The night passed uneventfully as we rested together in a double bed, Rat curled up at my feet. As the sun rose and light flooded into the room around the curtains, we awoke. Today’s journey echoed the past couple of days; we planned to raid the house next door.

  I prepared a basic breakfast of avocado on toast with herbs. And to think, this wasn’t a thing back in the ‘90s! I also filled Rat’s bowl with a can of dog food, topped with a chopped carrot as a treat. We both scarfed down our meals. We did one final check of the house, pocketing another torch, some more dog food cans, a wrench, some Twisties, salted peanuts and the small cast-iron pan I’d cooked our steaks in the night prior. I also grabbed two large Thermos-style bottles, about two litres each, and filled them with water. Once well-fed and organised, we ventured outside.

  The house to the left was a single-storey brick home with a carport in the front and a large detached shed in the backyard. Strangely, the windows to the home had been boarded up with some questionable-looking planks. The doors were unboarded, but something told me it was likely they would be locked, if not booby-trapped. Rat and I approached the house as stealthily as could be. We first tried the front door and, to no-one‘s surprise, it was locked. We then circled around the home to the back door and found that too was locked. Not knowing how to pick locks, and with nothing useful to pry boards off windows, I thought we’d move on to the next house door. However, Rat seemed to have other plans. He turned around and scurried over to the shed, sniffing keenly at the door. I trailed behind, and upon reaching the shed noticed a broken padlock hanging off a latch. Feeling like this was quite suspicious, I warily removed the lock, opening the door.

  Inside the shed was empty. Aluminium shelving units flanked either side of the door, but with not a skerrick of anything left. On the back wall was a large pegboard with the shapes of tools drawn in outlines – but again, not a single tool remained.

  “Looks like this has been looted before,” I said to Rat, but he ignored me, sniffing energetically around. He made his way to the back right corner of the shed and looked up at me, seemingly beckoning me over, then looked down to the floor and started digging.

  “What’s there, Rat?” I asked him as I headed over, looking at the floor. That’s when I saw it: a small canvas tag sticking up from between what looked like two floorboards, and previously obscured by the shadow of the shelves. I bent down and yanked it, and a metre-square section of floor lifted up on a hinge to reveal a short staircase.

  This looks ominous, I thought, but as soon as the hatch was up fully, Rat bolted down the stairs.

  “Rat!! No! Come back!” I shouted.

  Rat’s clicking footsteps got quieter and quieter as he got further down. Oh god! I shuffled nervously, contemplating what to do. I walked back to the front of the shed and closed the door. Turning back to the hatch, I unzipped my bag, flinging myself back into the interface. I noticed that a couple more skill boxes were now filled, namely a box in culinary, half a box more in foraging, and half a box more in long blunt, completing the first box. Nice. I fully unzipped the bag, closed out of the interface and started rummaging for my torch and the wrench. I grabbed them, slid my bat into the bag and zipped the bag closed. I turned on the torch, holding it tightly in my left hand with the wrench in my right.

  I crept down the stairs and found myself in a small tunnel lined with aluminium tread plate.

  “Rat,” I called out quietly, but didn’t garner a response.

  A knot formed in my stomach as I prepared for the worst. I followed the tunnel for some time; it must have run the entire length of the yard, but, finally I reached another small set of stairs, leading up. I paused at the sound of heavy breathing. Allowing myself to take a deep breath, I stepped back slightly before powering up the stairs, illuminating everything in my path. Suddenly, out popped Rat’s cheeky face, panting steadily with his tongue flopped out of his mouth.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Geez Rat, you scared me!” I said to him as I climbed the remaining stairs through another hatch. I emerged inside a small kitchen and flicked on a light switch. Nothing much was left there, save for the large appliances and a kitchen table.

  Rat and I toured around the house, checking each area to ensure no-one remained. I suspect Rat had already done this, but better safe than sorry.

  The house was barren. Someone had once been here, but obviously they had left. We checked the bathroom cabinet: nothing. We checked the linen press: nothing. The kitchen cupboards and bookcases in the living room were also empty. Inside one bedroom, we opened a small built-in wardrobe and found two pairs of high-top military boots, a crowbar, a red canvas tool belt and a shabby notebook. I flicked open the notebook and realised it was a diary. The first entry was dated January 1, 1995. I sat the notebook on the bed and went on to the other bedroom. Another small closet was built into this room, but all that remained in there was a child’s empty Bananas in Pyjamas backpack. Bringing it out, I said to Rat “Do you want to have some lunch here before we move on?”. He twirled around enthusiastically at the word ‘lunch’, so I took that as a yes. I decided it was best to quickly secure our entrances and exits, so I went to the front door, checking if it unlocked. It did, so, locking it again, I swiftly descended the stairs, back into the yard tunnel, closed the hatch behind me and returned.

  I closed the kitchen hatch and shuffled the nearby fridge atop of it.

  I set down my duffle bag, torch and wrench, and went to retrieve the goodies in the first bedroom. Bringing them out into the living room, I clipped the tool belt around my waist and slid the wrench and torch inside. Easy access, I thought slyly.

  I opened the duffle bag and closed out of the menu, fetching a can of food for Rat, his bowl, and some Twisties for myself. I opened the can of food and tipped it into the bowl, setting it down on the floor for Rat while I sat down at the dining table, Twisties and diary in hand.

  I started reading the first couple of entries, which were pretty standard fare. It seemed the diary belonged to a middle-aged man and it spelled out what he’d hoped to do this year:

  “This year’s resolutions are to take Douggy camping every month, spend more time at home and not in the bloody office, and finally put that fishing rod to use!” I flicked a few more pages in and noticed a change in tone.

  “I’m getting a bit worried about the virus overseas,” the February 3 entry read. “I know it’s not here yet, but it’s only a matter of time until it comes along,” it laments.

  Flicking further on into March, the diary detailed how Douggy had been taken out of school. It told of how Kerry, presumably the man’s wife, thought he was overreacting, and that his ‘survival obsession’ was becoming too much.

  Moving onto April 10, it seemed the virus the man described had started to take hold. “It started up in Brisbane – a bloody tourist visiting the Barrier Reef brought it in! The bastard started biting and the rest is history,” he wrote. “Kerry finally believed me when she called her mum and was told that she had been bitten. Now she’s finally agreed to take Douggy and the dogs down south. I’ve packed up everything that’s useful from the house and the shed. We’re going to head off tomorrow, first thing. If it comes to it, we’ve got the tunnel so we can get out the back. Apparently you can knock their heads off because the muscles in their necks become weak, so I’ve loaded up with our bats and axes.”

  The last entry, dated April 11, read like a goodbye. “The news says they’ve reached Newcastle. They’ve closed up the highway with a police barricade near Toronto, so we’re making a move. Kerry and Douggy are scared, but now think I’m a bloody legend for all of my preparations. ‘Be prepared’ I was taught as a Scout, so here I am. I’ve left yous behind some good boots and Douggy’s left his backpack, so if anyone comes here that needs it they can have some decent gear,” the entry read, concluding with “Wish us luck!”.

  Rat, who had now finished his meal, sat beside me with his head on my lap, begging for Twisties. I fed him one before standing up and walking over to put on the military boots. They’ve got to be more sturdy than my current ones, I thought as I swapped them over. I looked towards Rat, checking under his bandage to see that the small cut had healed. I jokingly placed his front paws in the other set of boots. In the blink of an eye, the boots had shrunk and now were his size.

  “Aww how cute!” I said to Rat. “Must be another one of those game things – any clothing piece fits anyone.” I turned him around and placed his back feet into the tall Doc Martins; they also shrunk down.

  Rat looked at his new boots quizzically, but took to them well, only taking a couple of rounds of the living room to get over the classic ‘dog in shoes’ walk. Pondering this new revelation of shrinking clothes, I put the child’s backpack on Rat and watched with glee as it shrunk to be perfectly dog-sized. Now Rat could carry some bits and pieces on his back and his feet were protected!

  Bolstered by our new knowledge and Rat’s adorable adornments, hope started to enter my mind.

  “If they can escape, we can too!”