Apocalypse Diary of a Survivor [Book 1]

by Matt J. Pike

  They appealed to me to consider their idea, saying if I really thought about how much food I had left it made sense to take more to survive. They told me this booty find was so large and rare we were meant to find it. Of course this all brought back thoughts on how large my own stash already was. The guilt burned.

  But, the way I saw it, there was no other choice but to agree. I mean, they made some logical arguments (in terms of appealing to my need for survival) and if I declined it would raise eyebrows at the least and create some massive distrust at most. By agreeing I figured I’d have two people I could trust as we had a shared secret. So it was decided.

  It was probably 4.30pm when we headed back to the school – physically exhausted, emotionally drained and secretly pleased. We took as much as our backpacks could carry. We agreed to meet up again the next morning to bury the bodies, take the rest of the food to the school (probably two loads) and then collect our secret booty. So another full day coming up – and maybe burying the bodies will take away some of the guilt from stealing the stash.

  Back at the school there were mixed emotions. It seemed the sort of stories we had to tell were echoed across most groups. Small finds, medium finds, suspicious people, dead bodies, even other murders. But despite some of the gore and horror that was coming out, there was a definite feeling of triumph in the air. I mean yesterday we were low on food and hope, feeling very isolated from the world, but today we were sitting on a bounty of food, with more to come, and a feeling we could make it. However long ‘make-it’ would go for.

  As the food was being sorted the stories kept flowing. So did the newly found alcohol. It was hard to concentrate as I already had so much going through my head. But the things that interested me most were the other murders and the fact no one else had made a large food discovery.

  Do we have a rogue killer running around? Or many killers? Actually, I’m not sure I want to know – is one really better than the other? And was our large haul really the only significant find of the day? From what must have been 2000 houses, maybe more! What are the odds of that? I think the chances are better that other people are keeping things for themselves too. So it feels to me that under the surface of all this community happiness, and everything we’ve achieved today, there’s this sickening underlying feeling that I’m surrounded by liars and killers.

  ****

  Thursday, May 2, 2014

  6.15pm: Another day, another slog on the road, made a whole lot worse by the weather. The wind was up, which made the already freezing conditions even freezinger (that’s definitely a word). My fingers are still half numb as I write this. The wind also meant the ash was falling again, which partially covered the tracks we’d made yesterday. I’m not sure if it was new ash falling from the black sky or just stuff that had been whipped-up from the ground, but either way, it was highly annoying.

  First up was getting the other goods to the school. We managed the bulk of it in two trips and decided to leave the dregs due to time restraints (plus, it’s good knowing we have a little something leftover, just in case).

  Then came the hard part – burying the bodies. It was time consuming and hard work but, most of all, it meant dealing with everything we saw yesterday again. At least this time I was mentally prepared but in truth I’m not sure that made it too much easier in truth.

  We buried them in the ash out the back of their places. We didn’t dig down six feet, but certainly far enough for some dignity. We then placed a simple cross on each of the gravesite, when Mark had made those the night. We then gave each of them a minute’s silence before moving on to the next burial.

  We’d been on the move for eight hours before we had to deal with the secret stash. To be honest, it was weird, going from doing something good and honest in memory of some poor soul to doing something quite devious and sneaky for selfish reasons. There wasn’t much talking from any of us, apart from establishing how the split would work.

  It was decided we would each fill our backpacks once then return in the morning to take another load. We each agreed trust was important so none of us were allowed to tell anyone what we’d done, nor return to the property before 9am the next day. With that we left.

  10pm: I’m absolutely stuffed. My legs ache like I’ve run a marathon (this is a guess as I have never even thought of running a marathon and, given it is now all but impossible to run 2m, let alone 42km, it’s pretty safe to say I never will), my stomach aches, my arms ache, even my butt aches! I don’t even know how I’ll muster the energy to go out again tomorrow.

  I should be sound asleep by now; my body is pleading with me to go to the land of nod, but my mind is sabotaging everything. There are so many thoughts running through my head and I can’t get them to stop. The thought of the dead bodies is haunting me. Just imagining potential last moments– over and over again. And it’s not doing me any good. Then I start thinking of Mum and Dad (yes, I cried), then I wonder what they’d think of what I’ve done – stealing supplies from the group. Would they be disappointed in me? Most likely. Then I start thinking of my brother and if he’s safe or not, and if I’ll ever see him again.

  It’s all driving me insane. And when I try to take my mind off it all, the only thing I can think about is my life right now and this house. Which then leads me to think about how safe I actually am, given there’s at least one killer on the loose around here.

  Wow, talk about messed up.

  I think I’d boxed it all up– everything from the last few days – and tonight it’s all come out. Bleak – that’s the word. My current situation, the future, who I’ve become – it all just feels so bleak.

  I don’t know what to do about it either. I really don’t. The best I can come up with is to get all business-like tomorrow, meet Mark and Jenna, collect the stash, then come home and distract myself. I can feel a games day coming on. I don’t even know if that’s gonna be enough, but it’s all I can think of right now to try and take my mind of things.

  ****

  Friday, May 3, 2014

  2.30pm: Done. It’s all done. I’m now officially putting the last three days out of my memory. Gone. Did you hear that stupid mind? All thoughts on the last three days are G O N E – GONE!!!!

  9pm: Well, I did manage to get a couple of hours of gaming in before the whole pointlessness of it overwhelmed me. In the end I just felt compelled to put on the most depressing music I could find and draw random pictures. I ended up drawing this A3-sized cartoon art of the comet and death and destruction and darkness and ash. I started to feel somewhat better after that. I should do more artwork actually, it turned out pretty well.

  In fact I’m gonna continue my drawing therapy now… with a beer… or two… I deserve it.

  ****

  Sunday, May 5, 2014

  4.20pm: I’m slowly getting my mojo back after some serious slob therapy. I can put a line through another Red Dwarf book, another game campaign (Mass Effect – been at that one for a few sessions now) and the first two seasons of Peep Show (an awesome comedy discovery on my brother’s hard drive).

  It hasn’t been all fun and games through. When I’ve been bored of slobbing I’ve been working on my own pair of sled boots so I don’t have to wade through the sludgy ash any more. At first I set myself to replicate what I’d seen Mia and Craig wear on the Norwood run, but something (my ego) made me want to invent something better.

  That’s when I remembered Dad’s cross-country skis. I figured they’d be perfect for the job as the walking motion in them would be similar to what I need. Because they had no heel clip I was hoping I’d get a result with an easier walk action.

  It was totally worth the 90 minutes it took to get into the shed (damn ash) and find them. I cut the heads off two tennis racquets then cut grooves into each ski so the racquet heads locked in. I then trimmed the skis an inch either side of the grooves, put the racquet heads in place and secured them with a couple of strips of metal and some screws. Once the basics were done I gaffer-taped the hell
out of it all then cut and stitched the racquet cases so they could act as a giant sole for my new sled-shoes. I’ve got to say I’m stoked with the results – they’re sturdy as all hell and when I gave them a test run on the ash I zipped across the surface.

  Now I’ve just got to find an excuse to test them out in the real world. I might head out tomorrow. I can sweep the paths, head to the school to find out what’s been going on or if they need me, then head to the Hardos to see why they’ve dropped off the radar. Am I concerned? Well, yeah, I am. I try not to think about it too much, but with them just dropping out of existence coupled with the fact there have been more than a couple of murders recently, well… I just try not to think about it.

  9.15pm: I’ve actually enjoyed my time away from the community. I really needed it. It’ll be interesting to see what happens when I plug back in though. It’s a funny contradiction really. I mean, I need them for the company to keep me sane and to find out what’s going on, and maybe other things in the future, but they, the community, bring about more than their fair share of stress.

  ****

  Monday, May 6, 2014

  8.15pm: I really think this world is doing its best to strip me of everything I give a stuff about. I think it’s conspiring to leave me alone and isolated. Today was just another perfect example of shit-storm city.

  I’m shaking right now. Just absolutely shaking, edgy, cold and numb. I’ll try and remember as much as I can coz I feel I need to get all this down.

  If I recall everything in chronological order then I can get the good news out of the way first. The boots – my new ash boots as I call them – worked a treat. What a difference it makes with travel times and the physical energy required when I can just skim across the surface of the ash. Massive win me.

  Here endeth the good news.

  I got to the school about 10am (I didn’t want to get there too early in case no one was around). Some lady in her fifties was on the gate and gave me a goody bag of long life food stuff. I told her I didn’t really need it yet but she looked me up and down and insisted I take it. I’m gonna assume that’s a comment on how stick skinny I am. In the gym the community have set up some sort of operations area. They had a bunch of people busily working away. The food supplies took up a large chunk of the space (I can’t believe how much was gathered the other day) and there were several people stocktaking, I think.

  By the far wall I could see Mia and Craig and a few others in deep conversation so I decided to get a bit closer (eavesdropping distance) while I looked through my food gift. I could see on the floor in front of them they’d set up a huge map of the area – much like my war room – and they had a bunch of markers in different colours on the map.

  They were talking about supplies, logistics and the number of people we had to feed. I’m not sure I got all the details, but they were saying they’d probably collected enough food for 10-11 days and that we’d have to revisit Norwood. I’ve got the feeling our Norwood ‘revisit’ might not be as friendly as the last one – and that was far from friendly.

  I found myself inching closer to the conversation to the point were there was no denying my eavesdropping. Not that anyone asked straight away, the whole operation is pretty casual really. I studied the various markers on the map and that’s when I started to get that sinking feeling once more. It didn’t take long to decipher enough of the code to know what was going on. I just had to recall the street I’d been though on my reconnaissance with Mark and Jemma and match what happened at specific addresses with the icons these addresses displayed. Monopoly hotels marked where the community members lived and Monopoly houses indicated other known occupied properties. Green poker chips indicated where we’d cleaned out food, red chips were the places where people had passed away and the black chips… the goddam black chips… that’s where people had been murdered. There were also other coloured chips scattered around whose meaning didn’t immediately seem obvious.

  I couldn’t help myself. As soon as I decoded that black marker I scanned the rest of the map to see where they were. I counted 17 in total – that’s not good. I was relieved as hell to see there were none on the Hardigan’s property. They did have a white chip marker so I was very curious to know what that meant. I approached Mia for help and she directed me to some guy – mid-40s, I reckon – who was in charge of the search of the Hardigan’s area. His name was Malcolm. I asked him what he knew.

  He told me the white chip meant a vacant property that had recent signs of life so it wasn’t raided for food in case the occupants were out. Mark, Jemma and I hadn’t come across too many houses like that in our search, but they did stand out when we did. The true vacant houses (the green chips) had a layer of ash and dust over everything – most places had at least a centimetre’s worth accumulated whereas the white chips were weirdly clean – it was an obvious sign of activity. It’s amazing how obvious the footprints of our presence are these days.

  I pressed Malcolm for more info on the Hardigans but he was frustratingly vague on details. To his credit though, he tried his best to think of something as he knew I knew the family who lived there but he just drew a blank. I do understand the vagueness – most of the houses from my search blurred into one now. It didn’t make it any less frustrating but I understood. But what he lacked in detail he definitely made up for in his certainty he hadn’t made any mistakes. He told me he had a three-check system to mark everything down, so if the place was marked as white chip it was definitely white chip.

  I decided to let both Malcolm and Mia know I was going to head over to the Hardigans to see what was up. Mia asked that I touch base back at the school when I was done which I was happy to do.

  She also checked out my ash boots (which I had slung over my shoulder) and was more than impressed with my handiwork. I know it wasn’t much, but I was pretty happy to get a compliment from her, given she had set the boots trend in the first place. She also told me about a big community meeting on Thursday morning, which sounded like a must-attend. It was to plan our next move in terms of securing food and drink supplies. She was saying despite everything we had gathered so far, we probably only had enough for another 10 days to two weeks. I have a feeling things are going to get very interesting after that.

  As I walked to the Hardigans, my thoughts were divided between why they weren’t at the property, what might have happened to them and how impressed I was with the organisation of the community. There was a real buzz at the school today and it felt pretty cool to be a part of, even though I was on the periphery. I still constantly debate whether or not I should be spending more time there. I think it would be good for my sanity to be in touch with people more often but, at the same time, I can’t help but think I’ll somehow let slip how much stuff I have. I mean, maybe not now but when times get desperate – and they will – I might go soft and donate my stash to the cause.

  Is it cruel I’m avoiding getting too close so I won’t get too sympathetic when things get tough? I mean, if I really get to know these people surely I won’t be able to keep my food to myself. I’ll get all guilty and stuff. Therefore I’m avoiding that outcome by keeping myself at a distance. Do I feel bad about? Yes. But that’s the choice I’m making.

  Anyways, I’m gabbing on right now, just jotting down any old thought that helps me avoid writing what came next.

  It took about 20 minutes to get to the Hardigans – a far cry from the hour-long epic a week ago. As I got closer I had a sense of dread, which kept rising. For some reason I knew something was up. The door was closed but not locked. I did knock a couple of times, then called out for Hardo, but there was no response so I just headed in.

  I yelled out a few more times as I got to the lounge-dining room – still no response. The place was almost exactly as I saw it last… kinda creepy with no one around.

  I did see a note on the table – from Malcolm – saying he’d been in to see if everyone was OK and since there were signs of recent life he’d come back next week.r />
  Then I checked the house from top to bottom. Garage, cupboards, wardrobes – everywhere. Still nothing. I did notice almost all of the food was gone, which either meant they’d done a runner to somewhere else or something bad had happened. Then it occurred to me to check outside – I wish it hadn’t. I used the back sliding door to get on to the patio – it was undercover but the ash had still managed to pile up somewhat. There was nothing there and nothing in the shed. It was only when I rounded the side of the house that I saw them – well when I say ‘them’ I mean suspicious piles in the ash. They were by the laundry door, literally right outside. Dead. I saw Mrs Hardigan first. I got a good grip on her hand and managed to pull her clear of the ash. She was stiff as hell. She’d been shot in the chest.

  The other two took more work to pull up as they were both bigger than me. It was gruesome. The blood; coagulated and curdled, covered in ash. The looks on their faces; stuck there forevermore. The smell – it was all so horrible. I just went into block-out mode. I gave myself the job of burying them and didn’t think about all the disgusting things I was doing to make that happen. It took about an hour. Just like I did with Mum and Dad’s funerals, I found some personal items inside to bury with them.

  I didn’t cry. Not once. It was almost too much to take in – so much to cry about I wasn’t even capable of it. I feel more alone than ever before. Each day something seems to be taken away from me, whether it’s someone I care about, my belief I can get through this or a piece of my hope. Screw this place.

  The rest of the day has been a blur. The only thing I really remember with any clarity was walking back into the school, making a bee-line for the map on the gym floor, removing the white poker chip and replacing it with a black one. I then just marched my ass straight out the door. Someone tried to stop me to find out what had happened but the look on my face must’ve told them I wasn’t in the mood for polite conversation so they left me alone.