The Dystopian Diaries

by K. W. Callahan

  Well, right when we’re getting close enough for Miles to start sniffing at the turtle, I hear a vehicle engine approaching. And since I have no idea what the situation is around here, I really didn’t want to be caught out in the open by people who may not have the best intentions in mind.

  The road we were traveling had deep gullies on either side. I figured that discretely pulling our heads into our own shells and ducking down into one of these gullies (with the rest of the turtles) was the better part of valor. But Miles had other ideas. He was still trying to get at the turtle, lurching forward against his leash, taking little nips at the shell into which our boxed friend had now retreated.

  Meanwhile, as Miles continued his antics, and I tried to haul his pudgy butt away from his fresh-found-friend (try saying that fast three times in a row), the sound of the approaching vehicle continued to near. Half of me wanted to wait and see who it was. But the other half was telling me not to take any chances.

  Just as I got Miles away from the turtle and we settled ourselves down into the concealment of the nearby gully, I had a pang of regret about leaving the turtle behind. But he was all tucked in and settled in the middle of the road, so I figured he’d be fine.

  I was wrong.

  As a pickup truck went roaring past at a speed I’d clock somewhere right around 60 miles per hour – maybe even 70 – I peeked my head up over the gully’s edge while pushing Miles’ head down. I couldn’t see who was in the pickup, or how many were inside, but it was FLYIN’!

  As soon as the truck was past and out of sight, Miles and I re-emerged from our gully hiding spot.

  The rotund turtle, whose shape kind of reminded me of my dear buddy Miles, was now flat as a pancake. Its beautiful shell had been crunched to bloody shards on the gray pavement. And while I couldn’t see who was inside the pickup, in my personal opinion, anyone who would purposely do that to a largely defenseless creature is not worth knowing. If that’s the type of people who are now left on this planet, I’m not sure how happy I am about remaining among them.

  After that, our journey continued without incident until we ended up here at this small house on the outskirts of town. I’d say we still have a half a mile until we hit downtown Woodcrest.

  There is a funky sort of smell in the air around here. It shouldn’t surprise me considering the state of the world, but something about the smell just doesn’t sit right with me.

  Okay, I’m going to make us dinner and then hopefully get some sleep. My body is physically tired from walking, but my mind is racing. While this place looks – and smells – as though it has been empty for a while, I still find myself expecting someone to walk through the front door at any moment. And while I have my gun, I’d prefer not to have to use it…or even THREATEN to use it for that matter.

  September 26th

  12:05 a.m.

  I can’t sleep. I’m so anxious about tomorrow and what I’ll find when I get to town. I’m honestly not sure if I can go through with this. I want to know what the situation is in Woodcrest, but at the same time, I’m not sure I can handle what I’ll discover. At this point, though, I think I owe it to myself (as well as others) to find out.

  Good God! What IS that smell?! It stinks so bad in here. I feel like I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning to find I’ve been sleeping next to a dead body or something. Ugh, terrible thought! Stuff like that running through my head isn’t going to help me sleep. Then again, neither is writing a long journal entry at midnight. Plus, I don’t want to write too long. Someone might see the glow of my flashlight and get curious. I doubt it, but why chance it?

  5:37 a.m.

  Well that was a horrible night’s sleep. At least Miles seemed to zonk out for a while. Of course, I think he could zonk out on a crashing airplane or at a stockcar race.

  We’re going to eat quickly and then get moving. I’d like to get to town before it gets too light so I can kind of get the lay of the land under the cover of darkness.

  September 27th

  9:11 a.m.

  What a mess! I didn’t learn much about the situation in Woodcrest, and what I’ve returned to leaves me feeling both anxious and with an intense feeling of distress.

  So first, about my Woodcrest experience. I decided to chance it and leave Miles in the abandoned house in which we’d spent the night. The place seemed pretty secluded, and I thought it safer than bringing him with, both for him AND for me.

  I got to the edge of town just before sunrise. From all outward appearances, the place seemed deserted. And the closer I got to town, the worse that smell I’d smelled all night (and still seems to be stuck in my nostrils) grew.

  Soon I realized why.

  As I reached the Woodcrest Elementary School, I saw fires burning in several large pits. Actually, I guess they were just kind of smoldering. Upon closer inspection, I realized that there were bodies in the pits. I’m assuming that they were the bodies of Su flu victims or those who died in the flu’s aftermath.

  I quickly made my way into downtown Woodcrest, which isn’t much more than a block of mostly two-story brick buildings, about half of which contained businesses before the flu. I did my best to stay in the shadows.

  I had several objectives in mind during my scouting mission. First, I wanted to see if there were still people around. Second, I wanted to see if there was any sort of shelter or place where survivors were organizing. Third, I wanted to see if I could learn the latest news, potentially by finding a newspaper (although who knows when the last newspaper was printed) or seeing if people had posted information somewhere through handbills or something.

  So as to my first objective, finding out if people were still around, it was tough to tell. As I said, the place looked deserted, although someone must have been hauling bodies to those burn pits. But arriving at such an early hour meant that any of the town’s survivors were likely still sleeping.

  God, what a horrible sight those pits were. I didn’t get too close because of the smell, but I could definitely see the outlines of charred people mounded atop one another, their bodies rigid with rigor mortis, blackened by the flames. It’s something I’ll never forget, that’s for sure.

  I didn’t spend a ton of time exploring the town since I wasn’t sure how safe it was to be there. But during my inspection, I didn’t see any place that looked like it was being used as a communal meeting site, which was my second objective. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t there, I just didn’t spot any indications of such a place.

  As for my third objective, getting some sort of news regarding what was happening in the outside world, this goal fared little better.

  After some wandering that took me to one of the two local gas stations – a station that still harbors some very bad memories for me – I found something that I thought would help me with my search for information. A coin-operated newspaper dispenser sat at the front left of the gas station’s front door. I could see copies of the local newspaper, The Woodcrest Observer. Ironically, the main headline from almost two weeks ago read, “5 Killed in Gas Station Shootout”.

  Seeing that headline was exactly what I was most afraid of. It sent shivers down my spine and made me feel like I was going to vomit. I wanted to know more. I NEEDED to know more. But at the same time, I dreaded knowing more.

  I reached inside my pocket, searching for quarters, and then felt foolish. Any money I had brought with me, which wasn’t much to begin with, was locked in the glove compartment of my car. But why pay for a newspaper in the apocalypse? Short answer – ease of convenience. There was no quick way to get a paper otherwise.

  After looking around with something I could use to break the newspaper dispenser’s glass barrier, the best thing I could come up with was a squeegee sitting in a black plastic container of glass cleaner between the station’s gas pumps. After a few unsuccessful whacks at the front of the newspaper stand however, I realized that the squeegee’s rubber-gripped handle wasn’t going to work. I then began searching for a rock large enoug
h to do the job. After a few more minutes, I found one, but after bashing the front of the dispenser, I became uncomfortable with the resulting noise of my strikes in the morning stillness. I was afraid that someone would confront me about what I was doing and why – which was exactly what happened.

  After my fifth blow with my rock again the display, and just as a crack began to appear in the center of the glass, I heard a shout behind me. There was a man, probably about my age, coming down the center of the street about a hundred yards off. He was carrying a rifle.

  At first, I had some hope that he was coming to help. After he fired his first shot, which hit the gas station’s plywood-covered entry doors, I realized he was not. Therefore, I quickly made my retreat – WITHOUT my newspaper, and WITHOUT any bullet holes in me.

  There was no way I was going to pull my own weapon to try to intimidate the guy. And he certainly didn’t seem like he was in the talking mood so I made no attempt at communicating with him either. I therefore hurried back to the abandoned house, gathered Miles, and then made the long trek back to the club.

  So that was the gist of my entire experience in Woodcrest. I came out knowing little more about what is going on outside the club than I did going in. But in a way, I know much more – more than I actually wanted to know. I won’t get into that now. Instead, I’ll relate what I found when I returned to camp. But that will have to wait. Right now, I have some work to do securing the camp and ensuring that my hidden stashes are still intact.

  2:42 p.m.

  Well, all my stashed goods seem to be right where I left them, and no one appears to be in the general vicinity. And now that Miles and I have had lunch, let me relate my concern regarding my supply caches.

  When we returned to camp this morning, I realized that someone had been here. This fact had been made blatantly obvious by the fact that my car had been broken into and many of the supplies I had stashed inside, stolen. The passenger-side window had been smashed and the food I had inside was gone along with some of my clothing and extra blankets. Thankfully, the trunk, where I had put some of my best supplies – fishing gear, extra batteries, lantern, food that might spoil faster in the sun, the extra gun ammo I hadn’t brought with me, stuff like that – had remained closed. Although by the scratches left on the paint around the trunk lock, it appears that whoever did this had attempted to gain entry to it as well. Guess it was just more of a “smash and grab” type theft. While it might be of little consolation, I hope that this was a robbery more out of necessity than maliciousness.

  I don’t like theft in any instance and find that it is rarely justified. But I’d far prefer someone stealing to feed themselves or their starving family than just stealing for the sake of stealing or because they’re greedy. More than anything, the theft concerns me because now I wonder if someone was watching my camp. I mean, what are the chances that someone just happened to stumble across my car during the one time I was gone for an extended period of time? I find that scenario highly unlikely, which means someone was probably waiting for me to leave. It sends shivers up my spine just writing the words. Have I been under observation? And if so, for how long, and by whom?

  They’re disconcerting thoughts to say the least. And am I still under observation now, even as I write these words? Guess there’s not much I can do about it, but it still worries me.

  For now, I still have work to do around camp, especially now that my food stock has been reduced. I’d been counting on that stuff to buy me some extra time out here. I’d say whoever it was got away with at least a week’s worth of supplies. To try to supplement my stocks, I’m going to do some fishing. I’m want to try to catch more fish than I need, and then I’m going to fill up one of my empty coolers with lake water and keep any extra catches in there. It will be my fresh fish fridge.

  11:03 p.m.

  I can’t sleep. Every sound I hear jolts me back awake. I keep wondering if it’s just a woodland creature or if it’s the person or people who broke into my car. Between my experience yesterday in Woodcrest, and the homecoming I received here at camp with my car having been broken into, my gut feels like it’s twisted in knots.

  I’m laying here, my loaded gun on one side, Miles on the other. I love Miles dearly, but he’s pretty much worthless as a watch dog. The little weenie is scared of his own shadow. I can’t blame him in a way. I’ve coddled him his entire life. He’s an indoor dog. This outdoor living stuff just isn’t in his blood. I can’t say it’s really in mine either, but what choice do I have?

  I was looking at this whole thing as a week or two of vacation-like time to let things blow over in the city. I never thought I’d be sleeping with a loaded weapon beside me. Sure, I lived in Chicago, a city known for gun violence, but it’s not like it ever touched me in the suburbs. It was just something you saw on the nightly news or read about in the newspapers. How strange. I pray I don’t have to use the gun. I really don’t want to have to shoot someone. I mean, I would, but I just don’t need that on my conscience, not with everything else that’s already packed in there.

  Oh well, I guess I should at least try to rest. Even if sleep doesn’t come for a while, I suppose that at least letting my body lay here is better than nothing.

  Amazingly, I’ve found that writing in this journal is not just therapeutic mentally, but it helps tire me out. I think that the act of writing, paired with the dissemination of thoughts it provides helps relieve my mind of pent up stresses and energies. I guess that getting these thoughts and events down on paper is like talking to a therapist. Still, with each passing day, I find myself increasingly wishful of having someone to talk to. I’ve never gone this long – or anywhere even CLOSE to this long – without speaking to another human being. I think it’s beginning to take a toll on me. Going from management at the grocery store, where I was constantly surrounded by other people, to this, is leaving me feeling so fucking lonely. And nothing against Miles, but he’s not cutting it as a conversationalist.

  I wonder what happened to Madeline.

  September 28th

  1:39 p.m.

  No signs of intruders. Thank god!

  Yesterday and this morning were good for fishing. I have a couple catches that I cooked up for lunch and a couple more in my fish cooler.

  The weather continues to be moderate during the day and chilly at night. But I know these kindly temps won’t last long. Therefore, I think that today Miles and I will go inspect the snack bar and changing house at the club’s main lake as potential living sites. If I’m stuck out here into fall or god forbid winter, I’ll need something more than my tent, Miles, and my sleeping bag to keep me warm.

  I’m kind of worried about leaving my camp unprotected, but what the hell am I supposed to do, just sit here all day long with my gun? I refuse to live that way. Hopefully, whoever did the stealing is long gone by now. I can only hope.

  3:58 p.m.

  You know, I don’t expect everything to go my way, but lately I think I’ve hit a severe streak of bad luck. I guess that overall, my luck is relatively good compared to a significant portion of the rest of the world. But in my little slice of heaven out here in the club’s outskirts, things have definitely taken a turn for the worse.

  I just got back from my trek to the club’s entrance and the main lake. I can’t believe it! Someone burned down the club’s outbuildings! I mean, the cinderblock walls are still there, but everything else was completely TORCHED!

  And WHY?! Why would they do such a thing? I don’t know if its pure vandalism, they don’t want me here, or they’re just trying to screw with me. Whatever the reason, I don’t like it. What am I going to do now when colder weather comes? My whole plan was to hold out in one of those buildings for the added warmth they provided. Now they’re useless to me.

  Guess I’ll have to come up with something else, and relatively fast. I suppose I could try using that house that Miles and I stayed in closer to town. But that’s just the thing, it’s closer to town. And after my experien
ce in Woodcrest with the rifle-toting dude, I’m not sure I want to be in that general vicinity or anywhere close to it.

  September 29th

  10:43 a.m.

  I took inventory this morning. Things are starting to get a little tight. I thought I’d brought plenty of food with me, but that was before I knew I was going to be out here a month. Even with the fish I’m catching, the supply list is starting to dwindle. I packed for a couple weeks, not a couple months. I’m going to have to do something to ensure that Miles and I don’t end up on a strictly fish diet. I like fish, but a little goes a long way, and lately, I just haven’t been feeling full after meals. All this walking, wood collecting, and sleeping outdoors is taking its toll. I’m burning a lot of calories living in the woods. I need a big burger or a steak or a foot-long sub sandwich…something filling, something REAL!

  Worse yet, all the beer I brought is gone, and the one bottle of whiskey I’d tossed in is almost empty too. I’m not a huge drinker, but I enjoy a little nip now and then just to spark things up a bit. And with the way things have been going I might have to treat myself to a shot or two tonight.

  6:13 p.m.

  It’s definitely starting to get dark earlier now. I have been thinking about food all day, and I have no idea what I’ll do when I start running out. I’m no hunter. Fishing yes, hunting no. I don’t know the first thing about killing animals, and I don’t even have a hunting rifle or a shotgun. Even if I shot something, what would I do with it? I don’t know how to skin an animal or what parts are safe to eat.