In the dark, it was hard to tell exactly what the barrier was constructed from. In the few seconds immediately proceeding impact, I could make out several vehicles and what looked like some concrete highway barriers. There may also have been a large pile of dirt and other debris since when we hit, there was a huge plume of dust that blanketed the engine’s windshield.
The impact from the collision is what caused the initial, though far from the worst, injuries among our passengers. Hank and Gerald took some nasty gashes to their heads from falls suffered during the impact, which was substantial, and some of the passengers riding in the rear cars suffered bumps, bruises, and cuts. The worst injury from the impact was a broken leg received by one of our security personnel when he was thrown from his perch atop a coal car down into its bottom.
What WAS severely injured was the train engine itself.
Ramming the barricade on the tracks slowed us substantially, but we continued to decelerate even after clearing the obstacle. After several minutes, we eventually slowed to about 15 miles an hour. Minutes after that, we were laboring along at about nine miles an hour. While I’m no expert on trains, even if our decreased speed hadn’t been an obvious indicator, I could tell simply by the feel of our ride that something wasn’t right with the engine. It gave a large shudder immediately after impact and continued to vibrate noticeably after that. There was also a grinding sort of sound that continued well after we cleared the obstruction. While the noise has decreased since then, it persists even now.
Our impact with the barricade was enough to draw attention from several of the groups partying around the nearby bonfires. With such an intriguing and inviting Halloween gift presented to them, they came rushing…but not to help us.
At nine miles an hour, it felt like we were creeping along at a snail’s pace, especially when the shooting started. So much for my idea of using archers to help defend the train. With our cover blown, there was little point. We were swarmed by at least 30 or 40 armed individuals. A group of them tried to get inside the engine. Thankfully, Chase, Gerald, and Hank put up a ferocious defense. Poor Hank was shot and killed in the process. Chase was hit in the face with glass from the window of the engine’s entry-door, and Gerald was grazed by a bullet.
Our defenders in the back of the train didn’t fare much better. Nine were killed and a dozen more injured, at least half of which are now in what I would call critical condition. The attackers even managed to get our armored boxcar door open where the children and older passengers were taking shelter. Thankfully, we had taken time to arm our older residents before arriving to Atlanta. They were able to fend off the attackers and quickly get the door re-secured.
Our saving grace was that while the firefight was raging around us, I kept trying to get the engine up to speed. I moved our speed-level indicator back and forth between the number two and number three positions until it finally caught in the third position and we began regaining speed again. I eventually managed to push it all the way up to 23 miles an hour before I was unable to increase the speed further. At that rate, we were able to outpace any remaining attackers who hadn’t boarded the train and fend off those who were already aboard.
Within ten minutes, we’d made it through the most dangerous portion of the city, but the damage had been done both to our people and to the train itself. Outside the city, the train started decelerating again. Despite my best efforts, we’re now crawling along at a pitiful three miles an hour. I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t get the train moving any faster than that. And without Hank, there’s no one here who really knows any more about freight engines than I do…and that’s pretty much nothing. Even Chase, who knows cars inside and out, doesn’t have a clue as to where to begin work on this behemoth.
We’ve placed our dead (the five that remained with at least – the other four were unrecoverable when they were shot and fell from the train) in one of the coal cars to be buried at our next stop. The other four people we lost are presumed dead, and there’s no way we can go back and look for them now without risking the well-being of the entire group. Our remaining uninjured passengers are either on security detail or helping to care for the wounded. We’ve turned the armored boxcar into a rolling hospital. The injured there include several of the Atlanta attackers. Some of our people wanted to execute them immediately, but Gerald held them off, saying that we should put them in restraints, treat their injuries, and vote on what to do with them when we stop for the night. I’m of the mindset that we should ditch them now. I don’t necessarily think we should execute them. But why treat them with kid gloves when just last night they were trying to kill us? And we DEFINITELY shouldn’t be feeding and caring for them. But right now, I guess it isn’t our biggest concern. Making sure that our own people are cared for and that we find a safe place to stop for the night are our top priorities right now.
Violet and Dylan are currently doing their part, helping by bringing water to the wounded and handling other menial, yet useful tasks under Edna’s supervision. Considering everything that’s happened, they seem to be handling the situation well. Obviously, it’s not something I’d have chosen for them to witness, but right now, we need everyone’s help no matter their age.
7:09 p.m.
We’re currently stopped about 50 miles outside Atlanta. We’ve been crawling along at about three miles an hour for the past ten hours. Sadly, that’s now our top speed…still, it beats walking. It’s warm here, maybe in the upper 50s or low 60s – better than Chicago, Spencer, or even Chattanooga.
Some of the group has set to work cooking a big pot of chicken and rice soup over an open fire they made near the woods beside the tracks. Soup sounds good – not super filling but maybe that’s a good thing since I think it’s about the only thing my stomach can handle right now. The kids are the only ones who really seem to be hungry.
Our vote (taken as soon as we stopped the train and got organized enough to have one) was nearly unanimous to dump the wounded attackers we have on board. We’ll be releasing them tomorrow morning before we depart. Some people were still in favor of executing them. But I think most of us are tired of death and of dying. There are three of these prisoners, all men, all apologetic (now that they’ve been captured of course) for their actions last night. Two of them suffered bullet wounds, and another has a stab wound to his right thigh. None of the wounds would have been considered life threatening before the flu. But these days, with infection looming as an ever-present danger, we are getting their injuries cleaned and bandaged in order to give them at least a chance of survival once we let them go. I guess it’s the humane thing to do. Who really knows anymore? To me, the sooner they’re gone, the better. The last thing we need is more problems. I think it’s highly unlikely that the people they were with would try to find them and take them back. I don’t think they’re that type of people…the caring type. But who knows? It’d be easy enough to track us. All they’d have to do is follow the rail line we’re on.
My main concerns right now however are not of being followed by the people of Atlanta. I’m more worried about things like being discovered by area residents or the possibility of the train not starting again in the morning.
I’m tired and want to go to bed. While I’m physically exhausted, I think the desire to sleep stems more from the desire to get away from all that’s been happening for a few hours. Atlanta’s death and destruction reminded me all too much of Chicago, and the flashbacks only add to the nervous tension and mental strain I’m under. While the kids are holding up, I’ve noticed some signs of stress among them as well. Poor Dylan is pulling at his eyelashes (one eye is almost devoid of them he has plucked so many away) and little Violet had taken to chewing on her fingers and biting her nails. It’s a disgusting habit (especially in this new world where hand washing is a luxury), and one I scold her about every time I see her do it, telling her she’s putting untold numbers of germs into her mouth, but it doesn’t seem to stop her. Once we are settled (if we ever ARE
settled), I’ll work harder on breaking her of the habit.
It looks like the soup is about ready. Our regular cooks (Maxwell, Brian, and Charlotte) already had the chicken diced and noodles out and ready to boil as soon as we stopped. They’re great at cooking for large numbers of people and seem to have a sixth sense of our dietary needs when they create their menus. We are blessed to have them.
Saturday, November 2 nd
8:04 a.m.
The prisoners are on their way and so are we, both groups limping away in opposite directions of the track. We’re headed south; we told the prisoners to head north. I don’t know if they’ll make it or not, but I don’t care. One of them could barely walk (the one who’d been stabbed in the thigh), and another had a bad cough. Not our problem, though. We have enough issues of our own. Another one of our people died last night from injuries suffered in Atlanta. That brings our total dead from the fight up to 10, with 11 more still injured. I hope we don’t meet with any more such situations. We’re running out of people to fight back with.
The weather this morning is decent, nothing special, but I suppose it’s a hell of a lot better than back home. It’s overcast and warm…for November at least. I wonder how things are back in Spencer and whether the radioactive cloud ever arrived. I still wonder from time to time if that was just a ruse, but I guess it doesn’t matter. We’re here now…THAT’S what matters…well, that and the kids of course.
I wonder what Chris would think about all this? Would he have stuck with the group, with Gerald, with the train? Or would he have led us off by ourselves somewhere to start a new life on our own? As well as I knew him; and as much as I loved him, I don’t know the answer to that. All I know is that he would have made a decision and stuck to it. In a way, I guess that’s what I’ve done. I stuck by Gerald, by Chase, and by the group. And I’m afraid, for better or worse, that’s how it’s going to stay.
1:19 p.m.
Not much to report. I’m splitting time between helping Chase and Gerald run the train, watching for a potential settlement site, checking on the kids, and assisting where I can with tending to our injured. There is no lack of things to keep me occupied, which is good. I like staying busy. It keeps my mind off all the troubling aspects our new world presents.
Lunch was pasta that our cooks made last night when we were stopped and they had the opportunity to do some extra cooking. They served it with canned spaghetti sauce. It wasn’t the best I’d ever had, but considering the circumstances under which our chefs are working, it sufficed. I think I was hungry not having had more than just the soup to eat last night.
I hope we find a good spot to settle soon. I’m really starting to get sick of being on this train.
8:14 p.m.
Dinner tonight was pork and pasta. Not super exciting, but it was food, and it was better than the ramen noodles the kids and I used to eat when traveling by train, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.
I’d say we’ve covered 35 or 40 miles today. That would put us about 90 miles from Atlanta. Good…the farther away, the better.
Chase and Gerald are at the helm in the engine. I’ve moved back to the boxcar temporarily to play a few games of cards with the kids and read them a story before bed. We already had a game of Fish. Violet won. It was the first game she’s ever won. She got so excited, it was actually kind of funny. Little sweetheart. She got all hot and flustered and out of breath celebrating her big win.
I’m extremely proud of her and her brother. They’ve been (and continue to be) so strong through all this. When we finally get settled, I’ll have to do something special for them. I’m not exactly sure what that will be, but I’m sure I can come up with something. For now, though, it’s time to give them more parental attention (something they’ve been sorely lacking lately), and then get them to bed.
11:04 p.m.
I’m writing by flashlight.
I decided to sleep with the kids in the boxcar tonight rather than up front in the engine. I really just wanted to spend some more time with my sweet children.
Just as I was about to fall asleep, Violet woke me up. She said she wasn’t feeling good, and then she threw up all over the place. Having a small child throw up is bad enough, since typically they don’t make it to a toilet or trashcan in time. The situation is compounded when there IS no toilet or trashcan to make it to and you’re sleeping in a communal environment where other people have to deal with the sights, sounds, and smells.
I did my best to get the mess cleaned up in the darkness of the boxcar, but the smell lingers. And poor Violet is now here next to me, squirming and moaning softly. I’m not sure if it was something she ate or what. We haven’t been consuming anything odd lately, but then again, our conditions here aren’t exactly sanitary either. And with her still putting her hands in her mouth all the time, she might have ingested something that didn’t agree with her fragile tummy.
I hate it when my kids are sick…hate it, hate it, HATE it! I suppose no parent enjoys it, but it REALLY bothers me. All these horrible things run through my mind. Was it something I missed that made her ill? Was it something I could have prevented? Is there something I can do now or do better to help her?
While being a parent is awesome, there are definitely some downsides. One of those downsides is the guilt I feel when things don’t go right for my little ones. I try so hard to give them responsibility and allow them to learn and grow while at the same time trying to keep them safe from the big, bad world. It’s such a difficult balancing act…a very fine line. Only the occasional misstep makes me realize just how fine that line truly is…and then it’s too late.
Sunday, November 3 rd
2:02 a.m.
I’m tired as heck, but I dare not go to sleep. I probably couldn’t if I tried anyway. Violet threw up again about an hour ago. I’m hoping that she’s purged herself of whatever it is that’s making her ill, but I’ve taken the opportunity to move our resting spots closer to the boxcar door just in case. I cracked it just a bit so that she can stick her head out if she feels like she’s going to throw up again. She’s warm, and the cool air from outside helps cool her down.
I hope that this is just one of those kid things, something that passes quickly – a food-borne illness or a 24-hour bug. God I’m sleepy. Maybe Violet is done being sick and I can grab a few winks before daybreak.
4:27 a.m.
Uhhh…round number three. I don’t know how such a little girl can have so much stuff inside her to throw up. I know the people trying to sleep around us are probably fed up with our disturbances. I’m fed up with it myself, but there’s nothing I can do.
I got Violet to drink a little water, but I don’t want her to drink too much least she just throw it all back up. Yet another one of those balancing acts. Give her too much and she throws it up, give her too little and she’ll become dehydrated.
Oh boy, now she’s telling me she needs to go potty…“Number two,” she says. Great. So much for sleep tonight. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow…wait, I guess it IS tomorrow. Okay, better go before Violet explodes. She just told me, “The poo-poos are coming, and they’re gonna leak out if we don’t hurry.”
8:08 a.m.
What a night. Violet’s finally asleep, although I have to say, it’s a very broken sleep. She keeps waking up with chills. I have several blankets on her and she’s still saying she’s cold. She crapped her little brains out after she got done throwing up last night. Between the vomiting and the diarrhea, she must have lost five pounds. I managed to get a little more water in her and a bit of orange juice this morning. I also found a jug of Gatorade in our group supplies that I’ll try to get her to drink some of later to replace her lost electrolytes.
Sadly, she’s not the only one feeling ill. One of the adults, Ted, is sick now too. I wonder if there was some tainted meat or other ingredient that was accidentally mixed into our meals yesterday. I mean, it wouldn’t surprise me. While our cooks are great at their jobs, they’re making the be
st of a bad situation. They’re often using older ingredients that were scavenged from unknown sources. God only knows how that food was stored prior to the flu. And while we’ve done our best to ensure that meat is stored cold or frozen, it’s not as though it has “best by” dates on it or has met FDA standards. Most has come from butchered animals or residents who traded it at the farmers market back in Spencer. It’s anybody’s guess how fresh it was before that.
While I’m tired after last night, I’m willing to deal with a bad night’s sleep for my sweetheart. I just hope she’s feeling better by tonight. I think the mental strain of worrying about her is more exhausting than actually being awake throughout the night.
10:58 a.m.
This is not good…not good at all. Several more people are sick now, and I don’t think it’s from food poisoning. If it was, I have a feeling most of the symptoms would have passed by now, but Violet seems to be getting worse. She still has chills, she’s running a fever, and she continues to have bad diarrhea.
Besides Violet, there are now two men and a woman who are exhibiting similar symptoms. I’m afraid we have a mini-outbreak on our hands. But a mini-outbreak of what?
I explained the situation to Gerald, and he has stopped the train so that we can deal with it. But no one really knows what to do or what exactly we’re dealing WITH.
We’re going to meet here in a few minutes to discuss the situation.
The Pandemic Diaries [Books 1-3] Page 28
