Lockdown Walkees

Today was a great day to be alive, it was Tuesday, after all. Not just any Tuesday…well…yes just another Tuesday. Skye woofer was lying in the hall ready to be walked. I popped his lead on and off we went. Skye’s indifference to walking around the estate was to be expected, he was getting on a bit these days. 14 is an apocryphal age for a collie cross when it comes to longevity (I hope).  My preference is to get Skye’s walk done early so that I have the rest of the day for other stuff. He doesn’t seem to mind but then he doesn’t get over exited either.

It was overcast with rain forecast. What did you expect at half term? We made our way out of the close and around the bend along the footpath than ran parallel with the dual carriageway. A row of small, terraced houses came into view after a stretch of waste land that had cover for various wildlife interested in hiding under the bushes. I looked up at the sky scouting the weather. I saw ominous, pitch black clouds rolling across the sky like waves heading inland towards a beach. I couldn’t recall seeing anything like this before. It made me think of Stephen King’s “Langoliers”. Supernatural didn’t really happen that often in Northampton; if at all.

That brief reverie was broken by a wail of sirens. An ambulance darted off the A45 and onto the slip road that led to the terraced houses. Screeching to a stop, the doors flew open and two men in hazmat suits got out. They bundled passed me, crossing my path and halting my walk. We shuffled passed, the hazmatees banging on the door of one of the houses. Deciding not to rubberneck, we ploughed on ahead.

Rounding the next bend, we meandered our way past the Care Home on the corner. This always made me think of an episode from the “Twilight Zone” movie. I think it was the usual premise of old people regaining their youth with some sort of Peter Pan theme - a bit like “Cocoon”. I did see the occasional nurse standing outside on the corner having a smoke. Not today. After all these years, I couldn’t recall seeing old people going either in or out. Perhaps it was all a front for some kind of criminal endeavour.

Waltzing down the hill into the village (my mind said “waltz”, my feet said “stroll”), it was noticeable how empty the streets were today. Very empty. As the local, village pub came into view, then the primary school opposite the working men’s club, the street punctured by bus stops on either side, we didn’t see another soul. Skye sniffed and pithered, oblivious to the lack of other dog walkers and even people, in general. Skye didn’t care much for other walkers. For the most part, he was intimidated by other dogs (unless they were really small dogs).

We turned another corner with the Primary School still on our left, the path that led to the Recreation Ground on our right. Still nobody about, the sky now completely covered with angry clouds spoiling for a fight. It was drizzling pending something more substantial so we quickened the pace, heading for home. We did finally see another dog walker before bounding through the front door. We kept our distance. Keeping two metres away wasn’t so difficult on a day like today.

I slipped Skye’s lead off in the hall and he took his usual drink of water from his bowl. I turned on the TV in the lounge to catch the latest news. The screen showed a frozen image of a broadcast with scrolling headlines at the bottom. It read “Total breakdown across society. Take what precautions you can.” The newsreader looked cool yet alarmed at the same time. “I thought you’d finished watching that last night.” came the declaration from behind. “You fell asleep after a few glasses of wine.” I looked quizzically at my wife, then remembered I had been watching Derren Brown’s “Apocalypse” again. “Maybe watching stuff about zombies isn’t the best thing to do at the moment” she counselled. “I know. Especially with the vinyl records in boxes in the loft. How will we defend ourselves if they find their way into the garden?” She rolled her eyes and left.

“I think I might pop to the shops.” I called. With that and being Skye free, I opened the door and leapt into the known. The shops were a good 15 minute walk from the house. I pondered why I hadn’t detoured with the dog to save an extra trip. Rounding the umpteenth bend of the morning, I heard a low moaning coming from the waste ground next to the terraced houses. Figures with outstretched arms were ambling towards me. They were pretty dishevelled with clothes ripped and torn, dead eyes and all manner of cuts and bruises across their faces. I skirted past them, the gathering horde changing direction to pursue me. “I only want the paper” I thought.

The hill on the other side of the Care Home led down to the pub – "The Winchester". In actual fact, it was called “The Yeoman” a bit like the pub in “Shaun of the Dead” was “The Albany” in real life. I did want to have nice, cold pint and wait for this all to blow over. I wanted to escape the increasing number of zombies that seemed to be coming from all directions as well. Breaking into a run, I headed for the pub, seeking sanctuary and few pork scratchings.

I made it to the entrance only to find the doors locked. A sign declared “Tier 3 – takeaway only” imploring me to call a telephone number. I reached for my mobile phone but then remembered the clamour behind me. I turned to see I was surrounded by what I estimated to be hundreds. I looked from left to right, up and down and said “Oh boll-“