Wicked Series (Short Story): The Journal of Emma Wilson

by Davis, John Macallen

  While I understand the need, it still seems very barbaric to me. Everything outside of the checkpoints and safe zones is being napalmed repeatedly for obvious reasons. Experts are predicting that when the outbreak is finished, Europe as a whole will have been reduced to less than a third-world country. Kind of like the United States when the Democrats had the White House. At least according to my dad.

  Our neighborhood has been meeting up regularly to watch the news as well as put plans into place should the EF1 virus reach our shores. My dad is usually very vocal, and I would have expected a man with extensive military background to step up and take the lead during these meetings. Yet, the opposite is happening. Both of my parents sit quietly in the corner, almost as if they are not involved. Dad, you were a sniper. I've seen the medals. Now is not the time to sit in the corner and eat Mrs. Duke's apple pie.

  Texas has started to ration gasoline as well. Not because there is a shortage of it, at least not globally. It's more of a direct effect of citizens hoarding it. Several people in my own neighborhood have brought it by the hundreds of gallons, filling up any empty container that they can get their hands on.

  Television continues to be a non-stop blitz of news on the EF1 outbreak, while the Internet has become spotty. My guess would be too much traffic at once, at least that's the case for our sporadic cell phone signal. Of course, how would I know? I'm still using the beater. It wasn't the best phone to begin with.

  Entry 10

  Airstrikes of densely-populated areas in Europe have increased since yesterday.

  Apparently, from what we can gather through the news on television, the infected have broken through several of the quarantine checkpoints and made their way into “safe zones”.

  While they remain unorganized, the 33's now seem to be banding together and attacking in droves. We still don't understand why, other than their desire to kill. Experts are calling it a viral form of brain damage, saying they are similar to someone that would suffer from a rage caused by severe mental illness. I suppose in this politically correct world, the only thing these infected need, is therapy. To be loveed and nurtured. Yea, that's sarcasm.

  Many people are on television pointing fingers, calling the airstrikes inhumane, if, indeed, the infected are mentally ill. But from what I've seen on the news, the 33's are capable of anything. And such acts of barbarism make the airstrikes warranted, at least in my opinion. Our planes have been hitting them non-stop.

  Both Japan and the United States are weighing the option of launching nuclear strikes against Europe, saying it will benefit mankind. However, The European Union is opposed to such a measure, pleading to the world for help rather than more hysteria.

  I've approached my dad several times today, looking for comfort and answers. He seems short with me, almost as if I'm burdening him down. He's met with two other couples from our neighborhood in private. Dad, mom, and the two couples mentioned all seem to be distancing themselves from the rest of those in our community. I've no idea what's happening, all I can do is trust that my parents know what they're doing for the sake of everyone. Including myself.

  Entry 11

  At two minutes after seven this morning, the United States officially launched nuclear strikes on Central Europe.

  While the strikes are being condemned by a majority of the world, it took only eleven minutes for Japan to follow our lead. North Korea tried as well, but they've never been the best with following through, dad says. Paris was the hardest hit, by all estimations, though nobody has an accurate count of the dead. Between the EF1 strain and nuclear weapons, so many are dead with similar symptoms that the news is almost unbearable.

  I cried today. Truly cried my heart out as images from Europe were broadcast on television. They continued showing photos of survivors picking through piles of dead bodies in search of their loved ones. Seeing the Eiffel Tower being reduced to nothing but a pile of rubble made me feel very helpless. Even from across the world.

  My dad has been on the phone a lot today, at least between loss of signal, talking to someone unknown. I've asked him about the calls more than once, but each time he blatantly ignores me. The same goes for my mom, and the worst part is knowing they are keeping something from me. It's not like them. So much misinformation is going around that nobody knows what's going on. I wish they would let me in on this big secret of theirs.

  All I can do is continue to write in this shitty journal and pretend things will begin to get better. Perhaps one day I'll look back and laugh. Maybe flip through the pages and actually, honest to God, laugh. But after seeing so many dead bodies on television today, I seriously doubt it.

  Entry 12

  Barely awake.

  My parents woke me up at around four in the morning, told me to pack a single bag as full as possible and be ready to move within the hour. I have no idea where, but I never expected to move. Especially so suddenly.

  We left quietly before daybreak, along with the two couples that have been around my parents so much lately. Ryan and Helen Peters and Jeff and Samantha Gates. Nice enough people from what little I know of them, though they just lost a substantial amount of respect from me, which is hard to do.

  We've stolen a majority of the supplies from our neighborhood. Gasoline, weapons, perishable food, bottled water, and two large generators. All of which Jeff and Samantha Gates were responsible for guarding. My parents have known about our move for several days, and I'm guessing I was kept out of the loop because of their need to thieve. It's hard for me to believe my parents have resorted to this.

  Dad has explained to me that we are moving onto a survivalist reservation just over an hour away in Southern Texas. Genesis Ranch. It's being run by a guy who did military time with my father, and our spots are guaranteed as long as we show up with ample supplies. Both of my parents admit that stealing the supplies was not a good act, but a very necessary one. They did it to protect me. Shield their daughter. I still demanded we turn around and give the supplies back, but my life is more important than my opinion.

  As my dad turned on the radio in our SUV, my entire outlook changed. The beginning of World War Three. Less than two hours before we pulled out of our driveway, joint nuclear strikes by China and Russia landed in the United States and Japan in retaliation to us striking Europe against their wishes. New York City and Tokyo are all but lost, with massive casualties piling up in Washington, Boston, and Chicago. The Chinese even managed to bomb the Fukushima Power Plant, which was already in meltdown due to an earthquake only a few years back. I remember my dad talking about it. Our defense systems were successful in taking down warheads that were meant for Los Angeles, as well as several cities in the West. I can tell by the voice on the radio that we're entering a very dark period in humanity.

  But the underlying story is the EF1 outbreak has reached the United States. Confirmed cases have been reported in Salt Lake City and Phoenix, with several other cities reporting possible cases. I couldn't understand how it reached our shores when travel was suspended by the president himself, but dad says there are people that will take vacations no matter what. Presidential orders be damned. Book editors and the like.

  I honestly have no words. It's been less than two weeks, and my world has been transformed from a life of fashion and cell phones into one of survival and war. I've not gotten a signal on my phone in quite some time and the battery is running dangerously low. How am I to survive without a link to the world around me?

  It's going to be hard to keep up with the Kardashians now. Dad says that's one of the bright spots of these events. He's just as sarcastic as I am. I think that's where I get it from. Either way, I know that our laughter is only disguising the way we all feel. We're scared. All of us. Who wouldn't be? There's talk of Russian soldiers landing on our shores but the news is disputed between the voices on the radio. It seems like there is as much misinformation as there is information at this point.

  Entry 13

  So far, it's been slow going. Six
hours on the road in what should have been a very short trip.

  We made it out of town with very little trouble, but since then, we've had to stop several times in order to walk ahead and be sure there are no checkpoints.

  My dad has pulled off into the cover of any wooded area he can find, each time getting out to survey the coming stretch of road with binoculars. Don't we know if there infected nearby or possibly military checkpoints? Hell, for all we know we're likely to run into a convoy of Russian troops at this point.

  A couple of times dad has helped us avoid military roadblocks. Because of the EF1 outbreak reaching the United States, our military is doing everything it can to quarantine all areas. And normally, I wouldn't blame them. But we are not infected. I've been around this group for the past few days, and none of us show any signs of the virus. We've had to take side roads or, as one of my neighbors calls them, “Goddamn hog paths”.

  Dad continues to tell us we are almost there, and for once I respect his sense of caution. Still, it's a very long ride knowing the end of our way of life, if not the entire world, may be on us.

  Entry 14

  We've arrived at Genesis Ranch, and I am without words.

  When I heard the term ranch, I expect just that. A large farmhouse, possibly even some horses or cattle. Instead, we arrived at a heavily-fortified base. It looks military and would be mistaken as such if not for my dad telling us before arriving that the men and women here were not military.

  I've never liked studying history, but remember the description of Hitler's compound, the Wolf's Lair, during World War 2. I remember the description because I'm basically looking at it all over again. Guard towers, deep trenches filled with heavily-armed and heavily-camouflaged soldiers.

  After my dad presented them with some paperwork at the front gates, the armed men forced us outside of our vehicles. We all were given an extensive look, I assume to check for any signs of infection and then allowed to proceed.

  Amazingly, after driving through the gates for nearly five minutes, we began to see normal looking people once more. Several buildings, each made of solid steel, became visible as well. That was a good sign.

  It would be easy to remain scared, but I've chosen to look at it a bit differently. The soldiers who look so intimidating are here to help us. And that provides me with a little peace and mind as our three family convoy pulls into the parking area near a smaller building.

  Entry 15

  Until we're told otherwise, our entire convoy has been placed in a large bunk area. Dad says it's their way of making sure nobody has the virus, before allowing us to enter the general population.

  What is this place, a damn prison? I'd go to the extent of asking for a lawyer and a phone call, except this is the first real chance I've had to spend with my parents without constant worry. At least we're not driving down narrow dirt roads.

  Dad seems relaxed and continues to assure us that it's going as expected. He says that in twenty-four hours, they'll deem us uninfected and allow us to exit.

  The worst part is not knowing what in the hell is going on in the world around us. No updates, no nothing. Just sitting on a military style bunk, complete with a generic green blanket of wool. Both of my parents are saying that people are still arriving by the hour, people specially chosen for Genesis Ranch. It's almost biblical, except the bunks reek of bad hygiene. But I am hearing several vehicles outside of our windowless bunk, so, I guess it safe to assume that people are still arriving in groups.

  Entry 16

  We were allowed to enter the population of Genesis Ranch earlier this morning.

  I had the opportunity to briefly meet the man in charge of things, one of my dad's military friends, James Johnson. He seemed nice enough, and it was apparent that he was doing his best to make us feel at home here. But, I instantly picked up on the fact that he was a very busy man. I guess the end of the world can have that effect.

  There are a few others here my age, though I've been keeping to myself a lot. Doing everything I can to observe from a distance. It's not a fully-accurate count, but I'd estimate nearly a hundred survivors here, including the military soldiers I spotted at the entrance gates. I'd assume there are more, though they are more than likely stationed around the perimeter of Genesis Ranch.

  We were given our first hot meal in a couple of days. Oatmeal. I used to hate it to be honest, but this morning it tasted better than I ever remember. My dad has been doing a lot of talking with both Ryan Peters and Jeff Gates. They all seem to have taken to the ranch pretty quickly, and have met several times with James Johnson.

  I'm not sure what the meetings are about, but my dad tells me things are getting much worse in the outside world. He says that the members of our ranch gather nightly to learn of developments.

  I have to admit that I'm not in love with the idea of someone here giving us the news, leaving us nothing but forced trust. I'd rather hear the radio myself, but right now that's not an option. They've taken our gear for inventory.

  Entry 17

  Last night we learned of a full-blown war between the United States Army and the thirty-three percent of infected that seem to kill without remorse. And yes, the Russians are also here, though not in significant force just yet.

  Nobody seems to know the count of dead or infected, or even what areas of the United States have been hardest hit. All we know is that it's widespread, with all cellphone service gone. Who would have thought that this leather journal would have outlasted a top-shelf cellphone? It's madness!

  The Internet seems to have survived, at least to a degree. My dad says it was originally designed to withstand nuclear strikes, its base of origin is spread throughout the world on different servers. Dad says the ranch has two computers up and running, but a majority of the sites are completely gone.

  No more social networking, no more celebrity news. Can we honestly survive without political posts on Facebook and cat videos on YouTube? Damn. I guess we're now forced to focus on the more important things in life. Like, I don't know... Real life?

  The ranch has no traditional power source but is using several generators at the moment. And when the generators have the computers going, my dad says he's learned of a network between survival outposts. Everyone is calling them the Thirteen Colonies, and they seem to be networked together using the Internet.

  Aside from a few news websites and the United States Government site, nothing else seems to work. At least, according to my dad. I asked my dad to please find the silver lining in all of this. He quickly pointed out that we'd not be seeing any more spam mail or pop-up advertisements. I hated those things.

  Entry 18

  Honestly, up until this morning, I was beginning to feel comfortable here.

  Everyone seems to be very nice and I began to feel safe. The feeling of safety, however, quickly disappeared when gunshots rang out over an hour ago, coming from the direction of the front gate.

  When they began firing, shots echoing throughout the ranch, everyone's first reaction was one of shock. That quickly bled into panic as we all began running for any building that looked safe, watching from small windows as our fate had fallen to the soldiers at our gate.

  Nearly fifteen minutes after the last gunshot was heard, two of the soldiers protecting Genesis Ranch made their way to the inner portion. The portion where we live. After a short conversation between the two soldiers and James Johnson, the three men entered a small building by themselves.

  I remained indoors with my parents, Ryan, Helen, Jeff, and Samantha. It was a moment of sobering reality, at least for me. We aren't completely safe. We may not be in the infected areas, but the EF1 and the measures our military is using to deal with it could end up at our doorstep any moment of any day. Now we wait to see what prompted the gunshots.

  Entry 19

  Another survival ranch, at least members of the ranch, tried to force entry into Genesis. Presumably to kill us and take our supplies.

  We learned of the news las
t night at a mandatory meeting, along with other developments from around the world.

  Both Europe and Asia are completely overrun by the infected thirty-three percent. They've estimated that over half of our own country is now infected and either dead or slaying innocent people at will. Our own government has started killing everyone inside of known areas of infection. Napalming, carpet bombing and even forming firing squads to enter in force. They aren't even waiting for twenty-four hours anymore to see if a person is infected. They are simply killing everyone who isn't military. We also battle Russia in all parts of our own country. The word is they've seen this as an opportunity to outlast us, take our land and claim it as their own once this dark period of history passes.

  Reporters have apologized for such brutality through radio broadcasts, one of which I heard with my own ears last night. Our government is comparing the EF1 infection to cancer, saying the only way to be sure it's completely gone, is to kill the healthy tissue around it.

  The last time I checked, I'm a damn person, not just tissue. And the same can be said for the poor souls who are desperately turning to our army for help, only to be killed on sight.

  Entry 20

  Today, the United States splintered into two separate governments. A civil war, I guess you could call it.