The first night in the game was a long one. Petrified by the surrounding monsters, I crept back upstairs, avoiding the creaky step, and headed to the granny-style bedroom. Within the room was a small window that overlooked the front yard and was covered with heavy lace curtains. I knew I had to develop some sort of game plan, so I decided to barricade myself inside with the food and empty lemonade can, which I had filled with water. I slowly slid the lounge in front of the entry door, hoping that afforded me at least a little more protection than being downstairs in the living area. That night, I plotted what I would do.
I decided that I had to try to accomplish a few tasks.
Task 1: Cover as much skin as possible as a form of basic armour.
Task 2: Arm myself as best as possible with what I could find in the house, so eventually I could venture outdoors.
Task 3: Explore the houses nearby, starting with the house to the left.
As daylight broke, light shone in through the lace, casting intricate floral shadows across the room. I looked out over the yard and thankfully spotted no zombies in the area. Phew! Although I had stayed up all night, for some reason I didn’t feel tired at all. Hungry, yes, but not tired. It was quite strange. I pulled open the box of cereal and munched on the dry rings, washing them down with some vaguely lemon-flavoured water. “Okay, let’s start here,” I said to myself. I opened the ensuite door and then the cupboards. I found a box of blood-pressure tablets, some paracetamol, some lilac hair dye and a packet of contact lenses. I decided to grab the pills and swap over from the glasses to the contacts, but leave behind the hair dye, knowing full well that lilac would not dye over electric blue. I opened the zipper to my duffle bag and was back in the menu screen. How am I going to put things in this bag? I looked down at the bag in the menu screen, puzzled. Hang on, I can fully unzip this in here then close it out there. I unzipped the bag fully and hit the X button.
Back in the ensuite, I tossed the two types of medicine inside and closed the zip up. Bizarrely, although I had put things inside the bag, I could feel nothing in it. Ooh, Mary Poppins style! Next, I headed over to the closet and found a walking stick and pair of men’s slippers. I knew the slippers were not ideal, but they were certainly better than nothing, so slipped my feet inside. The slippers fit exceptionally, which was quite the surprise. I head to the bedsides next. I located an old-style men’s watch that needed to be wound, a handkerchief and a book entitled Soldiers of the Western Front in one table, and a bottle of gardenia perfume, a few individually wrapped boiled lollies and a sewing kit in the other. Seeing that this was obviously the bedroom of an elderly couple, my heart sank a little thinking about what had possibly happened to them. Once again, I tugged at the zip of the duffle, opened it up fully and then closed out of the menu, throwing all of the items, bar the perfume, into it. This time, I decided not to close the bag until I had finished the room.
I walked over to the writing desk and opened the drawer. Inside was a tattered book in a leather cover; Hard Sloyd: Beginners’ Wood Crafts was stamped into the cover. Next to that was a short but sharp knife in a leather sheath and a partially carved small log. I picked up the book, flicking through the pages. About halfway through, an envelope fell out. I snavelled it up, folding open the unsealed flap. Within was a handwritten letter, in immaculate but somewhat hard-to-read cursive:
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
May 22, 1995
To whomever reads this, I hope the future is bright for you, unlike it is here.
This plague has taken everything from me. The children were the first to perish, playing in the street without a care in the world while the alerts had begun, and being scratched by the neighbourhood kids. Their parents – my son and his wife – too blinded by love, were next, unwilling to believe that the children had to go. They were bitten while attempting to tend to Johnny’s wounds. Putting a bullet in their heads was the hardest thing I’d done since the war. Lastly was my poor Gloria. As I held off the surrounding groups the best I could, Gloria ran out of her medication. I tried to get more from the nearby chemist, but there were too many monsters for me to handle with only two magazines left. She succumbed to her illness, so I am the last to remain.
News reports had said that this terrible virus was spread through bodily fluids only. With no-one left to protect and very little food remaining, I’ve decided to take a stand. I’m heading out on one last spree. I’m out to kill as many as possible and most likely die trying. I’m heading west, in my old army gear, with my Colt 45 and I’ll slaughter any monster in my path. For what they did to my family, I need vengeance.
Vale Gloria Brown, Paul Brown, Marcia Brown, Stacy Brown and little Johnny Brown, my beautiful family. May Saint Peter accept you with open arms.
Signed Robert Anthony Brown
Tears dropped down my face and onto the letter as I realised what hell I had been cast into. I grabbed everything in the drawer and put it inside my bag, zipping it up before shifting the couch out of the doorway. I grabbed my bat once more and gingerly opened the door, finding the landing and hallway as I had left it. I quickly walked over to the stairs, peering downstairs to check if anything had changed. Thankfully nothing had. Turning back, I started on clearing the other bedrooms, collecting bits and bobs and adding on more and more layers of clothing as I progressed. After clearing two further bedrooms, including the one I had started in when first entering the game, I had dressed myself in thick rust-coloured corduroy jeans, a long-sleeve crimson blouse, a chunky Fair Isle-patterned jumper, socks, a knee-length black leather jacket and thigh-high Doc Martin-style leather boots. Thankfully, it would seem Stacey Brown was gothic. That, combined with traditional daggy ‘90s dad attire, would cover me well for my journey outdoors. I collected from the rooms a pen, notebook, a very well hidden packet of cigarettes, a handheld mirror, a Walkman and some headache medication.
I had only one room left to tackle upstairs: the one next to the baseball bat I had pilfered earlier; Little Johnny’s room. As I walked though the door and panned around, the bunk beds, tiny desk and baseball mitt hit me like a ton of bricks. While I had briefly popped my head in here before when securing the house, I now looked at this room with a new, albeit depressing, appreciation. This little child, probably only about eight years old, had turned into a zombie and was subsequently shot by his own grandfather. Holy fuck. I thought woefully. In the drawer of the desk were only a couple of sheets of paper, a small stuffed bear and a box of crayons. One of the pieces of paper had a child’s drawing on it. It showed a large, black and tan shepherd dog with text underneath that read ‘Rat the dog. My neighbour and my best friend’. Involuntarily, I started sobbing. That settles it – I’m taking the dog!
