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gunshot had disturbed a couple of walkers further up the street and they shambled towards Andy with food on their mind, too brainless to realise the danger. He waited with tried and tested patience for them to get within a metre or two before blasting first one, then the other. They both hit the ground with a thud.
    Andy walked on in the middle of the road keeping a wary eye out. Gunshots usually got some attention. Further up Troughton Road at the junction with Rathmore Road a group of about ten zombies milled around the gutted corpse of a small child. It was little more than a skeleton. Perhaps the creatures thought there would be more along soon. They groaned and milled in a circle occasionally bumping into each other.   Andy stealthily crept up on them using abandoned cars for cover.   He pulled the clip from a grenade and rolled it among the group of zombies.
    “Adios boys.” He yelled as ducked back under cover.
    A deafening, but brief, explosion filled the morning air. Andy peeked around the car to see the confused looking zombies crawling around on the floor, none of them now capable of chasing a healthy human.   He reached for the handle of a cricket bat in his pack.   He quickly smashed the skulls of any zombies still crawling around.   Among the desolation of the dead zombies, Andy smiled with satisfaction. He spotted a living rose bush in a nearby garden. He sniffed the sweet scent of one of the roses and gently snapped it from the bush and stowed it into his pack.
    Later, on Westcombe Park Rail Station, he used the last of his two clips on a number of zombies milling around in the station. During the course of the day, he had not encountered another living soul. He returned to his flat weary and footsore. He felt tired, but all in all he was pleased that it had been a productive and a satisfying day. Except it hadn’t been, not really. He felt bone achingly weary of it all. The constant killing and the loneliness. He did it with an almost mechanical efficiency. All the passion had gone out of his life and he’d had enough of it. The spiritual ache from the loss of Amy and Kieran seemed worse daily. Andy knew there should be an end to it. The day’s killing and the boom of the exploding grenade had given him an idea and for the first time in years, he felt happy that he now had a purpose.
    The following morning, Andy awoke and stretched stiffly. Breakfast consisted of porridge made with water and powdered milk on his camping stove. It was warm and it staved off the hunger pangs. He needed fuel for the day, plain and simple. He ate quietly and mechanically, thinking of the day ahead. Today was the fifth anniversary of Amy and Kieran’s death. He wanted to mark it in a special way, as he did every year. This day would be uniquely special. Today would be a battle and he tooled up with all he would need for the oncoming fight, grabbing equipment and stuffing it into his pack.   When he reached the base of the stairwell in his flat block, he grabbed his trusty mountain bike from the cleaner’s cupboard. The morning was cool but breezy. Andy took extra care cycling as he thought of his precious cargo. Walkers occasionally stepped out of the shadows towards him, but Andy was too fast for them. He skirted around the larger groups, it wasn’t worth the risk of going too close.
    As he saw St. Paul’s Cathedral in the distance he upped his pace. Dead streets flashed by and corpses littered the capital. A sudden pothole snagged his front wheel and he found himself thrown over the handlebars and hitting the deck with a heavy impact. Groaning he sat up and shook himself. As he stood, an excruciating pain in his ankle brought him to the ground again. He felt his ankle, grateful of his army first aid training and it didn’t seem to be broken, most likely a sprain. A loud groan brought Andy to his senses and he looked up to see a walker looming over him. Training kicked in and he grabbed for the pistol holstered at