Diary of a Survivor (Book 1): Apocalypse

by Pike, Matt J.

  Don’t snigger too much millipedes, the next rock has your name on it.

  ****

  Monday, April 29, 2014

  9am: Down to business today. Time to find out what is going on at the survivor register. I’m gonna head off in about half an hour, which will give me plenty of time to get there and meet the Hardigans.

  Dad’s got this little hand-held audio recorder; I might take it with me to record my conversation with any official I speak to. I’m kinda feeling out of the loop on information – especially locally – with the TV all-but useless, so making sure I digest every bit of information available seems like the right thing to do.

  I might give the backyard a bit of a sweep while I’m in the outside gear too.

  #feelingpumpedtoday

  2pm: Wow. Talk about not what I expected…. at all. It was pretty crowded when I finally trudged my way to the school. I’m guessing there were at least 400 people hanging around but it was hard to tell without being able to see too far – I’m basing the number mostly on the noise and general hubbub.

  I couldn’t see the Hardigans anywhere. It was really hard to negotiate my way through the crowd to really check everyone out, and shining my torch in everyone’s face was coming off as pretty rude. So in the end I just kind of laid low.

  More importantly there were no one officials there at all. No army, no guidance, no one to tell us what was happening. It was a complete non-event. Everyone waited pretty patiently, given how cold and miserable it was. Within an hour though, people began to act-up. Some were getting pretty emotional too. There was crying – real crying, wailing crying – and shouting and swearing. I could see I was not the only one emotionally invested in this. I know the conditions are tough right now. I mean the ash is well over knee deep and it’s pitch black and cold and horrible. I know the logistics (that’s what they call it, right?) of getting to the school would’ve been hard to organise, but to not show up, that’s a hope killer.

  I remember looking around and thinking exactly that – hope killer. I mean, it’s hard to make out people’s emotions by sight, with the lack of light and covered faces, but you could hear it in their voices. Hope killer. This day was going to tell them what to do with the next stage of their life now the food is low and the power’s gone. The people out there today needed that.

  I stayed around for about four hours, waiting for the authorities, long after the first of the people drifted back into the darkness of the streets. It was a really weird moment… a group realisation… we were alone. No government, no police, no army, no help. Unless something changes the brave new world started today.

  There was a group of adults trying to organise some sort of action. They were trying to come up with a plan of attack to find out what was going on and let everyone know. I just hung around the fringes of the conversation and listened. It was decided that the next day two groups would set out on expeditions – one to the Firle shopping centre, the other to Norwood – what had been labelled survivor hubs. They would speak to whatever authorities were there and gather as much information as they could. Then we would meet here again on Wednesday morning and share the information.

  I thought the Norwood shops would’ve been destroyed in the tsunami but according to a couple of the guys there they only suffered minor damage. I found that weird seeing as though I saw the tsunami get as far inland as Portrush Road.

  I loved they came up with that plan. It was just us locals saying we wouldn’t give up this community without a fight. I mean, if we lose that – the community – what are we gonna be left with? I consider myself in as good a spot as anyone. I probably have more food to out-live anyone here (unless there’s some crazy nuclear bunker types in the area I don’t know about) and even I need this. I need the thought there’s some bigger level of organisation out there. I need to know things are not going to descend into total, lawless chaos and I need to know someone’s looking out for me on the streets.

  I’m going it alone but I can’t do it by myself – does that even make sense?

  By the time I waded back to my place I had mixed emotions about the day. Part of me was totally gutted and disillusioned by the army no-show, but another part of me had hope the community had enough spirit and desire to overcome what was thrown at us and survive together.

  Looking back, as I write this, I feel very torn. Deep down I know everyone else is more desperate to make this work than me because I’m set for food and electricity and they’re probably not. But am I being selfish? Am I using them? Should I share what I have with the greater community? Am I doing the right thing?

  I’ve been really struggling with this in the background of my mind and it comes up every time I have an interaction with someone else, because I know I’ve got all I need to live longer than they do. If no help comes or the weather doesn’t get better soon there are going to be a lot of people starving to death. I think of all that and tell myself I need to help – to share my resources. Then I start to think about how that would even be practical. Who gets my help? Where does it stop? I mean, if I were to share my supplies with everyone there today – say 400 people – I’d probably be able to give them each around two days of food, maybe a bit more. My practical (or maybe selfish) side says two days of food for the larger group doesn’t help in the bigger scheme of things. It helps those people for those two days but after that they’ll be in the same boat as they were going to be anyway… and I’d be right there with them.

  So in the end I reach the same conclusion. The only way my resources are going to make a meaningful difference (assuming things aren’t getting better anytime soon) is if I keep them all for myself. That’s my thought process, that’s my decision. Is it right? I don’t know. But it is what it is and that means I have to play a careful game.

  I can be involved in this ‘community’ that seems to be developing, but I can’t draw too much attention to myself. I can’t be obviously well fed, or too sharp and alert. I can’t say too much when I speak. It’s going to be tough, because I seem to be the sort of person people want to take under their wing in the circumstances. I understand it too, as I’m young and seemingly vulnerable. But it does make answering questions difficult. I have to make it seem like I have enough to get by for now, but not too much. At some point people will get suspicious, I suppose, but I’m in no hurry to bring that on any sooner than it has to come.

  Then it comes to things like tomorrow’s recon to the shopping centres. Do I go? I’ve been swaying between ‘yes’ and ‘no’ on that one since they first mentioned it. If I don’t go, I don’t risk accidentally saying something to incriminate myself as the food-hoarder, which is the safe option. But at this stage I’m being drawn towards going. For a start, as much as I want to lay low, it can’t hurt to know as many of these people as possible. Who knows when I might need their help or what other unforeseeable benefits there might be to being a contributing member of this ‘posse’. Secondly, I’m keen to test myself on a longer walk, and to do it in the safety of a larger group is ideal. Finally, and most importantly, getting out of this place and speaking to other people would be about the highlight of my week right now. I need this mentally as much as anything else.

  It’s hard to describe the darkness outside these days. It’s total light block-out. Even back pre-rock there was nothing like it. Even during the days of the darkest clouds you had decent quality visibility. But here, the clouds aren’t water vapour, they’re ash – bits of pulverised rock and metal and who knows what else. And the ash doesn’t sit nicely at one even level in the sky; it’s everywhere, constantly floating around your head and probably floating at every level of the atmosphere from the ground to orbit. The sun doesn’t stand a chance of getting through. I wonder when it will.

  Even nighttime pre-rock was never like this. There were always lights – street lights, the stars, the moon. Even on cloudy nights the sky would reflect back the city lights to give you some vision. No. This is worse than anything I’ve ever kno
wn; this is pure dark.

  9pm: This afternoon’s been quite productive. I started preparing for tomorrow by cleaning up my outside gear, it was disgusting. As for the state of my wellies... words cannot even begin to describe what had become of them. But I scrubbed them up into something semi-reasonable. I also found a pair of steel-cap boots in Dad’s cupboard. They fit perfectly, and they’re waterproof – I think I might substitute the boots for tomorrow’s expedition. Surely they have more grip.

  While I was doing all this I came up with a neat little idea. I’ve copied and enlarged pages from the street directory and stuck them on the wall in the war room. I basically have a two metre by two metre map of the surrounding streets, from the Firle shopping hub to the Norwood shopping hub and everywhere in between. My house is just about smack-bang in the middle.

  Now I have the perfect accompaniment to my larger Adelaide map, Australia map and world map. I cover every level! I figure observations and discoveries made tomorrow can go on here, which could come in very handy. Also, for the streets closest to my house I’ve drawn rough property boundaries. I might start keeping a note of which houses show signs of activity and which don’t. Again, might not be much, but it could really come in handy one day.

  But that’s not the brilliant part. The brilliant part was cross-referencing the map with Dad’s topographical map of the city. I was able to draw in all the altitude lines right over my street map. Immediately I started gaining a better perspective of the situation around me. For example, I couldn’t comprehend the fact people were saying the Norwood Shopping Centre survived the tsunami. That totally contradicted what I thought I saw on impact night. But as soon as I drew the contours on the map it made perfect sense. See, I saw the tsunami hit Portrush Rd just north of my place and assumed the Parade at Norwood was all underwater as it’s only a few hundred metres south of here and closer to the beach. But the contour – 75m above sea level – runs at virtually 45 degrees through this area, meaning the tsunami may well have only got to Osmond Terrace at Norwood. I would’ve never guessed that, even having travelled the terrain often.

  So I’ve given myself a bonus mission tomorrow. I need to work out exactly how far the waters came up the Parade at Norwood then, when I return home, I can work out exactly where the tsunami reached all through my local area. I have these thoughts of one day needing food again and thinking the best place to supply-up will be houses left on the devastated side of the tsunami.

  ****

  Tuesday April 30, 2014

  10am: I’m starting to get pretty good with daily routines these days – cleaning, eating, planning etc. I’m actually impressing myself because they are a long, long way from my strong suit. I think it’s because life is now so devoid of day-to-day distractions (compared to pre-rock) I’m kinda evolving to just embrace anything that even slightly resembles something interesting to do. Anything that takes me away from the banality of the daily grind helps keep me sane.

  Breakfast used to be something I ate to stop me getting hungry until lunch. Now, breakfast is a myriad of rituals and routines. Breakfast is; what to eat (pancakes, cereal with long-life milk, or make a loaf of bread, which presents a whole new world of options) and it’s what mood I think I’m in; and what music I should play to either change or enhance that mood. Once I’m happy with the music I make a note of my meal choice... in my little scorecard! Yes, I have a scorecard – to keep track of supplies and the rate I’m going through them. But I don’t just mark down what I’ve had, oh no I commentate on what I’m doing, like I’m a TV presenter and it’s the last quarter of a close footy match! Then comes the food presentation. I now go to the extra effort of plating up something nice, which I also commentate on like I’m doing the voiceover for a contestant on a cooking show. Then there’s the eating. Here, I morph into one of three separate reality cooking show judges, who in turn make comment on the food they’re sampling. Once I’ve finished I become the reality show cook again who is informed of the judges’ results. I know, I know, I’m a little sad.

  After breakfast I like to get myself a cup of coffee and either jot down things in my diary – like now – or read when I have nothing meaningful to say. Once that is done I crank the music up and do the dishes.

  So the whole breakfast process has gone from a 15 minute necessity to an hour-plus extravaganza. It’s all about the routine, about feeling like I’m engaged and doing something with purpose the entire time.

  That said, I think all this time on my own is starting to drive me slightly mad. If everything I’ve revealed above isn’t enough of a sign, I also talk to myself a hell of a lot. I think it helps keep me engaged and distracted but I also realise it’s making me act in ways that are slightly, well, mental. I mean, if a version of me from a few weeks ago was a fly on the wall watching me make breakfast – impersonating sports commentators and reality show judges, and laughing at some of my own jokes – I think he’d have me committed. God, and this is after two and a bit weeks, what am I going to be like after a year or more?

  And the irony isn’t lost on me – I’m acting this way to stay sane and all it’s doing is making me another kind of crazy!

  Another little routine I have is one I’m preparing for shortly – cleaning the door entries and paths. I do it every time I leave to house. There’s no point getting the outside gear on just to do chores; I’d rather multitask with another outside activity. It makes doing one of the world’s dirtiest chores at least semi-bearable knowing you’re doing something outside afterwards.

  Whatever happens on the expedition, outside days are good days.

  7pm: What a day. There were as many as 50 people gathered for the expeditions. I was really surprised by the numbers – it was probably a sign everyone wanted to help keep as much of their destiny in their own hands as possible. I certainly did; that’s why I went.

  It wasn’t too hard to tag along with the group heading to Norwood because when they divided everyone up according to where they wanted to go, there was a pretty even split. There ended up being 19 going to Norwood and 30 (I think) heading to Firle.

  A woman called Mia Martin pretty much assumed the alpha-type leadership role and everyone was reasonably happy to fall in line behind her. It’s amazing how much a first impression can influence, I s’pose, and Mia, along with her partner, Craig, made the best one of all. They stood out – or over – everyone. Literally. They’d somehow cut the heads off tennis racquets and strapped them to their boots. Then they’d wound some fabric around the racquet head to form a kind of snow shoe. All of which meant their feet had a far greater surface area and didn’t sink through the ash. They walked on top of it. Brilliant. I remember thinking at that moment if I didn’t learn another thing from today it was already worth my while.

  It was a bit hard not to be impressed – the pair of them looked like giants compared to everyone else as the ash was probably 60cm deep! Plus they each had one of those miners’ hardhats with the lights, some really serious looking hiking clothes, drink canteens and a number of containers you imagine would hold anything you’d ever need. I felt like a survivalist amateur in their presence. I knew I had to stay close to see if I could learn any new tricks as the day went on.

  The trek to the shopping centre on the Parade took just over two hours. That’s a pace of about 1km per hour! So slow. If anything though, it was slightly quicker than my solo trips. We operated somewhat like a Tour de France peloton, each person taking turns at the front, pushing through the thick ash and sludge, doing the heavy lifting for the one behind, who made each step easy for the person behind them, etc, etc. Once your stint at the front was done you’d just shuffle to the side, wait for the pack to filter past, then join in again at the back where the steps were easy but the pace was super slow.

  Mia and Craig skated alongside and over us, pointing out obstacles ahead and generally encouraging us.

  I don’t think I’ll ever forget that experience; it was completely surreal. We had decent conditions we
ather-wise, and with most people carrying torches it made for the best vision (distance-wise) since the ash closed in on Adelaide. We travelled along the main roads too, straight up the middle of Portrush until we hit the Parade. It’s the first time that ‘outside’ nearly felt like actually being outside and not like some dodgy movie studio set. With the wide-open spaces of the main roads, the quietness and stillness of it all, it felt so liberating. And then there was us, ploughing through the middle of the wide brown bad-Cadburyness like we were a bunch of hobbits and dwarves, ferried along by Craig the Human and Mia the Elf in some crazy fellowship on an adventure to Mount Doom.

  I couldn’t keep the smile off my face for some reason. It was such a release being part of a crowd with a shared goal, tackling the outside conditions without fear. These were our streets.

  As we neared the Parade, evidence of other paths in the ash became obvious – it was the first sign of the activities of others humans. When we turned on to the Parade, someone had kindly left their path in the ash, heading in the same direction we were going. We jumped into their trench and picked up speed. It was scary to see what had happened to Norwood since the rock. The first thing that hit me was the smell. I was breathing with a scarf over my mouth and nose to avoid inhaling ash but it was still overpowering. Just about every shop-front had been damaged – windows damaged, goods ransacked (it must’ve been a looters’ frenzy around here), verandas collapsed from the weight of the ash… it was a disaster area.

  There was a front-end loader in the middle of the Parade, covered in ash. Obviously, at some point, someone was trying to fight the inevitable torrent of ash, without luck. The loader was now entombed in the very substance it was trying to defeat.

  The Parade used to be one of the best shopping strips in Adelaide and to see it reduced to ruin made the enormity of everything we were facing all the more real. As we headed down the street – downhill and towards the city – the smell intensified. I wasn’t keen on knowing is why it smelt that bad. Was it water damage, rotting food from the stores, rotting sea creatures stranded miles form the beach or, worse, rotting corpses of another kind? I re-tightened my mouth and nose covering and tried not to think too hard about it. One thing I hadn’t banked on was how hard it was going to be to work out how high the waters reached – I hadn’t taken into account the ash obscuring most of the visual evidence.