Apocalypse: Diary of a Survivor 4 (Apocalypse Survivors)

by Matt Pike

  I could see a door off to the side. It was as likely as anywhere to have been his escape when the bullets were flying.

  Then it it all kind of happened at once. I’d moved far enough away from the tears being shed outside to hear a faint knocking. It was a still evening - the kind where sounds seem to go on forever. And this noise was definitely not natural, at least that was my immediate thought. Just as that registered, I got close enough to the door to realise the discolouration on it was dried blood.

  A flight of stairs greeted me on the other side. I called back for the others to come, then headed up. The knocking was louder - not just I-was-closer louder - it was more intense louder. There was an island halfway up the stairwell and a body slumped awkwardly in a praying-type position, with face planted on the ground. It wasn’t Jonesy. I reached the next level, where the building’s far side seemed as damaged as the front. My limited faith in the building holding together fell to just above zero.

  I followed the noise down a corridor until I reached a doorframe - the door itself shot out and on the ground. The scene was peppered with more blood and bullet holes. I could hear the sound of the others coming up from downstairs, but I couldn’t wait.

  I looked through.

  It was Jonesy! Alive!

  Well, just. He was barely hanging on, almost completely covered in blood. His left leg so injured…. It was just gross. Shot to shit. He’d managed to use his belt as a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but that was clearly when it first happened. He was too weak to speak, his eyes saying he’d all but given up. In his hand was a revolver; he’d been banging it against a filing cabinet to get our attention.

  He’d also taken a bullet in the side of his body. He lay in a pool of dried blood and dust, encased by the furniture he presumably used for cover, and bullet casings.

  I closed the distance between us and knelt over. “You OK?”

  What a stupid question. I mean, writing about it now, I realise what an utterly ridiculous thing it was to say, but it was all I could think of in the moment.

  He stared at me for a second before shaking his head.

  I could hear Angie and Jessie still climbing the stairs and called out for them to hurry.

  I grabbed a water canteen from my belt and poured a little over his face to remove the muck, then let some run into his mouth. He did his best to drink it, but soon coughed it up. I turned my attention to his leg. It was a mess.

  The challenge of getting him down the stairs and back to the jail started to hit me. I mean, the thought of just taking him downstairs him was daunting enough, let alone moving him more than half a kilometre.

  I could hear the other two in the corridor and called out again. They were in the room within seconds. When I turned back to face Jonesy he had this apologetic look in his eye - at least that’s how I saw it.

  “OK, we’re going to have to get you back home.”

  I ordered Angie and Jessie to scour the place for any long length of solid material - something we could use as a splint and something we could use as a stretcher.

  Jonesy was looking like he wanted to speak, but no words would come out. Head movements and looks in the eye would have to do. I told him about our plans to put a splint on his leg and move him on a stretcher and back to the jail. Between the expression on his face and the state of his leg, I really started to dread the task of getting him mobile without causing too much pain.

  Putting a splint under his leg was going to be the hardest bit. Well, that’s what I told myself. He had taken a line of bullets from ankle to thigh. Something must’ve shattered in his lower leg, because it didn’t really look like it was sitting straight. Even that didn’t seem as bad as whatever had happened to his thigh.

  I pretty much already knew there wasn’t much hope of saving his leg, but I certainly wasn’t going to do anything about that here. Instead, it was a brave face, good, clear communications and watching his reaction for a response.

  Angie and Jessie were soon back. They’d done pretty well in the circumstances. They’d smashed the glass of some Steve Waugh sporting memorabilia and taken the cricket bat as the splint. There were a couple of options for the stretcher - and a mail cart to get him back to the jail.

  The cart was going to be uncomfortable, but it was big enough that I was sure we’d find a decent enough position so as not to cause too much discomfort to his leg - especially in the splint. I couldn’t be as confident with the wound in his side, but I figured getting pushed on the cart would make up for it with a far more comfortable trip home.

  That just left the stairs as the biggest problem.

  So, you know, easy as that.

  I sent the other two back out again, looking for anything we could use to secure the splint, as well as anything they could find to keep Jonesy comfortable for the ride back.

  “OK, Jonesy, this might hurt a bit.”

  I remember saying that before I started. I’m not sure if I’ve ever made an understatement in the ballpark of that comment. He just stared at me. I’m not talking the stare of a man on the brink, I mean, old Jonesy, giving me a look of disbelief, as if I was questioning his ability to make a trebuchet or something.

  I gave him a small smile, but I’m pretty sure he saw the panic more than us sharing a moment. Eventually, he nodded.

  By that time, Angie and Jessie were back. They had arms full of power cables, random items of clothing, rope and a bunch of cushions. I grabbed one of the hi-vis vests, rolled it into a small cylinder and offered it to Jonesy to put in his mouth. He stared at me in fright and disbelief again, before eventually nodding and accepting it.

  The three of us lined up on his side. I placed the bat next to him, with some clothes on top for cushioning, and cables underneath, ready to tie it all together. We just needed to lift, slide and lower. Then I counted us in and we lifted. We were up and down in a couple of seconds, but as soon as we were into the move, Jonesy started moving erratically, and his breathing went crazy. Meanwhile his leg was, well, without knowing how better to put it - a bag of bones. He was too lost in his pain to notice us exchange looks about what a horrid state it was in.

  Jonesy had settled in his movements, but his breathing was out of control. In and out through his nose - you could feel the pain with each inhale and exhale.

  “OK Jonesy. I’m just going to secure the splint in place.”

  No eye contact this time; instead, his rate of breathing increased as he prepared for more pain. I lowered the three softest items of clothing I could find onto his leg, then gently started the task of tying everything together with the cables.

  I’ll never forget this. By that time his exaggerated breathing had turned into this whimpering noise. I tried to block it out as best I could. I just wanted my ice cold focus on, well, not causing any more damage. By the end, I had his heel sitting on the toe of the bat as best I could, with the handle the best part of the way up his thigh. I had some gaffer tape on me (always handy), and I strapped him in at the ankle and above his knee, as well as the thigh. It was as secure as it was going to get.

  After I was done, I gave him a minute to settle. Once his whimpering noise had subsided I looked up to address him. “OK, we just need to get you down the stairs, then it’s an easy cart ride home.”

  It sounded nice and confident, but when we were standing over the staircase with Jonesy lying awkwardly over the cart I was anything but. The stairwell stared at us like an inverse Mt Everest.

  Eventually, we lowered Jonesy to the floor as best we could, deciding the cart was a far better test case for the descent. Angie stayed with Jonesy, while Jessie and I lowered the the cart one step at a time. Just as the end was in sight and our confidence was growing, Jessie lost his footing and let go. By the time my brain had kicked into gear, the cart was racing downwards. I was being pulled forward and soon realised if I didn’t let go in that instant, I’d be sliding down the stairs face first myself.

  Thankfully, it was only a few steps, so the da
mage to the cart wasn’t terminal. That said, the sound was echoingly horrific. This did not fill Jonesy with confidence when we reached the top again and told him it was his turn.

  It was one slow, awkward (read: very awkward) descent, with the three of us carrying him down. Poor guy, not sure if he was whimpering in pain or fright. The more I think about it, it was probably for the best Jonesy wasn’t capable of words at that moment.

  Anyway, we got there. A quick piece of panel beating had the mail cart rolling again and we were on our way.

  We had found a survivor.

  MIA. It didn’t mean dead. I can’t express how much of a spring in our step that gave us on the way back. In fact, I’m not sure I can quite quantify that. I mean, we knew what we were likely to find when we went out this afternoon, and we did it anyway. But this… this was… something.

  I mean, I’d seen Angie and Jessie as low as people could get on this day. How do you even begin to put that into words? It’s hurt no one should have to face. Yet here they were, same day, with a little bit of hope. We had found someone alive. I know the gain doesn’t come close to measuring up to the loss, yet somehow, Jonesy represented all of them. I’m not sure if I’m capturing this feeling right, or the lows and rebound I witnessed. But it was there and it was real.

  Maybe it was hope. Before we went out that day, everything had been bad news. Jonesy represented hope. Like, in some small way, the tide started to turn. It’s what I’m going to go with, because we need that tide to turn pretty damn soon. So, if Jonesy’s a sign, mangled leg and all, I’m taking it.

  *

  It’s funny how you don’t really notice how bumpy the roads really are these days until you’re wheeling a barely alive man with a mangled leg on a mail trolley. Poor Jonesy, he braced the early bumps like a trooper through some deep breathing, but the whimpering sounds soon returned. Despite the noise, his eyes told me he was determined to ride it out, knowing each one was leading him one step closer to the jail.

  We tried to cushion things as best we could, but really, we were just as likely to add damage to him rather than help. So, we found a pace that seemed to find the best balance between making good progress and not throwing him around too much. Jessie guided our way using a torch as our headlights.

  We cut the lights as we closed in on North Tce, even though we were near West Tce and still pretty far from the oval. Getting spotted now was just too big a gamble to take. Once clear of most of the CBD buildings, our eyes adjusted to the darkness anyway and we could see enough to make our way back. It was a pretty good night, vision wise as well; you could nearly make out the shape of the moon - enough to tell it was at least half showing. We’re getting more and more nights (and days) like that. There has been a noticeable reduction in the ash levels above.

  We were soon back at the jail with our fellow survivor and the sense of hope he brought. Of course, our proximity to the oval meant there were no wild outbursts of joy, but there was a palpable excitement. You could just feel it.

  Everyone was there within a minute of our arrival and Jonesy was soon being doused with attention and painkillers. Then he was escorted to our makeshift medical ward, to find a place next to Kelly. She’s still nursing her wounds from battle, but the leg has settled and she can at least put a little body weight on it in the standing position.

  Every time I see her I definitely have mixed emotions. She was with Ye-jun and I when we made that last raid on the oval to try to save Lana. It could easily have been me wearing that wound. Or worse, I could’ve ended up like Lana. Seeing Kelly struggling with basic movements, well, I feel more guilty than lucky.

  Anyway, Ye-jun’s crew were already back when we got there. Unfortunately, we were the only team with good news - nothing but names to tick off the MIA list. That only leaves Shane and the crew (who also went into the oval to find Lana) as unaccounted for. And beyond keeping an eye on the oval from afar, we won’t be able to find out more. Oh, and Kent is still MIA too, but he just seemed to have disappeared. My best guess is he got freaked out when the situation was turning bad, pointed himself away from the carnage and didn’t stop walking. I doubt we’ll see him again.

  Where was I? Ah yeah, good news actually undersells finding Jonesy. When I think about the odds of doing that with our one small window of opportunity, well, they are enormous. Hell, even the chances of him being alive in the first place. It’s just a gift that he’s here now. We just have to get him in a state where he can travel before we head to the coast.

  It is quite a remarkable thing - people and handling trauma. I mean, this place can get you down, even on the good days. And we are far from the good days. In fact, the things I saw tonight were as heartbreaking as I can remember. So, we had three groups of people reconnect after two missions that confirmed the deaths of six of our small population. I’m talking 25% of us from before the battle. That’s not even everyone who died, just the bodies we saw tonight. Yet, spirits were high because we’d found Jonesy. Now, in pure maths terms, we’ve taken so many more hits than received good news recently, so how does this one shine so bright in the darkness?

  I don’t know the answer to that. Maybe it’s some hardwired survival thing gifted to our ancient ancestors? Maybe, when it all boils down, it’s the power of optimism over pessimism, when the chips are really down. Hell,it could even be some divine connection that eludes me. All I know is it’s real. It’s feeding us the belief nourishment we are going to need during the coming days.

  *

  So that was all from last night. Today has been a slow burn. The conditions mean we’re not rushing off to the coast. We’ve got eyes on the Norwood crew at the oval. Well, you can’t see anything from within the compound, but we’ve got a spot at the hospital that gives us a pretty good view of the comings and goings.

  I went up there for a while to keep Steph company on lookout duty. It’s been hard to tear her away from that post. Shane and her were so close, and given he and I were also close as founders of New Adelaide, well, it gives her and I a connection. Not that I really know her that well. Just well enough to know that a bit of company, something to eat and an arm around her was going to be a tiny little help with what she’s going through,

  I’d actually bought a small crew with me - Ye-jun, Alyce, Angie and Jessie - but their work was downstairs in the heart of the building. I joined them soon after when I felt I’d outstayed my welcome with Steph.

  Dismantling the trebuchets was hard. I mean, not physically - that was far easier than constructing them - but the symbolism was difficult to avoid thinking about. We were literally pulling apart our grandest defensive weapons, built at a time of hope, to use the materials to make a shanty village in retreat. We had lost and we were running as far west as the land would take us. That’s all I could think about, while I pretended not to.

  Once the deconstruction was complete, we began the task of carrying the parts to the jail compound. That was the rest of our day and the task is only halfway completed. Weapon deconstruction may have been disheartening, but it was nothing compared to the grind of moving it. One step closer to finalising our failure.

  *

  Side note: I can’t believe how much younger the age demographic in our crew is after the battle. We’ve lost most of our older crew. With it went a lot of wisdom, leadership and all manner of other good things. It just adds another layer of change to get used to. I mean, right now, I’m pretty much the leader. I can take or leave any title as I was always happy to offer my thoughts, given my experience. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, other than I really feel their loss. It was almost like this unspoken trust they gave you was an invisible layer of comfort that everything was going to be OK. I miss that almost as much as I miss them.

  *

  Steph returned to the jail at dusk with reports there had been quite a bit of activity around the oval in the late afternoon. A number of small patrols headed out, mostly in the direction of the battlefield. They were soon foll
owed by four cars - headed in the same direction. They were starting to return as Steph lost light and headed back.

  It’s a worrying sign. Whatever little post-battle regrouping phase the Norwood crew had gone through, well, it seems to have come to an end. Lucky it wasn’t last night, I guess.

  What they were doing there - our best guess is collecting the bodies of their fallen - well, it’s just a step. Today that, tomorrow they bury them, then what next? If I’m the Fat Man in charge of New Adelaide now, I’d want to know the exact lay of the land around me. They’ve taken our place and, no doubt, this is their big move. They’re staying. Hell, we’ve set everything up for them to make the place sustainable. Anyway, that means they’re going to want to lock down any chance of retaliation and the only way they can do that is to know the area around them intimately.

  It means the sooner we’re out of here the better.

  *

  February 28, 2015

  Enjoyed another lie in with Alyce this morning. Well, I still technically am. I’m just lying at her feet writing my thoughts. It’s a weird feeling, being here, with everything that’s going on around us. For the briefest moment, I can forget we’re in a bed at the jail that’s a makeshift bug-out halfway house. My brain is lulled into thinking I’m back at the oval - home - protected by no-man’s land and our walls, and surrounded by a community of people I trust.

  It never lasts long.

  Maybe that’s not the only lulling going on in my mind. Everything is about to change again. This could be the last morning we wake up here - depending on conditions. So, even a stolen moment of peace before the big day is fool’s gold. It isn’t real. We’re heading further away from our pre-rock homes and the place we want to call home now, but can’t. Not only are we moving further away physically, we’re moving further away from the life we want to lead, which is just an echo of life before that.