It soon became clear that it wasn’t – but it was hours before any footage of the onslaught was shown. It showed complete bedlam, absolute carnage in the streets of central Melbourne – but no footage of the University itself. Hundreds of youthful, male zombies running amok and sweeping all before them – killing and dismembering anyone who couldn’t flee – or who even hesitated in their flight. “They seem to have come primarily from the Parkville area,” intoned the reporter, cowering behind an outside broadcast van. “Around the precincts of Melbourne University.” So, it seemed, we had been at the epicentre of the outbreak. All the havoc we saw on the flickering screen had spread from here. Then, without warning, all newscasts stopped. Why? National Security? The Zombie Apocalypse had apparently arrived and, besieged by the all- devouring horde, we found ourselves sitting about watching repeats of “Sesame Street”! This was a little unexpected. What happened to the “National Emergency Plan”? (Or whatever.) Where were the stern-faced politicians telling us what was now required? Not long after, we heard helicopters overhead. By craning our necks at the windows, we could see there were four in total: two military-style choppers (chinooks?) and two small, civilian jobs. After an hour or so, they went away – all of them – and didn’t return. I, for one, would have been happy to be plucked from the library roof and whisked away to safety. It seems, however, this was not part of ‘The Plan’ (whatever that may have been). Why? Were we not worth saving? Presumably, there were hundreds of others, holed up in buildings scattered about the campus. Indeed, we knew positively that there were because a few had called us at the Baillieu, thinking we could help them. (Sadly, even the best trained librarians were not prepared for this task.)
Heb mar, ni a wodhya nag o dydh Foll-Ebrel. Dres henna, lies our a dremenas kyns y teuth imajys an omsettyans der an bellwolok. Yth esa habadoellya difronn yn stretow Melbourne kresel, arva dhien – mes nyns esa dredhi imajys vyth a’n Bennskol hy honan. Yth esa kansow yonkers, zombis gorow, ow poenya yn hwyls ha skuba pup-tra oll a-dheragdha. Yth esens i ow ladha peub oll na allsa fia dhe’n fo – hag ynwedh an re na neb a hokyas. “I re dheuth dres oll dhiworth mestrev Parkville,” a hwystras an derivador, ow plattya a-dryv kertik darlesans-a-ves. “A-dro dhe glosyow Pennskol Melbourne.” Ytho, y fien ni yn kres-wartha an tardh, dell heveli. Oll an terroes a welsen der an skrin ow taskrena re via lesys dhiworth omma. Ena, heb gwarnyans, oll an darlesansow-nowodhow a hedhis. Praga? Sawder Kenedhlek? Gordhroglamm an Zombis re dhothya yn apert ha, omsettyes oll a-dro gans an rout nownek, ni a omgevi bos ow mires orth towlennow dasdharlesys a “Sesame Street”! Henn o nebes anwaytyes. Pyth re hwarsa dhe’n “Towl Kenedhlek Goredhomm”? (Po pypynag.) Pleth esa an bolitigoryon, asper aga fismens, orth agan leverel pyth o edhomm ahanan ni lemmyn? Wosa pols, ni a glywas eskelli-tro a-vann. Dre blegyans agan konnow erbynn an fenestri, ni a ylli gweles bos peder anedha: diw yn furv vreselek (Shinouk?) ha diw erell, vyghanna, yn furv sivilek. Wosa a-dro dh’unn our, i eth dhe-ves - ha ny dhewelsons i. Dhe’m part vy, y fien lowen bos drehevys dhiworth to an lyverva gansa ha degys dhe le salow. Byttegyns, nyns o hemma, rann ‘An Towl’ (pypynag o henna). Praga? A nyns esa gwiwder lowr dhyn rag bos selwys? Yth esa hwath kansow an dus erell, dell grysav, maglennys y’n drehevyansow oll a-dro dhe’n kampus. Yn hwir, ni a wodhya bos henna an kas drefenn nebes yntredhon dhe elwel, dre bellgowser, dhyn ni y’n lyverva, ow krysi agan galloes aga gweres. (Yn tryst, nyns o pareusys an gwella lyveryas hogen rag an oberenn ma.)langbot langbot