Apocalypse: Diary of a Survivor 4 (Apocalypse Survivors)

by Matt Pike

  Apocalypse: Diary of a Survivor 4

  Matt J Pike

  ****

  Edited by: Lisa Chant

  Copyright 2019 Matt J Pike

  Also in this series:

  Apocalypse: Diary of a Survivor

  Apocalypse: Diary of a Survivor 2

  Apocalypse: Diary of a Survivor 3

  COMING 2020: The Parade: Apocalypse Survivors

  ****

  Other books by Matt J Pike

  ****

  Starship Dorsano Trilogy:

  Kings of the World

  War & Quel

  ****

  Zombie RiZing:

  Scared to Beath (ZR1)

  A Fate Worse Than Beath (ZR2)

  Life and Beath (ZR3)

  Creeping Beath (ZR4)

  Beath Becomes Her (ZR5)

  Beath Defying (ZR6)

  ZR7: Kiss of Beath*

  ZR8: Beath Trap*

  ZR9: Beath Metal*

  *Coming in 2019

  ****

  For news on promotions, competitions, appearances and future releases, sign up to Matt’s mailing list at www.mattpike.co

  Big thanks to Lisa Chant for her editing skills, dedication, encouragement and much more.

  ***

  Also thanks to Candi Pearson, Russell Emmerson, Steve Grice, Wayne Bosch, Tori Bosch, Katie Lowe, Kylie Leane, Sabrina Ricci, Marc Poualion, Jan Pike and my three children

  Sophie, Sam and Abby.

  ...as well as anyone who reviews this on Amazon or Goodreads.

  ****

  A big thank you

  You have already helped me!

  My youngest daughter, Abby, has Rett Syndrome – a neurological condition that affects mostly girls. Abby cannot walk, talk or use her hands in a meaningful way. Part proceeds from the sale of each and every book I sell go to finding a cure.

  Your support is appreciated.

  February 26, 2015

  Defeat. Retreat. Heartbreak.

  *

  The sound of gunfire finally stopped late last night, the battle for the oval obviously won. Whatever has been done to shape New Adelaide is in the past. It is now the first morning of a new future.

  I’m laying next to Alyce; her cute little snores are the only good thing in this world right now.

  Like everyone here, I’m still reeling. Too much has happened in the last few days. Too much to process.

  We met yesterday - us survivors, trying to put our collective minds together to cut through the chaos and form a plan. That’s not easy. Everyone has different ideas on what to do next. Tending to the injured is the first priority. Well, that and laying low.

  Ha, laying low. That seemed hard enough trying to make rules around yesterday, with the sounds of battle around us. Now, it’s scary quiet. As secluded as our little jail outpost is from the main city grid (and in the opposite direction to where anyone will be looking), we’re only a few hundred metres from the new enemy stronghold. And we can’t forget it.

  But it hurts to write. The oval is home. We’re just not in it any more. I know the others feel it every bit as much as I do, but that was me. My dream, my discovery, my blood and toil from day one. But, it is what it is. For now.

  So we’ve got to be church mice - that’s the point I’m trying to make here. No noise, no fires, no light, no signs of life. We’ve got to let the ash-covered walls of the jail appear as abandoned as the day before we moved in. In fact, forget church mice, we’ve got to be as quiet as the first mammals to rise up after the dinosaurs got a faceful of their own comet.

  Norwood now have all the power - they’ve got the numbers advantage, weapons advantage, location advantage - every measure of advantage. But, if they are anything like their dinosaur cousins from comet strikes past, their long-term fate is already sealed. If we’re going to survive this, we’re going to have to stay out of sight and bide our time.

  All of which is great, but not really sustainable. Bottom line is, we can’t stay here.

  That was the scary truth we arrived at yesterday. No, actually, the real scary truth was realising the safest relocation bet was down at the coast. It’s as far off the grid as you can get. No one else will be heading down that way for months - years even. But the scariest part of all is we have to start from as close to nothing as you can get. The only supplies we can rely on are the ones we can take with us. We’ll have to build our homes with… not even sure yet. It’s going to be an entirely different existence than what we have known during the past few months. I, for one, am not looking forward to facing winter in some makeshift shanty village by the sea.

  At least we’ll have fish, I guess.

  Anyway, that’s what we face, but we’ve still got to deal with what’s here and now. Because we are a community... a team... a collective. Right now, there are so many of our group MIA - Missing in action.

  I’m not entirely sure I can convey what a heavy weight there is for the rest of us tied to those three little letters. MIA. It’s the people we shared everything with, coupled with the not knowing. Obviously, there’s a fair chance it’s not going to be happy endings all around and that we are trained for, believe me. So that’s not biggest the problem. It’s the letters themselves - MIA.

  Those letters cannot be.

  It is the emptiest of feelings. Moreso than grieving death. Not saying I’ve totally grasped all that I’m feeling for those we’ve lost, but it’s a pretty damn tangible concept to get your head around (again, well trained). It’s simple. It’s binary. Alive or dead. Face it, grieve it, deal with it, or don’t and internally rage, stay busy or drink through it. Either way, it’s the most human of concepts to understand and face.

  MIA just fucks that all up completely. It is the most nonbinary of things. And that is some hard shit to face. There is no action manual for MIA, just questions. While dealing with death forces you to plan your way through it, MIA almost stops you from planning altogether.

  Right now, the smart move (big picture, survival move) is to get everyone mobile, then get out of here. Yet it’s impossible to consider as anything beyond a concept, because we can’t leave behind anyone with that status. It is the most middle tone grey to the binary black and white. And it’s a grey that has supernatural powers, stopping us from making the clearest survival move there is, even me.

  I mean, I’ve made some tough calls to stay alive, and I know the outcome that makes the most sense. As much as it would hurt, I could leave the city for the coast. I could leave the death and destruction behind to start again. But I can’t leave Shane. Not if there’s a chance he’s alive… which there is. Nor Jonesy. Nor any of the watched or the new crew. Those who joined us in search of a new life at the oval post-rock. None of them.

  The need to know - that one primal truth - will keep us all in a holding pattern until we find answers. The only problem with that is we’ll have to go back out into the warzone that was our former territory. It’s not ours anymore - it’s a new unknown.

  One way or another, we have to get this all done as soon as possible. That’s the concept that’s been burning at me last night and all morning. We’ve just got to move now.

  As to what that will mean when we cross back into our old territory - who knows? No doubt things are quiet out there at the moment as they lick their wounds from battle. Chances are they’re doing the same thing we are, just on a bigger scale - tending to the injured, recharging their batteries, taking stock of the new changes in their world… and searching for their own MIA.

  I’m comfortable with everything but the last statement. That one presents a whole world of scary problem
s. It potentially puts them in the same areas we want to go again. As much as our priority is to get rid of the letters MIA from every New Adelaide fighter, we can’t go around starting more problems.

  That means we can’t be where any enemy is at.

  It doesn’t mean we can’t go back out to the battlegrounds, it just means we have to be smart about the way we do it.

  We have to act now and, given we are the church mice in the current world order, we need to stick to the shadows - literally. The time before dawn and near dusk is probably our best bet.

  Truth be told, I’m not ready for anything new. I’m not even ready to get these words down. But that doesn’t matter. The next chapter of this world is about to get written and if I/we don’t start setting the direction, like, today… now… then, we may be too late.

  *

  Alyce looks so peaceful right now. I wish I could be there with her, rather than here with me, watching on. In fact, I wish I could just take this whole cell/bedroom and its contents, and transport it somewhere else entirely. I’m not sure where that somewhere is… but it has to be peaceful, with some flowing water and enough sunlight to keep the plant life alive. God knows the animals that will obviously abound in this place need something to graze on while they plump themselves up.

  Chuck in some reliable shelter and enough of it all to go around that no one needs to fight for … for anything… at all… ahhh… that really is perfection. I would trade every bit of tech I’ve ever laid my hands on for that.

  *

  I’ve been thinking about that last post for about 15 minutes… and I really would. Anytime you’re ready to do a deal (name of the actual deity in charge goes here), well, I’m ready to sign my life away.

  *

  After a brief planning session, we’re good to go for tonight. Well, as good as you can be I guess.

  Given we’ve lost most of our unofficial leadership hierarchy, they’re looking to me to make the calls. Well, Ye-jun and I. Steph and Nate also seem to have ideas they want to share, but they don’t seem to want to shape the group either.

  So it’s fallen to me and Ye-jun to call the shots and he seems to be coming from a similar mindset. That is, we need to get everything sorted in the city then get out as soon as possible.

  So, two small groups will head out later this afternoon. One to our former eastern front, the other to the southern front via all the fallout locations we occupied in our retreat. I’m going to lead that group, while Ye-jun goes east.

  As much as we want to find out more and scout for any survivors, that is going to be the limit of our recon. We can’t think of one safe play to get close to the oval to find out what happened to Shane and his crew, meaning we’ve even had to compromise on getting MIA. There are only 12 of us left. We can’t afford to be spotted. Losing any more members would be disastrous. Creating a trail that led the enemy to the jail would be game over.

  Now MIA is even greyer and more nonbinary than ever.

  Our best solution is to have someone find some sort of line of sight with the oval and keep an eye out through some binoculars. It’s a fool’s hope, really, but it’s all we can realistically give in the circumstances.

  *

  As far as plans beyond today go, well, it’s daunting. The logistics of relocating to the coast are overwhelming. We can’t rely on our new home to provide anything but fish. That means whatever we intend on using as shelter, we’re going to have to take. Perhaps my best insight for the day was using the wood from the trebuchets as the structural base for whatever we build. We’re never going to find something near the coast as good as that wood.

  It’s an upcycling idea I was pretty pleased with, even if it takes our transport needs to the next level. Those beams are huge.

  We still have three hovercraft at our disposal, which gives us a shot at making the move possible, but using them comes with risk. They are loud. We have to have a moment of perfect conditions if we want to use them in the city and go undetected at the oval. Something with heavy air and the prevailing winds coming from the east will be enough (hopefully) to mask our movements. We’ve got one shot at it, and if we screw that up we are a goner.

  So, the plan is to dismantle the trebuchets and wait for conditions to come to us.

  We think we can move the bulkier parts of the frames in three trips. That’s where the risk will be highest. For the rest of our supplies - the smaller parts of the trebuchets, the camping gear, food, medicine, survivors - well, we have another plan for that. We’re going to set up a way station where the River Torrens meets the parklands to our west. There’s a spot, by the remains of a brewery, where the hovercraft engine noise should be shielded by the surrounding landscape, with no chance of being heard at the oval. Once we’ve loaded up, we just need to follow the river to the coast. The drawback - it means we’ll have to carry everything on there foot - that’s a good half a kilometre away!

  In fact, when I think about it, there are more questions than answers around how we pull this off. Our future is basically a countless amount of unknowns and risks, with a thin veneer of direction and slap dash painted on top. But you can’t really let yourself get bogged down in the lack of details, or the size and consequences of the risks because, well, we’ll just end up doing nothing and dying in this goddamned jail.

  I am not dying in a jail.

  What would my family think of that as the end to the Baldwin lineage?

  *

  Exhausted. Can barely write. But this insane world surprised me yet again.

  I’m back from the recon, recovery and debrief. It’s either very, very late, or very, very early tomorrow… I’m not sure. I can’t move, speak or even think straight. Despite the horrors, we’ve found a survivor!!

  Details when I can. I need sleep.

  *

  February 27, 2015

  Finally getting my head together after last night. We headed out as the glow of the sun through the ash haze was hanging low in the western sky. Side note: I couldn’t help but see it as a beacon to our future on the coast. Another side note: I’m still not entirely sure how welcoming that future is.

  We had put Steph on lookout at the hospital all afternoon. I couldn’t help but feel for her, just looking for something - anything - that might be a sign of life from Shane. And the others, obviously, but, you know, Shane. The oval is as much his creation as it was mine. We are forever tied to that. Forever connected by it.

  Stopping by on our way out, she reported all had seemed pretty quiet in and around the oval. It was definitely welcome news, because this search - and hopefully rescue - mission didn’t need any more complications than it already had.

  I had Angie and Jessie with me, while Ye-jun was with Asha and Nate. Every one of them had personal reasons for heading back to where things had all gone horribly wrong. Loved ones lost, unanswered questions and a thousand what ifs. It’s nothing we really talked about in detail, certainly not in my group, but we were all servants to the calling.

  Whatever it was, that sense just consumed us as we made our way in quiet, single file, south. We worked a couple of blocks into the city square mile then headed east. Despite the lack of activity from the enemy, we knew a wide berth was best to reduce our chances of a random encounter.

  Once we hit King William St, we split into two. Ye-jun’s crew continued east, while we headed south once more.

  Angie and Jessie followed in my wake until we reached the heart of the CBD. Tensions were still high, even as we moved further and further from the enemy, but once we reached Victoria Square, the sense of immediate threat seemed to evaporate. Not that things became joyous, far from it. It was more along the lines of the vibe shifting from immediate safety fears to the grim task at hand.

  A lot of thoughts were going through my head. Chiefly that it’s weird being out on a mission with an entirely new combination of people and how your brain never really relaxes into the routine. Instead you find yourself thinking about the dynamic happening i
mmediately in front of you. Both Angie and Jessie were entirely looking to me for direction.

  That was not something I was used to. I mean, that probably sounds wrong. And, yes, I know I have a position of authority in the group, with people always looking to me for ideas and strategy, but this was another level altogether. Apart from the battle for New Adelaide, Angie and Jessie had mostly served roles in and around the oval. This sort of mission was like nothing they were used to. Maybe it was survival basic training.

  I picked up on the vibe and tried to fill the depressing silence of foreboding with little tips and tricks I’ve learnt for getting around the city. Either that or pointing out landmarks or other noteworthy tidbits of information about the areas we rolled through. I didn’t really get much of a response beyond acknowledgement, but that didn’t matter. It was a good distraction, I felt. And, even though I’m not a fan of the sound of my own voice, it was far better than the thoughts that went through my head in the silence.

  Of all the stories of hurt the post-rock world has thrown up, those of Angie and Jessie are up there. In one foul swoop as the battle for the oval raged, their connection to the past had been obliterated. Angie lost Marci and Jonah - the couple she rocked up with to the oval. Jessie lost his big brother Jacob and his dad in similar circumstances. The only one marked MIA from that group was Marci - the rest were bodies potentially waiting to greet us somewhere among the ash.

  In a way, they were bonded through their grief. Without meaning disrespect, both were the weakest link in their respective trios. Yet here they were, survivors. Alone. Together alone.

  I’ve had my fair share of hurt post-rock, but I’m not sure any moment could compare to what they were going through. At the very least, I was always in charge of my own survival. That gave me a framework for recovery - a direction out of the darkness, I guess.

  As I watched the two of them listen in on Jack’s tips and tricks for getting around the CBD, well, a little piece of my heart broke. It half broke for them now and half for whatever future lay ahead.