PANDEMIC DIARY: PANDEMIC PIONEERS
Saturday, October 26 th
7:41 p.m.
He died in my arms. I didn’t even know his name, but the life faded from his eyes as I held him.
I’ve seen someone die before; hell, I’ve even killed someone, but I’ve never witnessed the actual moment when the spark that makes a person a person departs their earthly vessel. I’ve never seen those final moments of life slip slowly from their body, never heard their last breath…and that soft, almost inaudible death sigh. And I never realized that a person’s chin goes slack right after. It all makes for an interesting and intensely macabre event that I know will forever be etched into my memory.
I realized the mistake as we were making it that cost this man his life. I realized it, because unlike those I’m traveling with, I’d been through a post-pandemic city before. I knew what potentially lay in wait. The others didn’t (even though I told them), but they learned fast.
It’s just a shame that it was already too late.
After departing Spencer, Indiana several days ago, we chugged steadily (and largely undisturbed) past the remnants of the once civilized world. We forged onward through southern Indiana, then Kentucky, and on into Tennessee.
During that time, we saw very few places that looked right for us settle. A couple towns (if you could call them that) were far too small to provide a group our size of over 60 people the necessities for long-term survival. Other locations (after quick inspection) appeared too far from reliable water sources. Several more spots were too large and made it obvious they weren’t looking for new residents – the random gunfire the train took passing through these spots told us that.
Finding a new place to call home is not turning out to be as simple as we thought.
Along our travels, we have however picked up a few additional supplies. These items came by way of several abandoned train cars we discovered alongside the tracks and that we added to our nine-car train. One car was loaded with new SUVs, another carried stacks of two-by-fours, and the last was a tanker full of oil. It took us some time to attach these cars to our own train, but we felt the time and effort would prove worthwhile down the road (or should I say, down the “tracks”). While none of these supplies will do much good in the near term, they might prove valuable once we settle. We could use them ourselves or barter with other communities for necessary supplies.
It wasn’t until we reached Nashville, Tennessee that we detected any real signs of life. Up to that point, the rails had guided us largely through rural areas and small towns. I think that most of those aboard our train were unprepared for what we were to encounter in a larger city. I had described to them my prior travels by rail from Chicago, through Indianapolis, and on to Spencer. I told them about the fires burning in Indianapolis and explained how the smoke from these fires was visible well before the train began taking gunfire when traveling through the city.
But on our approach to Nashville, there was no smoke. I think those leading our group like Gerald and Chase took this to mean the situation in the city was safer than what I had described and that it might even have been abandoned completely.
They were wrong…VERY wrong!
The first sign of trouble came when…oh, Violet needs me. I’ll write more in a bit.
8:53 p.m.
Sorry about that. I think Violet has picked up her brother’s cold now that he’s finally over it. She needed some tissue to blow her nose and then wanted me to stay with her until she fell asleep. We’ve abandoned our positions up front in the engine for more comfortable spots with the other townspeople in one of the boxcars.
Anyway, back to what happened yesterday in Nashville.
During our approach to the city, things remained quiet. Even as we entered the city’s outskirts, we saw very few signs of life.
It wasn’t until we got closer to the heart of the city that things started to break down. The train was cruising along at a consistent 15 miles an hour, the same speed at which we’d left Spencer, and the speed we’d maintained for the majority of our trek south. But as soon as we began taking a smattering of gunfire, I advised Gerald to increase our speed to between 25 and 30 miles an hour. I explained that this would not only help us escape the danger faster, but at this speed, it would make it difficult for anyone on foot to board the train. He heeded my advice, but it takes time for a train to double its speed. Before – when the kids and I traveled through Indianapolis – we were only a train of six cars, all of them empty. Now we were a train of 12 cars, all of which were packed with people and supplies. With the added weight of the vehicles, lumber, and oil we’d accumulated along our trip south, it meant that it took our lone engine longer to accelerate than I think any of us expected.
While our slower speed was certainly a factor in the trouble we encountered in Nashville, I don’t think it was what hurt us the most. In fact, I think that most of the light gunfire we were taking initially was random – a person or two taking occasional potshots at us for the pure delight of having been presented with such a large target. I think what REALLY hurt us was that the guards and lookouts we had posted on the train’s exterior began to return fire in force. As soon as we realized this, I quickly told Gerald to radio them to hold their fire until direct threats to the train were encountered. I thought that if we just laid low, hunkered down, and rode this out, the attention the moving train was drawing wouldn’t amount to much. But it was already too late. The sound of gunfire being exchanged seemed to draw anyone and everyone who was looking for trouble. Like moths to a flame, it lured more and more spectators to see what was going on, making a bad situation substantially worse.
I was amazed at how heavily armed many of these people were. Everything from handguns to shotguns and assault rifles could be seen among those rushing toward the tracks. You name it, and they seemed to be shooting at us with it. But by this time, we’d gained enough speed to outpace these people…at least the ones on foot. And while we were taking a fair amount of gunfire, for some reason, most of it thankfully appeared to be directed toward the rear of the train. I initially guessed that this was because at nearly 30 miles an hour, by the time most people reached the tracks, the engine and lead cars of our train were already past them. I was wrong, but at the time, this was my theory.
What we weren’t able to outrun were the two pickup trucks and an SUV that had joined the fray and saddled up alongside us. The tracks we were traveling on ran right beside, and level with, a city street. From their vehicles, several armed men managed to board the lead cars of the train, including the engine. A vicious firefight broke out as Gerald and Chase led our security forces against these armed intruders. I had Dylan and Violet shelter in the safety of the engine’s tiny bathroom while I was hunkered at the train’s controls, only able to sneak an occasional quick peek down the rails ahead for fear of a bullet coming in through the engine’s windows.
I pushed our speed even higher in an effort to lose the vehicles keeping pace with us, but they maintained their positions. Worse yet, the people who remained in those vehicles were pouring a ferocious amount of gunfire into the sides of our trailing freight cars. This terrified me since this was where the majority of our townspeople were sheltering. And while the sides of the boxcars are steel, it doesn’t mean they are immune to bullets.
Incredibly, our defenders were able to fend off the attack; however, several of our security detail had been shot, one of whom I mentioned earlier (the one who died in my arms). Another man was killed instantly when he was struck in the head by a bullet, and two more were badly wounded. But this didn’t end our list of casualties. The vehicles pursuing us managed to shoot up the train pretty good. Some of the larger caliber weapons penetrated our boxcars. Three of our townspeople were wounded and another killed – Agnes was her name. I had only spoken to her at length one time, back at the Fall Harvest Festival in Spencer. She seemed nice enough – a married, middle-aged woman. Her husband, Lamar, isn’t taking the loss
well. Who can blame him? I’ve spoken to him several times since her passing in an attempt to console him. I know what it’s like to lose a spouse under similar circumstances. He has been very appreciative of my efforts.
Another woman, Chloe, was blinded in one eye by shrapnel from several bullets that ripped a jagged piece of steel from the wall of the boxcar in which she was riding. She’s despondent about the loss of sight, but she’ll live, and that’s the main thing.
And older man (Frank), and a younger woman (Jessica, I think her name is), both received flesh wounds from bullets, but they’ve been treated and it looks like they’ll be okay.
Our mistake passing through Nashville was not the use of the train. I’m 100 percent positive that trying to make it through the city using vehicles would have borne far worse results. No, our mistake was the utilization of our weapons when it wasn’t necessary. We should have let the few people taking shots at the train continue to do so. Returning fire only riled the rest of the hornet nest and brought them swarming. It was a valuable, but at the same time, costly lesson. But this wasn’t the only thing we learned. Once we got far enough outside the city to stop and lick our wounds, I pulled Chase aside and asked him to check something…something that had been nagging at me even during the firefight.
After a few minutes, he came back and confirmed my theory. We’d been hauling a far too inviting target. His inspection determined that a large portion of the attackers’ bullets had struck the oil tanker car. It was then that I knew for sure what a poor decision attaching a rolling bomb to the end of our train was and how lucky we were that it had survived the impacts of those rounds and not burst into flames or exploded.
After talking with Gerald, we decided that even though it could prove extremely valuable, we should uncouple the tanker car and leave it behind. The loss of this extra weight would also make the train lighter and increase our acceleration time should we again encounter trouble.
Now that we’ve made it through Nashville, we have to decide what our next step is. We’re currently stopped in a secluded valley a fair distance from the city, which is both good and bad. It’s good because we’re not being shot at, but it’s bad because once again, it doesn’t present a feasible option for establishing a settlement. The terrain has started becoming more mountainous, and we’re seeing fewer and fewer towns along the rail line since having passed Nashville.
Tomorrow, we’re going to have a town meeting to decide whether to stay here for a few more days or continue to forge ahead into the unknown. I’m of the mindset that we keep going and just get this trip over with. The sooner we can find a place to call home again, the sooner we can begin to fortify ourselves against the type of danger we encountered in Nashville. We need another Spencer – a spot with a town square or similar defensible living location that can accommodate a sizeable number of people would be perfect.
On the personal side of things, Chase and I have both been so busy on this trip that there’s been little time for socializing. When we do talk, it’s mostly business. But I’m glad to see that we can interact well in that area too. For the time being, he and Gerald seem to be treating me almost like a group leader now. I guess I earned their respect with my knowledge of how to operate (sort of) the freight engine, as well as with the advice that helped us survive the outsiders’ attack back in Spencer. Being on a more equal footing increases my confidence regarding the prospects of entering a relationship with Chase. Before, I kind of felt like he viewed me more as a sex object (the timid woman with two kids – a damsel in distress sort of scenario) even though he knew I had escaped the dangers of Chicago and made it all the way to Spencer on my own. But even though he KNEW it, he hadn’t BEEN there. Now I’ve proven that I’m more than just a pretty face. He’s seen that I have a brain and some guts to back it up. I still don’t know if that will be enough of a foundation to build a future with him, but hell, it can’t hurt…can it? I guess that some men are put off by strong women. I just hope Chase isn’t one of them.
Dylan and Violet are holding steadfast…my little troopers. As I mentioned earlier, I think Violet has her brother’s cold; but otherwise, they seem to be weathering this current storm reasonably well…as well as can be expected. I just thank my lucky stars that they were in the engine with me when the shooting began. Not only did the engine protect them from the bullets, but it also sheltered them from the horrors of people being wounded inside the boxcars. Poor Travis (Erika’s five-year-old son) was sitting right beside Chloe when the shrapnel took her eye. There was plenty of blood, and from what I hear, Chloe presented a fairly gruesome sight right after the injury. I guess it shook up little Travis pretty bad.
The initial excitement that came with riding in the engine has now faded for the kids. They were actually excited when I moved them back to the boxcar with Edna after we made it through Nashville. There they can play games, read books, and have access to the toys they brought with them. It takes some of the strain off me too, since now I can focus solely on helping Gerald and Chase drive the train.
Okay, enough for now. My hand is going to fall off if I don’t quite writing. I wanted to get a lot down now, since depending on how the vote goes tomorrow morning, we could find ourselves on the move again shortly.
Sunday, October 27 th
10:10 a.m.
This will be quick. The vote passed in favor of moving on. We’re currently in the thick of the Tennessee mountains, heading south and slightly east. While the scenery is beautiful, we’re not seeing much in the way of potential living locations. I think I’d like it here if we could find a good spot. I’ve never given much thought to living in Tennessee, but from the looks of things, I think I could call it home.
While morale seems to be holding among our townspeople – even after Nashville – I’m not sure how much longer that will last. Being away from one’s home can be hard under the best of conditions, but being displaced under the threat of a radioactive dust cloud can test even the strongest of individuals. At least we have plenty of food and water…and we have one another. But with almost 60 mouths to feed, even the sizeable stock of supplies we have on hand will go fast. The portable toilets we brought along are already nearing their capacity. They’ll have to be dealt with soon as they are starting to smell pretty ripe.
A steady snow is starting to fall as I write this. It’s beautiful, but it’s also one of the downsides of staking a claim in this part of the country. We’re still not far enough south to escape harsher winter conditions.
We’re cruising at a steady 15 miles an hour. The grade of the rails is starting to increase. Hank (who knows a little about trains) said that there’s a way to release sand onto the rails to increase traction if necessary, but none of us know exactly how to do that. It’s the project of the morning. Guess I should get back to helping them try to figure it out.
Oh, and by the way, Chase asked me about my journal. I didn’t want to get into the real reason why I am keeping it. I don’t want to discuss with him how it makes me feel closer to Chris, my wonderful husband who sacrificed his life to save his family. Instead, I explained my entries as being my way to jot reminders and thoughts about the future…hopes, dreams, that kind of stuff. He nodded as if he understood, but then promptly dropped the subject, which tells me he probably didn’t. Just as well.
8:12 p.m.
I’m going to try to get to bed here in a couple minutes, once I’m finished writing. It will be an early morning and I want to be well rested for the day ahead.
We’re currently sitting idle about two miles outside Chattanooga. We’re going to wait until dawn to attempt passing through the city. We figure that most of the habitants will be asleep at this time. This will hopefully increase our chances of avoiding the type of scenario we encountered in Nashville.
In the meantime, we’ve sent a small scouting party ahead to check out the situation. They were instructed to keep their distance from populated areas if possible and to avoid anything that looks like tr
ouble. I just pray they don’t take any unnecessary chances. The last thing we need is more casualties, or worse yet, the scouts being followed on their way back to the train by ill-intentioned outsiders.
Dinner was leftover ham and dehydrated mashed potatoes. It wasn’t the best meal in the world, but it was warm and filling.
I’m helping guard the train tonight. My shift runs from 3 a.m. until dawn. Almost all our people (those who aren’t injured at least) are assigned to guard duty or a maintenance crew at some time throughout the night. I think Nashville was a real revelation, and our people finally realized just what the outside world is like. They’ve lived in their happy little hamlet, in relative seclusion, since the flu. With exception of the several incursions by outsiders seeking supplies, Spencer weathered the post-flu environment fairly well. The citizens weren’t exposed to the types of things I saw back in Chicago. Now they’ve seen first hand what they’re up against, especially in bigger cities.
Due to that harsh education, our maintenance teams are working to affix several steel plates we found alongside the tracks to the interior walls of the boxcars. This will provide additional protection from bullets for those riding inside.
Okay, enough writing for right now. I have to be up early, and tomorrow could be another Nashville, so I want to be rested and ready…if one CAN be ready for such circumstances.
Monday, October 28 th
7:02 a.m.
Well, that was an interesting turn of events, and for once, things appear to have gone in our favor…at least that’s the way it seems right now.
As I write, the kids and I are enjoying a breakfast of biscuits and jam served with coffee for the adults and hot cocoa for the kids. Violet seems to be getting over the cold she picked up from Dylan, but she still has a runny nose. I keep telling her to stop wiping it on her sleeve, but from the looks of the crusted edges of her sweatshirt, she’s not listening. That’s a five-year-old for you.
The Pandemic Diaries [Books 1-3] Page 26
