The Dystopian Diaries

by K. W. Callahan

  So apparently, today’s mission is to locate a key that will gain us access to the bridge. I don’t know exactly how we will do that, but with four of us, it might take breaking up into teams to cover more ground.

  8:33 a.m.

  Our gradual drift toward the island continues. I’d say that at this rate, we only have a couple hours until we hit it, although, I have no idea just how deep the waters surrounding the island are or how deep the bottom on the ship is, so running aground could occur much sooner.

  Richard and Barbara weren’t hot on the idea of splitting up to search the ship for a bridge access key. They’re concerned that if we run into others, we might be more vulnerable if we’re split up rather than together. I see what they’re saying, but we have bigger issues at the moment. It doesn’t matter who we run into if we end up running into that island first. But they were insistent that we stick together, so that’s what we’re doing. It’s not as if we can force them to go off on their own anyway. So Jeremy is just using the bathroom, and then we’re off on our mission.

  If things go wrong and the ship runs aground, I might not be able to write again. Hopefully I’ll be writing about our success shortly, but there’s no guarantee. God I’m scared. At least there is land nearby. But so what? Let’s say we have to abandon ship. Then we lose all our food, our drinking water, and from what I’ve seen so far, this island isn’t inhabited. We’ll be castaways on a deserted island. Oh, it just keeps getting better and better.

  That’s why we HAVE to make this work. We HAVE to find a key.

  9:19 a.m.

  We didn’t find a key but we DID find more people – three of them in fact. It’s a family; the Markovsky family – mom, dad, and teenage son. The son, Julian, sprained his ankle the first day aboard ship. Therefore, they spent much of their time in their cabin ordering room service, watching television, and sitting on the balcony. By the time Julian was healed up and ready to go, most of the ship was already under lockdown. Julian’s parents, Lucian and Amanda, said their son’s injury is probably what kept them out of reach of the flu. It makes me wonder how Jeremy and I got so lucky as to avoid it. I guess it’s just fate; sometimes things just work out in your favor purely by chance, although at this juncture, I’m beginning to wonder if we’re the lucky ones or the people who have already succumbed to the flu are. I shouldn’t say that. We’re alive (for the moment), and that’s better than those poor people lying in the walk-in refrigerators or at the bottom of the sea.

  This new family seems like decent people – very hungry, but decent. That’s why I have a few minutes to write. We’re feeding them. Today was the first time they’d left their cabin’s corridor in over two days. They’d been surviving off the scraps left on some room service trays outside cabins around their own.

  We’ve explained the situation (as best we know it) to them, and they are going to help us look for a key as soon as they finish the meals we quickly prepared for them. Time is now of the essence. I’d say we’re less than half a mile (although it’s hard to tell through the storm) from the island. The storm is still raging. The wind is howling. The rain is driving in wind-blown sheets. The waves are pounding against the side of the ship. And the ship continues its slow but steady drift toward land.

  We’re focusing our search for keys in the areas around the ship’s bridge, but so many doors are locked. We found the captain’s office, as well as the first mate’s, in close proximity to the bridge, but the doors to both offices are locked. We’re going to try to break them down now that we have some extra manpower at our disposal. We just need a few more minutes to fuel that manpower with food before we get back to work.

  10:32 a.m.

  Writing fast. Couldn’t find a bridge key. Ship jolted violently a couple minutes ago. Think we’ve run aground or at least hit something. Can’t tell for sure. At least we’ve stopped moving.

  11:39 a.m.

  Okay, I think things are all right. We couldn’t get inside the bridge, but the ship has stopped moving for the moment, so we’ve either run aground or the ship’s stabilizers have kicked in again.

  We’re only about a quarter mile from the island, so even if we have to abandon ship, we won’t have far to go.

  We’re pausing for lunch. Even though the Markovsky family ate, the rest of us didn’t. Therefore, we stopped off in the restaurant kitchen to grab a bite. Now we’re all just taking a few minutes to finish our meals before getting back to work on our key search.

  Several people in our small group have asked me about what I’m writing and why. I told them that this was a special diary I started to document our honeymoon, but in the process of keeping it, it has become much more than that. It’s hard to explain, but I feel like it has kind of become a friend of sorts, a way to describe and maybe cope with what is happening. It reminds me of those first-person point of view movies – kind of like “The Blair Witch” or “Cloverfield” or “Paranormal Activity”. It’s odd that when I think of first-person POV movies, they’re all horror. I certainly hope our story turns out to be set in a different genre.

  1:11 p.m.

  Jinxing myself again! When will I learn?! I write that I hope my journal doesn’t become a horror story, and guess what happens?! Bingo! You guessed it, the wheels start falling off again. Or in this instance, the ship starts moving again. I’m sure that if our ship had wheels, they WOULD be falling off.

  The ship moving again wouldn’t be that bad were it not for that damn island. For the moment, though, it seems that we might bypass it. Our current course looks like it might take us around the island’s northernmost tip if we’re lucky.

  Right now, we’re all just on the covered veranda of the Vista Deck, watching, waiting, and holding our breath. We should know what sort of shape we’re in about a half hour from now at our current rate.

  1:27 p.m.

  Well, we’ve cleared that hurdle. We passed the end of the island about five or ten minutes ago and are gradually heading back out to sea.

  The storm is still raging. Maybe getting unstuck wasn’t the best thing in the world after all. At least before, nearer the island, the waves weren’t so big. Now that we’re moving back out to the open sea, they seem to be growing larger. And with no one captaining the ship and heading us into the waves, we could end up taking a pretty good battering. At least that’s what Jeremy is saying.

  Uh oh! Wait. What in the heck was THAT?!!

  1:49 p.m.

  The ship just lurched violently again, even more violently than last time. It was actually more of a jolting, jarring sort of action than a lurch this time. We’d just moved past the island, and we thought we were in the clear. Now we’re not so sure. Jeremy and Lucian think we struck bottom again. Richard and Barbara are trying to convince us it was just a big wave. No one really knows for sure, but to me, it really felt like we hit something. But seeing as I’m no expert on such matters, once again, we’ll just have to wait and see.

  I guess the only positive in all this is that the ship is being pushed in a westerly direction and we seem to be picking up speed now that we’ve cleared the island. I’d say the island is already almost a mile behind us and fading fast. If this storm keeps up (and we stay afloat), we might end up being driven all the way back to Florida. It could be our only hope of getting back home.

  2:30 p.m.

  I have nothing much to report at the moment. The island is gone from view and we’re adrift at sea. I’m not sure if the stabilizers have failed or the storm is just so strong that they’re being overwhelmed.

  We’re all still here on the Vista Deck, sitting in a sort of enclosed veranda area with tables and chairs sprinkled throughout as we watch the storm continue to rage. It’s kind of cool in a way – scary but cool. It’s never a situation I thought I would experience, but being on a ship this size makes it slightly less frightening. It also helps having other people with us, especially Julian. Is there anything that can frighten a teenage boy? It must be nice to live under the delusion
of immortality. One day when he’s older that will wear off and he will realize he is mortal, but for now, nothing can touch him and everything is either “Awesome!”, “Cool!”, or “Crazy!”. But his upbeat attitude and willingness to find the positive in all this is helping me maintain my own positive outlook.

  2:39 p.m.

  We’ve got problems. That probably sounds ridiculous considering our situation to this point, but it’s true. It feels like every time we think we’ve caught a break, we only end up taking another hit.

  Wait…someone else is here.

  2:58 p.m.

  Well, well, well…we’ve finally met one of the crew. I wasn’t sure if there were any of them left, but apparently there’s at least one. Ironically enough, it’s Hector, the man who works down in the engine room. He said he remembers talking to me at the lifeboat drill.

  Hector explained that he’s been hiding below deck, trying to stay away from anyone and everyone until the sickness blew over. He took a bunch of food with him and was hiding out inside a lower deck storage area. We asked him if there are any other crew members still alive. He said he has no idea, but it’s really starting to stink down there, which makes him think there are bodies starting to decay.

  This is the first time he’s come out of his hiding spot in days, and only because he said his storage area began to flood. He said he wasn’t sure where the water is coming from and he needs our help to find out.

  Right now, Jeremy, Lucian, and Hector are below deck with him. Hector has taken them downstairs to help him try to locate and then stem the flow of water. They told us to stay here until they find out what the situation is. Hector said that if the leak isn’t too bad, they might be able to start the ship’s pumps to keep up with the inflow. He thinks he knows how to do it, but he isn’t completely sure. I pray that he does or that they’ll at least be able to contain the water to certain compartments below deck.

  The men are back. They’re saying they need our help too. Guess I have to go.

  8:23 p.m.

  I haven’t been able to write recently because we’ve been so busy. I think we have stopped or at least stemmed the flooding…at least for the moment. Yes, I said “flooding”. Now that I have a little time, let me explain.

  So the last time I wrote we were getting ready to join the men below decks to try to locate the source of the water coming into the ship. We accompanied Hector down to the Vesta Deck, the lowest passenger deck on the ship, and a point we haven’t been able to pass until now. There, we found a door propped open, apparently the door from which Hector had exited. We followed him inside and then down a flight of metal stairs into the crew quarters. From there, we continued through a long corridor and down another flight of stairs into the bowels of the ship. At that point, we found ourselves walking in about an inch or two of water that was sloshing around as the ship continued to pitch and roll in the stormy seas.

  Along the way, Hector explained that they had found the source of the flooding, but the water was too deep and coming in too fast to try any attempt at stemming the flow at its source. He went on to say that without being able to get into the bridge, there was no way to start the ship’s pumps from there. And with the water as deep as it was, and coming in as fast as it was, there was no way to start them manually. He therefore said that since we couldn’t stop the water at its source, we would have to try to contain the flood and keep it from spreading to other parts of the ship. While they were below decks, the men had closed as many of the water-tight doors and hatches as they could. Again, Hector said they had to do this manually since they couldn’t access the bridge.

  After walking down another long corridor, the ceiling of which was full of pipes and electrical wiring, and the walls of which contained a number of various valves and gauges, we found Jeremy and Lucian. Here, Hector explained to us that there was one hatch door that wouldn’t close. The hatch latch had broken and therefore wouldn’t secure properly. It continued to allow water to flow freely in this state, so we needed to find materials to shore up the hatch since it was the last spot through which water was flowing, at least as far as he could tell. He said he’s never been in this type of situation, and the officers who would know more about how to handle the sort of scenario were all dead or missing.

  Each time the hatch was shoved open, water from the other side would literally rush through like a mountain stream. It was crazy!

  We spent the next half hour scavenging the lower decks for supplies – anything we thought we might be able to use to shore up the broken hatch. We assembled an assortment of wood planks, chairs, a desk, some metal bars, several fire extinguishers, an array of ropes and chains, and other odds and ends. We quickly found that the chairs were of little use. The desk was good to place against the hatch to help keep it closed, but then we had to find ways to keep it in place against the force of the water trying to push the hatch open. We ended up using some of the ropes and chains to tie it in place. We then tied several more of the ropes and chains across the front of the hatch to keep it from being pushed outward.

  Even once we got the hatch secured, our job was far from perfect. There were (and still ARE) gaps between the hatch that get forced open wider at times due to the pressure of the water that has built behind it. We’ve done our best to fit rags and even clothing in around these spaces, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much good.

  I’m not sure our makeshift fixes will hold. With the constant battering the ship is taking now that we’re out on the open sea again, it’s anybody’s guess. The water in the hold behind the hatch keeps sloshing back and forth. And every hour there is more of it to slosh about, increasing the forces building on our hatch fix. Almost every time the ship dips bow-first into the rough sea, a bunch of water in the compartment behind it rushes forward. It pushes against the hatch door. In turn, the pressure from the force of this water presses the hatch against the barrier we have put in place. This means that water continues to seep from around the compartment door even though we’ve done our best to wedge in anything we can find to stop or slow it. I’d estimate that gallons of water are forcing their way through every minute. The water in the corridor we’ve been working in has probably risen an inch or two in the last hour. It has gone from ankle deep to shin deep in the time since we first came down here. I’d hate to think how quick it would rise were the hatch to break open completely.

  We’re working in shifts to keep an eye on our fix. It’s my shift now. That’s why I finally have time to write again. Jeremy is here with me. At least we still have power inside the ship. Hector said that means the water must not have reached the ship’s main engine room and generators, at least not yet. But with the way things are now, we’re on borrowed time if this storm doesn’t subside soon.

  September 12th

  8:23 a.m.

  It has been a VERY long night. It was about five this morning when Barbara broke the bad news. I had just fallen back asleep after having had a nasty nightmare about the ship sinking when there was a knock at our cabin door. I was exhausted from all the stress and work that came with trying to plug the broken hatch door. I think we all were. And I was in the midst of the best sleep I’d gotten in days (minus the nightmare). In fact, I didn’t even hear the knocking at first. Neither did Jeremy.

  Eventually we managed to rouse ourselves, and we found a panicked Barbara looking distraught when we finally opened our cabin door.

  “Come quick!” was all she said at first. We didn’t get the rest of the story until we have donned our cloths, roused the others, and were accompanying her below deck.

  Along the way, she related how as she and Richard were on watch, a particularly massive wave must have rocked the ship. Not only did Jeremy and I sleep through the wave, but frankly, from what Barbara said, I’m glad we did. She said that while she and her husband were sitting there, bored out of their minds as they watched the water in the corridor gradually rise, the ship suddenly lurched violently, then tilted perilously toward one side
. Both were thrown from their seats, falling hard against the wall. Barbara paused only briefly to show us a red swollen spot on her forehead where she had banged it.

  At first, Barbara said they thought the ship might capsize. All the water in the corridor was sloshed over to one side, and both thought that with so much water inside the ship, it might be enough weight to roll us over completely. Several seconds later, the ship slowly righted itself, but this wasn’t the end of what happened. Barbara went on to say that the ship then rose upward for what seemed like an eternity, and then it pitched downward, bow first. She said it almost felt like we were on some sort of carnival ride or a rollercoaster. This forward and downward motion brought all the water that had been accumulating behind the broken hatch door, rushing forward. The force of this water slamming against the hatch was enough to dislodge most of our makeshift barricade. Richard and Barbara said they made some attempts to get the door re-secured, but they said the force of the water rushing through it was too great. That’s when they decided they needed help and came upstairs to wake the rest of us.

  As soon as we made it below deck to where our hatch barrier had been in place, we realized just how dire the situation really was. The water in the corridor outside the hatch was already waist high and pouring through the broken hatch in torrents. We tried desperately to make our way up to the hatch, but by that point, the ship was pitching and rolling so violently due to the storm and all the water we’d taken on, Hector feared we’d capsize whether we got the hatch re-secured or not. Every time the ship’s bow dipped downward, we were hit with a wall of water that almost washed over our heads. As soon as the ship pitched back the other direction, we were then hit by a similar wall of water from behind. Then there was the side-to-side rocking that kept us off balance and toppling into the corridor walls. All this made it almost impossible to make any headway toward the broken hatch even if we could have fixed it somehow with all our repair materials having floated or washed away.