Safe Haven Refugee Camp - Utah
1
The End of the world has given us a harsh, merciless existence, where nature tries hard to push mankind to the very brink of extinction. Everything is against us, between us...untold miles of lawless, apocalyptic roads wait for our feet, and the Future, cold and dark, offers little comfort. Without CHANGE, there will be no peace…only Survivors. And I am determined to be one of them.
1/1/2013
It's been almost two weeks since the War, and I still can't believe my luck. Joe, a senior Greenpeace member, showed up late and heard me trying to dig my way out. There were no other survivors of the secret meeting. Why was I spared? I deserve to still be under that house. My dreams always start with me in that basement, not sure if I'll live. Maybe I'll find answers there.
We're holed up in a barn with a tin roof, waiting out the storms, and I wonder if my companion hears any of what I dream about. It doesn't matter. Not much does now except making it to Little Rock. My grief for America is almost unbearable.
Adrian sighed, looking away from the notebook long enough to take a swig from his canteen. The first depressing weeks had been strange, full of hard days of backbreaking labor, and eerie nights of broken dreams where he was in charge of a small group of survivors - fighting with everything he had to keep them alive and free. Instead of fading, as his concussion and ribs healed, the images had gotten stronger, clearer.
There were glimpses of a bright future, and horrible Ground Zeroes, and he had found himself thinking about it almost constantly when he was awake. He'd quickly understood how to do it, how to set up the foundation for a new democracy - sensing even then that the people he'd gather would have nothing but their lives - and the guilt of it, of knowing he might have prevented it all, would hold him after the twenty hour days began to wear him down.
He'd been right, Adrian thought, sending his eyes back to the page. He was well into one of those now, the third this week.
1/4/2013
We hit Nellis today, and there's nothing left. I think maybe I'm sick. I'm seeing things Joe doesn't, hearing voices. I see odd colors in new places, stare at eyes that glow like neon bulbs from dark and empty windows. There are words in the trees and movies in the gritty clouds, puddles with reflections… I may be having a breakdown. It's barely a scratch on what I deserve.