Lil…
My folks, who live in Claremont in Cape Town, had forgotten to charge their phones – damn old people – and after charging them and going through all my frantic messages, they kindly decided to give me a call and let me know that they were alright. How considerate of them. They are safe though and have the company of a few other couples from their street – they’ve “joined forces” apparently. My Dad says that there have been some incidents in their area, but as it’s quite a big commercial and residential suburb, not as much as he would have thought. “Those things better not try get in here, because Bob used to be a professional boxer, you know?” he told me just before we said goodbye. Yes Dad, I know. I knew after the first time you told me and I knew after the thirtieth time you told me too.
We will be in touch every day also and I got hold of all the cell numbers of the people in the house just in case my parents forget to charge their phones again.
I’ve been quite surprised that the internet is still working, but I guess that it is an unmanned entity, isn’t it? So, holding thumbs – I hope I stay connected as I don’t know how I would cope without it.
Otherwise, I have just played Bloc Party’s track, Hunting For Witches (with the volume very low of course), which starts out with the lyric: “I’m sitting on the roof of my house, with a shotgun and a six pack of beer. The newscaster says the enemies amongst us.” And although the song is actually about the terrorist attacks on London and September 11, those words had been going through my head on a loop as I sat by my kitchen window, blinds drawn, peeking through a slight gap at the action on Erasmus Road – it neatly summed up everything for me, except for the shotgun and beers bit, although I would kill for a beer and maybe a shotgun is not a bad idea.
Although there weren’t as many of the infected in the street as there have been previously, there were still enough milling about to keep that sense of unease at the top of my mind. I have been studying them, well as briefly as I can as they lumber in and out of my sight line, and have noticed over the last day or two that, although they generally tend to be slow moving, at around midday their movements become even more laboured, and their numbers decrease. I have started making notes of their numbers and their movements that I can see outside my kitchen window, so will see if any patterns emerge. From my balcony, although I try not to go out there too often (I did spray the handle and the hinges liberally with Q20 to minimise the noise when I open and close the door), I can see a bit of Hendrick Potgieter Street. I have noticed a few of the infected headed up there, but the road does come to a dead-end about half a kilometre up.
That’s all I got to say for now.
Take care.
Sam W
7:23pm, May 7
About two hour ago, screeching sirens and a guy shouting something into a loudhailer woke me up from my sleep (I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, I think I just lay my head down on the couch for a minute and I drifted off through sheer exhaustion. It was the best rest that I had had in ages). But anyway, I came to with a start when the first siren pierced the silence that I have come to know over the last couple of days. And when another, then another and then maybe half a dozen more filled the air, I was already up at the kitchen window trying to crane my neck to see anything. In between the wailing sirens I could barely make out a voice coming through the racket. At first it sounded like random screaming, but as it got closer I started to recognise a few words and phrases – “come out”, “to help”, “safe”, “sick”.
The sirens were almost deafening now and were coming from the left up Erasmus Road towards Pallister. I saw a woman in her twenties sprinting down the road towards the sound of the sirens, easily dodging between two of the
My folks, who live in Claremont in Cape Town, had forgotten to charge their phones – damn old people – and after charging them and going through all my frantic messages, they kindly decided to give me a call and let me know that they were alright. How considerate of them. They are safe though and have the company of a few other couples from their street – they’ve “joined forces” apparently. My Dad says that there have been some incidents in their area, but as it’s quite a big commercial and residential suburb, not as much as he would have thought. “Those things better not try get in here, because Bob used to be a professional boxer, you know?” he told me just before we said goodbye. Yes Dad, I know. I knew after the first time you told me and I knew after the thirtieth time you told me too.
We will be in touch every day also and I got hold of all the cell numbers of the people in the house just in case my parents forget to charge their phones again.
I’ve been quite surprised that the internet is still working, but I guess that it is an unmanned entity, isn’t it? So, holding thumbs – I hope I stay connected as I don’t know how I would cope without it.
Otherwise, I have just played Bloc Party’s track, Hunting For Witches (with the volume very low of course), which starts out with the lyric: “I’m sitting on the roof of my house, with a shotgun and a six pack of beer. The newscaster says the enemies amongst us.” And although the song is actually about the terrorist attacks on London and September 11, those words had been going through my head on a loop as I sat by my kitchen window, blinds drawn, peeking through a slight gap at the action on Erasmus Road – it neatly summed up everything for me, except for the shotgun and beers bit, although I would kill for a beer and maybe a shotgun is not a bad idea.
Although there weren’t as many of the infected in the street as there have been previously, there were still enough milling about to keep that sense of unease at the top of my mind. I have been studying them, well as briefly as I can as they lumber in and out of my sight line, and have noticed over the last day or two that, although they generally tend to be slow moving, at around midday their movements become even more laboured, and their numbers decrease. I have started making notes of their numbers and their movements that I can see outside my kitchen window, so will see if any patterns emerge. From my balcony, although I try not to go out there too often (I did spray the handle and the hinges liberally with Q20 to minimise the noise when I open and close the door), I can see a bit of Hendrick Potgieter Street. I have noticed a few of the infected headed up there, but the road does come to a dead-end about half a kilometre up.
That’s all I got to say for now.
Take care.
Sam W
7:23pm, May 7
About two hour ago, screeching sirens and a guy shouting something into a loudhailer woke me up from my sleep (I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, I think I just lay my head down on the couch for a minute and I drifted off through sheer exhaustion. It was the best rest that I had had in ages). But anyway, I came to with a start when the first siren pierced the silence that I have come to know over the last couple of days. And when another, then another and then maybe half a dozen more filled the air, I was already up at the kitchen window trying to crane my neck to see anything. In between the wailing sirens I could barely make out a voice coming through the racket. At first it sounded like random screaming, but as it got closer I started to recognise a few words and phrases – “come out”, “to help”, “safe”, “sick”.
The sirens were almost deafening now and were coming from the left up Erasmus Road towards Pallister. I saw a woman in her twenties sprinting down the road towards the sound of the sirens, easily dodging between two of the
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