Do you have any idea what it was like to jump overboard with tins of pineapple and tuna in their bags, like some people did, and then expect to swim? I’m surprised no one drowned.
It’s night time. We’re trying again. Back in the hospital, as soon as I heard about a boat, I covered everything I had in plastic bags. Whatever it takes to keep my stuff dry.
I’ve just wished Rachel and Ediz all the best. Again. This one feels like we might actually die, especially if we jump into the water again.
This is potentially my final entry. We’re in sight of Sicily for the second time today. The owner of the boat says he’ll get us as close as possible to the coast but he can’t risk beaching himself. We’re going to have to swim and avoid the rocks. I can’t swim all that well with a backpack, nor in heavy waves. If anyone finds this diary, floating through the water, please let my parents know that I’m aware that I’m about to do the dumbest thing ever in my life in about half an hour, but I don’t have much choice. I would like to say that I’m not going to stop swimming, but I haven’t eaten today and my legs are shaking from hunger.
I can hear the dead thrashing about in the water. They’re coming for us.
6 November
I didn’t die. Rachel and Ediz didn’t die either. Three of our people never reached the coast. We believe they drowned. We had to jump earlier than we expected because the coast guard started shooting at us. Someone shouted into the dark: “We’re Italians! Don’t shoot!” They shot anyway. We scattered like rats and dove into the water. It was only as I got my first breath of air that I realised I had jumped in the wrong direction. Everyone was calling everyone else’s name to make sure they were still alive. I had stuffed two life jackets into my pack to keep it afloat. It was probably what saved my life. By the time I got to where everyone else had started they were long gone and I was way behind.
My watch is dead. It got smashed. I liked that fucking watch. I ditched it. Even though it barely weighs a thing, it weighs something. I’ve had it for six years and now it’s lying on a beach in Sicily.
Incidentally, this is my first time in Italy. It took me almost an hour of lying on the sand before I had the strength to stand up. I think I was swimming for more than an hour. People swam in to help me onto the shore. They say I was moving so slowly they thought I was a zombie.
Part 2.
We’ve split up. Most of us didn’t want to but we were too big of a group to walk through Sicily and go unnoticed. There are six of us travelling together. We’ve had to duck a few times to avoid the police. No doubt the coast guard have called us in. People will be actively looking for us.
7 November
Motherfucking Italians. So we were caught. Are we in a police station? No. Are we in an internment camp? Yes. Are we segregated by race? Yes.
We were split up, shoved onto different buses, and Ediz’s went first. We haven’t seen him since. He looks Middle Eastern so that’s likely a draw back. Simon, Rachel, and I were on the second bus. We haven’t seen any Italians in our camp, aside from the authorities. We all have Red Cross style care packages. I ate my biscuits and drank my water. There’s no easy way to say this but we’re … sitting in a death trap, surrounded by fences covered in razor wire, and make no mistake about it, we are all prisoners, caught for being illegal immigrants, and we’re going to be treated with the harshest of penalties.
We haven’t entered the main facility yet. We still need to be processed by a doctor and have our stories verified. That should be fun, considering I have a massive gap in my recent history from lining up in front of Gibraltar to suddenly arriving in Sicily with a Brit who definitely came from Tunis.
We’re just sitting around, waiting to see if we succumb to an infection. Maybe we’ll go on a hunger strike. Will that stop the authorities? What would they care? If we starve, we starve. One less person to worry about.
Some of the people around here were backpackers, travellers, guests, just like us, except most of these people never left Sicily. The camps have been around for six weeks or so. It’s been in all the papers, apparently. How the hell did we not hear about this? Here I am, another illegal immigrant and I’m rounded up in a concentration camp. They keep saying it’s not a concentration camp, but it certainly feels like one. We’re all smooshed in here. English, French, Germans, Australians, even some Spanish people, which makes me feel right at home again. They speak good English here, except the Italian guards remember their English only when it’s convenient.
8 November
Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, fucking waiting, nothing to do but waiting. I hate waiting. We’re still not zombies. Waiting.
9 November
Wow, we finally got to see a doctor. I am happy to report that I am not a member of the league of undead. Take
that
asshole doctors! Nor is anyone else who travelled with us. That means we get to go into the bigger internment camp! Yay us.
What a novelty this is. Waiting in line for food packages, standing around and making small talk. Can’t wait to do this again tomorrow.
Rachel’s made a friend, a girl who seems miserable all the time. Rachel really needs to aim a little higher. I was able to joke around with Simon a bit, but he’s pissed off that he’s a senior journalist who’s had all of his BBC access denied by the locals. Whenever he complains to the Italians they remind him that he is an illegal immigrant and doesn’t belong here. Simon doesn’t have a legal leg to stand on. None of us do. We need to be grateful that there are walls and fences between us and the horde of undead. But I’ve seen those things run, climb, swim, and blow themselves up for a good cause, so these walls and fences don’t really mean shit in terms of keeping us alive, they’re just here to force us to behave.
We sleep six to a room in bunk beds. It seriously feels like a locked-in school camp. All of the women are in one half of the compound, all of the men are in another half. I see Rachel each morning and we ask each other if we’re okay. We see each other before heading off for the night. Simon spends most of his day talking to everyone, getting their life stories. Always a journalist.
It was election day yesterday in the States. It was the lowest turn out in over a century. Most people just wanted to avoid being out in the open. The police and military were in position to protect voters but it wasn’t enough. Over a hundred separate attacks were reported. Some zombies had suicide vests, others targeted car parks, train stations, and shopping malls. Lots of people died. Only the hardcore voters came out, and in equal numbers too. They still don’t know who won the election. There are plenty of reports of electoral fraud, rigging, and talks of going to the supreme court. On top of that, there’s a large discrepancy between the popular vote versus the electoral college numbers.
By the way, it’s now taboo to use the phrase ‘die hard’. ‘Hardcore’ is more appropriate, I’m told. I wonder if Hardcore with a Vengeance is now the most torrented film on the interwebs.
10 November
There were gun shots last night. I’m going to assume that no one tried to escape, but rather the zombies are getting closer. We’re trapped behind a chain fence that I’m sure can be climbed with ease. The razor wire might be an issue if you’re worried about losing a lot of blood, but that’s only a concern if you’re a human trying to get out. If you’re a zombie trying to get in then a little razor wire won’t be a problem, because right in front of you will be a feast the likes you’ve only dreamed of; a thousand warm blooded bodies to bite and turn.
More waiting. More care packages. I got so bored I hung around a few Germans and English guys talking about rugby. I know dick about rugby. By the time we get out of here I’m going to be an expert without every having seen a game. There are some people playing handball against a wall and it occurred to me that this is exactly what they would do in prison.
11 November
More gun shots last night. Lots of gun shots. There were helicopters in the middle of the night, search lights, and we all crawled to the windows to see if we were in trouble.
Even when there aren’t gun shots I wake up flinching. The beds squeak. The doors creak. People snore and groan. People are restless when they can’t sleep so they toss and turn and wake the rest of us up.
According to Simon, who’s done his research, the zombie outbreak in Italy and Sicily is far worse than reported, potentially by a factor of ten. According to my latest figures I had 6,000 infected. Simon is sure it’s upwards of 50,000. There are 5,000 of us locked away in here and the compound is full. A single zombie can infect us all. If it’s able to infect just a couple of people it won’t take long before everyone is ripping each other apart.
Simon has also come to the rescue with information. It can take just a few minutes to convert a human to a zombie. The closer you are to death the sooner it takes to turn you into one of them. It’s all about the quantity of infected blood or saliva that enters your blood stream. In real terms, a simple scratch or a wound that requires a band aid won’t turn you into a zombie. You might get sick, like with the flu, but you probably won’t turn. You might die from your wound, though, as it is resistant to healing and will kill your immune system. By then the common cold will be strong enough to end you. If a creature mauls you to death you don’t stand a chance. Within a couple of minutes you’ll rise again. Some of them remember their names upon rising but that quickly fades. One backpacker here lost her husband. She was staggering backwards after the attack, looking at him as he started to move again. He seemed to remember his name. An hour later he had no recognition of her. She kept screaming his name and he ignored her like she didn’t exist. He just walked the other way. So, I guess, zombies aren’t out to kill everyone, they’re here to follow a plan. She followed him for six hours before someone shot him in the head.
12 November
Simon came to me this morning telling me not to go anywhere without seeing someone’s ID. He said people are being shipped out as part of a forced labour crew. We brought Rachel in on the conversation and she thought it would be a good idea to pretend to be sick. Simon cautioned her about that, saying that if someone thinks she’s sick then they’ll quarantine her for days to see if she’s been infected by a zombie. Simon is convinced that we don’t want to take that risk. So what? We either lie in bed with a doctor keeping his distance or be used as slave labour. What’s the problem in lying?
We spent the day trying to contact the British embassy but we’re shit out of luck. They want to know how we got from Tunisia to Sicily. By boat. They wanted official details and they didn’t like that we’re potentially spreading the infection. They’ve taken the hard line that we must follow the rules at all costs and we should’ve stayed in Tunisia. That’s quite a stand. Simon isn’t surprised. Everyone is on lock down, in damage control, and the governments are trying to stop the spread of the infection. The problem is the infection is already in every country.
The situation is Korea looked to be pretty good until last week. Then there was an outbreak from the North. Thousands of zombies hurried across the borders of China and South Korea. Some swam all the way to Japan. Mines went off, shots were fired, but enough made it through to fuck shit up. I’m told that 50,000 South Koreans died in the first night alone.
13 November
No, I won’t fucking calm down! I brought my bag to the shower like I always do. It is never more than a metre away from me. I closed the shower curtain over and when I was done someone had gone through my backpack and had helped themselves to whatever they wanted. They took my phone, toothbrushes, my toothpaste, my cans of food, a couple of t-shirts, my first-aid kit, a pen, and some paper. What the fuck? Why the hell would someone do this to me? I want to punch out any fucker who walks around wearing one of my t-shirts. I’m going to rip their fucking head off. Seriously. You fuckers have been in Sicily this whole time in a lap of luxury compared to the shit storm I’ve had to go through. I had to become a thief to survive, so you can bet your ass that I will beat the fuck out of whoever robbed me. And my fucking phone? That had all of my photos on it, all of my contacts, and is utterly useless to anyone else! It’s my fucking phone! Mine! God fucking damn it I want to find the bastard who robbed me and just strangle him until his eyes pop out of his head. It will be worth it just to find him.
14 November
I hate this place so, so much.
16 November
Rachel’s gone.
I saw her at breakfast. We said hello. She told me the women in her quarter had a doctor’s appointment. I was in my room, waiting with my bag for anyone who looked guilty or shouldn’t be in my room. Justin came along to say that a bus just took twenty women away. My stomach dropped and I went to make sure Rachel wasn’t one of them. I went to her room and it was empty. Everyone who used to be in there is now gone. Their bags are gone, the beds were stripped. I asked around. The women saw Rachel being led off into another room. Those who went in that room haven’t been seen since. They did hear a bus, though. Justin saw it drive away.
So Rachel is gone and I never said goodbye. I haven’t heard anything from Ediz either. Or Katy. Or Sofia. Or anyone else who survived Madrid. Only Simon is still here and he’s apocalyptic with anger. They won’t let him talk to the embassy either.
Rachel’s departure hasn’t quite sunk in yet. She’s pretty much been in my line of sight every moment for the last four months.
18 November
I have a doctor’s appointment today. They gave me a slip of paper at breakfast with my name scribbled on it to meet at 11 o’clock. Everyone else in my room has a similar piece of paper. Maybe they’ll take me to wherever they took Rachel. Either way I doubt I’ll see this place again. No idea where I’ll be sleeping either. They still won’t tell me where Rachel is. I’ll ask the doctor today. If I don’t like the answer I’m going to punch him in the fucking face.