11:43 a.m.
Things have gone from bad to worse. During our meeting, people were getting all worked up. They’re saying that the symptoms our sick are exhibiting are exactly like those that people had with the Su flu. I was unaware of the characteristics of the flu since back in Chicago I was sheltered from those who had contracted the sickness when we were holed up in our condo.
They think that one of the captives from Atlanta – the one who had the bad cough – was carrying the flu (or some version of it) and must have passed it along while we were caring for him. That’s the thanks you get these days. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished.
I couldn’t stay for the whole meeting since I had to get back to Violet, but it seems that people want to quarantine the sick. I’m not sure how exactly they’re going to do that considering we’re on a train. Either we’ll have to stop somewhere or devote an entire boxcar to them.
I guess I’ll find out here shortly. They told me that I have to wear a medical mask and gloves before I return to Violet. I feel terrible about wearing them in front of her because I think it will scare her (she’s already frightened enough by the severity of her symptoms), but I was told by the group that I wouldn’t be able to return to her unless I wore them.
For the first time since the day that I was put into quarantine after arriving in Spencer, I felt somewhat threatened by this group. I mean, I can’t blame them for being frightened by the reappearance of the flu (hell, I’m scared shitless – it’s MY little girl who is sick), but I think they could have handled it a little bit better. Of course, I wasn’t around when nearly their entire town was wiped out by the flu, so I guess I should try to cut them some slack. All I can hope for is that this is just a normal strain of the flu and not full-blown Su flu.
12:17 p.m.
Chase just came to visit. I’m with Violet who is currently resting toward one side of the boxcar with the others who are sick. Even though he was wearing a mask, he was apparently the only one brave enough to come and tell me that we are going to have to move Violet.
He said that they are going to convert the new SUVs we’re still hauling into mini-quarantine units. It’s the best they could come up with to keep the sick away from the healthy. That way we can still keep them with us as we continue our journey south. They have put the back seats of the vehicles down so that the cargo areas fit a person comfortably. There are five such vehicles, four of which will be occupied…one with Violet.
This is absolutely horrible. I can’t believe it’s happening. I feel like I’m having my child taken from me with absolutely no choice in the matter. I want to fight the decision. But what am I supposed to do, tell them to screw off and let those who are healthy be infected too? I’m almost tempted just to take Violet and leave. But where would we go? We’d have no shelter, no supplies, and no assistance from others. And I’d have an extremely sick little girl to contend with.
It’s a no-win situation.
1:01 p.m.
So Violet has been relocated to one of the SUVs. I gave her some children’s acetaminophen to ease her pain and discomfort before she got inside the vehicle’s cargo area. She was screaming and crying, not wanting to be separated from me. I was crying myself. After about ten minutes, though, she fell into a fitful sleep, I think more from exhaustion than anything else. I just don’t think she had the strength to fight anymore.
Right now, I’m sitting outside the vehicle while the boxcar in which she was previously traveling is disinfected. We’re to be on our way again by 1:30. Dylan is sitting here beside me. I can tell that he’s worried about his sister.
3:58 p.m.
We’re on our slow and steady churn down the tracks again. Dylan went back up front to get a snack while I stay here with Violet. The train is creeping along so slowly now that it’s easy for people to pass back and forth from car to car. This also means that we make for an easy target for anyone thinking about attacking us. I guess it’s good that we’re in an isolated area. With the way our passengers are dropping like flies – either from outside attacks or the flu – we don’t have many people left to defend the train. Three more people have come down with flu-like symptoms. This means that all our vehicle quarantine units are full, several with two people inside them.
While Dylan was away, Edna came to visit Violet and me. She has become almost like a grandmother to Violet over the past month. She told me flat out that she was going to care for Violet from here on out. She has designated herself caregiver to the sick.
I explained that I was more than capable of caring for my daughter and that I didn’t care about what happened to me as long as Violet was okay. She told me that she understood, but that I SHOULD care about what happens to Dylan, especially if I should become infected. She remained steadfast, saying that there was no point in arguing with her on the matter.
I was taken aback at first and somewhat perturbed, even offended by what I considered her pushiness, but reflecting on it now, I realize it was done out of both love for Violet and concern for me and Dylan. She’s right; by continuing to expose myself to the disease, I could be risking not only my own health, but Dylan’s and the rest of the group’s as well. Still, it’s a terrible situation to be in. I feel so completely helpless staring at my sick little girl through the SUV’s fogged window glass. I don’t care what Edna says. I’m going to stay here. I won’t expose myself to the disease, but I won’t abandon Violet either.
Two months ago, who would ever have thought that THIS would be our life? If someone had laid this scenario out before me, I would have said the possibilities were absolutely insane, ridiculous, impossible…and yet, here we are.
5:45 p.m.
As the sun begins to set, I’m left to make a tough decision. Do I stay here, sitting in the cold all night outside Violet’s quarantine unit, or do I try to get some sleep? Edna told me that she would keep an eye on Violet throughout the night so I can rest, but it’s hard to tear myself away. I can’t leave my precious girl in her time or need, but she sleeps almost constantly now. The diarrhea has stopped (I don’t think there’s anything left inside her), and I have to coax her to crack the window occasionally so I can administer a few sips of Gatorade or medicine through a straw, or take her temperature. I can tell that she’s so weak now, but I keep telling her she has to try to stay hydrated.
As evening falls and the temperature begins to drop, Violet’s body heat has fogged up portions of the windows. I see that she has drawn a little picture on the rear window near where she’s resting. It rips my heart out. The picture is of our family…the way it was before the flu. I’m there with Chris, we’re holding hands. Then there’s Dylan and Violet. They’re holding hands too. It’s such a wonderfully sweet picture – little stick figures that represent a five-year-old’s portrayal of the people who are her world.
Edna’s here. She’s telling me to go have something to eat. She’s going to open the SUV’s cargo hatch and try to get Violet to sip some chicken broth.
I suppose she’s right. I should eat. But then I’m coming right back. I refuse to abandon my daughter.
Since she’s awake, I’m going to give her a BIG kiss through the window glass.
Monday, November 4 th
9:22 a.m.
This new world is horribly cruel…cruel to everyone…even children. I’m standing here staring at an empty SUV. The lip prints from the kiss I shared with Violet through the window glass last night are still there, but my daughter is gone.
It all happened so fast. She finally fell into a deep sleep late last night, and this morning, she was gone. There was no visible indication that she had passed. No coughing, or crying, or vomiting…nothing…she was just gone. I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye or tell her that I love her one last time.
I can’t do this anymore, this diary thing. I thought nothing could be worse than losing a husband, but I was wrong…VERY wrong. The loss of a child is a far greater wound, one that I’ll never be able to describe,
nor would I want to try. I’m done with this. I don’t want to keep a record of what’s happening anymore. It’s nothing I’m going to want to look back on, nothing I’ll want to remember.
Wednesday, January 15th
10:44 a.m.
It’s a cold, gray, somewhat rainy morning with nothing in particular going on. It seems like a good day to pick up again with this journal. It’s a new year, so I’m going to try to begin it somewhat positively. Frankly, things couldn’t go any worse than last year. I guess I shouldn’t say that. It’s like I’m tempting fate.
I just couldn’t force myself to write before now. Every time I looked at this journal, I started crying thinking about Chris and Violet, so I just put it away in a drawer where I wouldn’t see it for the past few months. But over the last couple of days, I decided to get it back out again. In so doing, I’ve had time to read back over some of Chris’s old entries. There was one in particular in which he mentioned not really wanting to continue writing in this journal either, but he said that he felt somewhat obligated, like he owed it to the memories of those lost in the flu.
I guess he’s right. I suppose I owe it to him and to Violet to preserve their memory somewhere other than in my own mind. And as difficult as it is for me to do so, I’m going to try, but there’s a lot to catch up on. It’s been more than two months since my last entry. I’ll try to get through the major events that have occurred since then.
So…
Of the eight people (including Violet) who were stricken by the mini flu outbreak, all but one succumbed to it. It took Violet, along with four adult males and two adult females. The last adult female to pass was Edna. She must have contracted the sickness helping take care of Violet. The wonderfully sweet woman gave her life to assist those in need, including my daughter. And even though her effort was in vain, I’ll always remember her and honor her for her sacrifice.
Of the group of nearly 60 people who left Spencer, about a third didn’t survive the journey south to our new home.
Speaking of our new home, we are currently settled in the small town of Glasgow, Georgia. It’s a somewhat isolated spot and wasn’t completely devoid of flu survivors when we arrived. There were about 25 townspeople remaining when we got here. But due to their need for able bodies to help them scavenge and survive in this harsh post-flu environment, they were willing to accept us into their community (not to mention, we outnumber them nearly two to one, so really they didn’t have much of a choice).
Glasgow is where we laid our flu victims (including Violet) to rest. There is a small cemetery just outside town, and the day after our arrival, we had a ceremony to bury our dead. It was a sad welcome to our new home.
Glasgow was a town of only about 400 people before the Su flu. Between the sickness that ravaged the area and the severity of life in the post-flu world, the town’s population had rapidly dwindled by the time we arrived in early November.
The townspeople were surprised to see us to say the least. The last thing they expected was a train (albeit a severely damaged and nearly inoperable one) full of people and supplies rolling into their town. But that’s what they got. I don’t think they would have been as welcoming had we not been hauling our own supplies. By the time we arrived, the town had already consumed much of its remaining post-flu supplies. And while its populace said they were planning to grow crops come spring, they weren’t set up well to handle the winter months. So to see people arrive with food, water, medicine, tools, and livestock, was a welcome sight. More than that, we brought knowledge. With some of our people having been farmers and hunters (the people in Glasgow are definitely NOT knowledgeable of such things), they were happy to accept our expertise in these realms.
In the two months since we arrived, I think everyone has become pretty well acclimated, though there is still a defined split between the two groups. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it takes time to combine two communities under the best of circumstances, let alone in a post-apocalyptic world.
The layout of Glasgow is very different from Spencer. While there is a Main Street with stores that line its small business district, there’s no town square with a central courthouse, and there’s no river as a border to help protect us from potential invaders. Before our arrival, the people here had largely stuck to living in their pre-flu homes. However, once we explained to them how we had things set up in Spencer, with the town square forming a perimeter in order to centralize our remaining population in a more defensible location, they saw the merit in the idea and agreed to relocate to the buildings lining Main Street. Dylan and I have a small, two-bedroom apartment above what used to be the hardware store.
And while the geography here in this part of Georgia (which is a far cry from the rolling hills of mid-southern Indiana) doesn’t lend itself to insulating us from outsiders as it did back in Spencer, the positive is that there isn’t much else around here. There’s only one state road leading into and out of town. And as far as we know, there are just a few far-flung communities (the populations of which were largely wiped out by the flu) to have to worry about bothering us. The nearest town of note is Franklin, about 20 miles from here. But that also means there aren’t many good scavenging opportunities close to home.
Gerald is still in charge of leading our group, but things are slightly more complicated. He must now share his leadership role with the man who was decision-maker for Glasgow before we arrived. People call him Barker (I’m not sure if that’s his first or last name). Personally, I find him somewhat sleazy, and he seems to think pretty highly of himself (I don’t know why). Whenever he talks to me, which I try to ensure isn’t very often, it’s as if he’s undressing me with his eyes. It’s creepy. But his people seem to like him. I think that most of OUR people (Spencer people) just tolerate him. I know for a fact that Chase doesn’t care for him, and he’s informed me that Gerald feels much the same but doesn’t want to ruffle any feathers by saying anything.
Speaking of Chase, I’ve kind of have let the whole relationship thing go since our arrival. After Violet, I just didn’t have the energy for such pursuits. Don’t get me wrong, we’re still close, and we talk regularly, but I think he understands that I need some time after losing not only my husband but my daughter as well in the space of just two months.
Since our arrival, we’ve spent most of our time figuring out what roles are necessary and who fills these positions best. We learned quickly that scavenging here isn’t as simple as it was in Spencer. There are fewer homes and businesses in Glasgow, and many of them had already been picked clean of their usable supplies well before our arrival. The remaining residents of Glasgow used up a lot of the town’s food and fuel supply in the post-flu months as well. Any scavenging trips we now make to search for supplies are farther from home and often have to be made into areas where we don’t know how dangerous the situation is. To compensate, we’ve tried to do more hunting, gathering, and tending to the livestock that we brought with us, with varying degrees of success. The hunting here sucks pretty bad, but the extended growing season helps make up for this. While winter here has been far milder than in the Midwest, it’s still not warm enough to allow us to start our outdoor planting. It will have to wait until spring. For the time being, we’ve created some indoor growing sites and have been doing our best to develop our green thumbs, learning growing techniques from those with farming experience.
With more time on our hands during these winter months, we’ve been taking time to improve skills like knitting, sewing, and creating home-remedies. Lately, we’ve also been working on maintenance and modifications to the buildings lining Main Street as well as creating street barricades at each end of town for added protection from potential incursions.
Okay, I think that’s enough for now. I’ve made a good start after being away from this for over two months. I’ll try to make writing a habit again. Sometimes it’s just extremely difficult. There were days when I thought I could do it. I’d get this journal out and stare at
it for a few minutes or just hold it. Sometimes I’d even manage to open it and flip through some of the previous entries (either Chris’ or mine). Other times I’d open the drawer it was in and not even be able to take it out. But today, it just felt right, like it was time. I’m glad I did this. I have to persevere, not just in life, but in continuing to put down these thoughts, events, and emotions. I have to remain strong, and I think that writing in this journal makes me stronger through the knowledge that I’m not just doing this for me but for my lost loves as well, to honor their memory, to honor THEM.
Monday, January 20 th
12:32 p.m.
I’m currently on my lunch break. I prefer writing during the day when possible. Writing at night, before I go to bed, is unappealing. Then I’m left with the thoughts and emotions this activity stirs up right before trying to sleep (which doesn’t come as easy as it did in the old days).
In my last entry, I noted some differences between Glasgow and Spencer. Well, one difference is that we don’t have communal dinners anymore. We’re pretty much on our own for all our meals. This decision was made largely because we realized that people tend to consume more when it’s a buffet style spread. When they’re cooking for themselves, they make less, and in turn, consume less. We just don’t have the resources we did back in Indiana, and therefore we have to take every opportunity to reduce our consumption.
And instead of an armory full of food and supplies where we could go shopping, we now have a general store that is run by four employees – two from Spencer, two from Glasgow (to ensure propriety). One of those employees from Spencer, is me (yes, I’m considered a “resident” of Spencer now, not Chicago).
The Pandemic Diaries [Books 1-3] Page 29
