Apocalypse 3

by Matt J. Pike

  Apocalypse: Diary of a Survivor 3

  Matt J Pike

  ****

  Edited by: Lisa Chant

  Copyright 2018 Matt J Pike

  Other books by Matt J Pike

  Also in this series:

  Apocalypse: Diary of a Survivor

  Apocalypse: Diary of a Survivor 2

  ****

  Starship Dorsano Trilogy:

  Kings of the World

  War & Quel

  ****

  Zombie RiZing:

  Scared to Beath (ZR1)

  A Fate Worse Than Beath (ZR2)

  Life and Beath (ZR3)

  Creeping Beath (ZR4)

  Beath Becomes Her (ZR5)

  Beath Defying (ZR6)

  Or the collections:

  The Beginning (ZR1, 2 & 3)

  Dreeks’ Horde (ZR4, 5 & 6)

  ****

  For news on promotions, competitions, appearances and future releases, sign up to Matt’s mailing list at www.mattpike.co

  ***

  Big thanks to Lisa Chant for her editing skills, dedication, encouragement and much more.

  ***

  Also thanks to Candi Pearson, Steve Grice, Derek Pedley, Wayne Bosch, Tori Bosch, Katie Lowe, Kylie Leane, Sabrina Ricci, Marc Poualion, Jan Pike and my three children

  Sophie, Sam and Abby.

  ...as well as anyone who reviews this on Amazon or Goodreads.

  ****

  A big thank you

  You have already helped me!

  My youngest daughter, Abby, has Rett Syndrome – a neurological condition that affects mostly girls. Abby cannot walk, talk or use her hands in a meaningful way. Part proceeds from the sale of each and every book I sell go to finding a cure.

  Your support is appreciated.

  November 26, 2014

  It’s been ages since I picked up the diary. Too busy, too drained, to focused on just putting one foot in front of the other. But what we did today needs documenting. We unveiled a memorial for those lost in the battle of the oval. It was a big moment in our story as a group, a big moment for this city.

  Jonesy had sourced a nice piece of polished marble, perfect for the job. It was impossibly smooth on the face, yet cracked and uneven at the top. Presumably it was a piece of frontage rubble from one of the buildings along North Tce. It stood about a metre tall and the broken edges seem to fit with what’s happened in this world.

  It was a pain to lug back to the oval.

  It took a couple of days to position and carve the words. And then another painful lug up Montefiore Hill behind the oval on the north west. We erected it just down from the statue of Colonel William Light, this city’s founder – at least, the base of where that statue once stood. The was no Colonel Light pointing over the city any more, hell, there wasn’t really a city any more either.

  We felt a little near, yet below, that spot was the right place to symbolise what had been done here as a significant feat in our city’s history. At the same time we felt it didn’t disrespect achievements that went before us.

  Anyway, this morning we all went back at dawn to make it official. Lana said some words about all three people we had lost, especially Brian, who was her mentor. Then Shane spoke, followed by Mark and Laura. Each doing their best to tell the stories of those we’d lost and what drove them.

  Funny thing those stories. Hearing about someone’s pre-rock past – what little was known of it – just seems so removed from how I know each of them. It was like they were talking about different people. It was strange.

  Once the speeches were made, the candles were lit and the silence was observed, we revealed the monument for all to see. It read:

  *

  *

  Circa November 5, 2014

  In memory of those who gave their lives in the battle of the oval.

  Brian Clarke

  Nick Carras

  Craig Lewis

  The sacrifice you made for what you believed in will never be forgotten by those who live on in the city you helped protect. Memories of your bravery are always with us.

  The survivors. Adelaide Oval. 2014.

  *

  That’s it for now.

  The only other thing I’ll add before I go is, before the monument, I didn’t even know Nick or Craig’s surname. I feel very guilty about this.

  ***

  January 21, 2015

  It’s been a few months since I contributed to the diary. There’s so much happening right now, the time has definitely come. Changes are happening so fast I can barely keep up.

  Of course, I should just never stop writing, should record everything. Some moments, though, they take it out of you. Actually, that doesn’t even begin to describe it – they suck the essence from your soul. It can get to the point where you wonder if it’s all worth it, if anything’s worth it. Fi was that moment… the battle for the oval was that moment, too.

  It’s like I used every last bit of will I had to get those words down, to tell those stories. And when those words had landed on the page… well, no words that would follow could compete. So no words came.

  Now, though, with a little time, distance and a new perspective, I feel the urge again. Actually, it’s more than an urge, it’s a compulsion. I just have to write, to document. Because if I don’t, well, what’s the point? I mean, survival is always a point, obviously. But to my way of thinking, there has to be a greater purpose around that, or how long you last post-rock is really a meaningless numbers game.

  And things have changed. The oval, this place, it’s becoming a home – a real home. Honestly, it’s more than I could’ve ever imagined when I hovered up to it those few short months ago on Phoenix.

  In quiet moments I allow myself to think back to where it began, then breathe in what it has become, well… even then I’m not sure I can convey all that emotion and sense of achievement into words. How could I? But, when I do allow myself to go there, the pride hits me – I physically feel it in me. It’s amazing how a few of those moments when you think about the big picture every now and then can really sustain you through a lot.

  There is colour now, too. Colour. There are trees with colour (just a bit), people are wearing clothes with colour, the ground here in the oval area is clear of ash and, what do you know… colours! The remaining seats in the stands, the equipment we use; colour is everywhere. We are a hued oasis in a world of ash, which stops at our walls.

  True, we spend a lot of man hours making sure it stays that way but, in those moments when you happen to be looking in the right direction, you can take in a view that has no ash at all. None. And sometimes, if the timing is right, for a fraction of a second, you forget. You forget the world you are truly in and just immerse yourself in this oasis.

  It never lasts, but the fact it happens at all is utterly significant.

  It’s hard to remember back to what colour looked like pre-rock. I know with the sun still struggling to get through the sickly yellow atmosphere, all those colours we see now are probably a fraction of their former glory. It’s probably more like one of my parents’ old polaroid pictures from when they were kids in the late seventies, than true HDTV-worthy colour, but it is colour. It’s also diversity and, compared with the greys and browns that border our little patch of turf, it’s vivid enough for me.

  Once again there are no words for that feeling. Removing the handcuffs for just a brief moment and being free. It’s escapism, it’s dreams, it’s future…but it’s more than that, because we built it. We created a change to our world to make it better. It’s vision, teamwork, hard work (oh, so much of that), creativity, bravery, loss and fighting on, memories, gratitude and debts that can never be repaid. Even those words fail to get close to the mark. It’s just enormous.
<
br />   And colour is only one small part of what we’ve done over the past couple of months here. I’ll get to it all, I will, but it’s not why I’m writing again.

  Tomorrow morning I’m heading a team of people down to the beach, or whatever will greet us between the tsunami-damaged coast and the water. It’s nearly a 10km journey through who knows what and I couldn’t be more excited. There are many reasons for the trip – potential food finds to loot, just seeing what happened to the west of the city in that tsunami, but, by far the biggest one – the sea. If there is a chance we can get our way to the shore line and find the means to fish, it could, quite literally, be our meal ticket.

  That is our mission’s priority No.1, and if it happens, it’ll be as big a game changer as Phoenix, the oval and everything we’ve done to date combined.

  Everyone has their ideas on whether any fish have survived, but with nature being nature and life being life, something tells me they have. I feel it, I know it. Somehow, somewhere, some fish must have lived on. And a fish population that we can access, that has gone the best part of a year without human interference, well, you simply can’t ignore the ‘what ifs’ on that. Game changer.

  Of course, catching them is another story altogether, and probably (definitely) not my strong suit, but we won’t know if we don’t try. And if we succeed, everything changes.

  Speaking of change, right now this city is changing. The biggest change was the battle for the oval. That was a people change – a marker of territory and a definition of lands. We own it... for now at least. The funny thing is, none of us here think of it as ownership (even the new ones we’ve let in), it’s the whole point of what we’re building. But when the Norwood hubbers came to take it, then we definitely owned it.

  That was a defining moment for this entire city. While we keep watch for them day and night, they have not returned. Recently we have heard gunfire. Distant, but plentiful. Two days ago, the air was filled with the sound of it. Went for hours, too. There were another few days of it the week before last as well.

  Something’s happening somewhere. This city is changing in another way, somewhere. But it’s not our battle. Every bullet that’s fired somewhere else is one that’s not fired here, and every day that we are not under attack we are building our defences.

  Once we had buried our dead, burnt the other bodies and repaired our defences, we turned all our focus to strengthening our position.

  The front end loader worked over time, clearing streets and parks of ash then building walls. First, the outer perimeter along East Tce was complete, then we connected it past the zoo and down to North Adelaide. Between the outer containment line and our barrier around the oval we have built other walls. If there was a piece of open ground between the oval and the outer wall, we’d build a wall on the oval side. Each additional wall created a space that’s risky for an enemy to cross and easy for us to protect.

  We have another team working on rigging guard towers and sniper positions in newly created walls. Meanwhile, the outer wall will push out to surround the entire North Adelaide area on one side and down West Tce on the other.

  We won’t be as easy to attack next time.

  While that’s been happening we’ve raided every food outlet in the city. Every major store with stock still accessible has been swiped. We think there’s about a year’s worth of supplies now back in the safety of the oval, even allowing for a few more arrivals. We’ve done the same with medicine – every pill, formula and medication in the square mile of the city and North Adelaide is back with us.

  Twelve months – that is a very important number.

  That was the start point of our food survival strategy. That’s the finite number we have to work with – if we can protect it. After that point, if we don’t become self-sustaining, we die. Or kill each other in the process, as can happen these days.

  All the parklands around the oval and west are being cleared for harvest. We made a decision not to try to plant outside this year, despite the encouragement of the return of leaves on some of the trees. It was just too risky for many reasons. Firstly, the weather has not been what an Australian summer should. The hottest day so far has reached 22 degrees – we’d usually be getting 40+ this time of year. And by the time we had sorted out our priorities after the battle, we had missed ideal planting times. Secondly, while we have found a number of seed packets at the various stores we raided, seeds are like gold right now, they’re the future. We don’t plant unless we think we have a significant chance of success. Success brings food and more seeds, failure brings nothing.

  Then there’s the soil. It’s definitely tainted at some level. As to how that will affect food production, nobody knows... and nobody is prepared to risk it, either. We figure if we turn the soil over now and let another few months of weather wash the filth away, we’ll be giving ourselves a better shot next year. Plus, the rain is not to be trusted yet. It must be laced with whatever that ash is made of. While each day the sky becomes slightly clearer, and everything becomes slightly cleaner, we still have a way to go yet.

  The one planting exception is potatoes; we found many of them sprouting of their own accord in the various grocery sections we looted. So they are acting as our test case. I mean, they’re potatoes, they don’t follow the normal rules, they seem to just exist to replicate. They’re like the blob, if it could be deliciously deep fried. We have a section of them growing in the park to the south of the oval and another on the old golf course behind us to the west.

  So, 12 months of food stocks, a potato experiment with a small window and a whole lot of risk in between – that’s what we’re dealing with. And if we can’t start getting productive lands the year after, it’s not going to be pretty. In the meantime, it was time for my hydroponic experiment. Well, when I say my experiment, that’s completely inaccurate. I had my little hydroponic kit and an idea. Shane was a sparky, with an entire fallen tower of high-powered lights to play with.

  We have now converted the indoor cricket nets into an industrial level grow house. It’s only early days in its operation, but the signs are fantastic – there’s greenery everywhere. Just about every vegetable, herb and fruit you can think of. And, as a bonus, if you ever need to thaw out on a chilly summer day, it’s a great place to hang out and dream of the future.

  The fruit is an interesting one, Shane reckons we can get the seedlings growing into small plants this year. He’s got this plan to get them acclimatised to the real conditions outside as we move out of winter next year. This will (hopefully) lead to planting outside at the start of spring. He’s even drawing up plans for some mobile outdoor lighting rigs should next summer not be much better than this.

  We also still have the ducks. There are a batch of new chicks running around, which is great, because, you know, fresh meat! But right now ducks are a bonus luxury item. Ducks require food to live and grow, as do we. We try to keep each human meal as lean as possible, preparing just enough to see everyone through. Whatever isn’t finished goes straight to the ducks. But, the thing is, that’s not the game you want to be playing with too much. We need to stretch that food out as far as possible. Sure, there is no stronger impulse in the post-rock world than to gorge on freshly cooked meat, but this meat comes at a price of our human supplies. It’s a tight ship we’re running – it really is. It’s a food economy that makes you feel guilty when there’s leftovers, slightly better when it goes to the ducks, and slightly unfulfilled when you eat them, knowing you could have got those calories in other, more direct, ways, had you been leaner with your serving sizes.

  Anyway, duck gorge guilt aside, that is our current food plan and, well, it has to work. If it doesn’t, then we don’t go on. If we don’t go on, Adelaide is lost. Not for us, for all. Because, whatever is happening out there to the east with gunfire, whether it’s the Norwood hubbers, the TTP hubbers, both, or someone else altogether, it doesn’t matter. They are fighting over the last of what was, we are trying to build the future.
And if we fail, they all fail.

  Which brings me back to fish.

  Tomorrow we ride. I’m taking the usual crew – Ye-Jun and Kelly, as well as Nate, who was the first to put his hand up when it came to claiming any fishing prowess. What we do and discover during the next few days will significantly change the game going forward. Current food stocks are our known limit, future fruit and veg production is our unknown saviour, and ducks are just luxury ducks. We don’t even know if the two food chains will crossover yet or if they’ll sustain us in the long run. So, tomorrow is everything.

  Tomorrow is the potential to find a new food source. Something to supplement what we use now and into the future. And it’s meat, even if it is only fish (not my first choice pre-rock). But this meat comes from an entirely different ecosystem, not one that is fed by our leftovers, but one that (hopefully, please, please, please) is driven by something else altogether. A food stream to add to ours at no cost of ours. It could be (will be) the difference.

  Good to be writing again. Good to be going on an adventure tomorrow. Good to hopefully be saving the world... at least our small section of it. Good to be writing again – just realised I’ve already written that, but I feel it’s worth mentioning twice. Good to be alive. Good night.

  ***

  January 22, 2015

  Four people makes for a really crowded hovercraft. When you add in enough food supplies for 4-5 days, plus camping gear and fishing gear, well, Phoenix was at capacity. The noise from the generator let me know all about it, too. The weather was spot-on perfect, however, with plenty of visibility to navigate uncharted territory and warmth that we’ve barely experienced since the rock. I had my skin covered for the journey, as the flecks of ash can still be painful after you cop enough of them at speed, even these days. But I knew there was a chance of getting down to my t-shirt if/when we hit the shore.