Diary of a Survivor (Book 2): Apocalypse

by Pike, Matt J.

  We gave ourselves half of the day’s remaining light to check it out. Fifteen minutes travel time either way and an hour to search. Find something and we had the start of a good defence… if we could get creative. Fail to find something and we’d have to be even more creative.

  We headed out, taking Phoenix across the bridge then cutting through the festival theatre grounds, past the casino and down North Tce to Morphett St. That kept us as far from any run-in as possible. We were there within eight minutes – seven ahead of schedule. Assuming we could return at the same pace that gave us 14 more minutes search time.

  We landed at the Adelaide Gun Shop site first. Shane tracked down the spot we were digging in last time, reassessed his bearing against the post office building’s remains and moved a few metres closer to it. This time, instead of skimming through the easy pickings near the surface we got our hands on a serious length of metal and started digging down around the small edge of wall rubble still visible above the surface. It was handy for levering away larger pieces of rubble, allowing us to get in underneath with a shovel and/or broom to see what we could find.

  It was frustrating work. The technique was so much more efficient than what we’d used before, allowing us to cover a great deal more ground, but despite some good potential spots, everything came to donuts. We were about to relocate to the Marksman Firing Range when Shane got his bearings against the building once more and shifted us a few metres closer still.

  We picked a likely looking mound of rubble and drove the metal lever down. There was a crash of broken glass and the structure shifted from the impact. Ash flowed down into a previously hidden air pocket, revealing what was unmistakably a gun’s stock, then another.

  I had the broom in there within a second, brushing away the spare ash. Shane grabbed the closest stock, gave it a shake and pulled it free of its ashy prison. He cleaned some of the muck off it with his other hand, swore magnificently and offered me a high five. He’d soon repeated the dose on the second weapon.

  By the time our allotted time was up we had unearthed a rich vein of weaponry and ammunition. Some of it was in less than usable shape, but it didn’t matter, the entire lot was coming with us. We pushed on for another 30 minutes to maximise our score – the last 10 minutes we spent covering our signs of activity and marking the spot for future exploration.

  *

  As we returned to the oval, Shane examined each gun we’d found. Some were damaged beyond repair but he was sure we’d have enough usable weaponry to plan around it. We’d been talking various defensive options around all scenarios, and weapons meant we could push our boundaries, literally. We decided the smartest play was to create a wall of ash across the bridge. It was an option that secured our space with the least amount of work (essentially blocking us off from the city across the other side of the river) but, at the same time, it was a tactic with a great deal of risk. There was no hiding the ash wall, it would be there to see for everyone who got within eyeshot.

  That’s why everything depended on the guns. Once we knew we had working rifles, we knew we could cover the bridge. Building the barrier there pushed the problem further away from the oval.

  It’s a massive win because the alternative was probably going to be removing the barrier outside the Bradman Pavilion, hiding as much of our presence as possible and lurking in the shadows, praying we don’t get caught.

  Instead, we get to mark our territory and stand our ground.

  Yes, we are outnumbered and are prepared for the possibility that any small confrontation now could lead to a bigger one down the track. We can only hope (pray) that the size of our digs, plus their lack of knowledge of our numbers and weapons, will make us a very foreboding place to attack. I know I wouldn’t want to do it.

  Anyway, that’s roughly the thinking we had justified to ourselves after next to no sleep and the crazy make-a-stand-meets-death-wish sentiment between us right now.

  Seriously, as I was prepping the wall everything post-rock was given a new perspective. I didn’t care. I mean, I cared about making the wall secure and setting up our defences for whatever potential invasion awaited us, whenever that would be, but I didn’t care about what used to be the most important factor… survival.

  I really didn’t care if I made it or not, it was more important to give everything I had to the principal of the oval and what it represented, than to live. So piling ash on top of ash, on a bridge where some shit was surely going to go down that would probably totally change my world, well, that’s just what I was doing.

  I realised that meant I had a purpose and it was bigger than me.

  While we were prepping the wall, we talked over all the potential scenarios that could unfold – being overwhelmed, being flanked, communications (with each other and getting our message across to any potential threats on our space).

  In the end it was decided we would try to appear bigger in number than we are. We would attempt to communicate with them from a distance, letting them know they were not wanted past the wall. If we could scare them away through bluff it would be the biggest win of all. Anyway, the plan we came up with required us to return in the early morning to place a ‘no weapons beyond this point’ sign up, as well as a two-way radio so we could speak to them personally.

  *

  Back at base we were able to lay out the cache on the ground to get a good look at our score. It was like police showing off how good they were after some gang raid (we just lacked the piles of cash and bags of drugs). Anyways, 32 guns in all – 19 rifles and the rest handguns. There were also three seriously nasty looking knives and a whole stash of ammo.

  Shane looked over each piece and threw each item into one of three piles – good to go, needs repairing, unusable. It was a pretty even spread, which meant we had enough good-to-go weapons to serve our needs when the Norwood crew return (if it is them).

  It was a weird feeling watching Shane work his way through the guns. He knew them, he was familiar with them, he’d pick them up like it was natural. With me, it was like holding my cousin Marcus as a newborn a couple of years back. It was a totally uncomfortable, foreign, awkward, undignified experience. I feel like an idiot around guns. And I feel like an even bigger idiot because I feel like an idiot around them. Maybe it’s an absolute reminder that I’m a survivor-lite in this world, and while I’ve been playing my little survival games in the shadows, the real survivors have been playing a different game.

  I know it’s too late to change course now – confrontation is coming and now both sides are armed. And all the awkwardness of holding Marcus is nothing compared to what I felt holding my .33 calibre baby – worse still, there was no parents to hand it back to. I was the parent.

  Opposite to all my awkwardness, Shane seemed at one around them. Holding them and cleaning them, it didn’t matter. No combination of stance or hold technique made it feel natural for me; the gun wasn’t an extension of my body and mind – it was a killing machine that I was consciously aware of with every movement.

  Not only did it represent the gathering confrontation and a massive shortcoming for me in this world, it was exhibit A that I was out of my depth.

  But one of my strengths – one of the main reasons I’m still alive – has been my ability to adapt and to learn. Shane seemed to know what he was doing – certainly a whole lot more than me. I knew I was going to study him every bit I could.

  So, with the aid of an air compressor we swiped from downstairs, we set about stripping, cleaning and rebuilding all the good-to-go weapons… with the aid of a few drinks, or a Shane put it, “if this is going to be my last night on Earth, buggered if I’m going to be sober.”

  ...or something like that.

  For a scrubby looking guy (and I don’t just mean the dirt and muck of post rock), he was precise and meticulous with the gun cleaning, preparation and organisation – surprisingly so. I mean, I know you have to be safety conscious and procedural around guns, but I’m talking about something more th
an that. Maybe it was his fatherly instinct, or something about the situation was summonsing some sort of teacher mode, but whatever the reason, it wasn’t a side of him I’d seen before, yet here it was, this whole other Shane.

  I felt like I was in good hands and learning - I was happy to go with it.

  In the end we had seven rifles, four handguns and plenty of ammo ready to go. I even managed to learn a few things (rifle facts).

  After we finished drinks and admiring our work, we headed out to the back of the pavilion with our cache and a few targets. We spent the next hour testing each weapon and honing our shooting skills… or trying to find shooting skills in my case.

  It was only then that I started to appreciate the lure of a weapon – the kickback and the damage it did to the targets (mostly from Shane’s shots) was staggering. And when I finally managed to hit a target or two after Shane’s patient guidance, well, that was a power all to itself. I found myself caught between getting carried away with the feeling and knowing that the very act of having a weapon, will almost certainly lead to some sort of conflict. I mean, is there any other way?

  Just holding one of those things, firing it, I just felt it change me, even in the smallest way. It makes you bolder, it makes you fear less and respect the post-rock survival rules less. It changes behaviour… makes you more obvious in this world. Hell, it’s even changed how we defended against invaders – no more hiding in the shadows and waiting for them to pass. No we slapped a massive wall across the bridge and said, “We‘re here bitches! And we got ourselves some guns! Yeeeeeeee-haaaawwwww!”

  I haven’t really processed what that means yet, but I’m aware of it.

  The raiders are no different, brazenly marching into the city like nobody can touch them. Guns did that. It’s a fine and fatal line between confidence and overconfidence and one I have the feeling I’ll need to keep reminding myself of. I feel like my introduction to guns is like being on the edge of a whirlpool, I only get the vaguest sense that I’m moving right now, but I am. Bit by bit I’ll be drawn inward to where the others are, as forces beyond my control bring me closer and closer to everyone similar. That’s why it’s inevitable. This whirlpool city isn’t big enough for too many over-confident armed people… they’ll get in each other’s way.

  Anyways, I know I’m rambling as I write this. I’m really doing it a giant reminder that guns are dangerous, not just for those they’re being pointed at. Every time I get a little taste of their power I need to reminder myself of what has gotten me this far. Then again, the survival rules have changed – the oval, Shane, weapons. In fact, the ground is shifting every day. I’m not flying solo any more, I’m not hiding in the shadows.

  Arrrgghhh!!!! That’s better. Sums up how in control I feel of the world around me right now.

  *

  I woke for another early alarm as Shane and I went back to the bridge wall to finalise the set-up in the dawn light. Despite the early bedtime and solid eight hours’ sleep, I still felt a wreck from the hours I’d missed previously. Shane had painted up a sign saying ‘trespassers will be shot’ in large red letters, which we attached to the front of the wall and another one saying, ‘no man’s land’, which he displayed in the track of space between the wall and the end of the bridge. It was a pretty smart idea and would be as intimidating as all hell for anyone daring to cross.

  I also had a pretty sweet idea, if I do say so myself. I dusted off a third two-way radio and took it down to the wall, along with a stool to place it on. That way we were capable of communicating with them, should we feel the need.

  It was all about pretending we were a group of survivalists far bigger than two. So, with everything we do, every front we present to any one on the bridge or approaching the oval, we’ve got to make our comms look official, as if part of a larger command structure.

  Once we’d finished at the wall we headed back to our lookout spot in the riverbank stand. We monitored the bridge together for a couple of hours that first morning. While we did, we came up with systems, call signs, names, ranks and procedures for our imagined group. We also vowed to become members of our alter ego world every time we used two-way comms – you never know who might be listening to us now.

  After a bite to eat, Shane left for a siesta while I took the official first solo watch shift. Looking out over the monochromatic skeletons of the city skyline from up on high, with a rifle across my lap, on the lookout for potential invaders, well, I had to laugh at how life had changed so completely in such a short period of time – I’m talking a couple of weeks – let alone since the rock. It was all so… impossible!

  The laugh didn’t last too long before I reminded myself of where I was sitting and why. I remember praying I’d never be in the position that would need me to aim the gun at anyone… but it just felt… inevitable.

  I can’t believe how much I’m thinking about the guns and confrontation right now. But then again, given that my entire waking life is devoted to preparing for such events it’s hard to believe I can think about anything else. And if prepping for something makes you obsess, standing on sentry watch puts it into overdrive.

  I tried to take my mind off it as best I could. I chatted to Fi for a bit and thought about the Jamesons and when I would next check back home for them. I even tried to plan out the next steps for gearing up the stadium, but every line of thought eventually returned to the mission at hand, at which point I’d start off in a new direction – step and repeat.

  Thankfully my first shift ended uneventfully and I was soon replaced by Shane and headed back to base for sleep: mark two.

  *

  October 24, 2014

  I felt nearly back to normal after what had been a series of days rolling into one. After my nanna nap, Shane returned from his watch and we set about repairing some of the other weapons over a scotch or two. Well, more like I watched Shane try and repair the weapons while he had a scotch or nine (I’m pretty sure this was the actual number – he must’ve been thinking a lot).

  In that period where I was counting drinks and thoroughly not helping repair guns, we planned out a series of things that needed achieving to get the oval up to speed. There are so many fronts to consider – fortification, accommodation, communication, defence tactics, bug-out plans. As we ran through each topic we’d just blurt out whatever thoughts we’d been having, I’d write it all down, then we’d prioritise what had to be done ASAP and what could be done by one person.

  After a couple of hours we had a couple more guns we could use and a to-do list so long I needed more paper. And we were just dealing with the top-level stuff – prepping for possible invasion. If nothing else this place was a cure for post-apocalyptic boredom. I think it’s part of the appeal, really, my world feels new and full again, I’m not going through the survival motions, I’m creating something more.

  At the end of our sesh we had a list of jobs for both of us and a rough timeframe for completion. And it all starts this morning, at least for Shane, while I go on watch.

  *

  Seriously, the second I get the slightest bit complacent!

  It was just after 11am and I was starting to clock-watch for the end of my shift when I saw a small crew heading down King William St in our direction. There were six of them. Even before they reached the bridge I could spot the skinny guy from the other day. There was something about his walk that stood out as much as it bugged me – far too overconfident for his apparent lack of physical strength. It looked like skinny swagger man was pretty much leading his band of brothers our way.

  Again, I couldn’t make out what was being said, but their voices were excited. They actually had quite a bit of pace up through the ash, making extra ground in their trench from the other day and drawn by the mystery wall.

  I called Shane – erm, Power One – on the two-way… several times… without a response. So typical, that the first time we are in a ‘this is not a drill’ situation and he was nowhere.

  I don’t think I’d
felt more alone and responsible. I started to panic – more than that really – I felt the floor fall out from underneath me. I was free-falling. I mean, I was it. Me! At that moment, I was the gatekeeper. I knew whatever I did in the next couple of minutes – through words or with weapon – would be the difference between this threat getting through the gate or not, between them coming back or not, between us protecting the biggest food asset in the city or not. I called out to Shane again on the two-way? No response! What the hell could he be doing to not get back to me?

  I could see the six become aware of the two-way near the wall. They’d heard my voice, perhaps not aware it was coming through the radio. They froze, huddled together, then continued their approach with more caution.

  My hands started to shake as they wrapped around the gun. I aimed it at the approaching group, watching them through the scope.

  My mind started working against me. My mouth became impossibly dry. I started clearing my throat, knowing I’d probably soon be communicating with these guys and I had to sound official. Meanwhile I was struggling to keep the gun still, which caused me to start to sweat. My heartbeat was also doing its best to distract my attention, rattling along like it was being played by a heavy metal drummer with a double kick bass drum pedal. If I fired a shot at that moment I doubted I could actually hit the bridge, let alone swaggerman or one of his buddies.

  Control breathing, stay calm – I repeated to myself over and over.

  I gave Power One a final call on the two-way – pointlessly in whispered tones. Again, no response, from Power One. Thankfully, the raiders once again took a cautious pause in their advance.

  Before I knew it… yet after what seemed like forever… skinny swagger and his clan reached the wall. He pulled out a handgun, as did two of the other raiders. They approached low and cautiously, aiming their weapons at any potential weak points in the wall. I watched on through the scope… which I’d managed to steady enough not to feel nauseous looking through. They closed in on the gap between railing and wall (the gap we’d left), right in my line of sight. They were within a couple of metres of everything, including the two-way.