In the morning, I moved my car back in my driveway to discourage the knockers, and went back to the house they had broken into. I took a large backpack and searched thoroughly. I was surprised; the knockers had left behind lots of the good stuff; pasta, flour and an unopened packet of porridge oats. I found a tube of tomato paste, a bottle of pepper sauce, and hidden in one of the revolving corner cupboards was a jar of golden syrup. I took almost everything, even some of the seasonings and baking ingredients. I could use the internet to find some recipes. I missed toast, and surely I could make bread at home? That afternoon I tried making flatbread, it wasn’t exactly a success, but it was edible.
I combed the estate, going out early to avoid the knockers, and only picking houses they had already broken into. I collected a lot of half opened containers of sugar and coffee, lots of condiments and oil. It was surprising what people left behind. I also picked up firewood and charcoal whenever I found them. Few people had open fires in their houses, but a surprising number had wood burning stoves. Often, if I could get into the garage, I would find a bag or two of chopped wood. I stored the wood in my neighbour’s garden and began searching for a barbeque; something to cook on. The first one I found was a tiny portable thing, round and coloured like a football with a domed lid. I soon upgraded when I found a better one, and then upgraded that several times more. I wanted to make sure that if the gas stopped, I would still be able to cook food and keep warm.
Mum called one afternoon a couple of weeks later, ‘Z, I’ve found some dried chickpeas in a cupboard in the kitchen,’ she said, ‘do you think they would grow?’
‘Try germinating them on damp paper towel’ I replied, ‘Do you have any left? Or tissues?’
I heard her calling Vik, there was a muffled shout back, and then she replied, ‘we have some boxes of man-sized tissues’
‘Put a couple of tissues in a take away container, add enough water so it is completely damp, then place the chickpeas on top, spaced out, one per square inch,’ I said, ‘leave them somewhere warm, maybe on a sunny windowsill during the day, and then in the airing closet at night.’
‘Ok’ she said.
‘Check them each day; if they sprout tiny white roots, then they can be planted outside.’
‘Great, thanks Z,’ she replied, ‘but will they grow in the UK?’
‘Yes, but mum,’ I said, ‘chickpeas only give two peas per pod. It’s going to be really time-consuming picking off the pods and shelling… it might not be worth it.’
‘Well I’ll have a go,’ she replied, ‘there’s no harm in trying.’
‘I could come over,’ I said tentatively, ‘Bring some seeds? It would be nice to see you guys.’
Mum replied immediately, ‘No, it’s too dangerous, we’d love to see you too, but after what happened in the park, you’re safer where you are.’
‘But there are not as many people around as there were,’ I said, ‘Lots of people moved out of the city, when they stopped distributing food.’
‘No Z,’ she paused, then continued more softly, ‘what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’ I said. How could I explain that I felt lonely, when I had been so adamant that I was fine on my own?
It was still light past 11pm, and one evening, as I wandered, bored, around my bungalow, too hot to sleep, I remembered the joy of speeding down the hill on my bike. Maybe it would feel cooler… I retrieved my bike and slowly peddled around; ending up at the top of a slight hill on the far side of the estate. I looked down the hill and began to peddle, faster and faster. It was exciting and I felt reckless, the speed combined with the danger. I glided round the estate, looking at the houses that had become so familiar. As evening fell, I saw lights switch on in one house, and a TV flickered light through the windows of another, the music blaring in the night. I stopped, listening; it was unmistakably Jurassic Park.
The next morning I found myself staring at bikes as I scavenged. Maybe I could get a better bike, something with paniers so I didn’t have to heft the stuff I found in my backpack. Most of the bikes I saw were better than the one I had brought from home, and eventually I found something suitable. I ‘borrowed’ a large robust bike for carrying stuff; it made life so much easier, and soon after, I also acquired a super-light road bike that I used for speeding around the estate in the evenings.
It was the last Friday in July when I rang home and no one picked up.. The call the previous day had gone as usual, a discussion of what we had harvested and meals we had made. New ideas we were thinking of trying, some speculation on how friends were doing. Mum recounted a weird dream she’d had during the night, Vik reported on the new garden he had explored that day, cheerfully describing the pear tree he had found.
When they didn’t pick up the phone immediately, I didn’t think anything of it. We had avoided using the landlines, because although they were more likely to work, a ringing phone was very audible, now that there was no traffic or ambient noise. We were using our mobile phones on silent instead, and sometimes, if you were busy, you just didn’t notice it was ringing. I rang a couple more times that evening, but when they still didn’t answer, I began to worry. What could have happened? I fretted as I prepared and ate dinner and then decide; I would walk over and see.
It had been months since I had left Carpenders Park. The time in the garden had been very relaxing, but I didn’t really know what was going on around me. The news sites had been reporting less and less and I was now getting most of my information from the forums. One of the posters had described gangs on mopeds, who were siphoning fuel from parked cars, and another had mentioned packs of dogs roaming around.
I was an animal person before the outbreak, but I had no idea how a dog would behave if it were starving; they were descended from wolves after all. Most of the cats seemed to be doing fine; they had been nocturnal hunters before the outbreak and friends had often described how they would wake up to presents of dead mice from their lovely pets.
I was glad there were cats around, as they probably kept the rat population down. Dogs however, were not used to feeding themselves. I had assumed that they had been put down by the army, now I wasn’t so sure. I wouldn’t want to be in the open, surrounded by a pack of feral spaniels, poodles, and Labradors, which seemed the most common breeds in my area. I could only be glad that German Shepherds and Rottweilers didn’t seem to be so popular any more.
It was July so no deliveries had been made for three months. There were enough empty houses that remaining survivors would have been able to scavenge food but what about large groups of people, like those behind the barricade? They must have moved away like my neighbours; there was no way they had enough food to stay. Anyone left would be desperate; gangs on mopeds sounded about right. So if I walked to mum’s I could be facing feral dogs and dangerous gangs, but there wasn’t any question really, I needed to know they were ok.