The Last Girl Guide: Diary of a Survivor Page 4

  Marion's parents drove us down to their caravan, and we stayed for the weekend. Their dog, a scruffy, long-haired, Heinz 57 mongrel, called Hamish, stood on my lap the whole way down there, his face stuck out of the window and the resulting breeze blowing his hair so that it streamed out behind his head. He looked like a dog supermodel on a photo shoot.

  That was one of the best summers of my life. On the way back Marion surprised me by presenting me with a gift. It was a small trinket box she had bought at one of the seaside gift shops. I felt bad because I hadn't got her a thing. Marion was the only person ever to buy me a gift like that - not because it was my birthday or Christmas or any kind of occasion, simply because she liked me. Thinking about her gift made me feel a little sad, I had left the box back at the flat on my windowsill. I guess I couldn't see I would have much use for a trinket box anymore.

  We reached the lock then, and maybe that was a good thing, because I had to concentrate, so it prevented me dwelling for too long on things that I couldn't change.

  I should explain what a lock is. A canal lock is basically a chamber with gates at either end. By emptying or filling the compartment with water, your boat can move up or down onto a new section of the waterway. It’s how boats travel up or down hill. London is pretty much downhill all the way from here, which means there are going to be a lot of locks.

  It is not a terribly complicated procedure to use a lock – just a series of step-by-step tasks, and although there are many different kinds of lock, they all work pretty much the same way. With the lock gates closed, you use your windlass (lock key), which is a type of crank, to open sluices that let the water in or out. When the water level under the boat is the same as the level you’re moving to, you can steer your vessel in or out of the lock.

  I was certain I could remember all the steps, but if we were to have any chance of getting to London, I would also have to ensure that each stage was completed in exactly the correct order. If one lock got stuck, our journey would end right there.

  I made a list in my head and followed it, ticking off each step as I went. Who needs a pen and paper when you have an eidetic memory?

  First I tied up the boat so that the current wouldn't cause it to move when I opened the sluices. Then I walked down to check that the far gates and paddles were closed. Picking up my windlass from its holder on the deck I cranked open the sluice paddles at the end of the lock nearest to Mona. It worked surprisingly quickly. After a few minutes, the lock was almost full.

  As soon as the lock had filled with water, I opened the gate, went back, untied Mona and steered her in. Closing the gates behind us, I then lowered the sluice paddles. The final step was opening the paddles in front to empty the lock. My biggest headache was trying to keep the boat from banging against the sides of the lock as the water rushed out. The rope fenders helped a bit, but I still had to pull hard on Mona’s central lines to keep her steady as the current pulled the boat further into the lock.

  Sal seemed to be enjoying herself inspecting my work; scurrying backward and forwards to look over each side of the boat and check our progress. Suddenly, she picked up her ears, ran to the stern (that's boat for rear) and she stood up on her hind legs, front paws up on the taffrail. She let out a long, low growl. I knew what that meant - we had company.

  I willed the water to empty quicker, but with all the will in the world, it was not going to drain any faster. I heard the barking then too. It was still a distance away, but the dogs were approaching fast.

  The instant the water levels equalized, I opened the bottom gates, jumped back aboard and steered her out. Before the outbreak, when the canal had been in full use, I would have had to close the gates and lower the paddles again before I moved on. Thankfully, there was no need now. No one else would need to use the lock. It was just as well, because the second I opened up the engine Fang appeared, accompanied by his pack. There seemed to be more of them now, I counted at least fifteen, as they ran along the towpath at the side of the canal.

  They kept pace with us a while and then fell back, unable to keep up with the boat. As I increased speed and Fang and his pack disappeared into the distance, Sal and I began to relax. She sat beside me as we cruised along the waterway in the sunshine. Stroking her fur, I gave her a pat.

  Negotiating the lock on my own was not as challenging as I had expected. Maybe we will be able to get to London after all, or maybe I am just kidding myself. ‘One of the most cowardly things that ordinary people do is shut their eyes to the facts.’ - C. S. Lewis.

  18th July

  We, The Hunted

  I was on fire yesterday after we lost Fang and his pack. We got a lot further than I had expected. Sal and I ate our dinner on deck as we watched the sun go down over the canal, listening to the crickets chirping in the warm evening air. Last night, I laid cushions and blankets on the roof, and Sal and I slept out under the stars. There are so many of them to see now. The whole sky seems to be filled with them, billions and billions of tiny, white specks. I guess they have always been there, we just couldn't see them all. Now, without the city lights, the night sky is much more beautiful and so incomprehensibly vast, that I feel even more alone.

  When I look up at the stars, I invariably wish I knew more about astronomy. Stephen Hawking said the size of the Universe was “A million, million, million, million, miles," (that's one, with twenty-four zeros after it), but he was talking about the observable universe - that's the bit of our Universe we can see. It could be hundreds, thousands or even millions of times bigger than that. Carl Sagan said: 'The Universe is a pretty big place. If it's just us, seems an awful waste of space.' What if now, after the pox, it was just me? I guess that being alone in my room is not all that different to being alone in the Universe, it's just a matter of scale.

  Sal seemed to sense my melancholy. She buried her head in my shoulder, licking my chin with the tip of her tongue. It was rough, and it tickled, but it felt good to have her so close. I wrapped us both in the blanket, and we fell asleep, though sleep, for me, was fitful. I don't think I managed to sleep more than two consecutive hours all night.

  When our early-bird alarm went off around dawn, Sal was asleep, cradled in my arms like my old teddy Mr. Lou. I so loved that tatty old bear. I had him from when I was born. He had brown fur, beady glass eyes and he wore a bright blue jacket and yellow tie. I slept with him for years. He got terribly shabby. His coat became frayed, there were patches of fur missing from virtually every part of him, and one of his eyes had worked loose. It dangled on a thread and rested halfway down one of his cheeks.

  One day when I was about six or seven, I came home from school, and Mr. Lou was gone. I looked everywhere - turned the flat upside down. Eventually, I found the remains of his yellow tie smouldering in the remnants of a bonfire in the yard. Ma said she had been burning rubbish, that Mr. Lou was dirty and full of germs, and I was too old for a teddy bear now anyway. I never forgave her - it was one in a long list of cold-hearted cruelties that I never will have the chance to forgive.

  Today I had high hopes that we could put a good deal of distance between the dogs and us. However, according to the map, we had a long sequence of locks to negotiate. It would take us almost all day to pass through them, but once through, we would be close to a major retail park so we could stock up with enough food and supplies to last us the rest of the week. It will take at least that long to get to London, and that's if we don’t hit any major snags.

  It did take most of the day. There were ten locks, and some of the mechanisms were severely stiff. I smothered them with oil and still had to work the windlass really hard to get it to move at all. One, in particular, took me almost two hours to negotiate. At one point I almost gave up, I thought it ceased up entirely. I wrapped it in an oil soaked rag and went to get something to eat and to calm down a bit as I was getting frustrated. I even shouted at Sal for getting in my way, and she cowered at my raised voice. I felt ashamed of myself, so I went to make us some lunch, and w
e ate it together on the deck while I calmed down.

  If this was a taste of what was to come, then getting to London could take us months. Leaving the oily rag wrapped around the mechanism seemed to solve the problem, because, after our lunch break, I was able to open the lock and take Mona further down the canal. The only downside was that now, everything stunk of engine oil, which made me feel pretty sick.

  After my outburst, Sal kept out of my way. She spent most of the rest of the day snoozing in the sunshine on the fore well - that’s the higher level deck in the bow (front) of the boat.

  Working the locks in the heat of the day is hard work. I began to wish I had been one of those sporty, fit, types who ran and went to the gym, instead of spending most of my time sitting and reading books. Then again, look who survived. Where are they all those athletic types now?

  I rubbed my aching arm and shoulder muscles with Badger Balm from my medicine kit. By the time we get to London, if I keep this up, I’ll either be super fit or look like an extra from The Walking Dead.

  The sun was sinking low in the sky as I steered Mona out of the last lock. I poured some kibble into a bowl for Sal and cooked up a can of Chilli for myself. Junk food never tasted so good.

  I realise now that I should have waited until morning to go to the retail park, but I wanted to get going early as we had lost a lot of time today. So, I secured the boat, and we set off towards the road that ran along beside the lock house. I stuffed the hunting knife, flare gun, and a couple of cartridges into my backpack. Better to be safe than sorry.

  Sal trotted at my side like a proper little sheep dog. When I was a kid, I watched ‘One man and his dog,’ it was a TV show, a televised competition where farmers competed to see who had the best sheep dog. Sal looked just like one of those dogs as she trotted along beside me, holding her head and tail low and crouching down at the shoulders. They had a very distinct gait did collies.

  The retail park was massive, it had all the usual stores, but they were completely secure. In the end, I had to run at the large glass window with a heavy metal shopping trolley and even then the window mostly only splintered. There was one tiny hole where the corner of the cart had hit, so I used a brick and bashed it repeatedly until it was large enough for us to climb through.

  As soon as I had filled the trolley with supplies, we headed back to the boat. The sun was setting by then, painting the sky a vibrant, dark red. It reminded me of a song I once loved, by an old band called The Guillemots, it was called Vermillion.

  I sang as we wandered back to Mona, but I couldn’t remember all of the words, so I just made up my own using the same tune.

  Those men with faces like sorrow

  Are all gone for good

  How can anyone survive here.. all alone

  There's a store that has goods that I borrow

  Corpses all melted like snow

  How could anyone survive here?

  I stay on, stay on, stay on

  Because the sky remains vermillion

  And I'm singing on a concrete path

  Oh, we're all just candles in the dark…

  I never understood the words of the original song they didn’t make any sense to me, but they sounded so good together. I thought my lyrics were way better, though, at least they meant something. Sal's tail wagged, and she glanced up at me as we walked. At least someone appreciates my singing.

  Fang and his pack were waiting for us by the boat, they had been on board, and the towpath was littered with my stuff. They could not have failed to hear us coming - a deaf dog in earmuffs would have heard us coming. The metal trolley made a terrible din as it rattled along the rough footpath, and I had been singing like a siren with a death wish.

  They attacked as soon as they saw us. Sal, her teeth barred, moved forwards in an attempt to protect me. I told her to stay and swung the backpack off my shoulders. Pulling out the gun, I fumbled inside for a flare cartridge. I should have practiced loading that damned thing. They were feet away when I fired. The flare exploded at the front of the pack, hitting one of the animals in the chest, killing it instantly. The rest of the dogs scattered like cockroaches disappearing into the darkness.

  Salvaging what I could from the destruction on the quay, I loaded the boat faster than I ever thought would be possible and fired up the engine. The carcass on the quayside was still smouldering as we left. The air hung heavy with the scent of gunpowder and burning flesh. Remember, remember! The fifth of November, the Gunpowder, treason, and plot... Bonfire night! I chuckled hysterically as the irreverent thought popped into my head -fireworks and hot dogs…

  I quickly sobered as I noticed the moving shadows along the towpath. Up ahead, as the canal twisted around a small rise, Fang lifted his snout to the heavens and let out a long howl.

  I had no choice but to go on, having no doubt now - we are being hunted.

  19th July

  The Orphan's Mother

  Last night was a long night. We covered fifteen or twenty miles, maybe more. Negotiating locks in the dark was not easy, but I had little choice but to keep going if we were to put some distance between the dogs and us. I'm not sleeping anyway, so I may as well keep on travelling.

  Fang's pack had wrecked almost everything in the boat. Most of the packets and boxes of food had been ripped apart and consumed. A blanket, some clothes and one of my sketchbooks had been torn to shreds. The cabin looked like it had been hit by a tornado.

  It’s mid-morning now and still, I have not slept. We moored up on the east bank of the canal, and will continue to do that - unless Fang and his pack work out how to cross over from the west shore. There are bridges, of course, so from now on, I shall avoid stopping anywhere near one. Though that is easier said than done. Unfortunately, most of the locks and quays have bridges close by because they once needed to be serviced by roads.

  Beyond exhausted, I am in desperate need of sleep. Yet every time my eyes close, I find myself staring into the eyes of those dogs. It's like when the pox hit me. I never did tell you about that did I? You probably thought that as I survived, the sickness had somehow escaped me, but it didn't. Yours truly got struck down just like everyone else. The difference was, unlike everyone else, I got better.

  Ma went down with the pox first, by then everyone in our building was ill or dead. The hospitals had become mausoleums, crammed with the corpses of patients and doctors alike. The remaining population was left with no choice but to get on with dying on their own. I nursed Ma for a couple of days, washed her, kept a cold compress on her forehead and made sure she took plenty of fluids like it said in my Guide handbook. Then I got sick too.

  I remember nothing about those few days, except feeling bruised. It was as if I had gone ten rounds with the current heavyweight boxing champion. My eyes and skin were on fire, and my skull inhabited by a malevolent Leprechaun with a jackhammer. I threw up all over my bed, and there was no one left to clean it up, so I just lay there covered in vomit. I was so ill I didn’t even care.

  I’m not sure how long I lay there. It must have been days. When I came to my head was filled with a loud, droning buzz. The evil leprechaun having been replaced by a swarm of bees with an amplifier. The air smelled sweet and sickly. It made me gag, but I didn't vomit, there was nothing left inside to throw up, not even bile. My mouth felt like the Gobi desert. I reached for the half-filled tumbler of water on my bedside table. The movement made my head swim.

  Sunlight streamed in through half closed curtains, stinging my eyes and illuminating the patch of dried vomit on my bed covers. If I had mounted and hung the blanket on the wall, it would have made a passable Jackson Pollock.

  The room tilted and rolled as I struggled to get up. After drinking the water, I went to check on Ma, which was when I discovered that the buzzing was not inside my head.

  As I opened the door, a storm of flies swirled into the air in perfect synchronism, the Red Arrows of the insect world, pelting me like tiny missiles. Anxiously batting them away, my eye
s searched the dimly lit room for Ma. The seething cloud of black insects began to dissipate, and I saw her. Ma had evidently been dead a while. Her pale body had a putrid silver-green tinge. In places, her skin pulsated, writhing with maggots. Ma's eyes were gone.

  I didn’t sleep for weeks after, not more than a few minutes at a time. I would doze off just to be jolted awake by the sound of buzzing and that image of Ma - maggot filled holes where her eyes should have been.

  Now, that same feeling is back, and I cannot sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. I need to sleep. I don’t think I can do this on my own… Exhaustion makes cowards of us all.

  20th July

  Savages and Strangers

  The 'Glums' have gone. Ironically, after banging on and on about not sleeping, I managed to get a few hours sleep yesterday morning. I sat on my bunk scribbling down all my woes, and the next thing I knew it was early afternoon. Maybe writing the bad stuff down, like how I found Ma, was cathartic. Doctor Quinn used to say, “Better out than in.”