, killed them and removed the bodies. Slightly more plausible, except the shots and the helicopter/lorries would have alerted us!

We're going with option 1 as the least irrational explanation. I do hope that the people are OK. I also hope that they haven't caused an extension in the quarantine period.

Fortunately, we didn't let the disappearing horses throw us for long and we got back to the daily programme. We also watered all the plants, cut off the dead bits and wiped the leaves. 4 of my orchids have got new flower shoots coming. Life goes on!

We've kept the curtains open. Still no change out there. We're going to start trying the phones and searching for local radio again now. I expect I'll write again later tonight when things start getting exciting!

14. Horses

noreply@blogger.com (Rosey Haze) — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 09:15:00 +0000

08/11/08

Of course B. agreed to open the curtains.
At first it was great, watching the rain flooding down. It's one of those days when it rains properly and you'd be soaked the moment you stepped out of the door. We've always loved that kind of rain.
We were talking about my plan for the next few days, it was great, so exciting.

Then we noticed.

No horses.