Raphael's Personal Journal
ENTRY 1
Today I coughed. Not a Smoker's Cough. Nor a Post Nasal Drip Cough from allergies. And not a cough from something in the air. This was the beginning of a Sick Cough; that first cough with that slightest of feelings in the back of your throat and that slightest of an odd taste in your mouth and that slightest of feelings in your chest. The cough most people ignore. The first symptoms most people ignore or deny. The day of denial for most people. But not me. I knew better. This was Day One.
TODAY, I coughed. After making it all the way through the Deadliest Pandemic in Human History (I think), and remaining totally symptom free for over 2 years, through the mass deaths and breakdown of society and government, through the pure chaos of the Human Race's last defiant actions in the face of the end of all things and a hellish death, all the way to the literal end; the end of civilization and very possibly the end of the Human Race... and TODAY, I coughed.
It has been well over two weeks, possibly a month since my Best Friend died; I buried her in the backyard. I still wear her eye necklace; memento mori. Which means it's been even longer since my certain exposure to the Omega Variant; the deadliest and most virulent variant of the New Virus. Which means I should have been symptomatic well before now, if I wasn't somehow resistant or immune.
I didn't waste time trying to decide if it was or wasn't the beginning of the end, instead, I packed up everything I had prepared for my departure with the Poodle Boys. After the death of my Best Friend, I knew we wouldn't be staying in this apartment any longer than necessary. I had been making forays out to scavenge what I could, where I could, getting what I thought I might need to survive once I left the apartment and the city.
I had prepared us all to go... but just as we were about to leave, I had a sudden urge to write... something... anything, down on paper... I found an unused journal bound in leather in my Best Friend's belongings; something left over from her mother's estate (she had died of cancer near the beginning of the Pandemic, before it got lethal).
And so I begin writing this journal of the beginning of my journey and possibly the end of my days. As I write these words, I am about to depart my apartment and the city, this city of death, and I plan to never return. I am hopeful about the future, but realistic.
R
ENTRY 2
What a difference a day makes...
With the Poodle Boys loaded up in their 'travel pockets' attached to my backpack, I left the apartment and went up to a park across 'the river' (dry year round except during monsoons). My cough got worse. During a bad coughing fit (felt like I choked on a bong hit) I was doubled over and serendipitously found in a bush a foot shaped medallion made of gold or brass... but it disappeared after I handled for a moment or two... I was perplexed... I thought it could be a hallucination brought on by the illness... perhaps due to a high fever.
I let the poodles loose, but instead of running wild or sniffing around and wetting every bush in site, they just sat there, oddly, just staring at me. So I loaded them back up and left the park... I felt oddly aimless at that moment... I found myself whistling a tune as I walked. A ways off I could see a group of people, the first I had seen since The Quiet that followed The Chaos; they appeared to be scavenging. I knew that being around groups of people, especially now, was dangerous, for several reasons, so I avoided them and their area, knowing they had most likely already picked it clean of anything valuable or useful.
After a short time I found myself at a large park; towards the back of the park and not easily seen from the streets, I found an enormous pile of vehicles and motorcycles and bodies; it looked like a junkyard, but none of it was junk... it was once a biker camp of sorts and the scene of an intense shootout, based on the number of dead bodies with bullet wounds... it didn't look recent, but it surely took place after the chaos began.
I spent a little time walking about, scavenging what I could. I coughed, and it seemed much lessened than the last... and I recall the taste of apple in my mouth... made me wish I had grabbed some apples from the wild apple tree back in the other park. While scavenging, I also found a survivor... well, actually, she found the Poodle Boys, or they found her; they had gotten out ahead of me and when I found them they were licking her face joyfully, it was obvious they liked her immediately and she seemed to like them too, but her back was to me. She turned around with a shiny .38 revolver pointed at me; she looked to be about 10 years old, but sounded much older when she spoke; smart and funny. She was friendly enough, but made it clear she would shoot me if necessary. She told me about the shootout she was involved in with her Daddy and Uncle and how she shot a man 'below the belt buckle', which made her Daddy and Uncle laugh. The story made me smile and chuckle... I now had a better idea of the type of kid I was dealing with. We made fast friends... mainly because of the poodles, would be my guess. I introduced the Poodle Boys; Fudge, Swirly and Berkeley. I said she could call me Raphael. She said to call her Slugger, like her Daddy did.
She led me thru a maze of motorcycles and other vehicles until we reached an area that looked more like a camp, with tarps covering small areas. She led me to one such tarp covered shelter to meet her Uncle, he was in bad shape; sick and dying and far too weak to move, let alone leave or look after his niece. He sent Slugger away to go get the keys to his trike then asked me to take her away from there, to take his loaded trike, the cat outside (a tuxedo cat had been sitting on a stack out tires out front of the shelter) and Slugger and go to Colorado Springs to the Emergency Disease Center there. He said Slugger seemed to be immune and they would know what to do with her. He also asked for a .45 that was too far for him to reach... I knew what he wanted it for.
I was not excited about the prospect of having to care for a child; I am a bit too selfish and self centered to properly care for a child... and I have known this for some time. Hell, I was an absentee father in my own son's life. Now, I'm not a horrible person, I do think of others and I do care... but I tend to think about me and my wants and needs first, mostly. So, I know I'm not a good role model for children, in lots of ways, and should not be caring for children... but there I was, thinking about doing just that. There I was about to fulfill that poor sick man's dying request... knowing I had to do the right thing... knowing that child would die horribly in some way once her Uncle was gone... which wouldn't be long based on the look of him.
I told him I would do it, but I needed 20 minutes or so to look the trike and the over the supplies already on the trike... and maybe gather some more supplies before leaving. I suggested he have a talk with Slugger while I was about that. I got the keys from her when she arrived and went to see the trike; it was sweet. It had a custom made trailer hitched up, half of it was designed to carry a medium sized animal, like a large breed dog, in comfort, or a few smaller animals say, a cat and three poodles, in less comfort but still safely. I scrounged around the area and found some foodstuffs, but not much, and packed them into the trailer.
When I returned to the shelter, Slugger was gone again and her Uncle was sitting up trying to smoke a cigar without coughing up his guts, there was a slight smile on his face, both of pleasure of the cigar and relief that someone came along who could get his niece safely away from there. He tossed me an unopened box of Cohibas, just like what he was smoking, then told me to take the full case of Pappy van Winkle Reserve next to him and the case of hand grenades under the tarp behind me. I took all three; I'm not stupid. Plus, I love explosives. After talking a bit with Slugger's Uncle, and at his advice, I decided to take the time to gather more supplies in the completely unscavenged tangle of motorcycles and bodies I had passed earlier.
It was grisly work, but it proved more fruitful than I could have imagined; it was truly a post apocalyptic wishlist convenience store... but it came with a price, besides the time of searching through a tangle of motorcycles... it was a bloody, rotting, smelly, gagging mess of dead bodies mixed in with that tangle of machines... I was grateful that it was winter time in the southwest and that it was an oddly colder than usual winter; the daytime temps hadn't gotten above 50 degrees for over a month or more and nighttime temps were near or below freezing most nights; it helped slow the decomp and kept the maggots and flies down... but not completely... it was already starting here, slowly. And I was also grateful that I had some VapoRubb for under my nose. The work was grisly, but the fruits of my labor made it all worth it; extra handguns and ammo, some foodstuffs, and some luxuries and other valuables good for trading. I gathered it all together and hauled it back to the trike, cleaned myself up and packed everything up, including a 'bait box' full of stuff of some value and mostly stuff that only looks of value... drop it during a running chase, they might stop to grab the stuff letting me get away... I hope...
Slugger had already loaded the cat and the Poodle Boys into the pet portion of the trailer... the dogs and cat were getting along just fine, like weirdly so... even since they met outside the shelter... but I was happy it wasn't a problem instead and counted my blessings. We left the park headed for the highway north and avoided the interstate in order to avoid the larger towns and cities where possible; I knew the area well, I had driven there for many years. Getting thru the vehicle clogged and blocked city streets and then finally out of town was slow and nerve wracking, constantly on the lookout for others looking to take what I have. When we hit any stretch of open road, I took advantage of the power of the trike and the adrenaline from my wariness and gunned it and just let the miles scream by... I was very familiar with that particular highway and the trike, even with trailer, handled superbly. The miles and landscape seemed to the fly by... and don't even remember the junction where I switched over to the highway leading east along the southern edge of Colorado... but next thing I know, we're pulling up to a long wall of stacked cars and a guarded gate. Welcome to Fort Garland.
Now, this is where things start to get weird... and weirdly familiar... and kinda scary... and kinda cool.
Upon our arrival at the gates to Fort Garland, Colorado, we found the first people we had encountered since we left Tucson and the largest collection at that, and well organized it appeared; that was the first thing I noticed that seemed out of place or a little off. The second was a flag that was hanging loosely by the gate that seemed familiar, but I never got a good look at it. Then I noticed the sign: “Welcome to Fort Garland. Everyone welcome except Orcs.” There was more, ending in “Be calm, or we'll kill you.” It was also written in Spanish, which I speak and read, mostly, as well as Russian, which I recognize by the characters, and Elvish... seriously, Elvish. And one short sentence in the Black Speech... Seriously, like from Lord of the Rings. I thought it was some kind of joke. The six guards armed with AR15's all seemed healthy, as did the fellow who came over to greet me; Third Mayor Marco Doyle. He wanted to take our temperature and a swab, which seemed normal to me, then he started talking about the Bruised Hand (which sounded Orcish to me) and the Sylvan Horde (which sounded like Elves to me) and he sounded serious. I mentioned heading to The Springs, he told me they had a Federal presence; Air Force, Space Command, CDC, etc. Then he mentioned Denver being the National Capitol... OK, weird again. Sounded like a lot of people and a lot of civilization for a world ravaged by a Pandemic. He suggested I gas up before soon as they were running low on fuel. He took our temps and got a swab from each both of us, then opened the gate and let us in. Something seemed off... not quite right.
He asked about my route getting to Fort Garland and if I had any troubles, mentioned the Native American Tribes (though he called them Indians) handling the change well, but some internal problems with some smaller groups. Then he spoke of other tribes to the south becoming Half Orc but still Native. He suggested I talk to another Mayor, Carl, about my route and what I encountered. Then he mentioned The Changed again, where something happened and people just suddenly changed overnight... SIX MONTHS AGO! That would have put it before all the mass deaths began due to the Omega Variant. But how?
R
