Monte Vista Village, Toxic Soup (The Survivor Diaries)

by Lamb, Lynn

  I was actually jealous of Mark’s phone, before. He used it to get on the internet, to tweet, to “like” various things on Facebook, to Skype with family in Africa, but more importantly, to block me out. At least that’s how I felt. I am glad it’s dead. RIP iPhone, RIP.

  But now the night is silent from all of the electronic noise. Now there is nothing except for the natural sounds of my mother, Hershey and Mark sleeping. Would it be strange if I said I liked this time of the morning now? Just to think, and write, of course.

  It’s cold in the house. Monterey is always wet and cold in July; the fog thick and heavy in the mornings. We have all of our blankets out now. I can barely turn over; Mark had piled so many on top of me. I am also layered in my clothes and socks.

  I can’t exactly say that we are becoming acclimated to our new reality yet but I think we have accepted that it has happened. But where do we go from here? I am not certain, but I think it we need to pick up where we left off: working at a community level. That is, if there is a community left. Only Jill has used the walkie-talkies. Tomorrow I plan on trying some other channels, just in case.

  It has been less than four days since “It” hit, but it feels like so much longer. It is getting easier to breath, so I think my lung is healing. The vomiting continued, but it was slowing down.

  We are beginning day four, and I plan to start walking around in the morning. I need to get up and move now, or it’s only going to get harder.

  I also think we need to make some solid plans for when we emerge from our crypt. This means we are going to start to have conversations again. It should be interesting, to say the least. But we have to crawl out of our trauma-induced domes of silence and figure out how we are going move on from this.

  July 19, 9:15 AM

  I started getting things going by getting myself going. To both Mom’s and Mark’s surprise, I was up and shuffling around when they awoke. My body still ached, but I didn’t care. I just needed to move. Ambulatory is important when you have to plan the beginning of the end of the world, a commencement, so to speak.

  I am writing while I eat my “breakfast”. Cold spaghetti from a can… yum! I can’t wait until we can get outside and use the grill for some hot food and coffee. The instant coffee won’t dissolve in room temperature water, so I am actually chewing my morning pick-me-up. For a coffee addict, this isn’t going to work.

  I have asked Mom and Mark to come and sit with me for the talk. They look less than enthused, but they are up and getting ready for it.

  I have decided to take all important notes in my diary here. Thank goodness I am an incredibly fast note taker, due to the fact that my wonderful grandmother taught me shorthand. Maybe I was a 1950’s style secretary in my last life. I think having everything in one place will keep me organized, which I believe will be imperative for the days to come.

  So, here are the minutes of our meeting:

  Me: “I think it is important to talk about what to do next. We must have a plan.”

  Mark: “What are you doing?”

  Me: “Taking notes. First, I want to say thank you to both of you. I know that I have been pretty out of it since it happened. I am feeling better today (an exaggeration, but they need to believe it) and it is time we figure out what’s next.”

  Mom: “What do you mean by “what’s next”? We survived. We don’t even know if it’s over yet. We don’t even know what ‘it’ really was.”

  Me: “I agree. So, let’s start there. We know, very roughly, what happened when the East Coast got it. We have sketchier information about what happened as it moved to the West Coast. It sounded like it was coming in a wave across the country, and that we got it last.”

  Mark: “I’m not really sure that’s how it happened. I think it went across just part of the mid-west. Last we heard it hit just down the middle of the country.” Mark retrieved the globe that must have flown from the in-wall bookshelf and rolled into the corner of the living room. “Okay, we know that the strikes went as far as here. “ He pointed to Texas. “They hit Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas and Nebraska. But that’s the last we heard.”

  Me: “Good point. But isn’t it safe to assume that they continued to sweep west?”

  Mark: “No, because they might have been lining up in both the Atlantic and Pacific. It just makes since that it would be easier to reach their targets from closer.” He indicated the oceans on each coast.”

  Mom: “I really don’t see how any of this matters. All that matters is that everything is gone, destroyed. There’s nothing left. We are alone.” Note to self: Mom’s getting progressively more upset. Maybe it’s too soon for this conversation. Or maybe she should not be included in the planning anymore.

  Mark: “But that’s my point. They might not have gotten anything more.”

  Me: “Mom, we need to figure out what we might find outside by piecing together the information that we do have. I have some theories about what I remember about our strike, but I need to work them through. I know it’s upsetting you to talk about it, Mom, so if you want to go into the other room, that’s really alright. Mark and I can work it through.”

  Mom: “No, I want to stay. I’ll be quiet.”

  Me: “No, Mom. You were listening to the radio way more than we were. You can be a lot of help if it’s not too much for you.”

  Mom: “Okay.”

  Mark, looking irritated, points back to the map: “It only makes sense that they are sending in strikes from both coasts.”

  Me, getting the calendar that still is hanging on the wall and bringing it over: “Then why did they stop the strikes and wait for, one, two, three, four days until they hit California?” I am attaching the calendar page for July with dates of incidents written in.

  Mark: “I’m not 100% sure, but we had radio transmissions until they hit us on July 15th and there were no reports of strikes until ours.”

  Me: “But, maybe they just stopped getting information and that’s why they didn’t report it. Mom, what did you hear during those four days?”

  Mom: “They weren’t reporting because they said that they were not getting any signals, NOAA, or NORAD reports after Texas. I could still get San Francisco stations until the 15th, but they either just reiterated what we knew about the east coast until the middle of the mid-west, or they went over lists of things to have on hand and what to do if we got hit. But they did say that there were unsubstantiated reports that there were submarines off of our coast, from L.A., to Santa Barbara, to San Francisco.”

  Me: “See Mom, that’s really important information. That means that Mark’s theory could be correct.”

  Mom, sort of proudly: “Thanks!”

  Mark: “Maybe they were getting into position and rallying allies during those four days. It’s completely plausible that this whole World War hadn’t been planned out that well. We don’t even know why it started. We just assume that it was because the US brought down the whole economy.”

  Me, very proud of my husband’s intelligence: “You’re absolutely right. Now we have a good Starting Point theory as a jumping off place. Let’s call this theory Point A. Mark, can you find the atlas? It was on the bookshelf.”

  As we wait for him to find the atlas, I have time for some personal observations. Mom is actually a good source of information. As for Mark, I know him well enough that he has been thinking about this even before our strike. All the while he was protesting our preparations. Good, we need all the minds involved that we can get. Speaking of that:

  “Hello, this is Jill, over.”

  “We are here, Jill. We are having a meeting. Trying to figure out what happened since the start so that we can figure out where to go from here. I am glad you called, or radioed, or whatever you call it. Do you and Joseph have some time to join us?”

  Joseph: “Yes we do. I have some ideas.”

  Mark found the atlas and came back over to sit at the built-in counter. I am letting him update the Richmonds while I continue to write.


  Me: “So, everyone, please speak slowly so I can keep up while I takes notes.”

  Richmonds: “Okay, okay.”

  Joseph: “Well, I have to say that your theory and mine, so far, are almost identical. I only wanted to add that I think that they didn’t start on the west coast and move inland like they did with the east coast. I think that the ships in the Pacific started off firing from their ocean vantage point on Colorado and continued west from there. That’s why we stopped getting reports from the NORAD compound in Colorado Springs.”

  Mark: “That makes sense. Good, let me add that on the map.”

  Mark is adding arrows and ships to the map to indicate where we think they hit and possible dates of strikes. We are getting a good record of our thoughts.

  Me: “Now for my thoughts of how I think they hit us and the rest of the country in order to thoroughly bring us down. As we know the US is huge and we have the most advanced defenses and weapons in the world, including our nukes.”

  Mom has taken over taking notes while I talk now.

  Joseph: “Yeah, that’s a big question mark. How the hell did they manage to bring us down to our knees? It doesn’t make sense. We are just too strong.”

  Me: “You and Mark both believe that Middle East terrorist cells sort of just reacted to Iraq, and I will add Syria’s and Russia’s, strikes. But I believe that all of the terrorist allies were ready and in place when this began. They might not have wanted us to be prepared in the Pacific, so they didn’t put that in place until they weakened us enough. I also think that we have launched a huge defense against our enemies. I feel fairly certain our military was shipped out to bring them down.”

  Mark: “You’re right. And I know they have left most of the National Guard and a lot of the Active Duty forces to defend us here. They probably have activated troops who were Inactive Ready Reserve. I just don’t know how wounded our In Country Military is.”

  Joseph: “My guess is that they are probably pretty bad off but I don’t believe that they are completely obliterated. The question for us is are they going to find us?”

  Me: “Jill, have you heard from any of the neighbors? Some of them indicated that they had devices and would use them, if they could, after a strike.

  Joseph answered: “Not a word. Jill and I think that maybe they are on different frequencies, if they are trying at all. And some of our neighbors are elderly and/or not at all tech savvy.”

  Mark: “And that’s a whole other topic. Laura, you are looking like you are in some pain. Maybe we should continue this tomorrow so you can take a pill and rest.”

  Me: “Yeah, I am starting to fade. But I do have some topics we should all think about until then. First, we should continue to figure out communications with neighbors, but also anyone we can reach. Second, and maybe more importantly, I am not sure that we should leave our houses in just one week. Which brings me to third, what exactly do you think is in the air?”

  Jill: “Fantastic. These are great talking points for tomorrow. But now, get some rest, all of you. We love all of you and are so grateful that you are with us in this.”

  Mom: “We are too, Jill. We are, too.”

  Me: “Bye, I mean, over and out.” Lol(Did I really just use internet speak? Some habits are going to be hard to break.)

  “I think that we need to bust open the Ham Radio set and try and reach someone who knows what is going on.” Mark said. “If they, anyone left, are out there they are monitoring the airwaves the best they can. Sorry Mom, you won’t be able to take it back to Radio Shack for your money back.”

  We all laughed.

  July 19, 8:45 PM

  The rest of the day just sort of went by. I took another pain killer and it just wiped me out. I slept for five hours and now I am wide awake. I know Mark has been busy with the with the radio transmissions. It’s a good thing that it works with both battery and cranking. I think it’s a good distraction for him. We have nothing to do but sit around all day and cabin fever is setting in.

  Mom is having an especially hard time. She has worked herself in to a worrying frenzy. I know she is worried about her granddaughters and my brother, Jared. She has mentioned a few times that she just wasn’t sure how they were going to drive themselves up here to Monterey. I don’t know what to say to her. The realist in me keeps coming back to the obvious. Even if they are alive by the same miracle that has allowed us to live this long, how would they make their way up here? It’s just too far with all that has to have happened on the route from Arizona to here. But then again, I’m the one who wrote a good-bye letter to them and left it on the door for when they made it here.

  Even with all of my concerns, I am feeling better since our meeting. It was productive. This is all new territory for every one of us left on this earth. There is no instruction manual that comes with an apocalypse.

  I remember the first time I heard about nuclear bombs. I was about nine years old and my father had passed away the year before. My grandmother would come over to our house during the week to help out while my mother was working at the store she was bequeathed. It was a big change for all of us.

  My grandmother liked to talk about the news of the day and topics that surrounded our society. I don’t remember the exact words that were said or what brought up to the topic of nuclear annihilation. I just remember the awful feelings I walked away with.

  I would lay in bed that night, and many others after, and I would think about what would happen if the Soviets dropped a bomb on us. I didn’t understand the workings of the atom bomb, but I knew how bad it was. I understood that most people would die, or get really sick. It was that year that I read “Sadako and the Thousand Cranes”. All the time I was reading the book I never told anyone how upset it made me. Looking back, it was a beautiful story, but not then.

  I think that all of the emotions about my father’s passing, the fear that our family was not safe without a patriarch, and the continual horror of what would come from the Cold War fed into my fascination with apocalyptic fiction, both film and novels. They were a way to work out my distress. The main characters in both the movies and books go through hell, but they live and finally, they strive heroically. But now that I am facing it, I am seeing these stories for what they really are; fiction.

  Good night world or what is left of it.

  July 20, 4:45 AM

  I was jerked awake by an unfamiliar sound. It has been so quiet, and electronic sounds are already becoming foreign.

  The Ham Radio! I got up to go over and answer it. I stubbed my toe on something really hard. “Shit!”

  Mark got up and turned on the lanterns while I went to answer the contraption.

  “Hello, hello,” I repeated.

  “Identify yourself. What’s your call sign?”

  I didn’t know what to say so I froze and said nothing.

  “Lady, GET OFF,” the deep, raspy voice yelled.

  “No,” I stated firmly. “You have to be kidding me. I finally get some outside contact and you expect me to get off. Well, that’s not going to happen.”

  I wasn’t even sure how to use it, but I would be damned if I was just going to hang up the Ham radio and act like I hadn’t heard him.

  Mark grabbed the mic from me and Mom took a seat on one of the stools at the counter. She was looking pale and not at all well.

  “I am sorry about my wife, sir. She is just excited to hear from you, Brother. Over,” Mark used his most polite voice. He always called other guys “Brother” when he was trying to make them feel comfortable and make himself welcomed.

  “Get off! I have been dealing with you people for days and I am sick of it. You have no idea what you are doing and you are making it impossible to talk to any of my contacts. So, get off!”

  This guy wasn’t going to be easy, but Mark never gives up.

  “I understand, and I am sorry to bother you, but we are walled inside of our house and we have no idea when we can leave, and what is happening out there. We j
ust need some information. Please! My name is Mark,” he implored.

  “You have an accent. What kind,” asked the voice that was becoming suspicious.

  “I am from Africa. I’m American, though,” Mark explained. “What’s your name?”

  The man ignored the question. “You ain’t Muslim, are ya?”

  I looked at Mark and shook my head. “No, I’m Christian,” he lied.

  There was a long pause followed by a sigh. “Paul. My name is Paul.” Progress.

  I took the mic from Mark. I knew that if he continued to hear Mark’s accent he would have more questions and just hang up on us. Do you even “hang” these things up? I need to read the book the man who sold us the radio made us pay extra for.

  “Sir, my name is Laura. I am in Monterey, California. Where are you?”

  “I’m in Lebec, Cali,” Paul finally gave in.

  “I know that place, I know that place,” I exploded excitedly. “Near Bakersfield?”

  “Yep. I have family in Seaside. My wife’s brother and his family are up there. You know how Seaside is doin’? They ain’t answering,” Paul asked. Thank God he had a reason to talk to us. And I was going to make sure to use it.

  “We have been fairly roughed up here; something akin to being scrambled in a blender,” I said sweetly.

  “Ha, ‘akin’. Whatever. What happened up there?”

  He was talking and I wasn’t going to let this chance get away. Note to self; don’t use any words that might be misconceived as snobbery. “We can’t see out yet. We have our windows and doors boarded up completely. But we know what we felt. I have had a lot of time to think back at exactly what we felt at the time. First, there was the sound of flying, you know, ‘vrrrrr’, which must have been the sound of missiles of some kind.”

  Mark grabbed the mic from me. Oh, no! “I am Army, and I can confirm that was what it was,” Mark said officially.

  “What you do in the Army,” Paul questioned unbelievingly.

  “MP. 29 months in Iraq.” That was the truth, but I didn’t think that would be enough for the dubious Paul.

  “I was 7th Light Infantry. Did my time on Fort Ord. ‘Nam!” Paul replied, calmer.