Chapter Fifteen

Lester had just started his final can of beer when it finally began. For the briefest of moments he'd actually managed to become distracted with pointless, random thoughts about nothing in particular and he'd almost forgotten what was about to happen. The sudden sharp crack of splintering wood brought him crashing back to reality. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the garden fork, holding it out in front of him like a four-pronged bayonet.

The fence had given way at the other end of the garden, nearer to the house. It was difficult to see much from his present position, but he was vaguely aware of dark, swarming movement around the building close to the garage door. It was frighteningly indistinct and random, but something was definitely happening. The fence - already weakened close to the house - now began to bow and buckle about halfway up the garden. Lester watched as it dipped further and further down, finally dropping so low that he could see the heads and shoulders of the dark, relentlessly advancing bodies on the other side. Their direction, although to a large degree random and uncoordinated, was obvious and inevitable.

As the first few bodies began their stilted, awkward walk towards him, Lester took up position in front of the graves of his family. His heart began to thump angrily in his chest. What would they do to him? Were they capable of an attack or would they just trample him down? He couldn't look away. His gut-wrenching fear made it impossible for him to do anything but stare directly at the dark advancing shapes. He wanted to stop them. He didn't care what they did to him, but he wanted to stop them from trampling the graves of his wife and daughter. I might not have been able to tell you how I felt about you when you were alive, he thought, picturing Maddy and Janice in his head, but I can show you now...

As the closest bodies lifted their weak, emaciated arms out for him, Lester lunged forward with the garden fork. He smashed into the chest cavity of the nearest cadaver, skewering it and sending it crashing to the ground. He wrenched the fork back out and swung it around at other shadowy shapes, catching one of them on the side of the head and practically decapitating it. Fuelled by adrenaline and fear he attacked again, diving deeper into the crowd, desperate to defend his family's honour. The final section of fence that had remained standing suddenly came down with a tremendous groan and an ominous heavy thump. Hundreds more bodies dragged themselves into Lester's garden. He wanted to keep fighting but he didn't have room to move. They surrounded him on every side now, reaching for him and grabbing at him tirelessly. With tears of panic in his eyes he span around, terrified and disorientated. Out of the corner of his eye he spied the dark silhouette of the garden shed and he ran towards it, pushing and kicking bodies out of the way. He reached out for the door handle, knowing that the end of his life was close but too scared to let it happen. He knew that he was doing nothing but prolonging the inevitable (perhaps only by a few minutes) when he flung the door open and crashed inside. The door flapped shut in the wind behind him, the sudden noise leaving the mass of bodies in no doubt as to where he was hiding. Now sobbing uncontrollably, Lester collapsed into his deckchair in the corner and waited.

So many memories. The garden shed, the coldest, weakest and most exposed part of his property, suddenly felt reassuringly strong and warm. In the half-light he looked around and remembered all that he was about to lose. The tools with which he and Janice had lovingly tended their small plot of land. The battered wooden tea-chest on which he used to leave his paper or his book and his drink when he dozed in the shed on long, relaxing Saturday afternoons. The plastic table and chairs which had been dragged out onto the patio each year when they'd entertained family and friends. And finally the box of garden games and the buckets and spades and all those memories of being with Janice and Maddy. All about to be lost forever. Most of it already gone. Lester knew that not long remained now.

More through luck than judgement a single skeletal hand managed to wedge itself between the flapping door and the door frame and threw it open. The first body dragged itself into the shed, followed by an apparently endless queue of others. Do I know you? Lester stared at the rotting shadow which lurched towards him. Were you once a friend or someone I used to work with, he wondered? Have I passed you on the street or did I work on your accounts? The creature's face, repellent in the cold moonlight and shadow, was vacant and unrecognisable.

Lester stood up to try and push the bodies away but their numbers now were too great. Forced onto his back foot, he struggled to stop himself moving back further into the shed. One of the bodies trying to get inside tripped and fell, pushing those in front of it forward with surprising force and speed. Like dominoes they fell, crashing into Lester and knocking him back. He slammed against the back wall of the shed unexpectedly, feeling a sudden stinging pain between his shoulders as the ten steel prongs of his garden rake punctured his skin. It was more a disorientating discomfort than pain as such. Lester lifted his arms and shielded his face from the rotting bodies which continued to advance, pushing him back onto the wall and forcing the spikes deeper and deeper into his back.

Warmth, he thought to himself as blood from the puncture wounds seeped down his back. The heat from the blood was strangely comforting. Unable to move or help himself, Lester's legs gave way underneath him and he crashed to the ground, taking several bodies down with him. The rake dislodged itself in the fall, and Lester was able somehow to roll over onto his back. He closed his eyes and screwed up his face as an unknown number of rotting feet trampled down on him.

Lying in parallel with the bodies of Maddy and her mother outside, Lester looked up at the roof of the garden shed for as long as he could keep his eyes open.

ROBERT WOOLGRAVE

I'm starting to think I might have got this all wrong. I've gone about it all the wrong way. I thought I was so bloody clever to start with, thought I knew what I was doing. I was too quick off the mark. Think I might have fucked it all up for myself.

Fuck the lot of them. That was the attitude I took from the minute all of this started. Didn't seem to be much point doing anything else. I had to be selfish, didn't I? If I'd have spent all my time looking out for the thousands of fuckers lying dead on the ground then I might as well have just given up and laid down with them. I had to try and give myself a fighting chance. It's pretty bloody obvious that it's every man for himself now. How could it not be when I'm the only man left?

Hindsight is a fucking great thing. If I'm honest though, I probably wouldn't have done anything any different if I'd had the chance to do it again. I did what pretty much everyone else would have done in the same situation. After I'd got my head around what had happened I spent some time looking for other survivors and trying to find help. It was pretty bloody obvious pretty bloody quickly that I was the only one left. I took one of the cars from work and drove round the city. I tried stopping in different places and shouting out for a while. I drove right into the middle of the pedestrian area and stopped the car in the shopping centre and yelled my bloody lungs out but no-one came. After that there didn't seem to be any point trying. If I was going to find other people, that was where they'd have been. And even if they were hiding in other places, everywhere was so damn quiet that the sound of the car's engine should have been enough to let anyone who was still alive know where I was. It didn't take long for me to come to the conclusion that, for some bloody ridiculous reason, there wasn't anyone else. When the bodies started to pick themselves up off the ground and walk again I decided that enough was enough. I had to start thinking about my safety and nothing else. Scariest fucking thing I'd ever seen, that was, seeing them dragging themselves up and moving around. Worse than watching the rest of the world dying around me last week. Completely fucking terrifying.

I didn't know where to start. I made the office my base. It was a choice between my flat and the office and as the other flats were filled with corpses it was a pretty simple decision to make. I went back home to fetch clothes and a few of my things, then I collected as much food as I could carry in the back of the car. I dumped it all in the office and set about trying to make the place a little safer and better protected. I work at CarLand, which is a bloody stupid name for what is - what was - one of the biggest and busiest second-hand car lots in the country. Now it's nothing more than a bloody big and bloody quiet car park.

The office was built a couple of years back. It's a two-storey concrete and glass building right in the middle of the car lot. It seemed as good a place as any to hide because CarLand's on a business park just off the motorway, it's not actually in the city. I spent some time clearing out all the desks and computers and other crap from the first floor and started trying to make myself comfortable. And that was where I made my first mistake. It was too bloody easy to concentrate on comfort at the expense of everything else. I should have stopped to think.

I took a van and fetched myself some stuff from the furniture store on the other side of the road. I got a bed and a mattress, a couple of easy chairs, a sofa and a table. Nearly crippled myself getting that bloody lot up the stairs. Then I started to get greedy. By the fourth day it was looking more and more likely that I was going to be on my own here for a long stretch so I made another trip out for food and drink and I stopped at the electrical superstore on the other side of the business park on the way back. I took as many battery powered things as I could find - CD players, portable DVD players, hand-held games consoles and the like - and as many packets of batteries as I could lay my hands on. I had to have something to keep myself occupied, didn't I? I didn't feel bad taking the stuff. There was nothing I could do, was there? It wasn't my fault that the rest of the world had dropped dead around me.

For a couple of days I was comfortable and I felt safe. Thought I was living a life of bloody luxury, I did. Space, quiet, comfort and nothing to do except eat food, drink, listen to music, watch films and play games. After a while I stopped watching films. It just didn't feel right. They left me feeling empty and sad and they reminded me of how everything used to be. I found myself some porn (nothing hardcore or extreme) but I couldn't even bring myself to watch it. I couldn't get turned on watching women who I knew were most probably dead, lying rotting somewhere. And music... I stopped listening to music too. I didn't like wearing headphones. I couldn't stand not being able to hear what was going on around me. Playing video games, on the other hand, seemed to help. I couldn't concentrate on puzzles or adventures, but I got a bigger kick than ever out of action and fighting games. They passed the time and it helped to be able to take out some of my frustrations on the screen.

Things started to go wrong last Saturday morning. I didn't think I'd been making much noise, but the little sound I did make was starting to have an effect on the bodies outside the office. The bloody things wouldn't leave me alone. They hadn't been interested in me before, but they suddenly changed. Christ, they only had to see me moving in the window and they'd turn and start walking towards the building. Bloody things. They were slow moving and weak and it didn't take much effort to get rid of them, but there seemed to be more and more of them. The way they moved scared me, and the way they just kept coming. It didn't matter what I did or didn't do, once they knew where I was they'd just keep dragging themselves towards me and they wouldn't fucking give up. I had to do something about them. I couldn't stand having them so close.

I spent all day Monday trying to make the office even more secure. I went outside with as many sets of keys as I could carry and I started moving cars closer to the building. I took my time and planned it properly. I parked as many cars as I could right around the outside walls of the building and then moved another layer up and parked them close to the first, and then another layer after that. It took me from ten in the morning until late afternoon to get the job done but it was worth it. The place is secure now. I left myself a way to get in and out if I have to and I also left a couple of cars ready just in case I have to get away quickly. Bottom line is, though, none of those fuckers are going to get me while I'm in here.

Something happened when I was moving the cars on Monday that really bothered me. I had to start getting aggressive with some of the bodies. It worked both ways, because those fucking things started getting aggressive with me first. I couldn't believe it - one of the fuckers just went for me completely out of the blue. No provocation or anything. If it had been any stronger then I might have been in real trouble. As it was I just threw it to the side and carried on. When I was inside the cars they were less of a problem. When I was on foot, though, things got a little nastier. By the end of the day I had to get violent with them to keep them out of my way and I didn't enjoy that at all. It wasn't my fault and I didn't have any choice, but I had to do some things that I really wasn't comfortable with. I mean, I had kids and old ladies coming at me for Christ's sake. Fucking hell, at one point I found myself battering a little kid around the head with a jack from the boot of one of the cars. I had to do it. I had no choice. It was get them before they get me - kill them or be killed. After a while I gave up trying to fight and manhandle them and I started wiping them out with the cars. I feel bad about it now, but there was a part of me that actually enjoyed it at the time. Fucking hell, by the end of the day I was chasing the fucking things round the car park, ploughing them down and giving myself points for killing them with style or at speed. Crazy really. It was only when I woke up the next morning and saw what I'd done that I realised how stupid I'd been. I must have killed more than fifty of the damn things. There was blood, guts and bits of bodies everywhere.

I don't feel so good today. I'm scared. It's late on Wednesday night and there are hundreds of those bloody things outside again. There's no way they can get to me in here but the damn things won't give up. They just stand there, watching and waiting for me. I've started trying to black out the windows because I don't want to see them and I don't want them to see me. I've started thinking some bloody crazy thoughts too. I'm starting to wonder whether they're here for revenge. Are they coming to get me because I wiped out so many of them? Am I a threat to them?

Christ I feel sick.

Don't know whether it's something I've eaten or something else that's making me feel like this. I've lived on crap since this started - mostly chocolate, crisps, biscuits and other snacks - because that's been the easiest kind of food to find. I haven't eaten bread or anything fresh for days. My stomach is bad. It might just be nerves. Jesus, I hope that's all it is. I stuck my head out of the door for a second this afternoon and all I could hear was the buzzing of thousands of fucking flies and I started thinking about the millions of fucking germs and diseases that are going to be filling the air soon, if they're not already there. I've probably been breathing them in for days now. For Christ's sake, the whole of the fucking car lot is packed solid with human remains.

This building is starting to smell. It's getting so bad in here that it smells worse than outside. It's getting to the point where I can't stand it any longer. I'm not helping. I've had diarrhoea since yesterday morning and I can't flush any of the toilets. They're all backed-up with shit and there's nothing I can do about it. I don't have any water or bleach to clean them with. I wish I'd been better prepared. Wish I'd thought more about what I'd need and spent more time getting food and water than fucking DVD players and games machines.

It's dark now. There's nothing to do but sit here and wait for morning. I'm frightened. I don't want to listen to music or play bloody games anymore. I don't want to be distracted. I want to know everything that's happening around me so that I'm ready for them, but at the same time I don't want to look. I don't want to see them.

I'm tired but I can't sleep. I slept for a little while this afternoon but it wasn't enough. I can't even bring myself to shut my eyes now, and even if I could the pain in my guts would keep me awake.

Those fucking things still won't leave. They just stand there waiting for me. They try to climb over the cars but they can't do it. They don't have the coordination or the strength. I don't know why they don't just go. They know I'm here, I'm sure of it, but I don't know what they want from me. I don't think they know.

I'll stay here for as long as I can but I'll have to try and find some medicine and proper food soon.

Maybe I'll try and get away in the morning. Maybe I'll wait another couple of days.

I've built myself a fucking prison.

KATE JAMES

They've been gone for days now. I'm not exactly sure how long it's been. I've lost all track of time. I've lost track of everything.

Things seemed to change when Michael, Carl and Emma left here. I should have gone with them. I wish I'd had the strength to go with them. I wanted to at the time but I just couldn't bring myself to leave. My head was telling me that what they were doing was right but when it came down to it nerves got the better of me. When it came to the crunch I couldn't move. Like everyone else here I was too scared. I was born in Northwich and I've lived here all my life, give or take a couple of years. Might as well finish it here. Might as well stay here now and end my days surrounded by the things and places that I know and used to know and...

Come on. Got to stop it. Got to try and stop thinking like this.

The rest of the people here are as frightened as I am. I can sense it coming off them. You can almost taste the fear in the air. No-one looks into anyone else's face anymore. People just stare at the ground. Because if you start trying to communicate with anyone else then you know you're going to end up talking about the mess we're in. When you do that you realise just how bad things are and you start thinking about how hopeless the situation really is. You start to realise that this is never going to get any better, and that this is as good as it's going to get. Talk to other people and you start to remember everything that you've lost.

The building is deathly silent, and has been for days.

This morning four of them went out to get supplies. It wasn't through choice, they did it because there's nothing left here and we were thankful that they agreed to go. We had absolutely nothing. No food, no water, no fresh clothes, no medicine, nothing. They went out in one of the cars that had been left in the car park outside the building. The noise of the engine sounded so loud and we just sat there in fear because it made us feel more vulnerable and exposed than we already were. The sudden noise made me realise just how quiet and dead the world has become. Hardly anyone speaks. People don't even argue or cry anymore. There isn't any point.

I could still hear the car in the distance even after they'd been gone for almost ten minutes. I couldn't tell whether it was getting closer or still moving further away. It sounded directionless. The engine noise eventually faded away to nothing but then returned about an hour later. I stood and looked out into the car park through the little window by the main door. The world seemed still and unmoving save for the bodies and the dead leaves which blew across the ground. After what felt like forever there was a sudden burst of movement and frantic, frightened activity as the car sped around the corner and back into the car park. I opened the door and started to help the others to get the things they'd collected out of the car and into the building.

The four men who had been outside were unnervingly quiet and subdued. They looked more desperate and frightened (if that was possible) than they had been before they'd left. I could tell that something was wrong but I didn't want to know what. At that moment my ignorance was my only protection, and a pretty bloody weak protection it was too. It was as we unloaded the car that I noticed the bodies. Three or four of them at first, but soon their numbers had increased dramatically. They were as slow and clumsy as any that we'd seen before, but they seemed to be dragging themselves down through the car park from the road. They seemed to be moving towards us intentionally. It was almost as if they'd followed the car. But that wasn't possible, was it?

One of the men looked back over his shoulder and saw them coming nearer.

'Come on,' he hissed, his voice full of fear. 'Come on, get inside.'

The men barged past me, throwing bags and boxes into the hall and forcing their way back into the community centre. The last man - I think it was Stuart Jeffries - pushed me inside with him and slammed the door shut behind us.

Jag Dhandra, one of the men who'd been out, was sat on the floor next to where I was standing, slumped against the wall. His face was pale and his brown eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. He saw that I was staring at him. 'They can see us,' he mumbled.

'What?' I asked, crouching down next to him.

'They can fucking see us!' he spat, his voice trembling with an uneasy combination of anger and fear. 'Those bloody things out there can see us and hear us and...' He stopped talking momentarily and tried (unsuccessfully) to compose himself. He cleared his throat and tried to speak again. 'We were getting the stuff. We were busy with what we were doing and we didn't notice them at first. When we looked up and tried to get out there were hundreds of them all around the building. They were just stood there, waiting for us.'

'But why? How could they...?'

'They could hear us!' he repeated, his voice suddenly louder. 'The bloody things could hear us and see us!'

The rest of the people in the community centre were all silent, listening anxiously to Jag's terrified words. When he stopped talking I became aware of another noise behind me - a dull, constant thumping. I stood up and walked back towards the door. I could feel it moving as the bodies outside collided with it. Although weak and decaying they seemed to be hitting the side of the building with controlled force. I looked out through the window. There was already a crowd - somewhere between ten and twenty of them as far as I could see - gathered around the front of the building.

Christ, we'd been lucky until then. Stuck out there right on the edge of the town we'd somehow managed to stay pretty isolated and safe. Maybe it was because of our location, tucked away to the side of a once busy main road, out of sight. Perhaps it was just because we'd hardly made a sound for days that we managed to escape their attention for so long. Whatever the reason, the trip out for supplies today has blown whatever cover we might have had.

This afternoon the group has disintegrated. Already battered and bruised by days of constant frustration, fear and grief, the people here seem now to have lost the last degree of control that they'd managed to hold onto. And once a few people started showing signs of cracking, most of the others quickly followed.

The food and supplies that had been brought back earlier didn't last long. Like a pack of starving dogs we descended (me included) in search of much needed food and drink. I couldn't help myself. I felt ashamed and degraded as I scrabbled around on the dirty floor on my hands and knees with the rest of them, desperately ripping open bags and boxes in search of anything that might give me a little energy and nourishment. Had it not been for the fear which distracted and tormented me, the hunger pains that have ripped at my gut for days now would surely have killed me.

A couple of minutes ago two men and a woman began to fight. I don't know what caused it. It started in another room and I didn't know it was happening until the woman stumbled out of the room and tripped and fell on top of me. My face got smashed into the floor and I immediately tasted blood in my mouth. The sudden shock and fright prevented me from feeling any pain at first but I can feel my split lip stinging now. The woman got up, pushed herself away from me, and then ran screaming back towards one of the men who had followed her out into the hall. The force of her impact sent them both smashing into the nearest wall which shook with the collision. I was scared. As they disappeared back into the room I grabbed hold of all the bags and boxes I could lay my hands on and crawled away into the shadows. The fight still isn't over. Its spilled out into the hall again. More people are getting involved. The stockpile of supplies has quickly disappeared but people are still desperately hungry. They're joining in the ruckus, desperate to get their hands on anything remaining. I'm sitting in virtual darkness in the quietest, most secluded corner of the building I've been able to find. I'm looking through the scraps I managed to keep hold of, although most of it is rubbish. Even though the others are being distracted by the fight I don't dare make a sound for fear of people turning on me and trying to take my things. I've got a tin of cat food, a small bottle of milk drink (which has probably gone sour), a box of headache tablets and a tube of toothpaste. I've started to eat the toothpaste. I can't bring myself to eat the cat food yet.

The noise in here is frightening and confusing. It's late afternoon and in the low gloom it's difficult to see what's happening around me. It's starting to get dark outside and it's getting harder and harder to see who's who in the shadows which fill the main hall. Every so often the frantic noises and scuffles stop momentarily and, in those few, random moments, I can hear more sounds coming from outside the building.

The man called Ralph (who thought he was in charge to begin with but who's hardly spoken or even moved for the last few days) has suddenly become more vocal and animated. He's scrambled up onto his feet and he's climbed up onto a chair to try and look out of one of the small rectangular windows which run along the length of the main hall. His tired, frightened face is pressed against the glass and he's trying to look down towards the ground. Even from over here I can see that the thin outside wall he's leaning against is being battered from outside.

He's looking round now, trying to get people's attention.

'Christ,' he yells, his voice uncomfortably loud and unsteady, 'they're trying to get in! The bloody things are trying to get inside!'

His words have attracted the attention of everyone in the building and, for a second, the entire group has become silent. The arguments and the fights have stopped. People have stopped what they're doing and they're standing still and listening. And now we can all hear it - there's a constant barrage of bangs, thumps and crashes coming from all directions. It sounds like the whole community centre is surrounded. If the man I spoke to earlier was right and the bodies can somehow now respond to the things they can see and hear, then it stands to reason that their individual interest in something is going to attract more and more of them to the same place. The noise they made earlier with the car and the arguments was enough to attract a few of the corpses. The shouts and cries and screams which have come from this place since then must have attracted many, many more.

After the brief moment of stunned silence, panic is again tearing through the building.

Ralph has jumped down from where he's been standing and he's lost his footing and fallen onto another man. The second man (I think his name is Simon Peters) has picked himself up and has grabbed hold of Ralph by the scruff of his neck. Ralph is kicking and screaming. I'm trying to push myself further and further into the shadows because I know that the trouble kicking off in the middle of the hall is about to boil over into something far more serious. The people here are right on the edge. It's not going to take much to push them over...

Ralph's been shoved down to the ground. He's lying there and I can see him panting and struggling to get up, his face pressed hard against the dirty floor. He's half-turned towards me. Even from a distance I can see sheer and absolute terror in his face. Like a man possessed he's somehow managed to push himself up and he's knocked Peters out of the way. Pumped full of adrenaline and fear, he's punching and kicking at Peters (who is half his size) and he's sent him reeling. Now Peters is on the ground and their positions have been reversed. With a desperate, terrified look in his eyes Ralph has now picked up the chair he's spent most of the last day sitting on and he's lifted it above his head. Peters is looking up at him and he's trying to crawl away backwards. I can't bear to watch. I know what's going to happen. Ralph starts to bring the chair down and I look away. I can hear him smashing the chair down on the other man. I can hear him grunting with effort and picking up the chair again and again and smashing it down on the body at his feet. I force myself to look up. I have to know what's happening. Now Peters is lying in the middle of the room in a crumpled heap, twitching and shaking with blood dripping from his head. Ralph is standing over him, still holding the chair up high, looking ready to strike again if Peters moves.

Someone - I couldn't see who it was - just ran at Ralph and tried to grab the chair from him. He's swung it at them, and he's caught them on the side of the head and sent them crashing to the ground. Now someone else - it might have been Jag Dhandra - has just run past me, sprinted down the length of the hall, tripped over Peters' now motionless body and is running down towards the main entrance.

I know what he's doing.

Jesus Christ, he's opening the door.

Oh, God, Dhandra's lost it and he's made a run for it. People are trying to get to him but it's too late to stop him. The door has been opened. I can already hear the wind and feel the cold air blowing into the building from outside. People are screaming. I can see them rushing to grab their belongings and get away from the door and move back towards this end of the community centre and...

And now I can see them.

Bodies.

There's an endless stream of grey, featureless bodies slowly dragging themselves into the room. The people out in the hall can move with much more speed and control but they're instinctively recoiling from the painfully slow cadavers which are lurching towards them.

I have to get out of here. Jesus, I need to find a way out.

There's no way I can get back through the hall - there are far too many bodies in here now - and I don't know of any other exit apart from the windows. Now there are other people around me, all moving in the same direction and trying to get away from the sea of dead flesh that continues to push its way inside. I'm trying to stand up but it's difficult to move. The main hall is almost completely full of corpses now. Ralph is still in the middle of the room, swinging the chair around like a madman, knocking the bodies off their already unsteady feet. Their flesh is decaying and each blow from the chair rips their rotting shells apart. The shadowy-grey of the room is now flowing with dark red and crimson-browns. Ralph has just lost his footing and slipped in the bloody mire. He's gone down. I can see him struggling on the floor. He can't get up again. He's been trampled under the feet of countless corpses.

I'm being carried forward by the stream of panicking survivors. There's nothing I can do but move with them. I can't stop and I can't go backwards. Somehow I've managed to keep hold of the cat food and tablets and I'm grabbing them as tightly as I can as the crowd surges and pushes through the semi-darkness. One of the women to my right has climbed up onto a chair and is forcing herself out through a small skylight in one of the store rooms. Others are following her. I don't have any choice, I have to do the same if I want to get out of here. I'm pushing my way into the room to get to the window. I tripped then. There's a body beneath my feet. I can't see who it is but they're screaming and crying out for help. I wish that I could do something for them but I can't. I have to keep moving.

I've managed to get up onto the chair and I'm trying to push myself through the skylight and get out. The gap is too narrow. I don't think I'm going to be able to get through. Can't go back. There are people pushing me from below, all trying to get out too. I have to try and get through... God it hurts. My head and shoulders are through. I can feel the window frame digging into my skin.

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