The Dystopian Diaries

by K. W. Callahan

  Not the type of thoughts I should be having on such a bright and cheery morning. Rather, I should go up to my bright (yet chilly) kitchen inside the tower and make myself a breakfast befitting the day. I still have some eggs and bacon left. I think that would certainly hit the spot after weathering the storm last night.

  10:22 p.m.

  As I sit here digesting what turned out to be an incredibly delicious breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast (really the toast was just bread fried in the bacon grease remnants), and coffee (yes, I thankfully managed to get my coffee supply out here with me), all cooked on my little four-burner camp stove, I’m left thinking about ghosts.

  I guess the storm, and the eerie sounds that accompanied it, have me in that sort of mood. But thinking back to the bygone eras during which men sat here, cold and alone, with only their thoughts to keep them company, I wonder how many of them died here. None? A couple? I wish I knew the answer, but in some ways, I guess I’m glad I don’t.

  I’m left wondering, what’s the difference between them and me? And by “them,” I mean the ghosts.

  Any ghosts here are trapped with no real means of escape, much like I am. Granted, I have my canoe. But at this point, what would I use it to get to? Where would I go? Back to the mainland where everyone is dead or dying and those who remain alive are trying to kill me? Great, I might as well BE a ghost, creeping around drearily in my decrepit lighthouse. I guess it could be worse. I could have ended up like poor Oscar. He seemed like a decent fellow, and while I didn’t know him well, I can’t imagine he deserved to end up like he did.

  I wonder what the ghosts – if they’re here – do all day. Maybe they continue to tend their ghostly lighthouse just as they always did. Do they even know they’re ghosts? Or do they just continue on unwittingly? Hell, maybe I’M a ghost. If ghosts don’t know they’re ghosts, how would I know if I had joined them? Maybe I did end up like Oscar. I just never heard the bullet with my name on it. They say that you never do.

  For being such a scenic setting, this place sure doesn’t add much in the optimism realm. I’ll have to work on that.

  12:09 p.m.

  The lake waves have calmed quite a bit. I think I’m going to try my hand at some fishing.

  3:07 p.m.

  The fishing was slow. Not even a nibble. I think it’s still too choppy from the storm.

  While I was out, however, I saw a boat! It was sitting maybe a mile away, directly in front of the lighthouse. I went back inside once I noticed it. I didn’t want to be seen (although it may already have been too late). I continued to watch it from the top of the lighthouse. It sat there for almost 20 minutes, and then it moved away at a pretty good clip. I wish I had binoculars. A pair was on my list of things to buy since I hadn’t come to Mills Creek with any, but I hadn’t got them yet.

  The boat must have had a fairly large motor on it since it seemed to move through the chop quickly.

  It makes me wonder what they were doing out here. Were they fishing? It’s the only reason I could think of for people being out on the lake. It’s not like they’re swimming in this weather. Plus, I don’t think the circumstances surrounding this pandemic make for quality leisure time for those who have survived.

  It seemed like a pretty big boat. Maybe the people on it have decided to make it their home. Like my lighthouse, a boat could make for a pretty good holdout until the flu blows over. In fact, it could be even better since it’s mobile. They could cruise from port to port, checking things out, collecting supplies, and looking for a place that hasn’t been as affected by the flu. I don’t know. Maybe I should have tried to make contact with them. That’s why this situation is so tough. I want to try to talk to someone to get a better idea of what’s going on, but I don’t feel like being killed for my effort.

  It’s a tough call, but for now, I think it’s best to continue laying low. I’ve got plenty of supplies, and there’s no need to rush things.

  6:22 p.m.

  I think the reality of the situation is starting to hit home. This is no longer an interesting social experiment where I am at my happy homestead calling the shots regarding just how interactive I am with others. Now I feel as though I’m almost in solitary confinement on a prison of my own creation. Before, when I was playing Thoreau in my cabin on the lake, I could choose when and with whom I interacted, as well as for how long. Now that the isolation is thrust upon me by force, I don’t like it nearly as much. The comfort of people was something that was there, even when I was alone in my cabin. Like owning a firearm, I didn’t have to use the security it provided unless I wanted to, but it gave me a sense of relief just knowing it was there, even if I never had to pull the trigger.

  I definitely don’t like this situation. And I want to know more about what’s going on. Before, I knew I could go to town and get all the news I needed, if I so desired. We’ve become spoiled in the modern age with instant updates regarding the state of the world. Even Thoreau found this to be the case when he wrote, “Hardly a man takes a half hour’s nap after dinner, but when he wakes he holds up his head and asks, “What’s the news?” as if the rest of mankind had stood his sentinels.” And like Thoreau, for a time I was willing to forgo that modern amenity of constantly being informed. I actually found the absence a relief in many ways.

  But this is different. Thoreau never had to live through a world-ending, or at least a world-changing pandemic. The news I’m longing for is far beyond the latest celebrity gossip, political scandal, sports championship result, or even most recent mass shooting. This is the stuff of books, of movies, of the darkest depths of a writer’s imagination, and something that most of the world NEVER imagined possible. Or if they DID imagine it possible, they never imagined it PROBABLE!

  But here I am, dealing with it nonetheless.

  September 13th

  12:21 p.m.

  It’s been several days since I last wrote. I’ve been kind of down in the dumps lately and just haven’t felt like it. But I’m so completely bored out of my mind that I’ve decided to write again just to keep myself occupied.

  The first couple days I was here, I was so busy getting things organized that I didn’t really have time to think. But as soon as those hectic few days passed, and routine began to set in, I was left with more time on my hands than I think is healthy.

  Back at my homestead, I had so much to do to keep me busy. And there was planning to do when I wasn’t trying to keep up with wood chopping or home repairs.

  Maybe I’ll try some more fishing. I had a little luck the other day. I caught a small steelhead. I fish on the leeward side of the lighthouse where the water is calmer.

  The weather is cool now. It has barely broken into the low 50s the past few days, but the sun is out, so that helps.

  On the food and supply front, things are holding out just fine. I have plenty of rice, beans, pasta, and an assortment of sides and spices to help liven meals up a bit. I also have plenty of propane for my cook stove.

  I’ve finally finished the water I brought with me and have just today started using one of my personal water filters to filter lake water. It seems to be working well so far, and the taste is palatable. We’ll see. If I’m shitting my brains out tomorrow, we’ll know the filter isn’t cutting it.

  I guess I really don’t have much more to say at the moment. I’m just trying to put one foot in front of the other to help myself keep passing the time, minute after long minute. I’ve organized and reorganized my supplies over the past few days, but there’s nothing else I can really do with them at this point. And I can only read so much Thoreau. I don’t have a lot of other books with me. I had planned to get more after I settled in at the cabin, but I just hadn’t gotten around to it. It wasn’t exactly a priority with all the other items on my to-do list. Now I wish I had them just to help occupy my lonely mind.

  September 14th

  10:15 a.m.

  I haven’t been writing much lately because I just don’t have a whole lot to say. Not
hing really happens here.

  I guess my big news is that I caught two fish yesterday and fried them for dinner. I ended up eating the leftovers for breakfast this morning.

  It’s cold inside the lighthouse at night when temperatures drop into the 30s. It sucks! The only positive is that I didn’t have to worry about the leftover fish spoiling.

  This environment might make for great food preservation but it’s not so great for living and sleeping. Lately, I’m finding it harder and harder to stay warm. I’ve taken to wearing multiple layers just to ward off the cold, and even that doesn’t always help.

  Oddly enough, I felt kind of bad about eating the fish. They’re the only living things I’ve had direct contact with since I found Oscar, and he was in the midst of dying, so I wouldn’t say he really counts.

  I have a feeling the solitude is starting to get to me. I enjoy the serenity and peaceful tranquility of nature, but I think it’s starting to take its toll just a little bit. In my previous life in Chicago, I was so used to hearing the sounds of people. But now, there’s nothing…NOTHING! AB-SO-LUT-LY NOTHING!!!

  I just looked out the window and I see that damn boat out there again! I’ve seen it once a day for the past four days. It just sits there. I have no idea what in the hell they’re doing. It’s really starting to piss me off! I almost want to go outside and signal to them just to find out what the hell it is they’re doing. If they want to know if someone is here at the lighthouse, if that’s their purpose, then why don’t they come closer? Christ! What are they going to learn from just sitting there a mile away? It’s really starting to drive me NUTS!

  1:12 p.m.

  The boat’s gone. It sat there for a while like it usually does and then it left. Maybe they just use the lighthouse as a marker, a spot where they can drop anchor and sit for a while. Or maybe they know I’m here but they’re afraid to make contact. But I’m nothing to worry about. They should just come over and see what I’m like. There’s nothing to fear. They can always sail away if they don’t like the look of things. Or maybe they’re plotting an attack against me, a raid to take all my supplies. Maybe it’s the same people who killed Oscar. Maybe they somehow knew about all the stuff I have and want to take it. I’d share with them, but I can’t let them have EVERYTHING. I need to eat too. But if they’re the ones who killed Oscar, I have a feeling they’ll shoot first and ask questions later...or not ask questions at all.

  God I wish I knew the answer. Sitting here just wondering about this stuff every day is really wearing on me.

  September 15th

  11:22 a.m.

  Well, I got my wish. The people in the boat approached the lighthouse today. Actually, they did more than just approach. They tried to climb up onto the platform using the metal piping that I’ve yet to cut away from the edge. I kind of got used to the pipe’s banging presence. It became almost a soothing sort of sound, something to keep me company. But now I’m kicking myself for leaving it in place. I never thought that people might try to use to as a way to climb up onto the side of the lighthouse foundation.

  But that’s exactly what they tried.

  Thankfully, I’ve grown so accustomed to the rhythmic patters of the metallic clanking that I noticed when there was a change in the pattern. When it became more of a muffled thudding, that’s what drew me outside.

  There, I found the boat that I’ve seen for the past week, pulled up along side the lighthouse. I ducked back inside to grab my .44 handgun. Even though I had no real intention of using it, it made me feel better just having it with me. I mean, I had no idea who these people were or what their intentions might be.

  Upon my return to the lighthouse platform, I moved cautiously over to its edge where I found a man attempting to scale the metal piping. He wasn’t having much luck. After making it up several feet he seemed to have lost traction, finding no hand or footholds to assist him in his upward efforts. That’s where I found him, about halfway up the side of the platform’s foundation. He stopped his attempt at scaling the pipe as soon as he saw me and appeared not only startled but frightened. As his face stared up into mine for one brief instant, he seemed unsure of what to do and, wavering in indecision, began to slide back down the pipe toward his boat. The boat however had moved away, the waves having pushed it several feet back from the side of the lighthouse foundation. And as the man continued to slide downward, he reached a leg back toward the boat, stretching it out in an attempt to bridge the gap. The release of his leg from around the pipe gave him even less of a hold, and not finding the boat there to step back onto he lost his grip and plunged down into the lake’s frigid waters.

  That’s when I noticed other movement on the boat’s deck. The boat was a sizeable craft. If I had to describe it, I would say it was a 20-foot cabin cruiser – give or take a few feet.

  After the dude went ker-plunk, another man and a woman (who both appeared to be about my age), scrambled out onto the deck. They glanced at me and then down at the man who was just re-surfacing beside and below the boat. He came up spluttering and gasping for breath, his head whipping back and forth as his gaze flashed between fear from my presence and hope of salvation from his boat mates.

  I took a step back and watched on in silence. I guess my demeanor suggested that I wasn’t going to interfere, so the man and woman on the boat set about hauling their waterlogged companion back aboard.

  After they finished, and got him below deck, they re-emerged a minute later to explain their presence. They said that their names were Kevin and Sally. The guy trying to get warm and dry below deck was Jonathon. Kevin and Sally said they were married. They told me that Jonathon was Sally’s brother.

  I then asked them what they were doing at the lighthouse. They explained that they had been sheltering in their boat since the worst of the flu hit. They said that it was safer to be out on the water than on land. They explained they had narrowly escaped a roaming group of looters who had killed several of their friends and neighbors. That’s when they had decided to load their remaining supplies on this boat and make for the open lake. They’d been cruising up and down the coast, looking for a safe haven ever since. Not finding one, they’d often drop anchor off the lighthouse, using it as a point of reference to re-start their search for safety.

  That answers the question as to why I’ve been seeing the boat sitting out there day after day.

  They went on to explain that after not finding any good settlement spots, they thought the lighthouse itself might make for a good location to shelter. Unbeknownst to me, they had come here several days ago but found the ladder rungs necessary to investigate the site missing, and so they had left. Today they’d decided to re-attempt. They said they had no idea that someone was already living here.

  To avoid any misconceptions, I told them that I was here to stay. Then I asked them if they’d had any news regarding the spread and effects of the flu.

  As Jonathon re-emerged from drying himself, having donned a fresh change of clothes, Kevin and Sally told me that they’d been doing their best to stay away from other people since their prior encounters had not been favorable. Therefore, they didn’t know much other than that the vast majority of the population had succumbed to the flu, and many of those who remained alive were quite willing to do whatever it took to survive.

  This led them to ask about my supply situation. The question instantly put me on guard. I told them that things were tough and that I was doing a lot of fishing for my meals. They said that they had run through most of their supplies days ago and that they were fishing as well, but they weren’t having much luck, especially with three mouths to feed. They then asked if I could spare any food. They said they hated to ask, but they were afraid to return to the mainland to search for food. They explained that some people have become extremely dangerous in the lawless post-flu landscape, that they’re willing to kill for food and other supplies. Others are apparently just killing for the sake of killing because there are no repercussions from law enforceme
nt.

  It’s funny; the question regarding food handouts caught me somewhat off guard. I don’t know why. I guess it shouldn’t have. I think it was that I didn’t expect people arriving in such a boat to need food. But that’s one of those pre-conceived notions that no longer applies to our current environment. Someone could fly in on a private jet or sail up in a 100-foot yacht these days, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they have FOOD to eat.

  Their request made me wonder just how desperate these people were. But I’ve been so lonely lately, and I felt kind of bad for them. They looked like they’d had a rough go of it (not that I probably looked much better since I haven’t shaved since I left the mainland). And even though I had trepidations regarding their presence at my lighthouse, I decided to give them some food.

  I went back inside the lighthouse, gathered a couple pounds of rice, a few pounds of beans, a container of powdered milk, some jerky, a few gallons of water, and an assortment of canned veggies and fruits, put it all in a couple five-gallon buckets, and took it back outside. There, I lowered the buckets down to the boat, all the while watching them like a hawk to ensure they didn’t pull a weapon on me so they could force me to give them anything else I had. But they didn’t. They graciously accepted my offerings without complaint. In fact, I was almost embarrassed by the amount of thanks they lavished upon me, telling me that I was the first kind soul they’d come upon since having left shore.

  When they left, I almost felt kind of bad seeing them go. I’m so damn lonely out here. But now I feel more afraid than sad. Now that I’ve fed those people, what if they come back like stray animals, begging for more? What if they come back and raid my place in the middle of the night? I can’t stay up all the time on guard duty. But I might have to. These may be good people, but what if they tell others? I could have opened a real can of worms here.