Had a dream last night. Me and the Mrs were making love. Not the usual hard out, hundred miles an hour, self gratification stuff. Slow and methodical. Her on top smiling down as we get a slow, steady rhythm going. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation. When I open them again it isn’t her. Well, it is her, but she has that dead look in her eyes that the Slovs have. Her skin is pale and her face gaunt and haggard. I know she has turned. I throw her off and run from the room, out on to the street. I’m naked and defenceless, but I don’t care, I just need to get away from her – the ‘her’ that she has become anyway. She’s coming out of the house to follow me. But it isn’t her. It’s Jeff. He’s covered in mud and there’s bits of grass and splinters of wood sticking out of his hair. He’s also one of them. His fingernails are all broken and bleeding. He lurches down the steps towards me. He says: You buried me alive. I thought we were friends you bastard! I stagger back and fall and hit my head on the road. When I open my eyes it’s all dark and I feel that I’m in a box. In a coffin, buried alive. I shout out and sit bolt upright. I’m really awake now, but in my room. I gave my roommate a hell of a fright, he had grabbed his gun and was ready to do battle – being a Special Forces guy trained him to have the reactions a viper. I calm down and call out Pigeon and everybody in the house relaxes.
Pigeon was one of our passwords to get into the barracks some time back in the old camp. All us civvies thought it so stupid that it’s become our safety word since then to let everyone know things are all clear. If there was such a thing anymore it is a word that would be put into the Urban Dictionary because the vast majority of the existing human race, those with more than two functioning brain cells, use it on a day to day basis.
Adam started crying and his minder got up to settle him down again. I don’t know if I mentioned before, I’m living in one of the houses near the airport with 5 others, well six if you count Adam the baby. It’s a 3 bedroom and there are 2 sets of couples, and myself rooming with one of the SF guys. He’s not too bad. Doesn’t give two turds about anything but being out in the wilds killing things. We share what appears to have been a room for two little girls. The two single beds are too short for each of us, but beats those cold, hard army cots. Everything is all pink and frilly. The room is full of little plastic ponies with long strands of excessively bright nylon hair, stick thin dolls dressed as princesses and magic wands with glitter and stars all over which make electronic sounds when shaken about. I’ve decided to leave the place as it is. It reminds me of the humanity which once existed. An innocence we are unlikely to see again for some time. Not, at least, until Adam is old enough to appreciate things like toys and fun. Right now all he cares about is food, sleep and dry nappies. I don’t mind him waking in the night – though tonight was because I gave everybody a fright. I don’t sleep too well most nights anyway so when he does cry, it is just like an alarm to bring me back to reality and check everything is still alright around us. I’ve never really been one for kids, and my wife and I decided early on in our relationship we weren’t having any. A piece of me always wonders what it would be like to have a mini version of me running around though. Guess I’ll never find out. Perhaps Adam and I could become mates when he is a little more interactive.