The Rot (Post Apocalyptic Thriller) by Paul Kane

fall: maybe not enough to kill me outright, but I had no idea how deep the water was, or whether I’d be able to swim out from the wreckage even if I survived the drop.
    In the end, I didn’t have to find out. When I opened my eyes again, I was on the other side – the collapse of the bridge having stopped just shy of my side. I was on an even keel now, heading on up the road and away from the bridge… from the town itself. The more distance I put between it and me the better – and when I looked in the mirror again, all I could see was death and destruction.
    That, although I didn’t really know it at the time, would be the theme for this new world. They would be my constant companions on my journey, and the predators always at my back.
     
    Stop.

CHAPTER FIVE

     
    Record:
     
    Been a week or so since my last entry, and the other night I listened to the previous couple – as I tend to do, picking up the thread again. But my Lord, what state of mind must I have been in when I signed off…? All that poetic crap about death and destruction, like they were people. They’re not. They’re just a way of… I was going to say way of life, but there’s very little about the world around me that’s living any more. Existing, maybe; no more than that. Going backwards, definitely.
    It’s been a week, because not only did I want to put in a good bit of travelling in during that time, I also couldn’t face telling any more of the story. Got me down to be honest… Ha – got me down… What exactly gets me up these days? And I mean that literally, in that I find it a real struggle to get myself moving and on the road again in the mornings.
    But anyway, my problem – and I do need to carry on with this. It might even help get things straight in my head; might help me figure out the ‘why’ of it all. Move on, as I’ve said, not just physically but mentally as well. So, here we go again. I’ve found an isolated spot, with good visibility in every direction; it’ll do until I’ve finished with the next leg of the journal anyway.
    We’d got to the bridge, hadn’t we; the escape from that town. I managed to put a fair few miles between me and that shit-hole before the car started to splutter, then eventually break down. Wasn’t fuel – because again, like the chopper, according to the gauge I had almost a full tank – so it must have been wear and tear. Couldn’t really blame it, I suppose – I’d put it through its paces back there. Still, it would leave me stranded out in the middle of nowhere once more. Not a bad situation given the alternative, of being back in an urban environment with potential killers around every turn, but I wondered if I could get that moving and on the road again. My little joke…
    Now, I don’t know much beyond the basics of engines. I can drive, I can fly, but what keeps those machines ticking is very much beyond me. Used to watch the engineers back in my Air Force days, flitting about, seeing to the maintenance of those planes and helicopters. They were like magicians, some of them, could make each part do wonders… Or like conductors in an orchestra, encouraging each section to work and make the whole thing produce the sweetest of music. And there we were, abusing their darlings – treating them so badly. Bit like in real life, I suppose; the aircraft even had female names.
    Point is, I would have given anything for someone on that deserted road who knew one end of a carburettor from the other. Wasn’t as if I could just get the AA on the phone to come out and give me a tow – more’s the pity. The AA had probably by now killed one other or screwed themselves senseless. I had to face the fact that I was on my own, and if I was to fix the Ford I was going to have to learn on the job. Might just be something as simple as a fan belt, in which case I could probably find something to replace it with… but where was a good old-fashioned stocking when you needed one?
    I popped the