The Dystopian Diaries

by K. W. Callahan

  He said that he didn’t think this was the regular flu, that it was Su flu. He thanked me for checking on them, but he said it was probably best if I didn’t come back. He doesn’t want me catching this. Hell, I don’t want to catch it either. As my last act of kindness, I gathered some water from surrounding rooms so that they could at least flush their toilets. I felt it was the least I could do.

  What a horrible ending for my friends. I wish there was something else I could do for them, but I know there isn’t. Manny knows it too.

  I guess it’s time to re-evaluate this whole situation one more time now that I’m on my own again. Kind of takes things in a new direction. It’s a lot easier to travel without a family in tow. And it takes a lot less supplies to survive. Maybe now that I’ve outlasted this thing, I can make a break for safer areas…wherever the hell THOSE are. But I can pack light, travel at night, and see if I can’t find somewhere that’s better than the hotel. I feel like I have to at least give it a shot. What’s the point of just sitting in a hotel? I’m going stir crazy here.

  6:47 p.m.

  I went downstairs to deliver more water to Manny and the family. I didn’t get a response from any of the rooms when I knocked, so I just left the buckets of water in the hallway.

  I’m left fearing the worst. Either they’re all dead or they’re too weak to even answer the door. Either way, it doesn’t bode well for them.

  Worse yet, on the way back upstairs, I started feeling kind of light-headed. I pray it was just from all the activity of climbing the stairs. I hope to God I haven’t caught this thing.

  September 26th

  8:12 a.m.

  I went to bed early last night. I woke up this morning with a bad headache and chills.

  Looks like I’ve got whatever this is. I have to assume it’s the Su flu.

  Guess that little shit Benjamin has killed us. If he hadn’t had to go sneaking off to explore and talk to girls, we’d all probably be fine now.

  It’s funny to think about how fate works. Well, I guess it’s not particularly “funny”, but it’s interesting, maybe “macabre” is a better word. I guess that this is what I get for my one big act of selflessness during this whole ordeal. I try to help people out, and this is the result. Oh well. Is there anything really worth living for anymore anyway? Was there anything much worth living for before this all went down? I don’t know. I guess I’m rambling. All I know is that right now, I feel pretty crappy. And if Benjamin has blessed me with the Su flu, things aren’t going to get better.

  10:05 a.m.

  This is scary as crap. It’s hard as hell when you’re looking mortality in the face. It’s not something I’m accustomed to. I guess no one is until they have to do it. I think it’s probably even harder when you know what’s coming and WHY it’s coming. When you have someone to pin the blame on for your impending doom, it really fills you with resentment. But in all honesty, how can I blame a 15-year-old boy? He had no idea what he was doing. And at that age, even if he did, would it have stopped him? Kids that age don’t think past the next five minutes. How could he possibly imagine the repercussions of his actions?

  Still, it’s hard not to be angry at the little shit-head. It’s not every day someone kills you with their actions.

  If this really is the Su flu, what should I do about it? I think it’d be better to kill myself now than suffer through what I’ve heard the Salatros went through downstairs.

  I guess I should spend some time thinking about it.

  12:15 p.m.

  Well, I’ve laid here feeling crappy for two hours, dwelling on my future, and it doesn’t seem like I’ve gotten anywhere with my internal debate.

  I don’t want to just lie here, wasting away for the next few days or however long it takes. I already feel horrible, and if there’s no hope of recovery, that seems like the worst possible alternative. But what are my other options?

  It’s easy to say you’re going to kill yourself, but it’s a whole different thing when you’re actually faced with doing so. Sure, it’s easy to sit here and say, “I’d rather die quick and painless than suffer from the effects of a horrible flu.” But when it comes down to it, it’s not all that simple at all.

  And how would I do it? It gives me panic attacks just writing about it. I feel the shortness of breath, the tightness in my chest. God, I can’t believe that this is what it has come to. Do I go up to the rooftop and fling myself over the edge. That sounds absolutely terrifying, especially considering I’ve never been a big fan of heights. Getting walloped by an express commuter train sounds pretty quick and painless, but there aren’t any trains running anymore. I’m not sure I’d have the energy to make it over to the commuter tracks from the hotel anyway. I guess that shooting myself would be the best option, but I don’t have bullets for my gun anymore. And what if I screwed that up? Then I’d be left here with half my face blown away or something terrible…and I’d STILL have the flu!

  But what if what I have isn’t the real Su flu? What if it’s the minor league version or it’s mutated into something lesser now that the initial strands have taken their toll on the population? I have no idea. I mean, from what I witnessed with Manny’s family, it sure SEEMS like the Su flu. But I don’t want to go killing myself just because I THINK it’s the Su flu.

  I guess I’d better go back downstairs and confirm. If Manny and the kids are, well, dead, I suppose I’ll have my answer.

  I’m definitely not looking forward to this.

  1:09 p.m.

  I guess that clarifies things. I went into the Salatro rooms downstairs. The only person still alive was Sandra, and she was so delirious, she didn’t know what was going on. She was lying on a bed sodden with her own filth, moaning and talking gibberish.

  The experience sure didn’t inspire hope for my own situation. Guess I’m screwed. I sure didn’t see this coming. I thought my main focus should be on food, water, that sort of stuff. Considering that I was at an empty hotel for so long, the whole flu thing kind of became secondary. I guess it shouldn’t have, especially once other people started arriving. I got complacent. I let my guard down. And this is what happens.

  Now I have to figure out how to end all this in the best way possible. Ha! “Best way possible” – what a joke! When my last days, or hours, or however long I have will be spent contemplating how best to off myself.

  Ugh…hold on.

  1:27 p.m.

  I had to make an emergency run to the bathroom. I just threw up what little was left him my belly, which wasn’t much considering I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.

  It was terrible, but for the moment, I feel better…not much, but better.

  How ironic, figuring out how to kill myself because of the flu is becoming a bigger dilemma than how to keep myself alive during it.

  When it comes down to it, taking your own life is a lot easier said than done. Contemplating an actual ending, and knowing that the final moment is imminently approaching, is hard. Call me a coward. I don’t care. But I’m scared. Hell, I’m TERRIFIED! What comes with death? Nothing? Something better? Something worse? Nothing almost seems a better alternative to an eternity of something. It feels like the last month has already been an eternity.

  Would an eternity of happiness be more horrifying than nothing at all? An eternity of happiness? How boring. Where would the Yin to balance the Yang be? What would eternal happiness be without some sort of struggle? You need something to balance the good, right?

  Well, so much for my big book deal or movie being made from relating my apocalyptic experiences. I outlasted a lot of people, but what good has it really done me? What was the point of it all, just to live an extra month? Wow, great. What a lot of work for a few more weeks. But I guess that’s what life is, just a lot of work to buy some time. But time for what? Just living? It all seems pretty pointless when you’re staring death in the face. I don’t even have any descendants. Just as well I suppose considering the way the world is now.


  Still, it’s all kind of sad.

  4:47 p.m.

  I feel terrible. I’m not going to write much. I think I have this ending thing…MY ending, figured out. I’m going to try to make it over to the drug store across the street. I pray I have the energy to make it. Maybe some looters will just shoot me along the way. I can only hope. Now I wish the hotel looters were still in the lobby. I could just go down there and let them finish me.

  7:11 p.m.

  I finally made it back to the hotel. It took me almost two hours to get downstairs, over to the drug store, and back. I’m in a room on the sixth floor. I’m too weak to go any higher. I barely made it this far. I had to stop to shit along the way…twice! I couldn’t even make it to a bathroom. The first time I went in the stairwell. The second time, I just went on the sidewalk outside. No one was around to see. I didn’t care if they were. That’s how terrible I feel.

  At least I got what I went to the store for. There were still some high-strength sleeping pills on the shelves.

  Wish I had some great words of wisdom to impart on the way out, but I don’t. I did my best to make it. It didn’t work out. Hope others do better than I did…if they’re still out there that is.

  I’m almost glad I feel this horrible. It makes it easier to do what has to be done. I just want to sleep anyway. Guess this is my chance.

  7:27 p.m.

  There, in two minutes, I just downed the entire bottle of sleeping pills. I pray I can KEEP them down.

  It’s getting dark outside. I don’t want to die here in this room. I’m going to leave my journal here and go down to the lounge. The movement will hopefully help work the drugs into my bloodstream faster. I want to die in a place where people enjoyed happier times. I’m going to sit in one of the few remaining plush leather chairs. From there, my ghost can roam the Hotel Seville, enjoying cocktails at the bar and the raucous laughter of hotel guests long past.

  It’s a fitting place for me to die.

  Epilogue

  Hi, it’s Eric again. I have to go. My group is heading back across the lake in about an hour, and we still have to hike back to the lakeshore and load more supplies on the boat.

  I’m pretty tired. I spent much of the night reading this poor man’s account of his flu experience. I just couldn’t put it down. I had to find out what happened to him. Now that I have, I kind of wish I hadn’t.

  I actually found his body…well, his “remains” I guess I should say. He was in one of the comfortable-looking lounge chairs just like he said he’d be. His plan to kill himself with the sleeping pills must have worked. Either that or the flu got him. Now he’s just a pile of bones and decayed clothing. I guess we all meet our maker sooner or later. Bet he never figured he’d die in the lounge of the hotel where he worked.

  I wonder where I’ll be when I meet my own end. It’s an interesting thought to ponder. Kind of a morose one, but it’s a question we’ll all have the answer to sooner or later. How will it happen? Where will it be? How old will I be? Will I see it coming? If I do, will I welcome it or fear it?

  Only time will tell.

  I thought that I would leave this journal here with Raymond, right beside the chair in which he died, just in case anyone else finds him. Then they could read his story and maybe add their own little bit as I have. But what are the chances of someone else finding this gravesite?

  I’ve taken a lot more from Raymond’s flu account than I’ve left, but I can say after reading his journal that it makes me appreciate the world we live in now all the more. I have to admit however that I do wonder what olives and peanut butter taste like. I suppose they’re luxuries I’ll never know.

  While it was a depressing journey to take with him, I appreciate the fact that Raymond wrote down his story. That’s why I’ve decided to take his journal back with me. At the start of his account, he thought that maybe his experiences could be used for a movie or a book. Well, that’s not going to happen. But I want to share his words with the others in my group and those back home. I think that it could provide a valuable history of what happened to the world, how it happened, and what people experienced during that period. While it may have taken some time, Raymond’s words will be heard by others. He will become a teacher in death, and his effort at recounting the pandemic that was the Su flu will not be wasted. His journal will be used to teach a brave new world what was once, and what will hopefully never be again.

  K.W. CALLAHAN

  THE DYSTOPIAN DIARIES

  BOOK 3: LOST AT SEA

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Text and image copyright © 2019 K.W. Callahan

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Callahan, K.W.

  The Dystopian Diaries – Book 3: Lost at Sea / K.W. Callahan

  ISBN: 9781082419041

  BOOKS BY K.W. CALLAHAN

  THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: DOWNFALL

  THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: QUEST

  THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: DESCENT

  THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: FORSAKEN

  THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: ASCENSION

  AFTERMATH: PARTS I-III

  THE M.O.D. FILES: THE CASE OF THE GUEST WHO STAYED OVER

  THE M.O.D. FILES: THE CASE OF THE LINEN PRESSED GUEST

  PALOS HEIGHTS

  PANDEMIC DIARY: SHELTER IN PLACE

  PANDEMIC DIARY: FLEE ON FOOT

  PANDEMIC DIARY: PANDEMIC PIONEERS

  THE FIFTH PHASE: BOOKS 1-5

  THE LAST BASTION: BOOKS 1-5

  THE DYSTOPIAN DIARIES: BOOKS 1-5

  THE DYSTOPIAN DIARIES

  BOOK 3: LOST AT SEA

  Prologue

  My name is Jonathon Povault. Today, as I was taking my morning walk on the beach, I came across something interesting, something I’ve never found on one of my walks before – this book.

  I found it wrapped in an airtight plastic bag placed inside a sealed plastic box. It must have washed up during high tide last night. There are no outward indications of where it came from, but from the looks of the container it was inside, it’s been floating around out there for a while.

  After flipping through a few of the pages within, it appears that this is some sort of diary. By the lovely and flowing handwriting, I’d say that it was kept by a woman. At this point, that’s about all I can say about it.

  After I’m done fishing, I plan on reading some of the pages inside to find out more. I’m curious and frankly a little excited. It’s not everyday you find something like this. I wonder just how old it is and how it came to wash up on the shores of Cocoa Beach, Florida.

  Hopefully, I’ll find out.

  August 29th

  11:13 a.m.

  Jill Davis – it feels so different writing the name. Two days ago, it was Jill Thatcher. But now that I’m married to my wonderful husband Jeremy, I’ll for now on be known as “Mrs. Davis.” I like Davis so much more. I always thought Thatcher had such a severe-sounding nature about it. Plus, as a kid, there was always the “Margaret” factor – so funny, ha-ha.

  I meant to start this journal before the wedding, but well, for anyone who has ever planned and successfully executed a mid-sized wedding, I think they’ll understand why I’m just getting to it now. It has been so crazy – the wedding planner, the caterer, the bridesmaids, the groomsmen, all the guests, all the gifts, the speeches, the dining, the dancing. It’s just been one big whirlwind, and then POOF! It’s over, and you can begin to breathe again.

  Anyway, I’m thankful to say that the whole thing went off without a hitch. And yes, I finally heard those two wonderful words tumble from my lovely honey’s mouth – “I do!”

  After years of dating, and 18 months of engagement, we are officially one! The fabulous shock of being able to say that I’m married still hasn’t
worn off. I hope it never does.

  Now I find myself breathing a short sigh of relief – VERY short! I say that because I’ve (I guess I should say, “WE’VE”) moved from the wedding planning and execution stage to the honeymoon preparation stage. We’re booked on a 7-day cruise leaving out of Miami in a couple days. We fly down the day after tomorrow (that would be the 31st I guess – my days and dates have been all fuddled lately…can’t imagine why). Our ship is set to depart later that afternoon.

  I’m a bundle of nerves. There is still so much to do. I’m laying out outfits, not just for me, but for Jeremy too. He’s a terrible packer. No matter how many trips we go on, he never fails to forget something. His list of “Oops!” items over the years runs the gambit – glasses, contacts, swimsuit, toothbrush, razor, deodorant, dress shoes, tennis shoes, flip flops – it’s always something.

  This time, I’m leaving nothing to chance. I don’t want to unpack aboard ship only to realize he forgot a suit jacket for dinner or a pair of dress shoes.