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explosion from behind me. Sanders slumped to the ground, dead, a bullet hole in his forehead. The headphones he'd been listening to fell out, and the room, now seemed to fill with the sound of tinny thrash metal.
    “It's over,” Kim said, before dropping the gun and collapsing to the floor.
     
    12:00, 26 th June.
    After Kim collapsed last night I didn't really know what to do. Unable to lift her, and unsure where I would carry her to even if I could, I covered her with a duvet. I threw a blanket over the corpse and picked up the mp3 player. As I turned it off, I saw that a corner of the room was littered with discarded smart phones, mp3 players, tablets and laptops. Going by the number of devices and variety of brands, they must have been taken from every house in the neighbourhood and beyond.
    I was thirsty. I was hungry too, but I’m used to putting hunger to one side. I glanced around and saw a porcelain jug of clearish liquid by the table. I lifted it and took a sniff. It was water, but not fresh. Probably, it came from the lake. Would Sanders and Cannock have thought to have boiled it? I put the jug down and glanced around. There was a cooler by the bed. I rooted around in it and found a solitary bottle of iced-tea.
     
    Unscrewing the cap, I walked over to the window and peered out. Perhaps it's the lack of light pollution, but the moon seems brighter these days. I could clearly make out the individual zombies heading down the drive towards the house. The sound of the two men's screams, the single, unmuffled shot, and the constant thumping of bodies hitting the ground, all put together it had been enough to summon the undead from miles around. There weren't enough to call it a pack, let alone a horde, but enough that I was beginning to feel that familiar sense of being under siege.
    I lifted the rifle and peered down at Them. Through the green and white magnification They resembled nothing more than a ghoulish parody of the horror They represented. My injured arm began to twitch with pain. I set the rifle down and picked up the torch, intending to go and ensure the house was secure. I walked over to Sanders' body. I hesitated. I couldn't face the idea of retrieving the hatchet. Instead I picked the pistol up from the floor, telling myself that it was better, that if I needed to use it, the sound would wake Kim. I didn't believe the lie.
     
    I went back downstairs, slowly, listening out with each step, but all I could hear was the creaking of wood and the sound of my own laboured breathing. I found the door to Kim's cell easily enough. It was still closed. Standing with my ear pressed against the wood, I thought I could hear the undead outside, pawing at the broken window frame. I looked around for something to barricade the door with, just in case. There was an abundance of ornamental furniture dotted along the corridor. Ornately embroidered chairs that were never meant to be sat on, well-polished benches and delicately engraved cabinets containing now worthless antiques.
    I half carried and half dragged them all over to the doorway. The barrier was up to chest height before I realised how stupid I was being. They can't climb, so there was no way that They were going to get through the broken window. If the zombies did, then the door wouldn't open unless They were able to turn the ceramic door knob. If They managed that, then since the door opened inwards, then all They would need to do to get through the barricade is push. That is something the undead do well.
    I collapsed into one of the chairs, throwing up a cloud of dust, and just sat for a while. I don't know for how long. Perhaps an hour, perhaps more.
    When I came back to myself, I remembered the keys. The keys Kim had used to remove the cuffs. The same keyring would surely have the door key on it. I was certain that it was still in the room, discarded next to the handcuffs. Wearily, I unstacked the pile of furniture and opened the door.
     
    The moment I