I’m not entirely sure what I was expecting to find at the survivor hub. I’m not sure anyone was, but it was safe to say we were all a little underwhelmed by what we found. I guess when I imagined it in my head the night before, I pictured being ushered through a processing station then into the shopping centre which would reveal a hive of activity including food and drink disposal, medical check-ups and information. We’d be informed, fed and hydrated, and leave with a plan for the future. That wasn’t too much to ask, right? If I’d imagined the champagne version of the hub the reality presented the shit-sandwich version.
I’d like to describe the people we encountered as officials, but they presented as anything but. There were eight of them all up – set up behind a few coffee tables under the shopping centre entrance canopy right next to Cibo. The first thing that hit me was the attitude – we copped plenty of it. Nothing overt, it has to be said, but there was no doubt we were being looked at as outsiders on their turf. For starters they first asked where we were from and when our response came back as Trinity Gardens, the fat old guy, who seemed to be running the show suggested that we’d come to the wrong place and that we should consider Firle our survival hub. As for the attitude he emitted when he gave that response, well, let’s just say we were destined from that moment to leave Norwood disappointed.
Fats also gestured to a couple of the other people standing behind him who disappeared into the shopping centre. He then went on to tell us it was closed due to safety fears, any word of a survivor hub had been over-stated, and they were volunteering their time to inform people that was the case. It all sounded like a bunch of BS to me but it was quite clear we were getting stonewalled.
Mia asked where the army was and Fats told her that word was a gas pipe explosion had destroyed the temporary facility they were using and he doubted there would be any other army officials around in the foreseeable future. After all his attitude earlier he did seem genuinely upset when he relayed that piece of information and, for some reason, I believed it was genuine.
For the rest of it, though, we were just brushed off. We were told it was a case of fending for ourselves now and our best bet was to find out what was going on at Firle. We were told there were limited supplies of food remaining, which had already been divided amongst the local community.
A few people from our group fired questions at the fat man. I even got my question in about how far up the Parade the tsunami came – about a block east of Osmand Terrace apparently. Generally, though, the fat man made what he obviously thought seemed like a genuine attempt to answer things, but to me it looked like he was hiding something. Before long, the two people who’d left earlier came back with another dozen or so guys – they were trying to intimidate us into leaving. Or maybe they felt intimidated and being out-numbered at were trying to even up the game a little. Either way, once that happened there was massive tension in the air. It didn’t take long for me to feel totally exposed – if it turned nasty I was the youngest and skinniest person there and I don’t think I’ve been in a fight since I was 12! And I lost (she was bigger than me).
Mia played it well though. She appeased the fat man and just asked for as much information as possible to take back to the people of Trinity Gardens. The fat man obliged and reeled out a bunch of info to keep us happy.
With that, we, the fellowship of the ash left to trudge back to Trinity Gardens. The way back was much quicker as we retraced our own trail, using the trench we’d carved out of the ash to save time and effort. It was a humbling return though – especially after feeling so invincible on the way down. It seems to me that yet again, geography and dumb luck will be the keys to survival. On the night of the impacts those factors decided peoples’ fate and yet again, they hold the tickets to survival. This time, however, a close proximity to supplies is your friend. The fat man and his friends had it and we didn’t. They sure as hell aren’t telling us what they’ve got but you can bet it’s more than we do.
It’s difficult to project forward with the world changing on almost a daily basis but it’s not hard to see how things could get very tribal, very quickly. That’d be a pretty sad way for all this to go down, in my opinion: but maybe it’s inevitable. Maybe it just has to be that way.
That’s not good news for the people of Trinity Gardens. Not that it changes things for me, but for everyone else… it’s seriously not good.
I wonder how much could possibly be stored at the shopping centre anyways. Surely supplies would be running fairly thin as it is? I mean, there were queues around the block to buy food for the last 48 hours pre-rock. What could possibly be left? But then again, I know they were having problems distributing the extra supplies that came in and people were still getting supplies on impact night. Maybe there is a goldmine in there after all, enough for the fat man to lie about it.
I hoped the Firle party had more luck but I wasn’t holding my breath.
…and with good reason as it turned out. The Firle expedition were waiting for us when we returned. They had heard a similar story about the gas explosion, so we figured two separate sources made it fairly reliable. There is no army in Adelaide any more, or not enough to matter. Apparently the Firle hub experience was a far friendlier affair, but the bottom line was they were almost entirely out of food, with all-but-zero hope of resupply. Again, this gets me suspicious – they’re hardly going to say, ‘yep, we’re loaded, help yourself new people’.
The next hour or so was spent working out our community’s next move. Some people wanted to pool food resources at the school so the remaining supplies could be dolled out evenly. Some people were completely against that idea. I’m guessing they were the ones who thought they had more food than they’d get from the collective sharing.
In the end it was agreed the next step was to sweep the streets, determine which houses were unoccupied and swipe all their food. The resultant bounty would then be shared amongst the group. I thought it was a pretty good and fair plan actually, and with any luck we could gather enough food to keep us going for a couple of weeks more.
Some people wanted to head back to Norwood in greater numbers and find out exactly what was going on but it was decided, for now, we would use what we potentially had at our disposal before heading further afield.
It was interesting to see all the politicking going on during the meeting. It seems like a few people were pumping up their own tires to take leadership roles. God there are some real posers out there – it’s amazing how many people think watching a couple of episodes of Bear Grylls makes them an expert in post-apocalyptic survival. I, for one, was happy just to observe – I don’t think they’d listen to a teenager anyway. Plus, I still want to lay low. I also get the feeling everyone is playing poker with what resources they actually have left. No one was in a hurry to reveal their ‘hand’ unless it was those who were virtually down to nothing.
So the end result is a group of people who perhaps need each other more than they trust each other.
Tomorrow I’m heading out with an early 30s couple – Mark and Jemma (I think). They live just up the street from me and I met them the other day when I went around to all the houses on the street. They’re nice enough so I’m happy to team up with them. We’ve been assigned three streets to go down, including mine. It’ll be interesting to see what we can come up with. The bigger group meeting has been pushed back from 10am to 5pm so everyone has time to get to all the houses they need to get to.
9pm: I’m exhausted from today’s journey. Even with the help of the fellowship, pushing your way through that much ash takes its toll. It’s funny, when I was slogging my way back from Norwood all I could think about was coming home, kicking my feet up and hammering the Xbox. However, when I did finally fire the console up, I felt guilty – I should’ve been preparing for tomorrow. The guilt won the battle over lazy, I guess, and I spent most of my time in the war room where I finished the street map of the area. The other day I’d started putting in the property boundaries
– mostly from memory. Tonight I remembered I’d printed out the Google maps view of the area with the actual property boundaries on it. So I overlaid them on the local map, going out four blocks in every direction from home. I also printed out a couple of copies of the street map view of the local area to take with me tomorrow – one for me and one for Mark and Jemma. It should help us document everything.
Paranoia seems to surround everything I do, even to the point of coming up with a story as to why I have the street view printouts. I’m not sure I want people knowing I have electricity just yet but I think I can justify it all as something I did pre-rock.
So that was my night. I’m getting pretty tired and I might hit the hay pretty soon. In fact I’ve noticed how I’m getting up earlier and going to sleep earlier these days. Not really sure what that’s all about.
****
Wednesday, May 1, 2014
8.30pm: Another day of memories that will stay with me forever. In fact, looking back on today, I feel like I went out this morning somewhat innocent still, but I write in my diary now anything but.
I met up with Mark and Jemma right after breakfast and we began our sweep of the area. They seemed like a pretty nice couple actually. There were recently married and had just bought a house up the street. He worked for the bank and she was a graphic designer; interesting combo, I thought. But they were really nice to me and didn’t treat me like a kid. I guess the fact I came prepared with maps, food and drink, a large backpack, tools (a crowbar to open doors and a shovel and broom to clear them) and a knife (just in case) meant I earned a little ‘adult cred’.
I think we hit over 150 houses all up and it could best be described as a mixed bag. The general plan of attack was to approach each house, knock at the door and wait for a response. If we got one we’d tell the residents we were taking details from everyone in the area and finding out if they needed anything. It must be said the responses varied greatly. Similar to when I went out by myself the other week there were a lot of non-trusting people. I can’t say I blame them really I wouldn’t trust a bunch of people I didn’t know if they came to my door – no matter how harmless they looked. So, we’d get a lot of very short answers from some. Others, however, were very pleased to see us and more than happy to tell us how they were going and what supplies they had. Maybe they were desperate, or lonely, or whatever, but they were the good ones.
Things got tricky when no one answered the door. We’d wait a few moments then knock again, then knock a third time saying who we were, who we were representing and that if no one answered we would enter the property to see if everyone was OK. We got a few responses after that. Clearly there are a lot of people who don’t want to be bothered. Most of the time these people answered with a two-word suggestion as to where we should go and how we should get there!
Things got really nerve-racking when we had no response after the third knock. We’d pause again, then Mark would say something like, ‘if we don’t hear from you in the next three seconds we’ll assume you are either not home or injured and we’ll be forced to enter the property to see if you’re OK’. We did get a couple of replies at this late stage – again of the two-word variety – but mostly we heard nothing. That meant the coast was clear and it was time to go into action.
I was surprised how nervous I got doing it, breaking in, especially the first time. My heart was beating like I’d just run the 100m – Mark and Jemma were the same. Mark would jimmy open the door, Jemma would commentate on what we were doing in a soothing voice, in case there were people inside I guess, and I had my knife at the ready in case there were any unexpected situations.
Fortunately, we didn’t come across any shotgun-wielding psychos on the other side of any door. But that didn’t stop me getting the feeling there could be one at each house we went to. From there we’d do a quick check of the house to make sure all was clear. When we were satisfied the coast was clear, we’d split up searching the house for anything useful – most importantly food and water.
If that was the pattern of how the day went all would’ve been fine but, of course, nothing’s ever that easy! I’d chatted with Mark and Jemma about the possibility of seeing a dead body on our travels. I mean, we realised it would be a possibility, but what we didn’t realise was how many we’d see. Seven. Seven dead bodies. I’d never even seen a corpse first-hand before today. Even with all the things going on around me in recent days, I’d never actually laid eyes on a real dead body. They’re creepy too. Doubly creepy seeing them stone cold and stuck in the spot they’d died in. I mean, if we’d never come, would they’ve been like that forever?
And the stink. It was indescribably horrid. It seared the hairs from my nostrils I’m sure, even through the scarf over my face.
I’ll remember them all, but three stood out to me as sights that’ll be burnt into my memory forever. The first was an old lady, she must’ve been in her ’70s or early ’80s maybe. She was laying on her bed, cuddling a family photo in a frame – it was her from years ago with, I’m assuming, her husband and three kids. God, it was hard to look at. In a way it summed up how tragic this whole apocalypse situation is. Despite how many people this lady had who cared for her in this world, she died sad and alone… broken. It nearly broke me looking at her.
There were a few other deceased oldies discovered… is it insensitive that it got a bit easier with each one? It did. None of them hit me like the first one. There was even one old guy who looked like he’d topped himself. He was sitting dead on his couch with an empty bottle of pills and a suicide note laying next to him.
The second body that was hard to deal with was the young Asian guy who had hung himself in the bathroom of his flat near Portrush Rd. Judging by the decorations, pictures and posters he had up we reckoned he was a foreign student. Poor guy. I wonder if he’d had a chance to get in touch with his family before he… did what he did. Another sad, lonely and, maybe, pointless end. I wondered how many other silent victims there were in this disaster. How many stories will never be told, or never have a proper or dignified end.
The final body I’ll never forget is that of the woman up the street. She had been stabbed, a lot. It was a horrible scene. I’m not entirely sure I can bring myself to write down exactly what I saw but there was blood, lots of it. Again you can’t help but play out in your mind what might’ve happened to her. Mark, Jemma and I tried to figure out the lady’s final moments from the scene in front of us. Although part of me wanted to leave straight away, the other part found trying to make some sense of it therapeutic. She had cuts on her hands and arms as well as her chest so we guessed she was trying to defend herself from her attacker. We wondered why somebody would do this – vendetta, jealousy, random attack maybe? Mark checked the cupboard and fridge. They were pretty bare and whatever remained in the fridge made opening the door give off a smell almost comparable with the rest of the living area. The sad truth appeared to be she was murdered for her food. If that was the case, things just got a lot creepier. And on this very street where we live! Was it a local who did it? Very likely given how hard it is to get around. Who would do something like this? Probably someone who knew her, or knew enough about her to know she was alone and they could overpower her.
That seemed like a pretty likely outcome to the three of us, and it was a very scary one for me. Wow. Murder near home. If that really was the case, all of my paranoid thoughts have been justified. I mean, if whoever did this knew I lived alone they might see me as a target. I felt very vulnerable. Maybe this was a timely reminder to keep my head down. The community has brought me out of shell in the last few days, but I can’t let that relax me. If someone gets to me at home alone… well my survival prospects may be very short lived.
I don’t think Mark, Jemma or I could get the visions of the dead out of our heads. It made the task of cataloguing and collecting food a very sombre one. It put a massive dampener on what was a successful trip, because in the end we found more food than we could possibly car
ry. Most of the vacant houses had a bunch of decent stuff in the pantry – cans, pasta, cereal, jam, biscuits, flour etc. It would take two or three trips to gather our supplies and carry them to the school. And then there was booty house (as we dubbed it), it was abandoned and completely stocked with long-life products. We discovered it pretty late in the day so it made the find all the more special, to the point we were almost crying with joy (in my defence, I think I was pretty emotionally drained at the time). The find was so big we were wondering who the hell would stockpile so much stuff and not be there to eat it. Maybe they spent rock night somewhere else and never made it back or maybe it was just some crazy pensioner who liked to make sure there was plenty of stock around just in case. Either way, this was the score of the day.
But that was where things took another interesting turn. I knew something was up with Jemma and Mark – they started acting weird. Then they made their move. Jemma was the one who spoke. She talked about how the three of us had gone over and above the call of duty for the community and the rest of the booty was more than enough to come back with, so no one needed to know about the big score. They basically suggested we keep it for ourselves, splitting it three ways. At first I was shocked. I really hadn’t expected that from them. I mean, they seemed so genuine and kind. But I guess it goes to show when it all boils down to it this is just a game of survival and even supplying the greater group is not as important as looking after yourself.
Diary of a Survivor (Book 1): Apocalypse Page 11
