The Dystopian Diaries

by K. W. Callahan

  On my search for the journal, I brought with me I guess what would be Miles senior’s great-great-great-grandpup. I’m sure that Dad would enjoy knowing that there is yet another generation of Miles’ offspring running wild around this earth.

  Nearly 32 years post flu, I’m not sure that things have changed all that much from when Dad was out here the first time. Much of the Chicago area is uninhabitable due to all the pollution that resulted from the decay around the city after the flu took its toll. No one really goes near the city anymore. Without humans there, fuel containers leaked, hazardous chemicals spilled, power plants failed, and all sorts of other nasty runoff fouled the soil and fresh drinking water. That’s why it was such a great idea for Dad to stay out here after the flu. Even the town of Woodcrest had to be abandoned after a time. Something leaked into the groundwater there, contaminating it beyond anything humans could or should ingest.

  Ever since then, we’ve been trying our best to make it out here in the woods of the old club. A small community of several families has banded together over the past few decades. I suppose you could say that we function much as a pioneer village might once have – at least that’s what Dad used to say. I don’t really know a whole lot about that kind of stuff other than what Dad said, so I just have to take his word for it. Now we hunt, we fish, we grow crops, we chop wood, and we live a pretty normal life, although according to what Dad has written in here, it’s nothing like normal compared to the pre-flu world. That’s fine with me. It didn’t really sound like a sort of life I’d like much anyway. Lots of violence, lots of things I know nothing about like cell phones, televisions, radios, cars – lots of stuff that could break or would need fixing. And it didn’t sound like those things were of much use to begin with.

  So now it’s me, my wife Mary, our daughter Maddy, Mom, and the dogs – Millie, Miley, and Miles IV. God only knows how many of the original Miles’ offspring are actually running wild around these parts.

  I think I’ll read this journal to Mary and Maddy once I finish my own entry and then I’ll return it to where I found it. True, it’s a piece of family history, but Dad left it there for a reason, and I think that’s where it belongs.

  K.W. CALLAHAN

  THE DYSTOPIAN DIARIES

  BOOK 2: URBAN CATACLYSM

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Text and image copyright © 2018 K.W. Callahan

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Callahan, K.W.

  The Dystopian Diaries – Book 2: Urban Cataclysm / K.W. Callahan

  ISBN: 9781076635686

  BOOKS BY K.W. CALLAHAN

  THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: DOWNFALL

  THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: QUEST

  THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: DESCENT

  THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: FORSAKEN

  THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: ASCENSION

  AFTERMATH: PARTS I-III

  THE M.O.D. FILES: THE CASE OF THE GUEST WHO STAYED OVER

  THE M.O.D. FILES: THE CASE OF THE LINEN PRESSED GUEST

  PALOS HEIGHTS

  PANDEMIC DIARY: SHELTER IN PLACE

  PANDEMIC DIARY: FLEE ON FOOT

  PANDEMIC DIARY: PANDEMIC PIONEERS

  THE FIFTH PHASE: BOOKS 1-5

  THE LAST BASTION: BOOKS 1-5

  THE DYSTOPIAN DIARIES: BOOKS 1-5

  THE DYSTOPIAN DIARIES

  BOOK 2: URBAN CATACLYSM

  Prologue

  27 Years Post Flu

  My name is Eric Sanders. I’ve been hearing about this place for years, ever since I was a child in fact – the massive city once known as “Chicago”. Long abandoned and forgotten by many, the crumbling facades of its eerie edifices still look out over the shores of Lake Michigan.

  Most people no longer come here. Contamination and pollution make it impossible for anyone to remain here for a substantial length of time. I don’t know why they’d want to stay anyway. The place is useless as anything more than a giant salvage yard or a historical example of how quickly civilizations can falter. The former is why we’ve come to see what we can take back across the lake with us; the latter is something that has touched me personally on our journey.

  During our brief stay within the abandoned city, we stopped for the evening at a dilapidated structure once known as the Hotel Seville. I’m sure that in its prime the hotel was a lovely place, but now it is only a shell of its former self. Its lobby has been thoroughly ransacked. Its rooms are dusty and molded relics that stare out across the empty cityscape through grime-covered or shattered windows. The once plush beds have been turned to soggy breeding grounds for multi-colored fungi due to the rain that enters through the structure’s roof. The water seeps, floor by floor, seeking any crack or crevice through which it can continue its gravitationally-tugged journey downward. Portion of mattresses or the towels that still hang in bathrooms have been picked apart by birds that have made their homes along the sills of broken windows or in the nooks and crannies of television cabinets. Walls have been turned to artisan’s canvases by the multi-colored molds that creep their way across them. They are the still-lives for a city’s still life.

  We made our temporary camp in rooms of the hotel’s lower guest-room levels. These levels haven’t been exposed to the elements (mostly moisture) like the upper floors have. Storms have taken their toll on structures such as these at higher elevations. Wind and hail have shattered windows. The expansion and relief caused by freezing and thawing have severely deteriorated stone, brick, and concrete. The lower levels of many structures receive at least some level of protection from surrounding buildings that help block the driving wind and rain that continually eat at them.

  There are 14 of us in our group. We arrived early this morning and spent most of the day scavenging. We collect things needed on the other side of the lake – metal piping, screws, bolts, still-intact windows, tools – mostly anything manmade from the pre-flu age. Much of that stuff is no longer available, and if it is possible to forge it from pre-existing materials, it’s not available in the quantities that we need.

  We don’t expect to be here long. It’s not that we don’t like exploring the place. There are so many interesting relics of the pre-flu world – televisions, computers, cell phones – things that were so useful back then and are so completely useless now. They are artifacts that represent so much waste, so much excess. What was the point of it all? Yet it must have been a truly amazing age in some ways. I really can’t imagine it. This city must have been so alive, so filled with activity, noise, action, life. Now it’s so eerily quiet. Even most animals, other than the birds, stay away. The place is just too polluted for most things to try to live here.

  Our group has come here many times over the years, but this is my first trip. They usually come once a year. It’s enough to get the things we need. Crossing the lake can be dangerous. Only one time has the group encountered other people here. It was another group of scavengers like us. They had traveled by boat down from the north. But they gave us no problem. There are plenty of leftovers to go around in a city this size. In fact, our group managed to trade a few things with the people before parting ways.

  I found the book that I’m writing in now in the room I’ve selected to bed down for the night. At first I thought it was just a regular reading book before I realized that it was someone’s journal, someone from the pre-flu age. I flipped through several of the pages. I think I’ll try to read more of it tonight. I don’t really feel like sleeping much anyway. I’ll keep these few pages that I wrote inserted as a brief note of my own encounter. Then I guess I’ll just leave this journal here where I found it. Or maybe I’ll take it back with me to show others. I don’t know. I guess I’ll decide later.

  September 2nd

  (Labor Day)

&nb
sp; 8:57 a.m.

  What a shitty Labor Day. I guess it could be worse by the sounds of things on the news. I was looking forward to chilling at home, drinking a few beers, watching a ballgame or two, and just relaxing. Instead, I’m stuck at work. Again, could be worse. Work could be at a hospital, or being a cop, or in the military or something. I should be counting my lucky stars. At least the hotel is letting the few of us who agreed to stick around stay here for free. I don’t really want to leave the hotel anyway. It’s safer here than at my apartment – cleaner, and better food too.

  I’m one of only a few from the night shift who decided to stay here. That’s probably because I don’t have a family. When they asked for volunteers to stay at the hotel until the remaining guests checked out (which won’t be too long by the looks of things), I figured why the heck not? I have nowhere better to be, especially will this flu thing going around.

  The first I ever heard about the “Su flu” was about a month ago. I was talking to this guy who works in the hotel’s facility department breaking down banquet setups once the banquets are over. He’s one of those conspiracy theorist types, always “the government’s watching you” scenarios and “illuminati” stuff. He was telling me about this article he’d read on the internet about some flu over in China.

  But this guy was always goin on this way. Every year for as long as I’ve known him there was something new. He actually came close on Ebola. I thought he had one pegged there; some real potential to be a civilization killer. But that came and went without much fanfare, at least here in the US. So when he started with this whole Su flu deal (I guess they call it “Su” flu because of where it originated in the Jangsu or Xiangsu province or something), I didn’t pay him much mind. It starts to become “the boy who cried wolf,” type scenario. Bird flu, swine flu, dog flu, cat flu, one flu, two flu, red flu, blue flu – and on and on. Yet they never seem to get anywhere. There’s all this hype in the media, and then – BANG! Nothing! They just disappear. It’s like the latest political scandal or mass shooting. You hear about them non-stop, 24-hours a day for about a week, and then poof! Like magic, they disappear from the headlines, replaced by something more interesting after the pundits have talked the last one to death.

  When this guy was going on about the Su flu, I just kind of blew him off. Now I kind of wish I’d taken him more seriously. I don’t really know what I would have done to change things – probably nothing.

  We’ve actually had a few cases among guests and staff here at the hotel. Many of the guests have been checking out over the past few days, that is, IF they can get a flight out of town. Seems like everyone wants to get home just in case this thing really blows up, which from the sounds of things, it’s on the verge of doing. A lot of flights have already been cancelled since most people are terrified of getting on an airplane. Can’t say I blame them. Who would want to chance being trapped for hours with a Su flu carrier? From what they’re saying on the news, this thing is HIGHLY contagious.

  So here I am, working AND living at the hotel.

  I figured that with all this time on my hands, maybe I can use my notes here to write a book or something, if I survive that is. Maybe they’d even make a movie out of my memoirs. It would be my only hope of hitting the lottery. Doubt that’ll happen, but I guess you never know. If nothing else, writing my thoughts down helps kill some time while I’m living here.

  For now, I just want to enjoy the safety and security of the hotel and try to catch a few winks. I have to attend the all-staff meeting in a couple hours. Sucks. Screws up my sleep cycle big time. Nobody thinks about the nightshift when they schedule meetings at one in the afternoon. It’s alright, though. I’ll catch up later tonight.

  2:12 p.m.

  I just got back from the all-staff meeting. I guess “all-staff” is a tad inaccurate. I’d say maybe ten percent of Hotel Seville’s staff actually remains at work. Everyone else has either been laid off or has taken voluntary leave of absence until this flu thing blows over.

  I’m kind of surprised at just how far people are going with this deal. I mean, you’d think that after all the other flu bugs the world has dealt with this would just be another in a long list. I’m sure a vaccine is just around the corner; but hell, I’ll play along. It’s getting me a much more comfortable bed here at the hotel, free meals, and I don’t have to sit on the damn train for 45 minutes each day, each way, back and forth between work and my apartment.

  So we’re down to 73 rooms occupied out of a total of 819. We may not be the biggest hotel in Chicago, but we’re one of the oldest, most famous, and most luxurious. The fame part, you might already know about. It comes largely from the murder of Joan Monroe, the famed silent-film actress of the late 20’s and early 30’s. Her body (or at least part of it) was found crammed inside her room’s armoire. Of course police swarmed the hotel, hot to make the headlines by tracking down the person responsible for the gruesome murder. But it quickly became apparent that Joan’s glittering movie star image was not all that it appeared.

  Multiple men had been seen coming and going (sometimes in tandem) from her room on the night of the murder. Neighboring guests reported the sounds of raucous laughter, various escapades (apparently of a sexual nature), and eventually loud arguing. There were conflicting reports however regarding who the last man (or men) seen leaving the room was. One guest reported seeing a man fitting the description of a well-known Chicago mayoral candidate. Another said it was an Illinois legislator. Others noted a famed pair of ball players previously involved in an infamous betting scandal during the World Series.

  Whoever did the deed, the person or persons managed to elude police detection, and the murder of dear Ms. Monroe remained forever unsolved.

  If that wasn’t enough to make the Hotel Seville a Chicago landmark, there were the “Floor Murders” of the mid-70s.

  A hotel, even one of the Seville’s stature, can carry its share of tarnish from a tenured and at times, somewhat tawdry past. Much like a person, a hotel has its ups and downs throughout the years. There are good times and bad. Periods of flash, glitz, and glamour are paired with masquerading and makeup to help hide the pain behind false facades. The 70s, for Hotel Seville, were tenuous years. And the Floor Murders only added to a period that could be considered tawdry at best.

  The Floor Murders are more of a local horror story since neither the hotel itself nor the city of Chicago wanted them publicized. The killings began in the spring of 1976 – March if my memory serves me. The first murder occurred on the Seville’s sixth floor, the first floor inside the hotel with guest rooms on it. The victim was a young woman traveling alone. She was in town for a sewing machine sales conference. She was found strangled. There were no signs of forced entry into her room, no fingerprints, and no other clues to the murderer’s identity.

  The second murder, although the two weren’t immediately linked, occurred almost a month to the day later, exactly one floor above. This time the victim, also a young woman, appeared to have been bludgeoned to death. Again, there were no signs of forced entry and no clues to assist police in their work.

  For the next murder, the killer ratcheted up his timeline, waiting just three weeks to move a floor higher. At this point, for as quiet as the hotel was trying to keep things, it was becoming difficult to hide three murders in just as many months. The killer, meanwhile, was sticking to his prior technique – no forced entry, young woman, no clues. This time, however, the woman had been stabbed several times in the chest and her throat was slit.

  By this point in the slayings, the police were ready for the next attack – or at least they THOUGHT they were. If the “Floor Killer” was to strike again, they surmised that it would be in the coming weeks, one floor higher.

  They were wrong.

  Three months later, the police were still waiting. But I’ve strayed far from my original purpose for this entry, and my hand is starting to hurt. I’ll write more later.

  September 3rd

  2:
32 a.m.

  I got some decent sleep this afternoon. It always screws me up a little when I have to wake up, do something, and then go back to bed. It usually takes me an hour or two to get back into a deep sleep. But not having to wake up early for the nightly commute allowed me to sleep until nine-thirty tonight instead of my usual wake-up time around eight-thirty. My commute now consists of a 30-second walk from my room to the hotel service elevators, and then a 30-second ride up to the housekeeping department on the eighteenth floor. Not too shabby if you ask me!

  I just finished lunch. I know; lunch at two in the morning? Lunch on the nightshift is from 1 a.m. to 2 a.m. It’s usually served to a raucous bunch of around 40-50 third shifters in the employee cafeteria. Tonight there were eight of us. There was Mick (the manager on duty), LaShonda (a front desk agent), yours truly (Raymond Castillo, floor technician extraordinaire), Manny (the night housekeeping manager), Araceli (a night cleaner), and Danny, Mike, and Steve from security. I imagine there are a few other staff members creeping around the hotel, but not everyone ventures to the cafeteria to eat their lunch. I rarely see the night electrician or anyone from property operations come up from their offices in the bowels of the hotel. They like to stay secreted away in their hovels – you know, out of sight, out of mind.