The Beginning at the End of the World: A Post-Apocalyptic, Dystopian Series (The Survivor Diaries Book 2) (21 page)

Finally, one huge truck, followed by three medium-sized ones and a smaller gas tanker, came moving down the path our vehicles had forged, but the big one was nothing like any of ours.

The funny thing was all I could think of was “goat’s milk.”

I took out my camera and handed it to Carrie to get everything on record.

The Villagers made lines on either side of the slow moving trucks and watched the parade with mouths agape. For a moment, I thought that there might be applause and cheering like you would expect to hear during a celebration. But my people weren’t cheerful, they were scared, and the people joining us were not necessarily our heroes.

When I caught a look at the sides of the trucks, I realized they were painted in a snow camouflage. Rather than the traditional browns, greens and tans, they were white and gray, with branches painted on them. Apparently, this pattern was common amongst hunters. I was duly impressed by their preparedness, if nothing else.

Jackson waved the drivers forward into a spot near the biggest snow drift. A large man dressed in a snow-camo uniform opened the driver’s side door and jumped down into the high snow. It didn’t faze him, and as he walked towards Jackson, he was followed by a woman and then a man, dressed in the same uniforms. The only person I recognized from my time in the lair, Colonel Fitzpatrick, trailed behind them.

“Don’t be jealous, Jackson,” said a tall man, whipping out a fast salute. “We have new uniforms for all your men.”

Mark and I walked up and stood next to Jackson. “Laura, this is Colonel Dirk Mason and First Lieutenant Erick Granville, Marines, the both of them. They are the ones with the survival specialties, among other things. And this is Major Cassandra Kim; an Electrical Engineer and Korean Linguist for the army. And of course, you know Fitz.”

We shook the offered hands, and introduced ourselves. “I’m Laura, and I was a filmmaker. This is my husband, Mark, and he was also a linguist in the army.”

“Oh, we know all about the both of you,” said Colonel Mason, holding my hand for a bit longer than the cultural norm.

“Apologies, I must have forgotten that we were being spied on,” I said with a measured dose of spite. I pulled my hand out of the handshake.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “What I should have said was that Jackson told us all about you. But thinking about it, that’s not much better. Please accept my
apologies.”

From behind the truck came four more people, but only three in the snow-camo.

There was saluting all around, and then we were back to introductions.

This time Thomas, who was standing nearby, cut into the conversation. “Laura and Mark, this is Specialist Ethan Woolf, and he is in Mechanics and Alternative Fuels, and this is Madison Woolf, Specialist Woolf’s wife.”

As she bent forward to shake hands, she revealed a very pregnant belly. That makes two mothers-to-be in our group, at least that I know of.

“This is Staff Sergeant Jose Ramirez and last but not least, Sergeant Seth Baldwin, and he’s an MP,” said Thomas.

“So, you handpicked some pretty good professions here, fellows,” I said.

“Trust me, we would have taken pretty much anyone who was willing to do whatever was needed, but trying to get people to join us was not easy, as I am sure that Jackson has told you,” said Mason.

“Well, no, he didn’t tell us much,” I said. “As you know, I took it upon myself to find out what I could about what our friend Jackson was up to.”

“She’s a spitfire,” said Mason.

Our newest additions looked at me in surprise. And then I surprised myself with a surge of gumption that would have made my grandmother proud. Maybe Ammie’s vote of confidence earlier fueled me, but I made a conscious decision to put these people in their place. “Gentleman and ladies, please look around you,” I motioned to the crowd that had gathered around us. I was glad that they would hear this. “These are the Villagers. They voted me in as their leader. Your being
allowed
to join us was a decision made by these people, not the other way around.

“In case that is not clear enough, let me say it to you as simply as I can;
you
are not in charge here.
We
are. If you are not willing to abide by the Village rules, you are free to take all that is yours, including your expertise, and leave. We will survive on our own.”

Oh man, did I just say that?
I thought.

And the newcomers looked just as shocked at what I had said. But the Villagers did not. They started to cheer me on.

I stood perfectly still, dug my heels into the snow, and waited for the military to make its decision.

“Well, we appreciate your hospitality, Miss,” said Mason. I couldn’t read the look on this stranger’s face. “We promise to abide by your rules.”

∞

Whoa, did that really happen or was I looking back on it with wishful thinking? Nope, checked the footage from the camera that Carrie was holding, it happened.

I made a beeline for my RV, with family at my heels.

“AHHH, Aunt Laurie, you have the biggest balls ever,” proclaimed Bri to the laughter and cheers of my peeps.

“Ha, nope, I don’t need those soft, over-sensitive things,” I corrected. “I have a vagina.”

Mom, Mark and Adam turned bright red, but Bri, Jake and Ammie laughed until they nearly wet themselves.

“I think that you almost gave Jackson an aneurism,” said Jake. “I wonder what they are talking about right now.”

“I am not sure, but I meant every word of what I said. If they want to leave, we will just have to figure out how to keep ourselves safe.”

“Don’t you guys get it?” asked Bri. “They aren’t going anywhere. I don’t know what their end-game plan is, but it definitely includes us.”

“I think you’re right, Bri,” said Adam. “They picked the Monte Vista Village for survival, theirs and ours. Maybe it just worked out that way for their convenience or maybe it was more. But they have us now, and I don’t think that we are as easy to manipulate as they hoped, at least we aren’t anymore.”

“Whatever it is, I need to back up my big mouth,” I said with a long exhale. “We need to be ready to proceed without them.”

Before we could get any further, there was a knock on the RV door. Ammie opened it, and the entire party of newbies flowed in guided by our friendly neighborhood Spy Colonel. I guess Bri and Adam were spot on.

“We need to get started immediately,” said Mason. “There is a lot to do in a very short window of time. Our best estimate is that the enemy will be here in two or three days, maybe sooner.”

My family and I all exchanged glances, prodding me to ask, “I just need to make one thing clear; what I said out there was not just for the benefit of my people.”

“We are well aware of that,” said Fitzpatrick. “We understand that there have been perceived violations of trust by our people, but we would appreciate a chance to make amends. Please don’t sacrifice your people in some supposed pissing match, Laura.”

Is that what they thought of me?
I asked myself.
Or are they just trying to manipulate me again?

I had no idea. I followed my gut.

“We are with you unless you prove yourselves untrustworthy,” I said coolly. “We know that your expertise in things like snow caves and military tactics are valuable. We’ll just take it one moment at a time.”

“I am glad that’s settled,” said Mason in his deep, resonating voice, “because we have a lot to do in the next two days. Who is the best person with the tractor?”

“That would be Matt,” answered Adam. “He was in construction.”

“Good man, Adam is it?” asked Mason. “What did you do before the war?”

“I have my MBA. It’s not relevant anymore.”

“No, but smarts are still relevant, boy,” he answered.

“I’m not a boy, Mr. Mason,” Adam said. “I am the head of Out-bounding, and I work with transportation, too.”

“Out-bounding, never heard of it,” he replied. “I guess I have a thing or two to learn from you all, too.”

“I guess you do,” said Adam.

We were elbow deep in discussing strategies until early morning. No one involved in the planning slept.

We had everyone on the Council adding their area of expertise to the organization and preparation of what was to come. It was what I would imagine planning a small scale war would be like.

I had a better idea of what the snow caves and the camouflaging of the vehicles would take, but how we were going to get it all done in time was what scared me.

The idea of the snow caves stayed with me, scratching and tearing at the back of my mind as we continued the work of making the Villagers safe.

On top of everything, Mother Nature decided to remind us that, like always, we were not running the show. We were in the middle of a full blown snow storm by midnight. At least it helped to cover our trucks, but what were we going to do about digging the caves?

If I started to think about it too hard, I would easily have gone into a complete anxiety attack. Everything was conspiring against us, but we hadn’t lived through an apocalypse, a fire and a couple of plagues just to end up dying now.

By six in the morning, Annie was up and preparing for breakfast, and we were finally ready to begin working with the Villagers to put everything into motion.

The military team, as we were calling them now, filtered out of the RV and into the cold.

By 6:45, every person in the Village (except for the elderly, teachers and children) was standing in the middle of a snow storm, waiting for instructions. I was overtaken by the sight of these people, unmovingly patient, even after all of the deception. I could only hope that our visitors comprehended the forgiveness it took for us all to trust them.

The looks on their faces told me that they understood. Fitzpatrick bowed his head, and then looked back up at the resilient people in front of him, as if he hadn’t believed what he had seen.

But I wasn’t surprised. I smiled.

“Hello. Might I say that you all are looking ready to get down to it this morning?” I said to the collection of people standing in front of me with iron will.

They cheered and fist bumped each other. It made me wonder if they were all chatting last night while I was locked in that RV. Whatever had come over them, I was relieved by their energy this morning. There was so much to do in such a short period of time.

“Let’s get to work,” was my war cry. “Get in your teams and there will be one of us joining you to explain your responsibilities. Every person here today is going to have a part in keeping us alive.”

Steven Rolette passed me on his way to the supply team meeting, and he smiled. Whatever happened last night, it was transformative.

∞

Security, rebuilding, transportation and communications were the key players in our plans, but it was true, everyone needed to pitch in to make it happen.

As I jumped around from one meeting to the next, I was pleased that everyone was not only onboard, but they were also contributing with ideas of their own.

Jill came together with Colonel Mason, First Lieutenant Granville and Thomas to get the rebuilding team up to speed on snow caves. They were all excited that they were going to be a part of creating these underground structures. They were calling themselves the “Nerds of Architecture.” It spoke volumes to the character of those people who were able to keep their humor in all of this madness.

“How many per cave?” asked Matt. I could tell that he was ready to jump in the tractor and start digging as soon as he got the word.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but before we get that far, we need to get this stretch of land leveled,” said Mason. “Your last name is Harris?”

“Yep, but I would rather just be called Matt.”

The atmosphere of respect through intimidation that used to come with people in power was perceptibly dissipating as truths came to light.

“Okay,
Matt
, please get started, and when we are leveled, I’ll give you the dimensions,” said Mason.

“I have a few ideas about insulating the caves better against the cold,” said Jill. “The walls need to be at least twelve inches thick. Don’t forget, the thicker the walls the more stable the structure and the better the insulation will be. I am thinking that we should go for something akin to an igloo rather than a cave.”

“What about building fires in them?” asked Samantha.

“Unfortunately, the carbon monoxide would kill you, not to mention that it would melt your cave,” said Granville. “But not to worry, we will all be kept warm enough if we build the caves right and stay dry. Everyone should also wear many layers of clothing.”

∞

Everything was going well with the Nerds of Architecture, so I moved onto another area of concern; food.

“We are running low, and this waylay is a real problem,” said a worried Annie.

“We will take care of that,” said Sergeant Ramirez. “We have MREs for days. We will teach your people how to prepare them because they come with their own heating devices, and they are packed with calories; around 1,250 each. We will have your people plumped up in no time.”

“I bet you guys snagged all of the MREs that you could from the army before the end,” teased Jessica Sheraton.

The MP stepped forward and politely said, “No ma’am. We bought them online.”

In two minutes, my fear of running low on food calmed, and I was able to continue through the groups, listening in when need be, but I rarely spoke. I didn’t need to.

∞

The following journal entry (along with several others that are detailed later in the transcriptions) was found buried under the floorboards in Bri Patton’s home and is believed to be torn from Laura Patton’s diary. We have surmised from the timecode of video footage of a bird that this incident took place during the preparations for the impending attacks.

Until I started to write in this journal, I never realized how superstitious I could be. I was always fearful of things going too well, like the universe was going to balance itself out when things were going right and throw a proverbial pie in my face. But maybe it’s simple physics; for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. My pie came shortly after I stopped listening in on the various meetings, satisfied that everyone was onboard and things were moving along smoothly.

I grabbed a sleeping bag, and with Hershey in tow, I went a few hundred yards into the forest. I knew it was a no-no, but I needed to breathe in some fresh air and just get away from all of the noise and motion of the Villagers, to a place where no one needed me for anything. At that moment, I needed me.

I found a log and wiped the snow off of it before putting the sleeping bag on top. Hershey turned around a couple of times, then folded himself into a ball and snuggled on the area of the sleeping bag that spilled onto the ground. He closed his eyes, and I realized that he had been with me since last night and hadn’t slept either. My poor boy was exhausted.

Sitting there in the unsoiled snow, I cringed with the gruesome observation that I must have gotten used to the stench of death and destruction. The air was lighter here. The war hadn’t stolen the innocence of this hillside. There was the clean scent of the Monterey Pines and Cypress trees. I could hear the trees lightly rustling in the slight breeze. My sense memories took hold, and I almost felt whole again, like I had ghoulishly dreamt this all.

It’s funny how we don’t always miss things when they disappear from our lives until they reappear. A bird lightly padded on the snow in front of me, leaving its little v-shaped stamp in its wake. The birds must have flown south for the winter, or more likely died off in the blasts. But this little gift was here now, and I carefully picked up my video camera to make a record of it, in case this was the last bird I would ever come across.

Several seconds into recording, a big, ugly combat boot stamped itself into my shot. The bird flew off. I turned off my camera and looked up at the perpetrator.

“What do you want, Jackson?” I asked.

“When are you going to forgive me?” he asked, taking a seat next to me on my log.

“When are you going to stop lying?” I asked, exchanging his question for my question. I could do it as long as he could.

“I really need a little time to myself, if you don’t mind?” I said, shifting tactics to see if I could get rid of him.

And then it happened. Jackson put a hand on either side of my face and pulled me in. His lips were wrong— soft— strong. His warm mouth crushed into mine, and his tongue found its way through the reluctant slit of my lips. He smelled musky and fresh, like the trees that surrounded us. His mouth became more urgent, and his tongue darted in mine, searching and conquering.

I found myself and pushed back as hard as I could.

“You know what you feel, Laura. I know you do,” he said firmly, eyes still closed.

I left my sleeping bag beneath him and grabbed my camera. “Hersh, come.”

I ran as fast as I could, but as the cold began to scorch my lungs, the snow swallow my legs and tears freeze to my face, I slowed. I realized I couldn’t hear his boots stomping behind me. Hershey must have thought that it was some kind of a game and slowed when I did. He was the only witness to my unforgivable crime, and I was thankful for his muteness.

Unforgivable crime… that’s what it was. Mark would never know, unless Jackson told him. I could blame it all on Jackson, but the truth was that we were both at fault.

My Catholic school training kicked in, and I raced to find Reverend John. Although he wasn’t Catholic, and therefore not under any obligation to keep my secret, I knew he would never tell. I was desperate to purge my sin.

Mark would never forgive me; I would never forgive me. What had I done?

∞

I never found a quiet moment with Reverend John.

Later in the morning, things were in full tilt. Chain saws and tractors were buzzing and whirring, and shovels were swinging in and out of the snow banks.

Jill, Mason and Granville decided that because of the icy density of the huge snow drifts we could build some of the caves above ground. I really wished that I would be one of the people in those rather than the underground caves, as I didn’t relish the idea of being buried alive.

Fear of being buried alive is a real phobia. It’s called taphophobia, and I have it. I don’t want to be buried when I die. I have such a bad phobia that I had decided long ago that I wanted to be cremated when it is my time. I even put it in my will before the Last War stole so many of those rights from us.

Fearful that I was running out of Karma credits as of late, I assigned myself an underground cave. Maybe that would be enough penance, if I may mix religious beliefs.

“With your issues, why would you put us underground when we could be topside?” asked Mark. Having no sleep was catching up with him. He was sitting at the radio in RV two, listening into communications with notes written from right to left spread out in front of him.

“I just did,” I said curtly. I was also running low on sleep and patience.

“So, I am supposed to keep you calm under there while you hyperventilate and suck up all of the oxygen? You are going to freak out, and you know it. And that is going to scare Bailey even more.”

“Bailey will be up top with Annie. And I can put you with someone else if that’s what you want,” I told him. I went into the bedroom of the RV and locked the door, unwilling to explain myself.

I heard him try the knob. “Whatever,” he yelled though the closed door.

I lay on the bed, and for the slightest moment I wondered why we were doing any of this. Why did we keep fighting to stay alive when the other humans, and even the earth, wanted us dead? Wouldn’t it just be easier to give in? I have never been a great believer in life after death, but wouldn’t it just be quieter— wouldn’t it just be over?

But we are humans, and we will fight for our survival, even when faced with insurmountable odds.

∞

As the day wore on, we became closer and closer to our goal.

I found a pair of boy’s all-weather gloves that fit me and began to help shape the emerging snow caves. My fingers were still freezing, but working outdoors felt right. Maybe part of the problem before the war was that most of us had stopped working outside. I noticed that I was able to stop thinking about everything; being attacked, making plans, Jackson. All I thought about was digging and packing ice.

We worked for three more hours, until it was too dark to continue. Tents went up, and we all knew this would be the last night we would be sleeping in a warm, synthetic structure, at least for the next few days.

Supper was MREs, so that we would learn how to make them before we went into hiding. We all sat together in the large tent and shared the experience with amusement. My meal was chili and macaroni. Why would anyone think that combo made sense? Everything came in separate, tan packets, and nothing looked very appetizing. Beggars can’t be choosers, right? We had been working hard in the snow, so we were all too hungry to opt out of our dinners. Mark’s military background kicked in, and he quickly made and ate his meal, then he left us to help transport the military surveillance equipment to our cave.