by Lamb, Lynn
The Survivor Diaries
Monte Vista Village (Book 1)
By Lynn Lamb
© Lynn Lamb Press 2013
Terms and Conditions:
The purchaser of this book is subject to the condition that he/she shall in no way resell it, nor any part of it, nor make copies of it to distribute freely.
All Persons Fictitious Disclaimer:
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.
Seven Deadly Sins
Wealth without work
Pleasure without conscience
Science without humanity
Knowledge without character
Politics without principle
Commerce without morality
Worship without sacrifice
― Mahatma Gandhi
“It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity”- Albert Einstein.
“When the power of love over comes the love of power, the world will know peace. –Jimi Hendrix
This book is lovingly dedicated to my family, the best bunch of characters I know!
Contents
The Survivor Diaries Copyright Page
Part 1: Toxic Soup
A Letter to Brianna and Amanda Taped to Our Front Door
July 13, 11:30 PM
July 14, 11:42 AM
July 14, 4:05 PM
July 14, 11:17 PM
July 15, 4:06 AM
July 15, 1:10 PM
July 15, 2:45 PM
July 20, 10:15 AM
July 20, Noon Meeting
July 20, I don’t know what time it is
July 20, About two hours later
July 20, 9:15 PM
July 21, 11:30 AM
July 21, 5:15 PM
July 21, 7:30 PM
July 21, 10:15 AM
July 22, 10:30 AM
July 22, 11:30 AM
July 22, 1:45 PM
July 23, 2:20 PM
July 23, 9:35 AM
July 23, 11:30 AM
July 23, 9:15 PM
July 24, 10:20 PM
July 25, 6:45 AM
July 25, 10:15 AM
July 23, 3:15 PM
July 25, 9:45 PM
July 26, 6:45 AM
July 26, 8:10 AM
July 25, 11:45 AM
August 8
Part II: Surviving the Outside (Preview)
August 9
At 9:00 AM on the dot we started our first in-person meeting
Part 1: Toxic Soup
A Letter to Brianna and Amanda Taped to Our Front Door
Dear Bri and Ammie,
I am completely despondent that our call a few hours ago got cut off! What if it was the last time I ever hear your voices? I didn’t even get to tell you how much you both mean to me and that I have loved you both like my own daughters ever since the moment you were born on to this earth.
I have been trying to get a hold of you again since we got disconnected, but I keep getting either the busy signal or a message that the lines are experiencing “high caller volume” and to please try my call again later. But here is the thing; I don’t know if there is going to be a later.
If you are actually reading this, it means you made it through the bombs, missiles, and chemicals, and have traveled 690 miles, according to Google maps, all the way to Monterey. I know that if it’s possible, you two will find a way here to read this letter. I am glad we got to at least discuss you making your way here before the lines went dead. Gosh, right now that word “dead” is my greatest fear, not just for our family, but for the planet. How did it come to this?
My generation was supposed to be leaving everything better than the last. We ended the Cold War, but after 9/11 we jumped too quickly into two more decade long wars out of fear and anger. And now, we have this.
What started this? We have been greedy and have had no idea how to live within our means. When the economy tanked, we were supposed to soldier through it. But we couldn’t live without the big screens, keyboards and monitors that took the place of plain human interactions. We couldn’t wait to upload a photo of our dinner from our iPhones instead of inviting each other over for a real meal, sans electronics.
Right now, I would give everything I own for just five minutes with the two of you. Now that we are on the eve of probable human extinction, I am not regretting not being able to afford the latest gadget. No, I regret not beginning able to give you one last hug, one more kiss on the forehead.
I am not really even sure why I am writing this. Maybe there is a chance that you made it up here. But what are you going to find?
How did it get this far? Humans are supposed to have an instinct for survival, at almost any cost. Between China not forgiving us our debts, and the Middle East terrorists and their allies, maybe it was inevitable. Funny, it doesn’t even really matter right now.
Your grandmother, uncle and I have been scrambling since New York and D.C. fell to get things together in case, by a complete miracle, we survive what is coming. My rational mind knows that this is highly unlikely, but it is giving us something to do besides panic. Don’t get me wrong, we have panicked. In fact, we have gone through all the stages of grief, several times, and now we are getting things done as if we are in some kind of daze, mere zombies. Maybe some of the things we have gathered and accomplished will fall into your hands. That is my greatest desire right now.
Our cable went out a couple of days ago, but we don’t need it. We have the radio, and our imaginations are good enough to build a picture of what is taking place.
We have no more government, can you believe that? I can’t. What is to stop anyone from breaking the laws, taking what they want, murdering for what they just can’t grab. In fact, that is already happening, isn’t it? The radio said that the rioting is out of control in just about all of the major cities left standing. Can anyone tell me exactly why you need a big screen TV when there is no signal? And we know that sometime soon there will be no electricity, either.
Am I rambling? Maybe, but I am afraid that the minute I stop writing this letter it means that I will never get to see you again, and I am just not ready for it. So, I guess it’s not hurting anything to spill out all of my thoughts right now.
Here’s a thought. My memories of the events of 9/11 are seared into my brain. And not just the images of the Twin Towers being hit by the huge passenger planes come make shift missiles, either. One of my clearest memories of the day is of my strong but small nieces making their way from the bus on their own. You were in first and third grades, and the lady who ran your day care was supposed to pick you up like she did every day when you got off the bus. But that day, the one where fear and sadness gripped everyone in the Country, she wasn’t there. Later we found out that on that day her husband left her. Instead of following through with her obligation to keep her young charges safe, she simply didn’t bother to go and get you; so wrapped up in her won grief, was she. Amanda, although you were so little, you grabbed your sister by the arm and led her to your house. There, you climbed in the window, and made sure that everything was locked up before you made yourselves a snack and started your homework. After that day, I knew that the two of you would always stick together and make it through, come what may.
Today, I am hoping, praying, even though that’s not something usually I do, that you will take each other by the hand and make your way up here, with your dad and extended family in tow. If anyone can, it’s my two capable, intelligent and courageous nieces. You are bot
h warriors!
I know that Bri was called to duty today by the National Guard, and that she will uphold her solemn oath, whatever that maybe. But I am wondering if this is too big for even the US Army to hold together. Maybe Bri will get to stay with the family and lead you all here, to Monterey. Am I just making up the happily ever after stories to get myself through this? Probably.
I just read this letter over, to see if I have said everything I need to say to you both and I am sobbing. I am inconsolable and that has brought your uncle to tears. So I now say to myself, “Stop it, Laura! If Bri and Ammie are that strong, you must be at least as strong yourself, for your family.”
So, one last thing… if you have found this letter, it means that you are ten times the amazing, young women I have always believed you to be. Go out and live, Bri and Ammie. Find strength and happiness in knowing that your family loved you until our last breaths.
It has been a true honor to be your aunt! I loved you more than words will ever say!
Come What May, Your Aunt Laurie
July 13, 11:30 PM
How crazy is it to be starting a diary on the day that you are certain will be your last?
I haven’t written in a diary since I was a child, when I started every entry with “Dear Diary,” as if the totally inanimate “Norman Rockwell” diary containing blank pages (and a little gold lock and key) could actually hear me, and was a “Dear” friend. But that was the way I believed you were supposed to write in a diary. I guess getting such a late start on writing my thoughts is how I roll, how I have always rolled. A day late, and a dollar short. But writing to the girls was cathartic, as much as it could be, considering the circumstances. So, I will just keep my pen moving until I feel a little better or until I see that white flash of light we are all expecting any second. Here goes:
“Dear Diary,”
I was supposed to be so much more in life than I am now. At least, that’s what my upbringing would suggest. I went to a top private girl’s school and have a college degree in film. Why I never found my professional footing I will never know. I have had some success in life. I was in corporate video when I met my husband, at the age of 37. I was so much older than I expected I would be by the time that all came about. Did I just waste what was supposed to be the first half of my life? When I finally did go off and start my career, I did well. But my work wasn’t going to change the world like I had always thought it would. I was supposed to make the Documentary that won awards and inspired people to think and behave in ways that would change things. That was always my dream. Maybe, if I had been more motivated…
Not that I think this whole thing is my fault. No, I think everyone who always thought they would start to make a difference TOMORROW is at fault for this. We own it, folks. All of us who thought that being politically correct on social media was all we needed to do. But just clicking on links that said that our government needed to come together, to stop the “partisan bickering”, was never enough to change one damn thing. It only pacified us into believing we were helping. How stupid I was to believe that was all I needed to do to make the world safer? How stupid were we all?
The only good thing I ever did on social media was to say an emotional good-bye to all of the 625 “friends” I had. Funny thing, I didn’t even know most of those people in person. They were only photos of happy people, going about their lives, uploading photos of their dinners and family vacations. But I never really knew them. And now, I never will.
The internet went completely down yesterday, although it had been crashing down around us, bit by bit, since it happened; the East Coast Armageddon I mean. My husband, Makram Balous, he goes by Mark, told me to stop worrying so much. He always thinks I worry too much.
“Just stop, then,” he said, exhausted at my constant afflicted chatter about the subject.
“How long are we supposed to believe that this is going to be contained on the East Coast?” I replied, angrily. Things were starting to get real up in here. Mark always hated drama, even the real kind. But I just couldn’t pretend anymore.
“We are in real trouble, and we need to start really preparing, in case we make it. And I don’t mean by just buying emergency goods,” I said vehemently.
For the last year, we have been staying in my mother’s large home due to our lack of funds and terrible luck during the employment crisis. The strain of our money problems, coupled with the gradual decline in the relationship between my husband and mother, were bringing us to a boiling point. In a way, our marriage mirrored the government’s breakdown. The longer we had no money, the harder it was to hold together our relationship. We had periods of our own “shut downs”, so to speak. And the more behind in our bills we got, and with the debt piling up, we too were about to blow up, just not as literally as it had been happening in the US.
While we had news just after the first hits in the East, we saw the devastation play out there. The images of the mushroom shaped clouds are indisputable. We have endured a nuclear attack. The President, who has been taken to an undisclosed location, as one would suspect would happen in an event such as this, delivered what he has called his last public speech, indefinitely. He went on to say that we need to rely on our local governments, and that we need to be prepared for the “inevitability of further attacks throughout the entire country”. But our local government has said very little. They alluded to the possibility of martial law, but have not given any set instructions as to what we should do. I think we are on our own.
Since the President’s address, we have seen DC, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and New York succumb to what our leader has called the “inevitable.” We know that the Mid-west, as far west as Missouri, has also been under attack; rumor has that they have endured unprecedented biochemical warfare. We have only been told that the perpetrators of these crimes against humanity are an “alliance of US enemies”. I wonder if it matters anymore who fired the first shot.
Logic dictates that the entire Country will soon be hit. The government has been quiet about what we are doing in return; only that we have “all the troops possible deployed on foreign land at this time”. I wonder who is left to protect us on our own soil now.
I have to find a way to keep it together until we either come to the point of survival of the fittest, or die. I am not sure which I would prefer.
It’s now almost 1:00 AM and I am so tired. I feel like if I go to sleep, I will miss the last moments of my time here on earth. Perhaps that’s for the best.
Good night, Dear Diary… may we meet again tomorrow!
July 14, 11:42 AM
When I woke up today, there was no electricity. We knew that if we made it much longer, it would be gone soon.
Mom started to fuss about the food in the refrigerator, which made pragmatist Mark livid. But I actually agreed with her. We needed to start to deal with our reality, day by day, minute by minute.
“Honey,” I implored. “We have to do something with the food. We can’t afford to waste even a mouthful.”
“Fine, let’s do it. Bring me all meat items and I will fire up the grill. Maybe I can dry them into jerky somehow.”
I took a deep, grateful breath. He is actually getting on board. At least I hope so. I did hear a grumble, though. “Man, you two,” he said under his breath. First it’s “buy up everything in the store”, and now it’s let’s become “Doomsday Preppers”, like on television. Maybe you will get your own reality show.”
I blew off the comment because he was actually starting to help.
By the way, I don’t want to make my husband out as some kind of jerk. Most of the time, he is just the opposite, actually. He just doesn’t do that well at planning in general, especially not for the end of the world. I had always been the unofficial “prepper” in the family. With my emergency box of band aids and ointment, seed vault and hand cranked NOAA Radio and Charger-in-one, I am the self-appointed disaster readiness professional of our family. If I had only known it would come to this, I would hav
e been way better at my job. Something tells me that we are not even close to being prepared for what is to come.
Mark has actually been helpful getting some things ready, despite his superstition about planning too much. I just can’t see that me being prepared is the reason we might be in the path of global destruction.
I needed to get out of the house while my husband focused on his grilling. I hadn’t really been going out very much for the last couple of days. I just expected, and wanted, to die in my own home with my family if it was going to happen any time soon. I didn’t want to be caught at the grocery store when it happened. That’s a too unceremonious way to go. But at the moment, I only felt the need to get out and walk for a while.
For the last few days I have been thinking about getting to know our neighbors. I had always thought it sad that Mom had lived here, in the same house, for nearly three decades and barely knew any of our neighbors. My need to meet them wasn’t exactly altruistic. I thought it best to begin to compile a list of those people closest to us; what they did for a living, how old were they, and how willing did they seem to come together as a community, if it came to that. I wanted to start a list of assets, so to speak. Did they own generators; have they been stock piling food and water? Whatever they were willing to disclose, I was there to hear.
So, I reached for my tablet when it dawned on me that it wouldn’t be that helpful for the long run to use anything that required electricity. Instead, I found a clipboard, some paper and a pen, and I set off about my task, not knowing what to expect.
In our defense, none of our neighbors ever seemed to talk to each other, either. We have had a bit of an ongoing feud with the people to the right of us. They left the dogs out, howling until the wee hours of the night all of the time, and we were known to yell at the little yappers over the fence when it got to be too much. You know, just typical neighbor stuff. The idealistic, close knit neighborhood, with block parties and long chats in the front yard, we were not. Even just after we moved here when I was a child in the early 1980’s, we never even trick or treated, nor have we ever had any children come to our door and demand candy or reap the tricks that might befall us if we did not deliver the goods. We never had any sense of community what-so-ever. Hopefully, my walk from house to house today will have an impact.