Diary of a Survivor (Book 2): Apocalypse

by Pike, Matt J.

  *

  I’m stuck on how to word the letter to the Jamesons at the moment. It all hinges on how they can get back in touch with me and I’m still yet to think of a way. The thing is, I’m handing this message to the TTP compound and I’ll have no way of controlling who reads what I say. So I can’t give away my location, identity – anything.

  I figured I’ll get the message over the fence and retreat back to whatever observation spot I find at the hospital to see those behind the wall react. That should tell me a lot about whether they’re alive or not. But there are so many unknowns to the plan I can’t be sure if they’ll get the message straight away, at all, or even if they’re still alive to get it!

  …and crazy world – it comes to me just as I’m typing the frustrations of it not coming to me! Oh, this is good. I used to hang with Scott at a park around the corner from here. There was a stormwater vent we discovered, that underneath had a little nook of space. We used to stash stuff in there that we dare not keep at home – it possibly could have contained a variety of inappropriate magazines, a hip flask and cigarettes at one point (I’m not proud).

  Anyways, as far as I know there are only two people on Earth who know that spot. It’s the perfect place to direct them to. I’ll tell them I’ll leave a care package for them and directions on how to find me from there.

  In the event that Scott hasn’t made it but Jodie and Alyce are still alive, well, they would know the park. I just need to provide some subtle breadcrumbs to the drain once they get there.

  As far as delivering the message goes, I think I’m going to print out multiple copies and hurl them over the wall. I think my best bet is to wrap them in some sort of weight so they’ll travel further. I’m thinking food, as there’s a fair chance the TTPers could think they’re under attack if I don’t use something benign. Also, I don’t want to be too close to trouble when that happens, in case the guard with the gun sees me. I’ll have to dig up my old slingshot, that would be perfect.

  So excited about this little plan now. I’m going to head down to the park this afternoon with a shovel to check out the drain and work out how I can set it so the others can find it.

  *

  There’s never a dull moment these days. Actually, there are plenty, but not on my little adventure to the park. It’s not far from the house, so I decided to shuffle there in the ash boots rather than booting up Phoenix.

  Even under a pile of ash, the place brought back memories from a different world. I still find pre-rock recollections a strange experience – nostalgia and all that. They can be so vivid sometimes, like you could reach out, step into a sunny day and just… be. That’s where they sucker you in, memories.

  There was a rotunda at the centre of the park and I headed there first. I’d spent hours here hanging with friends in the past, talking crap and texting girls. It reminded me of the time Scott texted Amy from the very spot I was standing. He kinda sorta had the hots for – anyway, he let her know she had the sweetest ass in the school. Typical Scott. But the best bit was he sent it to his mum accidentally! So funny. We didn’t let him live that down for ages. His mum does have a pretty sweet ass too, for the record.

  I actually laughed while I was in the rotunda, the memory of that moment strong. Just for that few seconds I was back there… back in time. But it didn’t last.

  It was soon down to business and finding the drain. Easy on paper, not so easy when you have to find a spot hidden under a good metre and a bit of ash. It totally throws out your orientation. I really felt like I could’ve walked to that spot blindfolded, I knew it so well, but when most of the points of reference I used to get there were also hidden under the ash, well, the sameness of the landscape threw me.

  I remember it being near the bushes along the side fence, opposite side to the playground, but directly in line. Of course the playground was only partially showing above ash, and the gates were nowhere to be seen. I also remembering it lining up in a certain way with the trees in the middle, so I just sort of guestimated as best I could and started digging.

  It took a good five minutes or so to hit the hard ground. Once again the texture of the ash got grimier as I got deeper. It really is a poisonous and stinky sludge underneath. Makes me wonder if there’s any chance for the dying (probably dead) trees to recover… or if the land will ever be well enough to grow more.

  For some reason I just thought I’d hear the clink of metal on metal as the shovel hit the drain cover, but it didn’t happen. I looked around, trying to work out where to shift my dig, and decided to move further towards the street. So I dug another hole about two metres in that direction, again no luck. I was starting to get exhausted by that time too. I was also coughing from breathing in the excess ash kicked up around me.

  My next move was to connect the two dig spots together. It, too, was looking like a futile move until the shovel caught the edge of the drain cover about three quarters the way through. Finally, I had my spot, and made my third and final hole right over the target!

  That in itself was trickier than I thought, as I had to widen my original dig so as to ensure the entire grate was free from ash. The cover itself was only about half a metre wide but, because of the angle I needed to stop the ash sliding back down (about 45 degrees); it was probably nearly a three metre hole at surface level.

  It was seriously hard yakka, as Grandad used to say. I ripped back the grill and saw the whole space was thick with sludge. Of course it was! What was I thinking? I just sat in a dejected heap, laughed in the way only this world can bring out of me, and caught my breath for a few minutes.

  Eventually, I got enough inspiration to start digging away at the slop under the grill. Nasty, nasty, nasty. Eventually I cleared enough out to sneak my hand up and into the secret stash spot. After a little fishing around I pulled out a plastic bag.

  I could not believe my eyes. It was our stuff! I cleaned enough muck off the bag so I could see glimpses of what lay within. A wave of emotion charged through me – excitement, happiness, nostalgia. It was so tempting to open it then and there but I knew it’d all get ruined in the ash. Instead, I stashed it in my backpack so I could sort it out in the cleaner environment at home.

  At the same time I pulled out the care package and instructions I’d made for the Jamesons and stashed it back in the same location. I’d found some red decorating paper to wrap it in – so they wouldn’t miss it when they came looking and covered the lot in layers of cling wrap to keep it protected.

  I put it in place and placed the metal grill back over the hole. I looked at it from every conceivable angle – there was no way a random would notice it if they happened past this spot. Then I went about smoothing over the ash so as to not make it look obvious there had been human activity. I left a reasonable chunk of the grill exposed, but spread out the mounds of excess ash I’d created away from the area. In truth, it was still pretty obvious a human had been messing about there if anyone looked too closely, but even if a random did investigate, they’d hardly see anything worthy of their attention.

  I was pretty happy with my work too and finding the original hiding place meant the note I’d created with instructions to get there was relevant, so I could get everything done today.

  I headed back to the gazebo and worked out the best place to stash the note. One section of the wooden panelling had broken just above the ash line – all of the wood above no longer there. I thought that would make as good a marker as any and followed the broken piece of wood under the surface, digging down into about 30cm of ash before I taped the note, which was in a bag, to the slat. I then piled the ash back on top and messed around with the surface until it didn’t look suspiciously tampered with.

  With my mission completed, I took a last look around, soaked in the memories, then headed back, with a bag of magazines that were probably purchased in a brown paper bag before I was born, and who knows what else.

  *

  So I’ve just finished my note to the Jamesons –
the one I’m going to throw over the compound fence. It’s pretty much: “I’m still alive, I saw your note and came here to find you. If you are around you can find me at the park Scott and I used to hang out at. Check the tallest construction in the middle of the park, look for the broken wooden slat and dig down. It will give you instructions on finding food and me.”

  Both notes would be too vague for anyone else to make sense of, yet give the Jamesons all they need to find me... if they want to… if they’re still alive.

  *

  It’s getting late. I found the slingshot and was going to work out what food I could strap the notes to, to get the distance I need, but not come across like an attack when it lands. I was going to get that all sorted tonight but I’m exhausted. I can’t believe how much the digging took out of me today.

  So, chat to Fi and then an early night in order methinks. Methinks? What am I, a 1950s British detective or something? I have shamed myself.

  *

  October 6, 2014

  After much experimentation I’ve decided on my food missile to deliver the Jameson flyers into the compound. And the winner is: the Ferrero Rocher – or Ferrero Rocket as I’ve dubbed it! These little babies are great – compact enough to get good distance and momentum, yet light enough not to cause any damage on impact. I found the best results when I folded the flyer into a vertical strip, taped one end to the rocher, then wrapped it around the chocolate like the seam of a cricket ball, then taped the other end into place. It kept the missile package lean, kept the flyer in place and didn’t cause too much damage when removing it at the other end.

  I’m going to pack some extra food supplies when I go, too. If I’m right and there are people at the hospital, that could become a very uneasy situation – food could be a good bartering tool. It’s all just theory right now, but if I have protection to feel safe, food to keep the peace and stay alert, I should be OK. At the end of the day it could just be an abandoned hospital and I’ll have no problems. Or it could be too intense to even attempt going in, in which case I’ll search the perimeter for another vantage point over the compound and, failing that, just fire off my Ferrero Rockets and do a runner.

  I’m certainly not going to take any more risks than I have to. Sure, the hospital is the goal and the best spot by a mile, but there’s a TAFE campus and a few other potential lookouts if it doesn’t work out.

  So pack with enough diversity to deal with whatever I encounter, stay alert and cautious, think on my feet and be the mysterious stranger. I can manage that.

  I’m going to pack this afternoon. In truth, I don’t know if I feel totally ready for this yet, but with so many uncertainties I don’t think I ever will. I’ll just get myself ready and if the weather is on and my mind feels focused, I’ll go.

  *

  I’ve packed as best I can. I’ve included plenty of food parcels and offerings if I need to do some bribing. I’m also going to hide some snacks on my body somewhere, just in case I get fleeced.

  I’ve got the slingshot packed, and will also take the crossbow for protection and the pistol for the scare factor. I’m pretty sure if any of the watched had a gun I would’ve seen it when I was approaching them near TTP.

  I’m done for the day. I think I’ll chill out to some tunes and contemplate life.

  *

  October 7, 2014

  Well, the weather’s perfect today but I’ve got a sudden case of cold feet. I’m not sure if I’ve got it in me to be the mysterious stranger today.

  *

  No, no I didn’t I’ve just spent the last few hours filling time. Well, I’ve kept busy, tinkering with Phoenix and packing her ready to go, then I studied my printouts of the TTP area, then listened to some music, then sort of slobbed for a bit. Then I felt guilty and started looked at my routes for the city run. Then it dawned on me how far I was going to avoid the whole situation and promised myself that if the weather’s good tomorrow I am going.

  *

  October 8, 2014

  Stupid weather; absolutely perfect, giving me no excuses.

  I had some breakfast, double-checked my packing from the day before and headed back out to TTP. I took the same route as last time. I even found myself on the same side street, parking and hiding Phoenix in the same backyard. I followed the tried and true path along the fence line and up the tree before dropping into the middle of the street.

  The task was made a little more difficult given the extra weight I was carrying in the backpack, but it wasn’t a deal-breaker. From there I followed the same path to TTP and the hospital (creature of habit).

  When I reached the hospital site, the nerves hit me hard. There was a path at the rear of the complex, the direction I approached from, that lead to what looked like staff carpark and entry to the largest building. I walked a few metres down the lane but was suddenly completely aware of the risks I was taking. More than that even, I really felt like I was being watched.

  Maybe it was the paranoia, or being so far out of my comfort zone on enemy territory… but it certainly felt like I was actually being watched. I took the crossbow from my shoulder and loaded it, backed out of the lane and continued around the hospital to the front entrance.

  The public carpark for the hospital was on the corner near the intersection and across the road from the TTP carpark. I didn’t want to expose myself too much in the open, so I skirted close to the side of the main buildings as best I could.

  I could see some of the watched loitering in the TTP carpark near the guards. There didn’t seem to be much activity beyond the same stand-off I was up close and personal to last time.

  There was an undercover walkway I followed along the side of the building, which led to the main entrance. From there the building stood seven storeys tall to my right, but other, single-level buildings continued all the way to Smart Rd – directly across the road from the TTP carpark.

  I was still very paranoid about how much I was risking and decided to see if the roof near the street on level one would give me an adequate view. I figured the closer, but lower, angle, might not be too dissimilar… and far safer. If that was the case I was just trading climbing through a dark unsecured building for being spotted by the TTPers behind the fence.

  My decision was already made when I heard a couple of people approaching. I couldn’t exactly tell the direction of the noise, but knew it was getting closer. I knew my only way to safety was where I was heading anyway – the level one roof.

  I scanned around for the best way up and saw a spot where the ash had piled against a side wall, leaving only a small gap to climb up onto the walkway roof. I slid across there as quietly as I could in my ash boots, my ears alert for my noise and theirs. The spot was in a little right-angled nook between the walkway and one of the single-storeyed rooms. By the time I’d got there I had to make a choice, risk attempting the climb in silence before they arrived, or bunker down in the nook until they had passed.

  Sound travels in strange ways when you’re in a foreign place, well, at the very least it messes with your head. You don’t know how it bounces off of walls, you have no frame of reference to know if something’s near or far. God, I so wanted to get out of there as the sound of those approaching got louder… but I couldn’t risk it. Instead, I just huddled down into the nook ash pile as best I could, stayed low and controlled my breathing.

  About twenty seconds later two people walked past. They followed a path, clearly carved into the ash by constant use. It cut at an angle through the hospital carpark, then headed towards the watched across at the TTP wall. They were in conversation, but I couldn’t quite pick up what they were saying, just that their tone seemed calm.

  On the other hand, my heart was pounding through my chest. I didn’t move until they’d crossed Smart Rd and became obscured behind some dead trees.

  The climb was frustrating, as what looked like a small gap soon extended when I sunk into the ash pile. I ended up having to lob the bag and anything else not fixed to my
person up the top first to lighten my weight. Even then, when I went to lift myself, the ash would give underneath my feet at the last vital moment. All the while I was still trying to stay as quiet as possible, not knowing who else might be lurking around.

  I eventually lifted enough of my leg unto the roof that I was able to force the rest of my body up. Cue plenty of puffing and whispered cursing and I got there. I spat the ash and drool from my mouth, gathered my things and moved away from the edge.

  There was about 40m of roof between where I was and the edge at Smart Rd. I could see a couple of gaping holes where I assume parts had collapsed from the weight of the ash. It didn’t fill me with confidence. I had a look at how the roof was laid-out to plan the least unsafe way forward, and decided to stick to edges or any other significant structural element that gave me the confidence it would have stability. Oh, and avoiding anywhere close to the holes was also high on the priority list.

  I figured my ash boots – and the ash itself – would distribute my weight; hopefully enough to get me through in one piece. So, I followed the building’s edge, until I passed the first big hole to my left. When I reached the middle, I found a higher ridge and shuffled along that, headed to Smart Rd.

  When I got about halfway out there were some groaning sounds coming from the structure below. Not good. I dropped to my stomach, took off my ash boots and sort of army crawled forward on my forearms and legs. Not far ahead the building split into two prongs, separated by a gap of about a metre. I hit the edge of the closest gap and knew I was past the worst of it. I sat up, caught my breath, put on the ash boots again and made my way to the edge.

  The view wasn’t ideal, but I could see enough of what was happening in the car park to see my plan could work. But, most importantly, there was another guard post not too much down from where I was standing. I could see they weren’t actually standing on the ash wall itself, but a couple of buses set up to make a platform behind it. Fortunately, I was watching from behind a dead tree and my presence seemed to go unnoticed.