Diary of a Survivor (Book 2): Apocalypse

by Pike, Matt J.

  Then it was down to business. We started hauling supplies upstairs – grunt work – pure and simple. As we spotted things we’d need to fix or change to remain as safe as possible, we’d shout them out to each other. Things like, “we’ll have to block off this corridor before the next doorway”, or “if we take out these two rows of seats here, it’ll stop people climbing up to us there”, type thing. It almost turned into a little competition of who had the better attention to detail about the stadium and the potential access points or other future problems.

  I enjoyed it – the hard work with purpose, the banter, the eye to the future. The simple act of storing our food supplies in this place had set a path forward – many paths forward. Practical things, to protect our investment and us – they all flowed out from what we’d started yesterday, and the more we thought about it, the bigger it all got – the ideas, the possibilities.

  It didn’t take long before the conversation turned to a second perimeter of security around the members stand. I mentioned what I’d seen at Tea Tree Plaza with the giant wall of ash surrounding it. I could see Shane’s mind ticking over, in a how could we make that happen kind of way. The conversation then moved to front end loaders and earthmoving equipment. Where we might find one, what condition it would be in, could we do it? Hell, yes we could.

  If we did that, we really would have a secure place.

  Again, the conversation switched. If we cleared the oval and surrounding parks back to ground level to build this wall, we would have the capability to plant seeds and grow crops, if the sun comes through more, and if the soil isn’t too poisoned from the ash. That lead to an entire discussion on what crops would be best to grow in the conditions, and where we would get the seeds. Then the subject moved on to my hydroponic kit and the idea of growing indoors and how the space at the oval offered possibilities to produce on a massive scale. There were generators strong enough to power the stadium’s lights at night, after all.

  That’s when it came out that Shane was an electrician. Now there’s something that could come in handy! It didn’t take the conversation long to move on to the downed light tower in the middle of the playing surface.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time we had lugged everything to where it needed to go. We sat down and ate, having planned the next 12 months of our lives! The vibe between us got strange again as we ate and contemplated in silence. I think it was realising what we were standing on the edge of. It was a massive play – one that required some serious trust to work. Yet, we barely knew each other and trust, well, lone survivors like us don’t just hand out trust. It’s a protection thing, I guess, a survival instinct.

  When I think about the chain of events that lead us both to his point and the potential win this place could be turned into, it’s hard to compete with. And two people, working together for a single goal, could be far more powerful than what one could do alone.

  Clearly his mind was churning over the same thoughts as mine. Eventually I just came flat out and said it – everything – the potential, the difficulty in trusting. I’m glad I did as he pretty much echoed what I was thinking. We were adjusting to the goal posts moving suddenly and another human dynamic. We went through it all again, what we had, what we could do, what we could gain by going our separate ways. In the end, the possibilities of working together and building something instead of hiding, were too strong to ignore.

  ‘You can’t run forever,’ Shane said.

  It stayed with me, that line. It was a sentiment that had been burning within me for the longest time. From as far back as planning the trip to Canberra I’d been feeling the need to belong somewhere again. And while my course forward had moved massively over the months, and I was a lifetime away from Canberra or Fi, the same underlying feeling never left. And now the opportunities this place – and partnership – presented, and the idea of throwing a huge flagpole in the ground and saying this space is mine, seemed more appealing than ever.

  So, we agreed to give it a week – baby steps. To see what we could create in that time and to see if we could still tolerate each other by the end of it. Then we could discuss our position again, agreeing one of us could leave with half the food supply should they ever feel the need. So we’d talked through everything, given ourselves a goal and an exit plan if it didn’t work. It probably seems weird, given we were both seeing how much there was to be gained sticking together on this, but it was needed. Spending so much time alone makes you see the world in different ways. It certainly makes agreeing to let someone into that world seem a big step, especially someone you barely know.

  So, that was it – decided and committed to Project: Oval, for now.

  There was enough sunlight left to check out the gun stores before it got too late, plus we were both very keen to see if there was any activity around the Woolworths or the mall in general. We didn’t need to go in to see the place hadn’t been tampered with – no new footprints in the ash. I decided to do a quick dash up to the other end of the mall to where the bodies were reclaimed on Rundle St, again, no sign of new activity. It was a weird feeling – it was good news but it didn’t feel like good news. It felt like the inevitable bad news was more likely to come tomorrow.

  Neither Shane or I spoke about it, but I definitely felt it and I know he did too. I could tell it was going to be something that I/we had to come to terms with – an ever-present background feeling of future doom. I mean, it’s always there at some level and a little fear is always good to keep you focused. But this was different – it was unknown, armed and vengeful, no doubt - way more focus than any 18 year old needed!

  Then I headed Phoenix west and south, beyond the Central Markets to Gouger St. We were nearly at West Tce when Shane called me to stop when we’d reached the spot. It wasn’t much more that a pile of rubble really, in fact the whole block was one rolling, undulating wave of rubble. It made it almost impossible to narrow down precisely where the building would’ve stood.

  So, the deal was, there were two gun stores in the entire CBD and they were both within a block of each other. We were at the Adelaide Gun Shop, with the Marksman Firing Range a little closer to home at the oval. Shane had been to the Adelaide Gun Shop in pre-rock times (something I’m not entirely thrilled with), hence we started our search there.

  The sea of rubble in this part of town was really depressing. Not just that it might have swallowed our only hope at firepower, but that it made finding visual clues to your whereabouts nearly impossible. It’s like every time you visit a place your mind picks up a few more details about the surroundings – a colour here, a tree there, a strange building somewhere else. It all layers up in your mind over time to become your visual blueprint to getting around. You don’t even need street signs or addresses once you’re visually trained, you just know exactly where you are. But the rock and the ash smothered everything. All those years of visual learning wiped away in a moment. You had to start again from scratch – nothing is familiar. It’s either the same place in a parallel universe or an entirely new place altogether. And starting again is not ideal when you’re searching for the past.

  A few structural remains of a multi-storey Australia Post building were the only thing Shane could use as a landmark for perspective. He shuffled to a few different locations, continually referring back to the building. Eventually, he picked a pile of rubble he liked and we started digging our way down.

  We were at it for well over an hour without seeing so much as a bullet (actually we were probably more likely to see a Beretta). It was exhausting, frustrating and fruitless. In the end, we decided to leave with enough dim evening light to get back to the oval. So the afternoon was a write-off but we’d had such a good run we were due a small momentum killer. If we were going to find weapons here, we’d need longer than an hour in the evening. We hovered past the Marksman site on the way back, but the situation there was not better – rubble central.

  *

  We have set our rooms up in two of the corpo
rate boxes and I’ve created a mattress of sorts out of cushions. It’s pretty comfortable and will be more than fine once I bring my bedding down. The bed is set up near the kitchen service area, near the door. I want to partition that area off from the front of the room at some point to create a separate hangout space. I also need to cover the windows so any light I use isn’t able to be spotted. We met back at one of the commentary boxes for dinner. It’s funny, all those restaurants and function rooms, yet we eat our meal in the commentary box. Canned spaghetti was on the menu. We ate it at room temperature, not that we had much of a choice. We vowed to make getting access to power tomorrow’s highest priority. We were both pretty sure the stadium had back-up generators somewhere, and if it was strong enough to keep this place going with 50,000 people here and the lights beaming, it was sure to have enough for two.

  Once again I was pretty happy for Shane’s tradie skills. In fact, an electrician is about as handy a general skill as you could bring to the table right now. It’s probably one of the reasons he’s still alive.

  After dinner we grabbed a couple of bottles of booze to celebrate my 18th, yes, I did end up telling him. Today was the first day where I could legally drink after all! Oh, I nearly forgot, before all that I’d asked Shane if he had any idea of the actual date, given I’ve only been guessing… he didn’t. So my guess becomes semi-almost-officially-correct by default… therefore, I’m 18.

  Anyways, we drank, Canadian Club mostly. I think Shane wanted to drink me under the table or something, but I was happy enough to go somewhat easy on the whisky. After a few (probably two to my one), he’d let his hair down a bit and gone into mega-Shane mode, or is that Bogan Beast mode? He suddenly thought he was the funniest guy on the planet. Sure, the competition had thinned out a bit recently, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t even the funniest guy in the room. He gave me grief for my slow drinking, for being so young, and kept telling me he couldn’t believe someone like me was still alive to tell my story. It seemed like he had an endless supply of one-liners to diss me with as well. But it was all in jest. I could almost imagine him acting like this if he were down the pub with his mates pre-rock.

  It better have been in jest, because it’s the ultimate insult to a survivor, telling them it was a fluke they’d made it. Survival is a badge of honour, sometimes the only one a person has left. You don’t mess with that shit. Deep down I knew he was just taking the piss, saying one thing and meaning another, insulting me, yet complimenting me. The truth is, if he didn’t respect me, and I him, we wouldn’t be here. I knew he was actually impressed with what I’d done.

  He was just letting his beast bogan out – that part of him that represented his culture and way of life before everything changed. And I was the eastern suburbs preppy kid – even though I went to public school and I’m the least preppy person I know. It was just a bit of friendly banter as we wore the labels from a different time. I found myself adopting the role, becoming the private school kid. It was actually really funny once we got into the swing of our roles (well, once I started playing along with his game) and, strangely, a really good way to get to know a different side of him.

  At some point after the insults, banter and refusing to drink quicker, we got to the meaty stuff, the real stuff, the stuff you want to know about everyone else but don’t want to reveal about yourself. The big three – how you survived impact night, how you’ve lasted this long and who you’ve lost along the way. It was the story behind the beast bogan and the preppy kid, and those three questions tell it better than anything else. Every time I see someone, it’s the first thing I think about these days. This is the first time I’ve been in a position to ask someone since Fi died.

  As soon as I was there, I realised the tricky bit isn’t asking someone else the questions, it’s answering them yourself. Because everything that’s happened to you, the real living pain you’ve been slowly dealing with while getting on with surviving, the stuff you’ve contemplated a million times, you realise you’ve never had to say it out aloud, not to another living soul. Saying it makes it an entirely new experience, makes it real again.

  So there I was, going first, talking about finding out things early on a game of FIFA with ProGunner, about stashing food before the rest of the world knew what was happening, then stocking up on other supplies while everyone else chased food. I told him about impact night at the Jamesons, being without my family, about setting up my house, the Norwood hubbers, about Fi, our plans to go to Canberra, Phoenix and Fi’s crazy ex and the night that changed my world forever.

  He seemed most interested in Fi and Phoenix. Fi because I’d managed to find someone – a partner and lover at the end of the world and Phoenix because, well, I’m awesome! He called me young MacGyver for pulling that off. He also assured me that was a compliment as I didn’t know who MacGyver was. In fact, he hasn’t stopped calling me it since, although it’s now shortened to McG. Haha… MCG at the Adelaide Oval!

  When it was done, I was happy I had told my story. It meant a chance to tell him about the existence of those I loved who are no longer here. In a way, they live on a bit more now.

  Then he went on to tell me his story.

  He had lived at Evanston in Gawler. On impact night, he went to a mate’s place – some guy who owned a bit of acreage on the outskirts of the town. They had a bunch of people gather there, and did pretty much what we did at the Jamesons’ – except it sounds like there were a lot less kids, a lot more drinking, smoking dope and listening to Pink Floyd (he stressed this bit several times so I assume it was very important).

  So, they got the same light show as we got, and survived the comet fragments, molten ejecta and blast wave from the Melbourne impact – almost everything. Then the tsunami hit. Their location was pretty much at the high point of the tsunami waters, in fact the damaged areas cut a line almost straight through the middle of Gawler.

  This is where it got really interesting. The town was a mix of rural and suburbia, with many in the area having the means to horde a lot of supplies, so much more than those in the city. All of which would’ve worked well had the tsunami not divided the entire town into haves and have nots. The lower-lying houses were completely destroyed, those near the high water mark were still standing, but would soon be unliveable as the dark and stink set in, and the rest survived unharmed.

  Shane and his buddies were the have nots.

  He said there was a real sense of community in the early days. People rallied to donate supplies and clothes, some offered up bed space to those without homes, while others dealt with the three separate fires burning out of control in the town. They were a tighter community than those in the city. All was positive – they thought they could stay together and survive. Then the dark set in as utilities started to fail. Slowly things changed (it’s amazing what people are capable of under the cover of darkness) as the vulnerable and desperate started to do what they needed to do, while those who were supply rich started to protect their advantage.

  Soon, all the utilities had fallen, law and order was no longer being upheld, and there was a total breakdown in city and community. Groups started to form, based on location and assets and soon people were either protecting their position or trying to take from others. The power hubs didn’t form around shopping centres like in the city, they formed around isolated and protected farming properties. Smaller groups pooled resources, weapons and went off the grid to protect what was theirs. Others banded together to track them down.

  Shane didn’t say too much about his involvement beyond making it obvious he, along with his friends, were raiders. I knew there was more to the story in terms of what he’d been through… and done… his eyes told me as much. But it wasn’t my place to push – he’d seen some serious hurt and had some serious regret, that was enough to know for now.

  He also told me of a girl he was seeing. I’m not sure how serious it was before impact night, but with everything that followed, he was all she had. Her
name was Emma, she had a kid – a boy, 7. Shane was trying to gather enough supplies to keep them all feed. That’s a lot of pressure when you’ve lost your home and the world is turning to shit around you.

  Oh yeah, and they couldn’t find anywhere else to live while Shane repaired the house (yes, he still thought that was possible). So he’d set up the camping gear in the backyard and they shacked up there temporarily. He soon realised the ash wasn’t going to stop falling anytime soon and moved the setup to under the pergola. It was almost a full-time job maintaining somewhere to sleep, let alone everything else he was doing on top of that to provide food and other supplies, all without the luxury of electricity (that’s even too much for an electrician) and, well, daylight.

  Then the kid – Jonah I think his name was – got sick. He was complaining of pain in his side one night and was given something for it by his mum. By the time he’d woken up the next morning he was a mess. Shane and Emma tried to find help, but in the dark and ashy conditions, and the breakdown of the community, well, it was too late. He died before lunch. A bit of pain one night then dead the next morning – it all happened like that.

  Shane says Emma lost it. After they buried Jonah, she wouldn’t talk, she wouldn’t eat, she wouldn’t leave the house… erm, pergola. He didn’t know what to do. He tried consoling her, giving her space, involving her in making plans for their future – anything and everything he could think of to break her out of her funk. Nothing worked. So he put his head down and set about the grind that was his life – clearing ash, raiding and finding food – day after day, week after week.

  One night he and his mates got into a scrap (as he called it). They were busted by a community stealing supplies… and the community were waiting for them. He said it was hard to tell what happened in all the mayhem. He’d seen two of his friends go down but he managed to flee without finding out what happened to the others. He’d somehow gotten away in all the chaos with only a few scratches and bruises.