Diary of a Survivor (Book 2): Apocalypse

by Pike, Matt J.

  As usual, we’d parked Phoenix in the alley and walked to the corner of the Mall near the supermarket’s entrance. Even before we got there we could see the ash disturbed by walking tracks. I remember my heart racing through my chest. Shane and I gave each other hand signals to stay quiet and stick close to the walls, but really, there was no point being quiet at that point. If they were still around they would have heard Phoenix!

  I remember my heart going into overdrive as I leaned around the corner. Thankfully, the mall was as clear of people as the sound indicated it was. While it was a relief, it was only at that moment Shane and I got a sense of the scale of operation we had just missed. The tracks went everywhere, looping in and out of shopfronts on both sides of the mall, all shooting out from a larger track running right down the centre of the mall. That was truly scary. There were so many overlapping sets of tracks it was impossible to get a sense of the size of the overall group.

  I remember the dread biting back harder at that moment, as if realising we had poked the bear, which we had. The Norwood crew (I’m going to assume that’s who it is until I see evidence otherwise) must’ve sent everything they had down the mall yesterday, whether it was in search of resources or revenge, it didn’t matter, it was a show of strength impossible to match.

  Shane and I ignored the size of the potential threat as a point of conversation. We both felt it, both thought it, we just didn’t say a thing. Instead we chose to focus on the little clues we could spot out of the tracks and what they could tell us. It was amazing what we could pick up too – we’re pretty sure they had six people at the front who marched evenly spread down the centre of the mall. We guessed these ones were armed and clearing the space for everyone behind. Based on the other tracks, we reckon they went into every store – fashion, jewellery, music – it didn’t matter. We think it was a giant stocktaking exercise. They were using all their resources to catalogue everything in the mall so they could work out what they would take in what order. The only other possible explanation was they were sweeping every inch of the mall looking to find us. Either way, it wasn’t good.

  The footprints became densest around the Woolworths entrance. Eventually we worked up the courage to enter. We decided to leave torches off for as long as possible. We were pretty sure the coast was clear… but all that evidence of activity had us both jumpy. The long, narrow and dark corridor never seemed so isolating.

  When we hit the open space on the other side we just stood in silence for as long as we could. When we were convinced there was no noise, no lights, no activity, we fired up the flashlights. They had swept the place from front to back, aisle to aisle. Shane and I took one look at each other and we split up – he headed for the warehouse out back, I took to the stairs heading for the lower level.

  As soon as I turned the last corner I knew our biggest buried treasure had been exposed. Someone had dug a hole right through the debris blocking the door frame. The hole was big enough to crawl through. So I did.

  The shelves greeting me on the other side were full of some serious long-life food item pay-dirt. I was trying to picture the shelves as I’d seen them last week, to work out whether stuff had been taken. But I wasn’t thinking straight enough to remember. Either way, they hadn’t cleaned us out today.

  To my left were the meats and perishables. Each step I took in that direction had me closer to dry retching, so I was going to cut my losses. But I knew, amongst the grossness of rotting fruit and meat, would be some prized preserved meat prizes. I held my breath, shuffled in and grabbed as much as I could of salamis, pepperonis and kabanas. It was so worth my eyeballs searing off their outer layer.

  I returned to the start point, dropped the goods, then explored around the other side of the central escalators, or what were the escalators before the tsunami debris rained down, leaving it a road block to a larger part of the floor. Past the long life food, microwave dinners and cans was a bunch of cleaning products.

  So, most of the salvageable product was in the first few shelves from the door. At a guess there were two, maybe three, packed hovercraft loads of stuff. There was maybe another 1-2 of bottled water.

  I helped myself to mouthful of kabana and made my way up to Shane to see what he’d found. Again they’d rifled through the mess in the warehouse, taken a few things, but basically they’d gotten a feel for what was about.

  We knew there was only one play to make. We were totally outnumbered and outgunned. The only time we could be sure this place would be free of enemies was from now until about an hour after dawn in the morning. The only option to keep these supplies was to pull an all-nighter and go until there was nothing left to take.

  So that’s what we did. Shane fed me every box, crate and hand trolley he could get his hands on, while I stayed in the lower ground level and packed. When I had filled something, I took it to the stairs where Shane was waiting for me to pass it up to him. He’d carry the supplies to Phoenix and load up, while I tried to have another stack waiting for him to carry on his return – it became a bit of a competition like that.

  Once Phoenix was full, we jumped in and headed to the oval, unloaded the goods in our spot near the Bradman Pavilion, then hauled it back to Woolies, then started the whole process over again.

  What I had guessed at maybe five to six trips before we began turned into eight, the last one just to clean up every last skerrick of edible anything we could lay our hands on. We were somewhere in the hazy mix between excited adrenalin rush and sleep-deprived daze when we headed home for the last time just before 6am.

  There was a real sense of school boy naughtiness about what we had done, made more heightened by knowing the person who was the butt of our practical joke was the school bully, and if he ever found out it was us who did it, well, we were in for a world of hurt… And we knew he’d find out. But nothing was taking that unbeatable moment away. I whoo-hooo’d into the cold, dark city as Shane hovered back.

  I love a good whoo-hooo.

  Oh, I nearly forgot – important detail. Before we left we went back inside, locked the warehouse entrance and tried to cover our tracks as best we could. We then exited on foot through the front of store, hoping to throw them off of our trail. It was just a detail thing, but the harder we are to work out, the better.

  It had been a pretty still night, so I was paranoid about Phoenix leaving enough signs of her movement to give them a trail to follow. There was a moisture in the air that meant the surface wasn’t getting disturbed too much when she passed over it but because I hadn’t followed the exact same path with each trip, I hadn’t created a deeper groove in the road.

  To be honest, I was never really going to know how much evidence I had left until the glimpses of light pushed through the clouds the next morning and, by that time, it’d be too late to do anything about it anyway. The best I could manage was a little zigzag pattern on that last run just to smooth out any obvious track signs. I stopped every now and then, so Shane could shine a torch on what we were leaving in our wake. When he was satisfied we continued on. I he saw something that could potentially give our position away, we went over that ground again.

  By the time we’d gotten back to the oval and offloaded the last lot of supplies, the first hint of sunlight was in the air. I was exhausted, we both were, but sleep wasn’t an option. We knew if they were to come back today (highly likely) and find all of the supplies gone (inevitable), they would begin searching for signs of who and how many had taken it. If they did manage to happen upon our trail (odds unknown), or even just inspect the oval as part of a general search (unknown), we had to be awake and prepared.

  So the only option was to spend the entire day on guard. The only real way for them to get to us was by crossing the King William St bridge over the Torrens (there were other ways to the oval but, coming from where they would be, those options were highly unlikely). It gave us an area to focus on. It was quite comforting actually, knowing with the footbridge destroyed, the bridge became the only p
ractical way across. We could be flanked by crossing the river further upstream then advancing at the oval from the north, or downstream at Morphett St and coming at us from the west, but both options would take people a kilometre or two out of their way. That’s a long slog through the ash on foot.

  Once the supplies were stashed and we had Phoenix secured and out of sight, we moved ourselves to the riverbank stand and found a position where we could monitor any potential movement on the bridge. I had my crossbow at the ready. Shane, well, Shane didn’t have any long-range weapon, just this long staff and his knife. Apart from the home ground advantage and the potential element of surprise, we certainly didn’t have much going for us if they headed our way.

  So, the plan was to lay low, monitor what was going on and pray they didn’t head this way. If they did, we’d follow, track them in the shadow and pray they didn’t enter the stadium. If they did, they’d surely see the sign of activity around the Bradman Pavilion. In fact, playing out any scenario that involved entering the stadium didn’t end well… and I remember running through all the possibilities as I waited on guard, with a sleep deprived, frazzled brain.

  How many would we face, would they be armed, which way would they enter, would they discover our hideout and our food stash, could we take them before they got word back to any larger group about our presence, would that make a difference? So many questions.

  I also remember being struck by how quickly this amazing new safe house had turned from our impenetrable fortress to a massively exposable weakness. God, I just so wanted to go back in time three days and pile ash three stories high across the bridge. I don’t think I can really translate the feeling of sitting there, realising that this grand vision of a new future was actually nothing more than a house of cards and it was about to come crashing down before it had really started being built.

  We talked about running – just cutting our losses there and then – but we both knew we were already too invested in this house of cards to leave it behind. The thought of going back to solo day-to-day survival after briefly tasting what could happen here was not an option. So that left us both committed to a future and place probably not ready for us.

  Then we saw them – four in total, spread across the width of King William Rd. They inched their way across the bridge, scanning in all directions for signs of life.

  Meanwhile, every weakness in our set-up, all the unfinished fortifications and the things we hadn’t even thought of until that moment, became glaringly obvious beacons. We just kept whispering each radiating tell of our location and what we could’ve done to improve it, as we watched the enemy approach. Once again, that time machine would’ve come in very handy.

  They were soon across the bridge and gathered together, clearly discussing their next move. It was hard to tell from the distance we were at (100m, maybe more), but one of them was definitely gesturing towards the stadium while the others seemed to be more interested in continuing up King William Rd to the cathedral and beyond.

  Shane and I exchanged glances, watched in silence and prayed. It was a double whammy for Shane as his hideout was near the cathedral, so no matter what their path forward, he was at risk of losing something.

  Then the guy who seemed determined to check out the oval started heading in our direction, clearly against the will of the others. I froze at that point, knowing everything was about to get real, my hand shaking as it gripped the crossbow. Then, after he’d marched a few metres in our direction, they must’ve yelled something else to him because he stopped, turned and faced them once more. It was impossible to hear what was being said beyond generic muffled vocalisation, but whatever it was, he was not in agreement with the others, judging by the gesticulating of his arms. In fact, even after only a couple of minutes’ observation, this did not look like a group in calm control of their world. Shane called them dysfunctional, saying they had no real sign of organisation or command structure, which was a good thing, for us. He sounded more hopeful than anything, though.

  After another round of arm waving mumbles he turned back to us and advanced. The main guy from the other group yelled something. Oval man flipped him the bird without turning. The others had enough and continued along King William Rd to the cathedral.

  So, we were now dealing with one person. It reduced the immediate threat to our lives, but we both knew the moment he entered the stadium we would have a hard time keeping our secret. We talked through all of the possibilities as we watched him inch closer – random rambling to keep us sane – and, apart from the highly unlikely scenario where he enters the stadium, completely doesn’t notice the clearly constructed wall of ash surrounding the Bradman Pavilion, then leaves, well, we were screwed. Every other likely outcome is grim – he notices and leaves to tell his buddies, he notices and we kill him so he can’t tell his buddies then said buddies come looking for him, notice then tell their other buddies. Even if we kill the first lot of buddies before they can tell the larger group of buddies, those buddies would absolutely come looking for their missing friends.

  No, we were about to pass the event horizon where there was no going back.

  When he was within a few metres of the stadium, he looked up, seemingly straight at me. Even though I knew he couldn’t see me, it was a weird few seconds, like I was watching death come at me, sans the sithe. No hood either. He was close enough that I could make out the features in his face. He had a beard – dirty, sandy and greying in patches – and there were a couple of dark patches on his face which I could only guess were scabs, even though his beard was hiding it, he looked skinny as anything, there was just something in the way the light caught his cheekbones and eye sockets that you could tell, even at the distance I was. And those eyes were without emotion, without care. I’d seen that look on a number of faces post rock – they were always the people I wanted to be furthest away from. No life in their eyes, no hope – the ones that would do anything. If he reminded me of death earlier, when I saw his face the feeling doubled.

  It was a face of hunger and desperation, and if he represented what the rest of his gang was like, well, Shane and I didn’t have to exchange words to know we were in more trouble than we first thought. We nodded to each other, then Shane turned to head down the stairs to lie in wait for Death at ground level. I stayed where I could keep an eye on him, knowing as soon as he disappeared from view I would head down to join Shane.

  Just as I turned to go some sort of siren rang out, not dissimilar to those air horn things that used to sound out at the end of the quarter in a game of park football. It echoed through the stands in a way that you could tell it was distant. It stopped Death in his tracks too. He seemed to hover on the spot, caught between his desire to see the stadium and whatever Pavlov’s dog effect the horn was having on him.

  Then I heard faint yelling as his three buddies entered the top of the frame again. After a short pause, they called out again, this time a whistle. Death swore, the first word I was able to understand since seeing the enemy, then he turned to chase the others back up King William Rd to the city.

  I watched him walk away, my heart going crazy like some out-of-control drum solo. Soon Shane was up with me watching the enemy leave. We were physically and emotionally drained, zombie tired and we both knew there was a mountain of work ahead of us before we could contemplate sleep.

  *

  Once the threat had passed we returned to HQ to work out our next move. That’s not easy when there are a million things running through your mind and a looming deadline – we had to work on the belief the enemy would return in the morning. Shane poured himself a scotch – his think drink as he dubbed it – and we set about trying to turn all the permutations and combinations into a plan.

  There was a lot to consider. Should we cut our loses and run? Could we get all of the supplies out overnight if we did? Should we stay and fight? What is the enemy we are dealing with – how many and how armed? Could we defend this place if we stayed? Seriously massive life-ch
anging fundamental decisions and we had next to no time to process, plan and execute.

  We argued everything over… I mean absolutely everything. This may sound weird (and I may come to regret it later), but I absolutely did not want to give up the oval or what I’d started building with Shane. I knew if this place could become half of what Shane and I dreamt it could be, it would change post-rock Adelaide forever. Even at that moment, even knowing it felt like an all-out war was on our doorstep, and knowing we’d be outnumbered, out-armed, out everythinged, I didn’t care.

  Something in me was changing. The me from a few months ago would’ve slipped out of sight and back home in these circumstances – too many risks and too many unknowns. The now me still knew that, but also knew that some things are bigger than, well, me. This place was one of those things. Even in the small time I had been working on it, I had felt a sense of belonging that I hadn’t felt since… Fi. That belonging is powerful stuff.

  I looked at Shane. Even without words I knew he was equally linked to this place by the same mysterious force that had me gripped. It’s hard for me to even express the intensity I felt to my mission (yes, it’s a mission) here – in such a short period of time.

  I just have to do this.

  Shane finished his second think drink and said something similar. We were committed.

  We did have a laugh at how confused the enemy must’ve been. We stripped Woolies of all its remaining food stocks and there were only a few random footprints left as evidence. They must’ve been absolutely scratching their heads trying to work out how it all happened.

  Anyway, we figured we had just under three hours of nearly light left in the day, and possibly an hour in the morning. Shane made the suggestion that we go back to the site of the gun shops once more. At first I thought it was a complete waste of time, but what he explained made a lot of sense. If we could manage to find a weapon it would be an absolute game-changer in terms of how we proceeded with our entire defence. Seriously, if (and it’s a big if) we could find something, it would change everything.