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that precise moment I was too tired to care. If I was to die now, here in this loft, at least I had given the bastards a damned good run. I leaned back between the beams and closed my eyes, listening to the sounds below and beyond the house. A moment later I was asleep.
    But I was not to die and turn that day. I woke up a few hours later feeling well rested. The revenants had left the house of their own accord and I dared venture quietly downstairs, cleaver at the ready. Ideally I would have made the house secure and taken it over but having demolished the window in my flight the previous night I could see this would prove difficult. And besides, I didn’t have the tools. A quick glance out at the street beyond told me the place was still infested with revenants and I knew my flight from the stadium to here would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. Still, at least they had left the house. I was inclined to take it easy for a while. I returned to the kitchen and emptied out the drawers of everything edible I could find, also finding a torch and a few batteries, returned it to the loft then ventured back downstairs and into the shed in the back garden. Here I found a lump hammer with a long handle which would serve as a most useful weapon, although I had other intentions in mind. I returned to the loft and hammered through the wall into the loft of the adjoining property, dropped down and looted what food I could from there. I carried this on through the rest of the terrace. On several occasions I met the undead residents, none living, but I was careful and alert and when they appeared the lump hammer made short work of them. I still slept in the loft because only up here did I feel truly secure. Sometimes I would drop down into one of the bedrooms and peer outside and each time the same scene, the same revenants patrolling.

I stayed in that darkened loft for a month, leaving only to gather up a few meagre tins of food from the kitchen cupboards downstairs. For water I drank the contents of the immersion tank. Even here in the roof I could hear the moans of the revenants on the streets beyond, but never any screaming. The plague was too far advanced for that now and there were times when I imagined I might be the only human left alive. The irony of being trapped inside the loft although to all effects a free man was not lost on me. I suppose I was fortunate in that I was used to solitude what with all my time inside.

At the end of the fourth week I ran out of food. I had been limiting myself to one can of food per day and at the end of it I was left with nothing. The moans of the revenants never let up for a second. They did not sleep or rest. At that stage I imagined the crisis to be a temporary one, that the revenants would eventually starve to death or the government would come up with some sort of master plan, swoop in to take control. I supposed when that happened I would be taken back to jail, or perhaps I could take advantage of the confusion and pretend to be somebody else? Each day I looked out and still nobody came, still the same revenants and still no end to the crisis. It was only when I finally ran out of food that it dawned on me that perhaps nobody was coming, perhaps this was just the way it was going to be from now on. And in that case I wasn’t going to be able to stay here indefinitely. I thought long and hard about where I should go. I realised I knew nothing of this countryside, I had only been in prison here. My home, inasmuch as I had one, was in London, but there was no way I was going to go back there, because I knew full well what kind of state it would be in. I thought about my mother and the rest of my family back home there and was surprised to find I did not really care what happened to them. They had never once come to see me in jail and had sent me only the tersest letters every now and again. I did not blame them for effectively disowning me but at the same time I would not shed tears