The Pandemic Diaries [Books 1-3]

by Callahan, K. W.

  Around four this morning, we came to a huge rail yard. There are train cars and engines for as far as the eye can see. We could hear thunder in the distance and weren’t sure if a storm was headed our way, so we decided to make it today’s stopping point.

  We found an open boxcar and have settled down inside it for the day. We closed its door for added security, and I’m now writing by the early dawn light filtering inside through a small crack in one wall.

  We already had breakfast. Everyone was extremely hungry. We haven’t had a “real” meal since we left home. I broke out the one can of corned beef and we ate half of it along with a can of baked beans, and a can of mandarin oranges. We finished another bag of cookies for dessert and washed it all down with a shared bottle of water. I think we’re all a little dehydrated, but that’s just the way it’s going to be for the time being. We drank the juice from the can of mandarin oranges to supplement our liquid intake. I figure we’ll have to finish the corned beef for dinner tonight or breakfast tomorrow so it won’t spoil.

  I noticed that some of the tracks in the train yard break off toward the south. This gave me an idea. Our cousin John and his family had invited us to join them in southern Illinois before the flu got really bad. I have no idea if they actually made it down there or not, but it gives us a place to shoot for. I don’t know exactly WHERE they are or if they even made it themselves, but I don’t know what else to do. If nothing else, heading south will get us farther from the chaos in and around Chicago. I know that Chris used to have a letter from John in this diary along with a map to get to the camp, but I can’t seem to find it. I’ve flipped through this book a dozen times, hoping each time that the letter and map will come falling out, that maybe they got stuck somewhere inside, but they never do.

  I guess I should try to get some sleep. The kids are already snuggled up against me under our smelly blanket. I’ve situated us in a far corner of the boxcar facing the door in case someone tries to get inside. Between the relative security the car provides, the sound of the rain that’s now falling against its rooftop, and the darkness in which we’re enshrouded, hopefully we can finally get some descent rest.

  Being here is surreal. There are all these trains around, but its deathly quiet. Unlike the rest of our walk, there isn’t even the distant sound of gunfire. Were it not for the overall situation, I would say it’s almost serene…but it’s not.

  5:59 p.m.

  We decided to hold off on eating the rest of the corned beef until tomorrow morning. Instead, we limited ourselves to a bottle of water (a portion of which we used to make a package of ramen noodles) and the last of the cereal.

  After dinner, I had both the kids go potty in the corner of the boxcar. I found an old milk crate and had them sit on it, hanging their little butts over one side. I left the boxcar door open a few feet (Dylan has to help me open and close it since it’s so damn heavy) to give us some light as well as fresh air. We had to wipe with a newspaper I found on the ground just outside the boxcar. It wasn’t the best, but it did the job. Violet was laughing when Dylan wiped since it left newspaper print on his right butt cheek. Her hopping around and pointing at the sight broke us all up. I think it’s the first time we’ve laughed in a week.

  The rain has stopped now. I hope it stays that way for our journey south tonight. The thought of having to walk in the rain is extremely unappealing. It’s chilly enough as it is. It feels like it has dropped into the low 60s, maybe upper 50s. I hope the temperature doesn’t fall much more since we’re still in our summer wear. If we find a house that looks abandoned along our way, I want to stop and see if we can gather more supplies, especially some warm clothing. We might even luck out and find more food and water, but I’m not holding my breath.

  Friday, September 20 th

  8:07 a.m.

  “Well, we’re on a train. Yep, we’re riding in style. Well, maybe not in “style”, but it sure as hell beats walking.

  After we walked almost the entire night, like a lost horse ambling down a country lane, this train rumbled along at around six this morning. It arrived at what I’d describe as a “walking pace” – I guess you’d call that idle speed? Whatever you want to call it, I’d say it was about three or four miles an hour. The train has only six cars, including the diesel engine. Several are boxcars, and the others are empty coal carriers.

  During the night, we departed the train yard, following the tracks I’d seen earlier that led south. Along the way, we found an empty house to bunk down in about an hour before the train arrived. Inside the house, I found everyone warmer clothing (even though some of it is very baggy on the kids – I’ll have to do some adjustments when I can find some needle and thread). We even nabbed four rolls of toilet paper and a couple fresh blankets that don’t smell – but no extra food or water.

  Just after we finished changing clothes, we heard the sound of the engine. I grabbed Violet, and when we saw the train chugging down the tracks, I made a quick call to try to get aboard. The train was moving so slowly that climbing up and into one of the coal cars was pretty simple, even with the kids.

  And here we are.

  We’re currently nestled in the bottom of a coal car at the rear of the train. It didn’t look like anyone was inside the engine when it passed us, but I can’t be sure since it was still dark at the time and the engine’s windows are up so high. All the boxcar doors were shut. I didn’t want to chance a confrontation should any of those cars be occupied. I’m just glad to have transportation and a safe place to ride. The weather is holding, so I’m content to play the quiet hitchhikers here at the rear of the train for the moment.

  We already ate our breakfast (I guess I should say our “dinner” since we now sleep during the day). We finished the rest of the corned beef and shared two packs of ramen noodles, which consumed another bottle of water. We were so hungry that we didn’t give the ramen much time to soften up in the water. Nothing like eating half-crunchy noodles with clumps of un-dissolved powdered seasoning stuck to them…mmm, mmm!

  We’re now down to just four bottles of water, six packs of ramen noodles, a bag of cookies, one can of beans, a can of fruit, some crackers, and about a third of a jar of peanut butter. I’m really, really, REALLY getting concerned about our food supply. But for now, we’re full, and that’s a good thing. I guess we can start drinking water from creeks and puddles if we have to, but I’ve heard horror stories about doing that sort of thing. I remember those reality television survival shows that Chris used to watch talking about people getting violently ill from organisms in unfiltered water, so the thought frightens me, especially when it comes to the kids.

  Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

  3:37 p.m.

  We’re still on the train heading south. Actually, it might be more of a southeastern direction if I can judge by the sun, but I could be way off. I haven’t seen any trackside destination signs to indicate exactly where we are.

  Our ride has actually been kind of soothing compared to the past few days of walking. The gentle sway of the train rocked us into a relatively deep sleep earlier. In fact, the kids are still sleeping while I write.

  We took a chance shortly after my last entry and relocated, moving from the open-air coal car in which we were traveling to a more comfortable and secure boxcar. We couldn’t get situated very well in the coal car because of its angular bottom; plus, it was dirty as heck.

  Now I’m waiting for the kids to wake up before making dinner…breakfast…whatever you want to call it – our “next meal”. I think tonight, since we won’t be walking, I’ll also take the opportunity to talk to the kids about their father. I’m dreading it, but I’ve put it off long enough. The past few days have been so hectic that I’ve been able to distract the kids from probing too much into what happened to their father. However, I think it’s time to be honest with them. I only pray that I can get through it without totally breaking down. Having to deal with his loss inwardly is one thing, but having t
o explain it to his children is something else altogether.

  I have to say, though, I’ve taken comfort in having Chris’ journal with me. I’m so glad I brought it along. Before I started writing, I read back over some of his previous entries. It’s like I have a piece of him here with me. I know that I’ll treasure this book forever, and it makes me feel good to add to it. It’s as though Chris and I are joined as one in this book even though we’ll never again be joined in life.

  It’s interesting to read back over his thoughts and reactions that began with his entries regarding the initial appearance of the flu and what was happening at his work. His writing about what was on television – the news reports and all the rest – gives me greater insight into how he felt about what was happening and how he tried to protect me and the kids. His thoughts are so often focused on our safety, as well as the safety of our neighbors. His caring and thoughtfulness shines through in his words, an unselfishness that he adhered to until the very end.

  I don’t know how I’m going to manage the subject of Daddy’s passing with the kids. I’m not sure I can. But I have to try. There’s no point in avoiding the issue any longer. I take comfort in the fact that one day they will be able to read their father’s words and know him for the man he was, especially Violet whose memories of him will eventually be dimmed by her youthfulness.

  6:12 p.m.

  Dinner tonight was peanut butter crackers, our last can of fruit, and a shared bottle of water.

  The train continues its slow and steady churn ahead. I still have no real idea where we are or where we’re going.

  I finally broke the news about Chris…“Daddy”….to Dylan and Violet.

  Before I did, I had a couple long sips from the water bottle full of vodka that Chris had included in our supplies for trade or to clean injuries. It helped steady my nerves.

  All in all, it was a terrible experience – not something I particularly want to rehash in detail. While it was probably the most horrible thing I’ve ever had to do (besides saying goodbye to my dead husband), at the same time, it was actually kind of a relief. Now that it’s done with, there’s no more having to skirt the issue of where Daddy is or when he’s going to join us.

  I tried not to get too much into the death part for Violet’s sake (well, really for everyone’s sake). I simply said that Daddy was in a better place now and that while we wouldn’t be joining him for a long time, we’d all see him again one day.

  Even though I think he already knew, Dylan seemed to take it the hardest. I think Violet is still too young to fully understand the ramifications of what I was telling her. Dylan, however, was very close to his father, and he is at that age where death is something that is just becoming real – and this is as real as it gets.

  It’s going to be a long night since we slept most of the day and now the kids are feeling very down about Daddy.

  10:10 p.m.

  I’m writing by flashlight, so I won’t make this long. I don’t want to waste the batteries. Earlier, I convinced the kids to play a game of Marco Polo, which turned into a game of hide-and-seek in the boxcar’s nighttime darkness. But they just weren’t into it. After a while, Violet said she wanted Daddy to play with them and started crying, which got Dylan crying, which in turn got me crying. We were all a pretty sad lot. They both gave up playing after that and cried themselves to sleep snuggled up beside me.

  There’s a definite chill in the air tonight. I’m so thankful we got our warmer clothes and blankets.

  After I was sure the kids were asleep, I climbed a ladder on the outside of the boxcar up to its top. There, I wrapped myself in a blanket and lay down to watch the stars for a while. I thought about Chris, our past together, and what the future holds without him. I found myself wishing he could be there with me – laying atop the boxcar, watching the stars as we glided smoothly through the blackness, only the humming rumble of the engine’s purr to break the stillness of the night. It was so strange, so cool, so different – something I never would have expected to experience. Chris would have loved it.

  Saturday, September 21 st

  6:34 a.m.

  We’re all up early this morning and feeling just a little bit better. For the first time in weeks, I’m sitting in electric-powered lighting!

  I had trouble sleeping after coming down from my box-car perch. My mind was still swimming with thoughts of Chris. The kids must have sensed my wakefulness because around 2 a.m., they woke as well, and stayed awake.

  At that point, I’d been thinking about what my next step would be for some time, so I explained my idea to the kids. Violet didn’t like it and wanted me to stay with them, but Dylan thought it might be worth a try. He said that if anything happened, he’d take care of his sister (he’s quickly becoming such a little man).

  With his support, I decided to take a chance (AND the .38), hoping that if anyone was in the locomotive they’d be asleep at that early morning hour. Then I gave the kids hugs and kisses and departed the boxcar. I was careful when I dropped to the ground since I didn’t want to use the flashlight, just in case someone was around. In the darkness, I was able to make it up to the engine without falling or being crushed beneath one of the steadily-rolling cars and managed to climb back aboard. After a minute, I located the door to the interior of the engine and quietly crept inside.

  I’ll admit that I was scared. The engine is like a giant rumbling beast. It’s so powerful and loud when you get up close to it even when it’s moving slowly. It only took me just another minute to ensure the interior of the engine was devoid of people.

  Apparently we’re riding on a ghost train.

  Once I was positive that we were alone, I went back for the kids. We gathered our belongings and waited until it was light enough to see. Then I hopped out of our boxcar, helped Dylan down, and then assisted Violet, who I carried with me up to the engine.

  And now, here we sit, continuing our steady roll through some very empty and VERY flat farmland. It’s devoid of just about anything of interest…which is just fine with me. The farther we are from people, the better in my opinion – at least for now. We have our rolling home on rails, and other than being a little short on food, we’re in pretty darn good shape, all things considered.

  I think this locomotive is a MUCH better placed to hold out than the boxcar. There’s not a lot of extra room for sprawling out like in the boxcar, but it’s warm, dry, clean, and it gives us a nice perspective of where we are and where we’re headed. And best of all, we don’t have to walk – my feet were absolutely killing me from walking on the tracks’ hard gravel and railroad ties.

  The kids absolutely love riding up here! They think it’s SO cool to be able to ride in a freight locomotive. Dylan’s sitting up front in one of the control chairs wearing an engineer’s hat he found in a drawer. Violet is in the other chair. I told them not to touch ANYTHING. The controls look pretty self-explanatory, but I don’t want to chance screwing anything up and ruining our free ride. There’s an area marked “THROTTLE” and has eight numbered positions below it. A lever is currently positioned in slot one, which I assume is the slowest. Then there is an area marked “BREAK” with two positions labeled “FULL” and “REL” which I assume is short for “Release” since that’s the position it’s in right now. The fuel gauge needle is near the “F” position, so we apparently have plenty of fuel.

  While the kids are occupied and “driving” the train, I’m going to finish searching the engine’s interior for usable supplies. I’ve already come across a couple flashlights, some extra batteries, and a few stashed candy bars, one of which we’ve already shared to celebrate our new and far more comfortable living quarters. There’s even a tiny bathroom with toilet, sink, and fresh running water! Dear lord! It’s like moving into the Ritz! I’m looking forward to being able to clean up after my supply search. We’re all due for badly-needed sponge baths.

  1:38 p.m.

  We’re fairly clean and feeling fresh again. I’ve never felt
as grungy as I have during the past week. It was absolutely disgusting. The kids are now napping on the engine’s floor. I think they’re still making the transition from being up at night back to being awake during the day.

  For our brunch, we finished the peanut butter and crackers and split a pack of ramen that, for the first time since we left home, we were able to cook using HOT water from the engine’s bathroom tap!

  Sorry if I misspell anything while I’m writing. I’m feeling a bit buzzed having had a bit more of the vodka than I should have in an effort not to waste it. I dumped the rest out after consuming as much as I felt comfortable with. I wanted to use the bottle to fill with water since that is a far more precious commodity right now. I’m not sure how much water is left in the engine’s tank, and I took the opportunity to fill up everything I could find just in case. I located a partially-filled soda bottle that I emptied and refilled with fresh water along with the empty vodka water bottle. That puts us back up to five bottles now, plus however much is left in the engine’s water supply.

  We’re still traveling through corn fields that are mostly devoid of anything other than rows of cut corn. We see a distant farm house occasionally, but no one has approached us or tried to make contact. That’s fine with me.

  I still don’t have much of a plan other than to try to make it to southern Illinois to link up with John. I was wondering if we should try to set up camp in one of these forlorn looking homes we keep seeing, but I don’t want to abandon the train only to find the house occupied – possibly by people who might not be too pleased to see us.

  I think that for right now, our freight train home is our best bet. I guess that when I see something better, I’ll know it…at least that’s what I’m hoping.