Deadfall: Survivors (18 page)

Brian has asked of me to create this journal for the effect of telling what
I’m  doing. I believe he’s  keeping this for records sake. It’s  a good idea, so I’ll  attempt to describe my happenings in these next couple of days, and as Brian said, in a fashion that he can understand.

Brian has also asked me to put into writing my thoughts on everything that has occurred up to this point. He ask
ed that I tell him what I see, from my point of view. He’s  a very curious individual, wanting to understand people. I do think, thought, that his intentions are benign. So I’ll  do what he asks.

I asked that the young teenager, Chris,
to come with me. He seemed the most bored individual at the underground complex, the house. While everyone has at least a certain level of expertise in some areas, Chris is still a child in school, and has yet to develop any real world skills. Granted, real world skills in this new world, are going to be nothing like he would have learned had that comet not come hurtling towards my planet. While Brian thinks that I have more skills than the rest of the group, I think he is confusing the fact that I’m  a foreigner in his old country, and had a career quite different than his, with expertise beyond his.

Unfortunately, I really am no grand master expert at anything other than journalism. My peculiar skill was finding a story before it became a story. That ability kept me at a high paying place of employment
, with a comfortable, if not exciting, life. I had the ability to travel at my pleasure, knowing that wherever I went, I would find a good story for the networks. Right now, though, the story is very apparent. Humanity is being extinguished by its own civilization’s success. We grew so grand and powerful, we were able to support a far larger population than ever before, and that population is what is extinguishing our flame on this planet.

I thought the greatest story of my life would be my last, but it seems that I have been allowed to continue here. Maybe this story will be the greater one. Of course, the audience is almost non-existent.

Chris has proven enjoyable company. I can see that he and his sister have gone through something horrible, and yet, she has nearly been destroyed by it, and he has become the group joker. He routinely smiles and laughs, and attempts horrible American jokes on me, jokes so bad I have to laugh at their atrocity. I claim not to be an expert at personalities, or to be any sort of psychologist, but this appears to be his natural personality. So why is he not reacting to the trauma as his sister has?

He seemed happy, if not eager, to leave the house to come with me. I didn’t ask him directly, but I believe he has actually wanted to distance himself from his sister. He also hasn’t said it directly, but it seems that he is disappointed with his sister’s reaction to the situations they have faced. I will not delve into it with him, but only record what he says.

Our walk over here was quite uneventful. The sun was warm, but at these heights, there’s  always a good breeze. The distance was as Brian said, just over twelve miles, or just over nineteen kilometers. We got off the road where Brian had indicated, and hiked a somewhat difficult trail up to the transmitter station. It was only difficult because I was carrying all the equipment that I thought I would require to fix anything I found there. Without knowing what was there, I brought a lot of extra things. In the past, I had always used vehicles to carry my equipment, so this was more of a first time experience for me.

The transmitter station is a simple place.
It’s  just one smaller building with the large antenna reaching up into the sky on the peak of this mountain called Pisgah. There’s  a small shed outside where there was a power generator, probably diesel, but the roof had broken in and the machine looked to be in horrible shape. I was no mechanical engineer, so I would have no chance to attempt to fix it. Power was going to be an issue, but I meant to explore everything first.

We broke into the small concrete building rather easily. One thing I had brought with me was a bolt cutter. The simple lock on the chain melted away easily under the leveraged power of the bolt cutter. The inside of the building is clean enough. No one has been here since the world fell to the dead, likely even before that.

Inside were the usual array of transmitters, power supplies, two older computers and the myriad of cables that hook everything up. Without being able to power anything, there’s  no way of knowing if the equipment all still works, but visually, despite a layer of dust, everything seemed to be in order. I did bring along a few batteries to at least test out the equipment. That will have to wait till tomorrow.

The rest of the evening has been spent cleaning up a little
, and making ourselves comfortable for the evening. We have already eaten, and the boy has started up a lengthy conversation about his days playing basketball for his former school, a conversation that quickly changed subjects from the athletic to the sexual, as he described one of his girlfriends in a level of detail that I had hoped not to hear. He was amused with my discomfort, and attempted to get me to yield information about any past relationships I may have had, but I was not about disclose anything like that to him.

That is information that is mine, and mine alone.

Entry 30 – Guns
[29]

Today we made the discovery that behind the weapon locker, the gun storage room, was a door that led to yet another room. The door had been hidden behind a myriad of crates, and while Evan was still doing his gun count, we moved the crates and discovered the door. The door led into what Evan told us was a shooting range, although mostly unfinished.

It was a long cavernous room, poorly lit, although, as Evan pointed out, the lighting was installed at places, just not connected to anything. It appears that my father did run out of time, or money. I know my father,
and although he knew far more about guns than I ever did, he was never fond of weapons. Maybe this was quite low on his priority of things to do at the house.

It
didn’t take Evan too long. He found a stash of paper targets, which he attached to a long corded runner. He cranked a wheel on the far right wall, and moved the target to the far back of the room, almost out of sight with the lack of lighting in the room. He then moved back into the locker, grabbed a rifle, brought it back behind the waist high wall at the entrance of the room, took aim, and began firing off rounds. We quickly realized what was missing.

Evan dug around until he
found ear muffs, that’s what I called them. He gave me one and put one on himself, then went back to firing off rounds. It wasn’t nearly as loud this time around. I patted him on the shoulder and left the room. This had given me an idea.

Heather and I spent the next couple of hours, under the guide of Evan, firing off different guns. As horribly Hollywood as it seems, putting a gun into a woman’s hands and letting her fire it
, is an excellent way to build self confidence. I would like to think that last night was just as good to her confidence as now, but, no, guns far outweigh anything I may have, or could have, said.

It could also be that Chris was gone. When I had told her how well I had slept, despite the lack of hours, she had commented that she had also felt rested. Maybe, a weight off her shoulders, maybe not having to watch or even have to think about her younger brother, maybe, it was all a good first step for her. I wonder if she could find peace the same way I
do? With, many, many steps. I think I’ll  suggest it to her tomorrow.

I wonder where she will want to sleep tonight
.

Do I sound like an idiot?

Evan claims he finished his count of the weapon locker today at supper. We have all been enjoying a movie of some sort on a TV that Aaron found in yet another of the storage rooms.

At least she sat next to me.

You know, in these moments, many feet under the ground, you can forget that your friends and family have all been destroyed, or are walking around as horrific remnants of themselves. You can forget that whatever life you had built up was completely gone. You could forget the things that you had seen, the family and friends torn to pieces by creatures that had once only been the part of fantasy or science fiction books.

We watched the movie, commented and laughed, all the while the human existence on this very planet we were now within was being consumed, eaten, one human at a time. Aaron and Lucy were snuggled up tight on a couch, probably with the memories of their families in some dark part of their minds, stashed back in deep by the presentation of this happy reality we were now in.

I had retreated myself into that giddy schoolboy part of my mind, sitting next to a warm body of someone beautiful yet hurt, but someone I had helped. And I kept thinking that I could once again just shut myself off and up into my cave of a house and leave everything out there, just forget about it. Seven years is a long time, and I bet that I, probably all of us, could simply just live it here in a blind ignorant bliss, as if nothing had happened.

I remember the horror of watching all of those zombies burning in my botched up bomb, the twisted bodies, writhing in the flames, flesh melting off like wax. I remember the face of that one teenage girl looking at me with her dead eyes. I remember the first zombie I found, weeks ago, hiking through the woods not too far from here. But the worst thing is that I can’t remember the people that I used to work with, or my old girlfriends, or friends from high school. I can barely remember my father’s own face, or even his voice, the hint of anger covering his hidden sadness.

I can remember Heather’s face. I can remember her warmth, and the smell of her hair. I don’t want to forget that. That makes me selfish, and maybe it makes me someone who has accepted defeat, as long as it will get me a warm shower and food.

I remember the first real hike my father took me on. Not one of those camping trips in a car, with a cooler and a huge tent, which my mother hated. No, this was after she left us. My father took me on a three day hike into the Shining Rock Wilderness area, not too far from here
, actually. We carried everything in on our backs, clawing away through some thick brush at times, and eventually reaching his goal, Cold Mountain. We spent an entire day there, talking, or just sitting there, not saying a thing. That night, as we lay in our sleeping bags, freezing our asses off, because, it is Cold Mountain, he told me, “Don’t forget. Don’t help everyone. But help those who need it. Otherwise, there’s no reason to be alive.”

I know he was still devastated because mom had left us. I think that devastation never left him. I thought it was quite corny what he had told me
, and I had never quite put it together with anything. My father was a good guy. Once he got his wealth, he did routinely help a lot of people, far more than many deserved. But I think the most important part of what he told me, wasn’t really the whole helping people thing. Yeah, that part is important, but looking back, and seeing what he did here, I think his biggest thing was to not forget.

I can’t forget what little I have seen. Heather sure as hell can’t forget what she has seen. And I don’t think I can just forget everything just for a few nights, weeks or years of inner calm.

I'm no good at any greater proclamations. I may be just ranting here as well. Heather just knocked on the door,  came in and sat down next to me, and read over what I have put in here just now. I know for sure that there’s  nothing more she would want to do than just forget it all. But she has smiled at me, and I know now that she won’t.

This is a dying world, but I won’t forget the life that once existed.

I need to revisit Cold Mountain.

Log of the day.

6:47
              Woke up. Cold. I enjoy this temperature. Chris is still out. Making coffee and then going outside to relieve myself and enjoy the coolness in the air.

7:13
              My morning walk took a while longer. As I enjoyed the cool air, the brisk morning gave me a clear view towards the city of Asheville. Brian had mentioned he had seen a thick cloud of smoke coming from there months ago, but as I gazed out there, I could still see the thick black smoke billowing up towards the cold sky. I’ll  have to do some research to see if what might be causing that.

8:20
              Chris has finally woken up. I’ve  made breakfast for the two of us. Simple bread and cheese, along with some orange juice. Chris was not impressed, and asked about IHOP, an American restaurant. I told him that if he found one, and was paying, I’d  go along with it.

9:00
              Everything cleaned up and packed up. We’re  planning to stay the night, but I wanted everything packed up, in case we had to leave the station on a moment’s notice. Our next step is to begin cleaning up the equipment that’s  located in this station, to begin taking account of what’s  available here. I’ve  instructed Chris on how to clean the equipment, and he is now dusting away at the counters, while singing a song at a rather loud and obnoxious level. No one should be this happy.

11:30
              We’re  taking a break. Most of the equipment has been cleaned up, and I took the next step in taking accounts. I was granted a large surprise. As I had recorded earlier, I suspected that the equipment was good, and in possible working condition, but had not accounted for any power supply to the equipment. Upon cleaning one of the computers, it actually powered up, the bright screen coming to life and brightening up the room. The first real piece of information on the screen detailed the power output in its storage, which I can only assume are batteries. While I worked on the computer, attempting to look through the information displays, I tasked Chris on attempting to find the batteries, but he was unable to.

The computer screen read that the power supplies were completely filled up
, and that charging had stopped. I clicked on a few links and was able, at least according to what the computer was telling me, to power up the equipment, and then the actual building itself. The third option was to power the transmitter, wherein it displayed a timer, three hours and forty five minutes. I left that option disabled.

With the power up, we turned on some of the other equipment
; the controls to the transmitters, the several media players, as well as the radio and video equipment. The lights also came on, although we turned them off in order to save power.

We
’ll  stop for a while, eat some lunch and rest a bit. Then we’ll  go back to writing notes down about the equipment.

16
:35              While spending the afternoon testing equipment by simply turning things on, and then writing down what the device was, we ran across two different, yet important pieces of information.

             
The first was that the second computer served as a wireless link back to the house. Once powered and booted up, the computer established a link back to the house, which allowed the computers back there to control the two computers here. They wouldn’t  be able to control the devices, the transmitters and equipment, but those could be allowed to stay in a sleep mode, and then be powered on remotely to allow service from the house.

The second piece of information came just twenty minutes ago. While testing some of the transmitting equipment by playing media recordings through it, we powered up some of the radios
, just to see if the transmission was working. When these radios were powered up, we began to pick up what appeared to have been an ongoing conversation between two men.

Chris and I sat there transfixed to the two human voices we
didn’t  recognize. From the ongoing conversation, we picked up that they were in Asheville itself, and were attempting to remain hidden from a large amount of zombies. The two men weren’t  together, but separated by many miles. One was within the city, while the other was on the outskirts. They mentioned that they were looking for something, something they kept referring to as a “datila”. This was a word that neither Chris nor I could understand, or knew the meaning of.

Chris and I began working on a method to contact these men
, when the conversation took a turn we did not like. The man who was inside the city told the other to not worry about him, and that his primary task was to find this “datila”. When the other man asked him what to do if he found anyone at this “datila”, the first man proceeded to tell him to eliminate anyone.

The conversation went on with the two arguing some points about what they were doing, but Chris and I understood that these men were not looking for help, and for our group, were far from being a help to us.

As they finished their back and forth, one signed out by saying “we follow Inanna”, with the other repeating the phrase.

I
didn’t  record the conversation, so I’ll  have to attempt to recall the exact words later with the rest of the group.

We
’re  finished for today. I think we’ve  done everything we could here. I would have liked to have stayed a little longer to actually test the equipment, but I think this bit of news needs to be reported back to the house and those there.

19
:15              The two men who we had heard earlier came online once again, but only spent a minute or two talking, merely reporting their condition and their status. They were off as soon as they had done so.

Chris and I have been in a lengthy discussion. He was the first to sense that the two strangers on the radio channels were
not  people that we should be making contact with. He shared some information about some occurrences that he had with American soldiers shortly after the initial outbreak of the dead.  Apparently, these soldiers had taken the chaos as an opportunity to have their way with those they encountered.

It might be in our best current interest not to broadcast anything from the TV tower.

We’ll  return tomorrow.