How it Started - first drafts

First drafts

A glimpse of my novel WIP, what follows is the opening chapter I originally wrote, that I have since cut from the work.

She pulled the threadbare blanket tighter around her shoulders and tried to sleep. The cold was pervasive. Ash was always cold these days, and no wonder. After the fall, which had been in the summer, it hadn't been long before everything stopped. Everything except looting that is: that had continued for weeks, months even. The movies always showed people raiding shops for food and supplies long after the roads were overgrown; but the people had been wild and now there was nothing left: no food, no clothes and definitely no camping supplies. So she pulled her blanket tight and tried to visualise the cold away. Maybe she'd get a bit more sleep.

The hay loft she'd hidden in last night was as safe as things got these days, but there was almost always a background hum of moaning that carried on the slightest breeze, and a rotten tang in the air that clung to the roof of your mouth. After what seemed like hours of laying and attempting to convince herself that she could sleep some more, Ash gave up. With a sigh, she cracked her eyes and took in the surroundings that had been formless shadows when she stumbled in and clambered up the ladder the night before. From her perch in the mezzanine loft, Ash could see most of the barn and it seemed to be empty. Not inexperienced in staying safe in the world she found herself living in these days, she sat up as quietly as possible, wincing as her movement caused the boards beneath her to creak loudly in the pre-dawn almost silence. She stuffed her blanket into the neck of the rucksack she'd used as a pillow, and rose to creep towards the edge of the loft. Laying down again, she gripped the edge of the boards and hung her head over to look into the space beneath her. An earlier version of Ash would have gagged at the sight below; the mangled corpse of a cow with its putrefying remains, blackened and frozen, spilled out across the ground and mingled with old hay. The ‘after’ version of Ash barely blinked - it was tame compared to some of the atrocities she'd witnessed since the fall. She let out a faint breath of relief and sat up, swinging her rucksack onto one shoulder. The coast was clear - inside the barn at least - and she'd had the foresight to pull the ladder up beside her, despite her exhaustion. She crawled to the rickety ladder and slid it over the edge, holding it steady as she lowered it. Climbing swiftly down, Ash kept her ears open, not wanting to be surprised unpleasantly.

As she reached the ground, she scanned the barn for the doors - one thing the films had got right was 'Know your exits'. There was the large double door that she’d come through the night before: that lead to a large farmyard surrounded by other buildings. At the other end of the barn was a smaller door, and it was in this direction she headed to see what was there.

She walked slowly, placing each foot carefully on the icy ground of the barn so as not to slip or step in something unpleasant. As she approached the door, she held her breath, her pulse thrumming in her head. She placed one hand on the flat of the wooden door and listened, her ears straining, but there was no sound, no vibration to be felt. She reached out for the handle and pushed it down, leaning forward slightly to give the door a gentle push. To begin with, it wouldn't budge, then with a loud screech it swung open and banged against a wall on the other side. Ash froze, peering into the darkness beyond. It was another cavernous barn space - this one lined by fenced alcoves - open at the far end where a thin, grey light broke through. She peered and waited, wondering if she was going to hear the tell-tale groan of the dead but again there was nothing close. Things seemed to be on her side for a change.

After a few moments, Ash turned, satisfied that this was an option if the farmyard was a loss. She crept back the full length of the barn to the double doors and repeated her listening exercise. Too many times she'd got herself into bother by neglecting this ritual. There was no sound from the farmyard beyond the large doors, so she reached for the handle again. The barn doors didn't have a turning handle like the other, it had a chain with a pin hanging down. There was a ring in the other door that she supposed was used to pin the door closed. The handle was a smooth wooden D for pulling or pushing. The wood was cold to the touch as she grasped the handle, gently easing the door aside on runners. She stopped when a gap of a couple of centimetres had opened up and put her face close to look out. Initially it seemed like the farmyard was as clear as everywhere else had been, then movement caught her eye. A gaunt, tatty dog limped into the courtyard on three legs. Ash relaxed and nearly slid the door wider when a stumbling figure emerged from behind a different outbuilding and bore down on the pathetic creature. Heart in her throat, Ash froze and watched; silently willing the dog to notice and leave but it continued limping along, stopping occasionally to sniff at the ground. The creature was nearly on top of it, leaning down to grasp at the dog, when the canine finally noticed. It yelped quietly and hopped to the side, evading the snatching hands, then hobbled slightly more quickly away from the undead figure. The walking corpse followed and the dog’s pace was barely enough to stay ahead of it. As the two pitiful creatures shambled out of the farmyard, Ash risked a better look; no other walkers had approached the dog after all.

The sky was brightening and, apart from some dense shadows beneath a stand of trees to the right of the barn, it was light enough to see that the farmyard was clear. To the left of the barn was a dilapidated farmhouse, door hanging off and windows broken. She could have stayed in the house last night but her experience had taught her that houses were death traps; often hiding walkers or attracting unpleasant living threats. Her eyes skimmed past it; nothing in there would be worth the potential danger. Across a wide, unkempt yard, was an open building - a roof and one wall at the back - maybe it had been a stable or a carport. It was no good for anything now except a memorial. The ground was showing growth of weeds and was covered in patchy ice and thin snow. In the gaps, the ground was a dark shade of something the source of which Ash was in no hurry to discover. Checking the dark cluster of trees for movement, Ash decided it was time to take her chance. Despite knowing that one of the creatures had recently gone that direction, Ash headed out of the farmyard past the stable building, shrugging her rucksack onto both shoulders to keep her hands free. A few months ago, she'd had an axe. It had helped her feel safe and had proven itself on many occasions, but a clumsy river crossing had lost her that useful tool. Wistfully, she thought of all the goodies that would have been lying around this farm before the fall. Like everywhere else, it had been wiped clean of anything remotely useful. She kept telling herself she'd make a weapon, maybe whittle some kind of make out of wood, but even for that she'd need something sharp and all she had was a tin opener.

The gate to the farmyard hung off one hinge and was grown through with weeds and vines. She passed it, keeping the side wall of the stable building to her left and back as she walked quietly. She kept her eyes mainly ahead of her, occasionally flitting a glance around. As she reached the corner of the building, she paused and listened carefully. Hearing nothing, she leaned around. The stumbling figure of the walker was ahead but had left the road following the limping dog, and was pushing through thigh deep grass towards a tree line in the distance. All Ash could see of the dog was a slight ripple in the grass ahead of the creature. She sent a silent thanks towards the sorry thing for it had certainly made her morning easier so far. Ash decided the coast was as clear as it was likely to get, and set off up the rutted farm track away from the farm with a little more confidence and speed. It was early, but keeping moving was the way to survive the after times.

I wrote this about four years ago, tweaked it, built on it. Then spent the NanoWrimo of 2021 building it from the 14,000 or so I had up to 70,000. It now stands at 80,000 and I need to write the ending. That will be the end of the first draft.