Emma Zeth - The Lucky Prepper - A Gardener's Story of Surviving a Pandemic

Back at the top of the road, I zigzagged back and forth with my hands outstretched until I bumped into the telegraph pole. I stacked the phone books into a tepee shape against it and doused them in meths. I soaked the pole too for good measure. Hopefully it was far enough from any houses not to cause any major damage. I pulled out my lighter and lit it; the meths ignited with a whoosh of flame that spread across the books and ran up the pole. I quickly turned and ran down the crescent and then more cautiously walked up the other side, back to the main road. I warily stepped onto the street trying to work out where I was. I had come out a couple of houses down from my car, but not as far as where I had stashed my bike.

As I stared up the road, I could see my diversion had been a complete success. The fire had flared up, bright enough to catch someone’s attention, and draw everyone towards it, and although it had died down quickly, there was still a dull, orange glow, lighting up the surroundings and outlining several people. I could no longer see any lights around the driveway I had been watching. I moved closer, trying to be as stealthy as possible.

It wasn’t until I was almost in the drive that I heard the phone, or rather the voice coming out of the phone. It was muffled and rumbling but distinctly a voice. I froze. I couldn’t quite hear the words, but it meant someone was there. I moved forward, and craned my head over the bush between me and the driveway. In the light from the phone screen, I saw a large male figure propped up against a car, it looked very much like my car; it was a dark colour and the shape was right.

The figure holding the phone wasn’t saying much, just nodding his head and occasionally mumbling ‘uh huh,’ or ‘ok.’ He looked big. I looked up the road and was alarmed to see, in the light of the fire, that some of the people were turning away and spreading out, searching. I weighed up my options and backed away towards my bike, cutting my losses.

I cycled home in the dark, along the empty main roads, reflecting on the last twenty-four hours. I hadn’t found mum or Vik and was bitterly disappointed to have lost my car, but on the whole, I had come out ok. My car had always represented freedom, and now it was gone, along with all the spare kit it contained. But I could get another, there were still plenty on the estate, with the keys lying around nearby. The most important thing was that Mum and Vik seemed to have left under their own steam. I had to trust that they were ok and would get in contact soon.

Back home I waited at home for Vik to call, but after several days of continuing silence I had worked myself up into quite a state, imagining all sorts of things. I finally mentioned my fears to my group online and the first post back was immensely reassuring. ‘Maybe they just lost your number’ I was struck by the possibilities. Maybe they had lost their phones. If so, they wouldn’t know my number but they could still be making their way towards me. I wrote my mobile number into a block of wood, and hung it on the front door; so if they arrived when I was out, they could contact me. I made sure my phone was with me at all times… I expected them to turn up at my place at any time, and was more determined than ever to stay where I was.

Now that I didn’t have anyone to speak to, I started to feel a bit isolated. I ended up talking to myself a lot of the time. Not in a crazy way, not shouting and yelling, but quietly just talking to myself. But after a while, the isolation really began to make itself felt. Talking to people online was only going to get me so far. I was talking to the birds in the garden, and the cats I saw in the evenings. Maybe I did need people after all.

I was still cautious about not being seen entering the house, but I began to walk more openly around the estate. I had a fair idea of which houses were unoccupied, but I now began actively mapping out which ones had people in.

There were remarkably few left, just a handful of households from the five thousand or so original population. A lot had died in the initial wave of the virus, and more had left to join family elsewhere I supposed. There were fewer knockers as well, most had come from the neighbouring estate, crossing via the tunnels under the railway line or over the bridge to get into Carpenders park. I went through the tunnel a couple of times, but I didn’t feel as safe on the other side. There were more people over there, and although they seemed sociable, stopping and chatting to each other, I stayed out of sight as I didn’t know how they would react to a stranger. They were a close-knit community, but I didn’t know how they had managed to survive for three months. Possibly they had done quite well scavenging houses for food, and I knew there were allotments somewhere.

It was halfway through August, when something went wrong with the water supply. It happened over the course of a week. I didn’t notice anything at first, maybe the water was a little cloudy, but I was boiling it in the kettle as a matter of routine, just to be safe, so I put the cloudiness down to limescale. But then it started tasting kind of off. The next day I opened the tap and the water that came out had definite particles floating in it. Something had gone wrong either at the water treatment plant or in the pipes that delivered the water.

I started using my lifesaver bottle to filter the water. It could take the cloudy water and turn it crystal clear. It was fast too; I could filter about half a litre in one go; just fill it up, push the pump a couple of times and the water would come streaming out the other end. I could replenish a 2-litre water bottle with clean water in just over five minutes.

I filled up a couple of extra bottles and took them with me on my cycle around the estate that evening. As I passed the first of the occupied houses, I slowed down and then stopped. I debated with myself a while, and then got off my bike and wheeled it down the drive to the front door. I rang the bell. I didn’t expect an answer, but maybe they had seen me cycling round the estate before, because after a minute or so, a youngish, blonde woman answered the door.

‘Hi,’ I said, I hadn’t expected the door to open, and was a little off balance. The woman looked at me enquiringly.

‘Hi,’ she said, waiting for me to go on.

‘I noticed you were still here,’ I began, ‘the water from the taps has gone a funny colour, but I have a filter that can purify water, removing any dirt and germs, so I wondered if you wanted some, um..’ I trailed off holding up the bottle of water.

‘Thank you,’ she replied, as she relaxed slightly ‘that’s very kind; we’ve been boiling it, but it still looks cloudy and tastes weird.’

I handed her a bottle and asked, ‘do you know anyone else who might need water?’ I didn’t want to pry too closely into her circumstances, but if felt good to be talking to another person. We chatted on the doorstep for a couple of minutes, she even invited me in, but I declined, I wanted to get round the estate before dark. The cautiousness had become ingrained, but I left with a wave and a smile, promising to be back the next day with more water.

Over the next couple of days I met everyone left on the estate. There weren’t many of us, but that made it easier to trust each other. When people found out how few of us remained, they were shocked, and when I asked if I could tell people they had survived, they all agreed. I suppose all of us were a bit desperate for company, even those that were living with family must have wanted to see fresh faces. After a couple of weeks, once we had built up some trust, we decided to meet up all together in the primary school.