Apocalypse Diary of a Survivor [Book 1]

by Matt J. Pike

  At some point, Mia made her way to my side and started answering some of the logistical questions. She gave me a smile when she moved in next to me but I wasn’t sure how to take it. I didn’t know if it was a genuine smile or if she knew she had to sidle up to my idea to keep the group together. To be honest I think she tried to go about making my idea hers.

  I don’t really have a problem with that, as I certainly don’t want to position myself as anything other than a fringe player in the community. But maybe it opened my eyes to how this whole thing works.

  After an eternity of planning it was decided we would send out two scout teams tomorrow – one to check out the tsunami affected houses and the other to the city. I’ve been asked to head to the city. I’ve got to admit I’m pretty excited about it. It will be the furthest I have travelled since the morning after the rock hit and just the idea of seeing a new area is exciting. Let alone what we could possibly find.

  6.30pm: It was definitely nice to come home today. Home to company, home to Fiona – it makes all the difference. There’s an energy that comes from it that I can’t explain, but I like it.

  I’ve given Fiona a run down on how all the things in the house work – the generator, where I keep all the food supplies and the location of weapons. I told her not to answer the door and, if she does, keep the lights off. I could tell she found it all a little overwhelming, but she wore a look that she meant business and was going to run things as I did. It was very reassuring because, even though I trust her, I don’t trust that douche bag ex-boyfriend of hers and there was a lingering part of me worried I was being set-up. But that would’ve happened by now if it was going to happen and I just can’t see Fiona doing that. I guess there’s a chance he might search for her here at some point, but I guess I’ll just stay prepared rather than worry about it too much.

  Besides, it makes no sense for her to go back. Purely from a survival point of view she’ll last longer here than there. Even if she did backstab me she’d be dividing the same supplies between three people not two so things would run out quicker. I don’t even know why I think of these outcomes. I feel a connection with her that is just… right. That’s all the proof I need. I guess this world does strange things to your mind sometimes. Paranoia.

  Despite all that, I’ve still kept the existence of the cellar a secret. If the worst did happen and she was setting me up to take my supplies, I still reckon I’ve got at least six months worth stashed away down there.

  I do genuinely believe her though. I just have to cover all bases. I mean, she walked from their place in Campbelltown to get here. That must’ve taken hours – 4 or 5 at least! It makes no sense to set me up like that – from that distance, it’s just not worth the physical resources for the food gains. Besides, they wouldn’t be able to lug it back to their home.

  But I’ll stay alert, I always stay alert.

  The other thing to consider is the fact Fi’s ex-boyfriend (his name’s Josh, by the way), may come after her. Part of him must think she’s here, given what happened pre-rock. But geography works in our favour this time because it’s a long, long haul to get here on what, for him, must only be a guess.

  11.15pm: I’ve just spent the evening spooning on the couch with Fiona watching This is Spinal Tap. Such a funny film. In fact, I LOLed tonight… quite a few times. So did Fi. Afterwards we started talking about the last time we’d laughed. I couldn’t even remember when that was. I’d watched a few comedies by myself since the rock, and I found them funny – I just can’t remember laughing out loud at all. I think it’s that the act of laughing hasn’t seemed, well, right. With everything that’s happened to the world and my family and friends and my city and my life, laughing at puerile just didn’t cut it. But tonight for the first time it did – and in a big way.

  It’s a sign I reckon. A sign that I’m beginning to rebuild. It’s like that five stages of loss thing they always talk about. Maybe I’m finally starting to get to the acceptance stage. Whatever the case I think it’s a good sign.

  ****

  Wednesday, May 15, 2014

  10pm: The freezing mornings aren’t getting any easier to handle. My fingers felt like they would snap off if something touched them at the wrong angle.

  We met at the school at 9am – there were more people around than I expected for that time in the a.m. I think there was a bit of buzz about our trip – in a way today’s expeditions represented the last hope. There were two groups of eight heading to each target destination. Joining me in the city group were Mia (she was still getting over her injuries but insisted on coming), a couple of people I’d met before (Steve K, Steve P, Kelly and John) and a couple I hadn’t (Tania and Michael).

  The two groups walked together for a couple of minutes until we reached Portrush Rd, then the tsunami-house-raiders disappeared into the side streets while we city-raiders headed up to Magill Rd and the long journey to town. It’s just under 4kms to the city fringes – by far the longest journey any of us have undertaken since impact day.

  I remember being totally pumped about the adventure as we turned on to Magill Rd, but by the time we reached the halfway point and we’d been on foot for over an hour I was over it. The realisation I had to make the return trip – probably carrying supplies – was pretty depressing at that point.

  I also couldn’t escape the feeling we were being watched, particularly in the early stages of the trip before we headed into tsunami territory. When a large group of people carrying torches walk by it’s hard not to attract attention. Then my brain started working overtime, thinking some secret network would report our activities back to the Norwood hubbers. In my head that meant they’d send a crew after us… which didn’t bode well for my life expectancy.

  Magill Rd has a slight downhill slant that extends all the way into the city. Each step took us a little lower, a little further into the tsunami zone, a little further into the destruction and the stink of decay. It was eerie as all hell.

  The pace slowed significantly. Above the tsunami line you would find paths created by other who had walked along the street. Sometimes they were fresh, sometimes they’d been partially filled by more ash, but either way they’re easier to handle than slogging it step by step through uncharted roads. We took a break to put on our ash-boots.

  I remember not being sure whether it was a good sign or not there were little to no tracks heading into the city. It meant no one had swiped any food but it also meant nobody had dared make the journey. Surely someone else had thought about it? Did they considered it and decline thinking it was a hopeless idea?

  Looking around as everyone focused on the slog ahead, I could tell others wondered the same. No one said anything but you get a certain vibe from a group of people and this vibe was saying, ‘what the hell are we doing here?’ and ‘it’s that stupid kid’s fault’.

  My faith in success was being tested too’ especially as we neared the parklands that surrounded the city. It was hit and miss as to whether the buildings you were passing on the side of the road were there or not. It was a 50/50 hit rate, I reckon. I could see the other people’s torches shining off to the side, taking in the sheer devastation. Each empty block made me hunch a little lower, trying to hide my body from the group. I could tell they already hated me for wasting their time. It was the first time I managed to find a positive purpose for the lack of light – two’ even! Hiding me away from the group and hiding the level of destruction around us from others. I’ve got a feeling if we were able to take in the full scope of the broken buildings, or if we could see the city skyline, we would’ve turned back in a heartbeat.

  As it was, we only had torch distance to go by, and the feeling of fail.

  The ground was different. Even though it was still covered in the icy ash you could tell something was going on. Every now and then the ground would move underneath you, I didn’t say anything to the others but the only explanation I could think of was that the ash was piled on top of a large layer of debris.
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  We were only halfway through the parklands when we hit a nugget of gold, which broke the tension. A vending machine had been lodged a few metres up the trunk of one of the massive Moreton Bay figs trees. Someone spotted it with the torch. I guess it did stand out, being in one of the only trees still standing! It was devoid of leaves and covered in all sorts of random muck, but gleaming through the brown and grey was the bright red of the vending machine. You could see all sorts of chocolate bars and chip packets still inside. We just needed to get the thing down.

  That turned out to be easier than expected. The debris was piled all the way over the main branching point in the truck. It was only a 2-3m climb from there. The two Steves wrestled the thing down in a couple of minutes. The glass smashed as it hit the ground and sweet goodies scattered everywhere. We swooped in like seagulls and started eating – I scored a Snickers, for the record.

  I don’t know who did it first but we started laughing, I can’t even remember if anything was said to trigger it, maybe it was just the surreal situation. I just though about how ridiculous it was to be the only people in the city of Adelaide getting a chocolate fix from a Moreton Bay fig tree.

  We loaded up the chocolate bars in our backpacks and decided to leave the chips until we passed by on the way back – and maybe not at all. They take up too much space for the nutrition they provide, not surprising given the packets are half filled with air! Someone suggested leaving the chocolate until the way back too but no one else was prepared to part with it.

  It was only when we reached the top of Rundle St that the scale of the destruction started to sink in. The Stag Hotel, which overlooked the parklands, was engulfed in junk up to the first floor balcony. The balcony itself was barely recognisable, having been ripped to shreds by the water passing through. The roof was destroyed, as were half of the walls. The only reason the rest of the structure appeared to have survived the pounding waters was the build-up of debris on the western side of the building. It seemed as if half of Rundle St was destroyed, only to be deposited at the base of the Stag, creating a protective barrier of sorts. Oh, and best of all, atop the pile was one of the Mall’s Balls. That was a real indicator of the power unleashed here. That thing must weigh a shedload and had rolled (presumably) nearly a kilometre.

  I wondered where the other ball was. A city shouldn’t have its balls separated like that; it’s just no right!

  The next few blocks were gone – two and three storey buildings no longer there. Our sense of the devastation was growing. The waves had lifted buildings up by the foundation and taken them along for the ride or pulverised them.

  As I put all the pieces together I started to realise how potentially fruitless this trip was going to be. Not only was the damage far greater than I imagined, some of the places I wanted to try first – food courts, grocery stores – we’re either on the ground or worse still, lower ground levels. Gaining access to any of these places would almost be impossible, let alone finding some hidden food treasure.

  I kept my thoughts to myself and hoped there’d be more Easter egg moments like the vending machine tree.

  The rest of Rundle St was a write-off. There was nothing to find food wise and not much more remained in terms of buildings either. I could sense the group’s doubt starting to grow again. Despite knowing most of my major potential finds were probably going to end in a fail, I decided to head down Rundle Mall.

  We crossed what used to be Pulteney St from Rundle St into Rundle Mall which I had thought was going to be our best hunting ground. The first food court, the little one with the Maccas on the left, was gone. It just wasn’t there; only rubble remained. A bit further down, right the Mall’s Balls used to be (the other one was gone too, no sign of it anywhere), Regent Arcade was impossible to get into. The entrance was buried under rubble too high to contemplate digging into. On the opposite side, Adelaide Central Plaza looked a little more inviting. The building looked to have held together pretty well and the multi-storey entrance meant we could walk over the rubble and in. The problem was the food court was on the lower ground level.

  It looked a lost cause at first but Tania, who knew the layout well, was able to find a path down there. She led us up through level 1 and then down the middle set of escalators in the heart of the building. It was the only way in and out of the place as all the other paths were under a mountain of debris.

  In the middle we discovered a bizarre oasis that was reasonably well preserved. Well, better than expected, at least. There was a layer of silt and debris on the ground about a metre deep and, in some areas, a build-up of sea water but we had enough clearance to walk around. It did reek though, there was a stink of salt water, rotten food and who knows what else. Just general death and decay. And it was dark. I mean, everywhere is dark, but this was pitch black. The air also had a heaviness I couldn’t explain, other than to say it wasn’t as easy as normal to breathe. I’m guessing it was either because there was little ventilation and the oxygen was down or the dust particles in the air were up. Either way, it was uncomfortable. And being in an large enclosed space with your every movement echoing was more than a little creepy.

  It was an oasis. Just a dark, cold, claustrophobic, stinking, freaky one!

  We split up and swept the food stalls on a scavenger hunt. Most of the place was a write-off, but the David Jones Food hall proved the big provider. This was where they sold continental food – meats, nuts, oils, chocolates, deli foods etc. I’m surprised there was anything left after the panic buying pre-rock, but I guess it’s true there were problems distributing all the food once the army took over. It was a win for us, doubly so since most of the food had a reasonable shelf life and provided some decent energy.

  That said, it wasn’t just loaded on the shelves for convenient scavenging. Oh no, not in our oasis! The food was strewn everywhere, buried in the filthy debris. We just had to get down on our hands and knees and dig. It was gross, and about 70% of the food we did find was in packets that had broken and been contaminated by water or debris. But the usable 30% we were able to find was enough to load our bags to the point we couldn’t take any more. Some of it wasn’t in the best condition, but we took anything that looked even remotely salvageable. I was beaming with every find and the mood of the group was unbelievable – everyone would yell out when they found something new and it seemed like someone yelled out every minute or so.

  It must’ve looked funny to the flies on the wall (actually, are there any flies these days? I can’t remember the last time one annoyed me). Here we were, covered in filthy muck, digging down into it, stinking, freezing, but at the same time celebrating like we’d won the lottery. But in a way, winning the lottery was exactly what we’d done, it was luck we persisted long enough to find a way into this place (two storeys below the new ground level) and dumb luck there was anything edible remaining.

  We left for the long slog back knowing we had done something meaningful and life-changing for the community. What a great feeling. I’m sure we could get another load or two out of this place plus we might even get lucky in one of the other food courts. Then there’s the Central Markets still to explore – it’s like money in the bank.

  When we reached street level again I took a moment at the neutered Mall’s Balls. It was a famous meeting place and something uniquely Adelaide. I mean, a pair of huge silver balls, really? But I got a bit superstitious today. Seeing one of the balls as we entered the city, finding food where they used to be located, to me it was a sign. The balls were looking after us.

  We passed the vending machine on the way out and gave ourselves a rest break. Everyone sat down and scoffed the chips we’d left behind and told me what a genius I was. That was fine by me; they had no idea how sure I was this trip was going to be an epic fail right until the point we hit the mother-load. But that’s how it works, I guess. People don’t have the energy to spend an entire day exploring for no result. They are tough judges like that in today’s world. I would’ve taken the hit i
f it hadn’t worked knowing the rewards were potentially so much higher on the chance it did.

  Today it worked. I win. I get to sit down and eat my Burger Rings like a boss because I kicked serious ass. Next time who knows.

  It was nearly 8pm when we headed back to Trinity Gardens. That’s a massive day in anyone’s language. I got a little paranoid on the return trip and suggested we head up Payneham Rd instead of Magill Rd. It meant an extra few minutes walking but even the most grumpy and tired of the group realised it was worth it to avoid a run in with the Norwood crew.

  I’m home now. Tired, full of food, physically and emotionally drained – but I feel great. I did find a nice chocolate gift I stashed away for personal use and gave to Fi (once I’d spent 20 minutes trying to make it presentable). For my reward I got a huge kiss and a full body massage. I seriously could not feel better right now. Wednesday, May 15, thank you.