Grants Pass

by Cherie Priest

  He is a student now, pursuing a graduate degree in psychology, choosing to leave behind such jobs as network engineer, operator, and fundraiser. Jim enjoys volunteering at sci-fi/fantasy conventions, role-playing, cooking, reading, movie viewing, and spending time with friends and family.

  ****

  Afterword

  When Jennifer Brozek asked me to write a story for her Grants Pass project, I was more than happy to write for the project. Not only was it an opportunity to work creatively with a friend, but I found the concept of Grants Pass a fresh and original idea for an anthology. I knew immediately I wanted to have my story take the form of an artifact discovered in the far future, and that I wanted to represent average people dropped into chaos.

  To show characters forced to make the hard decisions, responding to internal and external stimuli, such as Ruby’s choosing her own fate and our narrator’s decision in dealing with Walter — but I did not want the characters to become subsumed by the need for survival and lose who they are as people.

  This story was also personal therapy, as it allowed me to explore my feelings about my own move from California to Washington, even if in an abstract way. I am pleased that Jennifer asked me to write for Grants Pass and I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed contributing to it.

  Epilogue:

  Journal Entry

  Kayley Allard

  JULY 1: OBLIGATIONS

  Twenty days ago was the last time I saw anyone alive in Redmond, Washington. That was June 12th. I had been at the small family grocery store, picking up supplies. Only two people had been in the shop: another customer and a checker. Both were very sick but both had the same grim determination that they — above all — would survive this.

  This. This being the end of the world as we know it. I made a mark on the calendar to signify the day. Today, Thursday, the first of July. Just days before the holiday of getting drunk and setting off explosives, while someone burns slabs of meat over an open fire and everyone hopes that the injuries from the celebration of freedom happen to someone else. Only there will be no one to celebrate Independence Day this year. Nor any other holiday for that matter. Between the three plagues, global warming and the earthquake, the End, with a capital E, had come.

  Now that it arrived and it seemed that I had survived, I felt a weird sense of obligation to write down what happened. I don’t really know what took place except for what I read, heard and saw. People got sick and they died. Storms came and people died. The riots started, the city was put under martial law and more folks died. People died and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  Some say I was lucky. My family was three thousand miles away, so I didn’t have to watch them slip away. No. Instead, I got to watch my chosen family die. Cheryl, then her kids and, finally, her husband, Rory. Keane, Jim, Jeff and Robert. The last was Hans, three weeks ago. I had gone over to his townhouse to force feed him chicken soup. He was in bed, hallucinating. I think it was a happy hallucination. He died with a smile on his face as I held his hand. All I could do was tuck him back into his bed and leave before I threw up on him. I just made it to the bathroom.

  As far as I know, I’m the last person alive in Redmond, maybe Washington. Hell, maybe the whole damn world. I think that’s the most fucked up thing about this. I’m in the heart of Redmond, three miles from Microsoft and I haven’t seen anyone in weeks. If anyone could have survived beyond me, it should have been a bunch of geeks. Geeks are smart. I should have seen someone by now.

  Right now, the power is still on and I mean to take advantage of that for as long as it holds out. I have started making a “To Do” list. I think it’s to help me keep calm. If I’m busy, I don’t have to think about anything.

  TO DO:

  Move. Scout out areas close to the library and the grocery store. Some place on 160th street. I’m getting tired of that hill of mine. I need to be closer to these things for safety and comfort.

  Figure out what to do about the bodies of the dead people around the new home. This is both a cleanliness thing and a smell thing. I’m debating about finding a dump or burning them in a grand funeral pyre — sending them on their way to heaven if there is a God. Right now, I have my doubts.

  Turn off excess lights and machines. Maybe that will help the electricity hold out longer.

  Find a generator and learn how to work it.

  This is just getting depressing and really is not helping me do what I want it to do. I know I’m trying to distract myself. I can confess this here because no one is going to read it. If they do, I will probably be long dead. Just in case: Hello alien or historian! Maybe that is: alien historian. Wouldn’t that be a hoot. “Dead planet, yellow star. Tell us where your children are…”

  Two days ago, while I was boxing up my ‘essentials’ to take to the new place — once I choose it — one of my diaries fell out of the pile. It was the print out of last year’s online journal. Being a narcissistic lass, I sat down and started reading. I would read two or three entries, then skip a few pages and start reading again. How simple life was. I had a wonderful boyfriend, a good job, a great house and my only problems were whether or not I was going to have time to clean before guests came over, what the office gossip was and who my cat was going to bite next. Petty, insignificant, marvelously human thoughts.

  Then, I came to it. That journal entry in May before everything went to hell in a hand basket. ‘Grants Pass.’ I had totally forgotten about that entry, written in a fit of fancy after a conversation with my friend, Monte. “If an apocalypse comes and you survive, think of me and then head to Grants Pass. My whimsy could save your life.”

  I lie. I had almost forgotten about it, but I had not been ready or willing to remember it. Until now. It probably explains why I have been so productive in raiding REI to gather supplies for ‘just in case’. I have enough stores of dried food to last a single person for a decade.

  Grants Pass.

  May 17th last year, I made a written promise to meet any survivors of the end of the world in Grants Pass, Oregon. Four hundred and some odd miles south of me down the I-5. I told the survivors to meet me there. That I would be there to help rebuild in the new post-apocalyptic world.

  I never thought it would happen. But, here it is.

  Why the hell would I want to leave my secure environment, to face who knows what, to go to a little town in Oregon to meet other survivors who may or may not be there and may or may not be friendly?

  I’ve been wrangling with this question for two days now. It reminded me of a brief conversation I had with Thea. She had pretty much asked me the exact same thing, but added in “secure bolt holes, a known fresh water source and a well known enough city that surviving people would flock to it instead of her having to leave for some tiny town in the middle of the mountains.” She was right. I was wrong. I wish I could tell her.

  I can’t decide if I should go or not. I know I wrote that entry, but what are the odds of another survivor having actually read it? Read it AND decided to go there? Practically none. The only people I know who would have done so I lost touch with over three weeks ago. Anyone else, there’s no guarantee that I would like them. That would be just my luck. Stuck with an asshole as my only companion for the rest of my life.

  But I digress.

  I said I would meet them and I have always been a woman of my word. Always followed my promises. Does my obligation still hold? Do I have an obligation to them, total strangers? I’m comfortable and happy here. Happy enough. I have my plans. I have my books. I know what I need to do to fix up Redmond. What’s waiting for me in Grants Pass? Much less, along the way?

  I’m afraid. I can admit it. I’m scared shitless that there won’t be anyone there. Even more scared of who might be there. What if they want me to lead them because I was the one who called them there? I’m good at making decisions. Just not always the right ones. What if they don’t want me to lead? Maybe some know-it-all is there and has already tak
en charge? Worse yet, what if he or she is damn good at the job and should have it?

  Christ! I’m insane! I don’t even know if anyone is alive out there and I’m already making up enough drama to float a soap opera for at least two or three seasons!

  Still. I have to wonder. What if Monte did make it through and is waiting for me, wondering where the hell I am? Or if anyone else did survive. It has been kind of lonely without anyone around. I could keep myself busy for a while with my list of tasks, but eventually, I would have time to think. Time is one of those things I have an abundance of now.

  I miss everyone so much. I used to dream about a world where I could be by myself with no one around me. No one to tell me what to do or to cut me off in traffic. No one to yell at me or ask me about deadlines or to forget to invite me to a movie. A world where I could be left alone.

  Oh, God! What if all this is my fault? I wrote about it in my journal. I secretly wished for it from time to time. I loved to watch The Stand by Stephen King and my favorite apocalyptic 80s film, Night of the Comet. What if I had wished for it and the universe decided, for some unknown reason, to grant my plea? I killed everyone with my own romanticized selfishness!

  No. No. No. I’m getting myself worked up for nothing here. The apocalypse was not my fault. Talk about the ultimate in egomania. Global warming is a bitch and the three plagues were a terrorist plot.

  I really need someone here to slap some sense into me. The world is not all about “I”. It may seem like it right now, but that’s not true.

  You want to know how I know? Because, two days ago, I made a subconscious decision that I was going to take it on faith that there were other people out there and that by some miracle, not only had they survived, they had read my post and are coming to meet me in Grants Pass. It has taken me until now to actually admit that to myself. Now that it has been written and acknowledged, my obligation is clear.

  The question has become: Am I brave enough to make the trip?

  JULY 12: THOUGHTS

  It’s been almost two weeks since I wrote in my journal. Writing longhand sucks. I have terrible penmanship. I haven’t moved. I’m still in my condo. But, I have been thinking about Grants Pass. I think I am going to go. The silence is driving me insane.

  I’ve been wondering about what I should bring. Books mostly. Specific books on keeping a community going. I’ve got a lot of my own in my apocalyptic cabinet. I never thought I would have to actually use it. I suppose that’s one of the reasons the Zombie Survival Guide was in there next to When there are No Doctors.

  Seriously though, if I’m going, I’ve got to be prepared. I’ve got to prove that my thoughts of meeting in Grants Pass were valid and not random happenstance. I’ve got to make sure that if there are people there, waiting for me, depending on me, that it was not in vain.

  I’ve got to prove it to myself if no one else.

  Beyond the books are the emergency supplies, batteries, crop seed and medicine. And weapons. I can’t pretend that everyone is going to be nice and happy and polite. The old rules of order and society are gone.

  I wonder if Monte made it. I hope to God — if there is a God — that there is at least one friendly, familiar face waiting for me.

  JULY 31: JOURNEY

  I’m ready to go. This is it. Everything is packed. Tomorrow, I will leave at 9am. That should put me there by 4pm, barring any unexpected nastiness. August 1st has always been my personal New Year’s Day. It is an appropriate time to start a new life.

  I decided to take a jeep instead of my car because it has four wheel drive, more room and can navigate rough terrain better. My neighbors had one and it’s not like they are going to be using it. They decided to drink a nice batch of special Kool-Aid instead of fighting to survive. But that is neither here nor there. I am going to let the cat out of the house to fend for herself. I hate doing this, but it is better than a slow death of starvation if I don’t make it back.

  That’s if I don’t decide to take her with me. I might. I probably will. We’ll see.

  The jeep is packed with gas, food, water, medical supplies and weapons. I think I’m prepared. I have driven to the San Francisco Bay Area and back several times before. At 430 miles, I should make it within five to six hours. Barring any major mishaps.

  My plan is to drive directly there and to stay for ten days. Then, I will put up signs with directions and return home to Redmond. Or, I will continue on towards the Bay Area, to my old stomping grounds and see if there are people there. It’s damn hot in the summer, but you don’t have to deal with snow in the winter.

  I still can’t decide whether I want to meet people at Grants Pass or along the way, or not. The idea excites and terrifies me. I think I’m leaning towards the former. It would be nice to hear a voice other than my own.

  I’m leaving this journal, along with all of my other journals, here in the library, in case I don’t make it back and someone else comes along. I know I’m vain. I want to be remembered. I want someone to know that I was here and that I had survived the end of the world.

  I’m leaving a map to Grants Pass as well. Maybe it will turn out that Grants Pass is the right place to go and whoever finds this journal will meet me there.

  Over a year ago, I made a promise to six billion strangers. I guess it’s time for me to go see how many of them took me up on it.

  Please don’t forget me.

  Love,

  Kayley Allard

  About the Editors

  Jennifer Brozek, the creator and co-editor for the Grants Pass anthology, is a freelance author for Margaret Weis Productions and OtherWorld Creations, as well as a technical writer for Amazon.com. She is a contributor to multiple RPG sourcebooks (Dragonlance, Castlemourn, Cortex) and has co-authored three books (A Player’s Guide to Castlemourn with Ed Greenwood, 2006; Chill, 3rd Edition with Mike Callahan, 2008; and Dragonvarld Adventures with Margaret Weis, 2008). She is published in several anthologies and is the creator and editor of the semi-pro webzine, The Edge of Propinquity. When she is not writing her heart out, she is a loving wife to her husband, Jeff, and an indulgent ‘mother’ to their three cats.

  Amanda Pillar is a speculative fiction author and editor who lives in Victoria, Australia, with her partner and two children, Saxon and Lilith — Burmese cats.

  Amanda has had numerous short stories in print, with more awaiting publication. She is also the co-editor of the anthologies, Voices (2008), and The Phantom Queen Awakes (2009), both published by Morrigan Books.

  You can read about her adventures at her livejournal, http://amandapillar.livejournal.com or you can visit her website: http://www.amandapillar.com.

  About the Cover Artist

  Reece Notley

  I don’t have a bio. I just lived. I never took notes! NO ONE TOLD ME I HAD TO TAKE FRICKING NOTES!

  Sheesh.

  Where to find us Online

  Website:http://www.morriganbooks.com

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