Artifact 2092: Diary Entry

Entry consists of a handwritten page, appears to be torn from a journal. Discovered from Black Zone Theta, Grid 33,-82

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It stopped raining today. Father Adam says it's a gift from God,
washing away sin from the earth and giving us good water to drink. I
like that it's stopped though, because it made my chores less of a
bother. I fed the chickens and swept their pen (before feeding them,
obviously) and took Mother Miriam her breakfast. I don't think she's
going to be better in time for the wedding, but Brother Alfred says
it's only because she's old and broken bones don't mend so fast in old
people.

Some of the men are fixing the hole the storm made in the church roof
and Sister Clair and Sister Theresa are making it pretty with some
flowers. The fuss makes me uncomfortable, but I suppose it's
important to make it look nice when God is especially looking.

Father Adam says it is good that I agreed to get married. He says love
in marriage is very nice if you can find it, but since God ended the
sinful world it's far more important to be dutiful. He says its
actually better not to be in love because that way we can avoid sinful
fornication. He says I must remember to obey and work hard and have
lots of babies. Father Adam says that
God wants us to help refill the world with children brought up to be
good so that He won't ever have to kill nearly everyone ever again.

Sister Lucy said to Father Adam that it was wicked for me to get
married at my age, but Father Adam said it wasn't up to her to
interpret God's will and he had Brother Norman whip her with the
switch. I don't know why Sister Lucy thought it her business. She
said I'm too young to have babies, but Sister Thomasina got married
when she was a year younger than me and has two children now so I
don't see how she can be right. After she was whipped, Sister Lucy
raised her voice and argued, right in front of everyone, so Father
Adam took the switch and beat her again himself. Then he quoted St
Paul, the bit about women being silent and humble and let Brother
Alfred take her away to have the cuts tended. He is very forgiving.
I don't know if she'd been so rude to me I'd have been so nice.

Sister Sonia said that before God punished us for our wickedness,
Sister Lucy was something called a Social Worker and she couldn't help
being interfering and a busybody. I'm sorry she got switched, but
Father Adam is only doing his best to keep us pure.

It will be strange after tomorrow to call Brother Luke "Husband", but
I'm glad that my sister, my real sister although Father Adam says I
shouldn't make distinctions between her and my other Sisters now, will
be marrying him too at the same time. Sister Lucy had something to
say about that too, but I don't know why she called it sick. Neither
Brother Luke, Izzy, or me are sick. Brother Alfred would have noticed
if we were. He is so clever about spotting when people are sick in
case it is another sign of God's judgement against us.

I don't think I like Sister Lucy. She is very interfering. I'd
better go and pray to make the unkind thoughts go away.

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Entry filed by Gill, reference number K75-23.2

Artifact 5422: Journal entry, Gloucestershire area.

Transcript of Pages from book found near campsite of primitives, Severn Valley area, England, Grid 51,-2

The Ritings of Geff the record keeper

25^th Night after longest Day

We wer gathered arownd the fire for the sunset meal. It is myself, the twins Tomas and Eeyan, Kait the weaver and won of the hunters whos name was Mat. We wer discussing the day, how Tomas and had been workin on arrowheads for Mat and the other hunters usin some new metal made from iron and something olden.

Now Eeyan was speakin of how he had found an olden something off towards the old motorpath, wot the olders called Emm five. Its nothing but a valley now, our ancestors had long stripped it clean of the metal scraps that rested there. Can still see some of the fake rock path and mirrorstones put in the ground and he thought he’d found one on this path leadin to Emm 5. So got out my inkfeather and papers and began writin what pepol sed. To write it up tidy later on.

“I stepped closer” he sed “Thinkin we could always use mor mirrorstones, but as I got closer I could see it wuz something else. A peece of glass, small, round, could hold sumthin, had a strainge symbul on it,” I looked at him, he grabbed my feather and ink and dru it out. I looked to him and the three crezents and a circul.

“I know that, its and olden markin for something that causes sickness.” I said, Mat stood quickly.

“If it causes sickness don’t bring it neer me!” I new mat, he was strong and tuff but fearful of spirits and diseeses. Speshyully olden things.

“No, i thort i new what it was, something olden back from the tym of the big one, so i left it ther, it seemed frytening, something that shook yer soal”

“it was probably one of ther bombs, wot released the sickness,” Mat said, sitting down agen slowly. I looked to him, confyused.

“my dad, says the big one that killed the oldens, was a plague release by the rulers, there was too many people you see and this would cull them down, like you cut low branches off crop,”

Eeyan looked to him “Why don’t we see any olden rulers arownd then smart man,”

“theyre hidin, still fraid of the big one getting them, see we are all safe from it, the oldens that became us were blessed by the great god, but they hid, so they can still be got,” Eeyan was abowt to talk, probly to ask Mat how he nyew all this.

Kayt finally spoke, kwyetly “the big one killed the rulers, no oldens survive ecksept those that became us, all others ar gone,”

“How can yoo be so sure!?” Mat asked, Eeyan was quick to reply

“Well then how can yoo?” Mat sat down. Eeyan carried on

“Cors no oldens dead, the big one turned peepul into demons!” Mat larfed at this, Eeeyan carreed on, “it did, all pale and dead but walkin! No olden cood escayp that!”

“how can yoo be sure? smart man” Mat mokd eeyan. “Our Dad told us so,” Tomas, hoo was myoot nodded. Mat still larfed. Kayt spoke again

“Duz it matter what corzed the big one? Its gon” she said as she sipped her appelwyn.

“What if it cums bak?” Mat asked, tryin to sownd smart. I spoke this tym

“Then nothing, eether we are blessed an sayf, or we dy, the Oldens dyed and they coud fly and span oshuns and create light and sound with masheens, we r nothing compared 2 them,” I lowered my hed.

“Maybe it shud stay that way,” Kayt sed, no one else said much that nite.

Artifact 1433: Hand written note, Birmingham Area

Note found in house in Solihull area of Birmingham

To whoever may find this,

I’m writing this cos I am leaving. I’m hoping to get to Cornwall, I used to have an aunt there. Maybe I still do. I want to try and find her, I liked her. If she still exists, she’s my only relative. It sounds silly, but I want what’s left of my family. I’ve left the address stuck on the fridge if you’re interested.

I know it’s probably hopeless. But it has been weeks since I have seen anyone and I can’t cope with the silence. The army used to drive around a lot, and there was always sirens going off from somewhere. But that was months ago. Then I was just left with the distant sounds of looting and death. Now each morning I wake up to the sound of nothing. Still, silence. I live in a city, there should never be silence. I don’t venture out much, just to get food. But I’m running out of local shops to grab food from. Plus, I would rather die trying to do something than sitting around here and slowly starving to death.

I don’t think I’ll get it, the disease. I would have by now. Mum, Dad and Jenny all did and I’m convinced the cat did too. That’s something to do with the word ‘mutation’ I think, that it can go from animals to people. I dunno, I never did pay much attention in science. History on the other hand I loved. We were doing ‘the plague of 1665’ and all that stuff. I think irony comes into that somewhere. We did about a village called Eyam (wherever that is). It was the first place to get the plague outside of London, thanks to some flees in some cloth. They isolated and village to try to prevent the spread, and they nearly all died. There was one woman apparently who buried her husband and children. I feel like her. I didn’t have to bury them, I could have given them up to be burnt by the army, but I didn’t. Perhaps I should have done, don’t they say that you can’t dig up plague pits in case you can still catch it? Maybe that’s what happened.

You’d have thought, really, that in those hundreds of years between then and now, we might have been able to cope a bit better with something like this. All we need is for the soldiers to start shouting ‘bring out your dead’ and it would be just the same. I’ve even seen people mark their doors.

It sounds weird, but I miss school. I miss life, all of it. Everyone and everything. I can’t complain cos everyone is in the same position.

I thought I would write this in case anyone was to come here in the future. Like some sort of ‘time capsule’ thing. So they would know whose house they were in, whose bed they were sleeping in and not to dig up the garden. It was my house. Me – Andy, aged 14, Jenny, age 9, Mum – Margret, Dad – Phil (I can never remember how old they are) and the cat – Bobby. I think I will head off now, I’ve got a long way to walk. Hopefully, if she’s alive, aunt Jane will have a car.

Here goes nothing. Bye

Artifact 1921: Typed note, author name unknown

Transcript of note found in train carriage, South west Devon mainline

Welcome to my humble abode.

You’re welcome to it.

With a reasonable amount of time remaining and a high sense of self importance I write this statement.

When we realised what was going on, like most people who were still capable of doing so we left the city, thinking for no real reason that the countryside would better.. Having No car we left on foot, through gardens and along roadsides we travelled, avoiding the main transit ways for safety, camping in houses that were safe, or at least seemed safe, but that’s another story. This took some time, avoiding riots and blockades it took a few days. By the time we got out of the city it had started to go quiet. At one point, out of curiosity we wandered towards the motorway.

Cars as far as the eye could see, all silent, we could see figures inside them silent and some figures wandering around them, we couldn’t see what they were doing, we just felt a great sense of foreboding. I never really knew hat that word meant, only that old writers use this. Now I know what they meant, but I doubt they saw anything like this.

So, living off cold tins of stuff we grabbed from a seemingly abandoned CO-OP we struck out across the countryside. Oh, me and Kate, and I’m Paul. That’s the problem with typewriters, can’t go back and edit. I never thought I’d miss Microsoft word.

A week of living on tins of pineapple chunks and cold beans didn’t seem too appealing but neither of us knew which berries were safe and which might give us the shits. I’ve since mused on how separated from nature we all were but at the time I was just hungry so we eventually started eating them, trial and error. I tried to further supplement this by catching pigeons, with no luck.

So berries in bag, beard sprouting on face we reached a railway line, empty. We decided to follow it; maybe it would take us to a town, maybe not. We had no plan, we were just carrying on, tired, unable to sleep for noises and scratches around us at night. We followed the line, I’d like to tell you, invisible reader about the incident with the old lady and the ticket office, but I can feel time slipping away from me.

On an empty stretch of track, overlooking the coast stopped a train, some small two carriage commuter jobby. We approached it cautiously, only to be greeted by a man whose beard was probably enormous even before the death of the electric razor and running water. His name was Arthur and unsurprisingly, he was a railway driver. As we’d later find out he’d hijacked this train, departing without passengers save for his wife Molly and their children. After being checked for cleanliness and signs of infection we were allowed in on condition we shared our food and helped hunt. As it happened John could hunt pigeons, so we feasted on meat that night with good company and nervous, if hopeful, smiles.

Arthur was the first to go. Not die, not definitely, but probably. He went on a reccy on his own. Stupid bastard. Didn’t see him for a few days, but Molly started worrying within two minutes. When we woke up the following morning we found John, their eldest had gone to try and find him. Also stupid, albeit 14 years, so ill forgive him.

Molly and Suzy, her daughter found him that afternoon, he’d managed half a mile before slipping down a hill, landed on his neck. Lived long enough to say goodbye to his mum.

Molly went missing a week later. I wonder if something happened to her, but I suspect she did something herself. I guess I’ll never know. Suzy never spoke after that.

Suzy lived with us in our striped out train, with its crude metal fireplace, beds made of chairs adorned with some awful pattern of the type only found on bus and train seats. Me, Kate and our silent adopted daughter

So we lived, roughly off the land, and the sea. Till one day, inexplicably, Kate fell ill with an infection; I don’t know whether it was from bad food, or finally a poisonous kind of berry. If only we knew, I miss Waterstones too. So we watched her slowly fade away, food didn’t last very long, we gave her a carriage to herself, which I visited, against her better judgment but me and Suzy survived that.

Suzy was mute, but still functional, for a 9 year old who’d see more than she should of the world’s horrors. Till one day she left, without a word, and even if she spoke, I didn’t hear it.

So I stayed here, on my own, slowly starving. A modern man can’t survive on his own wits. When I fell ill I was quite glad, I can feel life fall away from me, and each button on this type writer feels so heavy to press.

Can’t be too bad though, I managed to write all this bollocks.

I don’t know what it is, it’s not a major illness though and certainly not the big one that’s been killing everyone. At least I survived the big one.

Diary Entry: Ruby Li

Excerpt from a diary found in the Shrewsbury area, cover idenfies author as "Ruby Li"

Eve and I joked about when something like this would happen. I would always read the Zombie survival guide, and preparing myself for the end of the world. She always said she'd be the first to die, hopeless in those sorts of situations. After all it was all only joke. Wasn't it?

For a while after the big one was first broadcasted life carried on as normal. Eve and I carried on working, shops were still open, if a little quieter. I started to collect things then...getting extra tinned food, big bottles of water, first aid kits. Before anyone believed the story. Eve thought I was going mad, and would laugh at me. I'd laugh with her, and just say we can never be too careful. She carried on working, although most places had closed and the streets were quiet. I got suspicious then. She said the government would protect us.

The government had told us not to worry, they had found a cure, and if anyone was ill to go to the health clinics situated at the community halls. And I had started to believe them.

Until Eve fell ill. I can still remember that day.

I had taken her to those supposed "health clinics". The screaming from the other patients was unbearable. The room wall to wall in blood, and patients crammed into any space possible some dead, some alive. The smell of vomit and rotting meat had filled my nostrils, and when I think about it, the smell still bothers me. I remember there were these Men in white suits walking around me with guns in their hands,and pulled me away from Eve, and taking me to a separate room. They took away my dignity, washed me down and checked if I was also infected. Then they threw me a white mask, and a fresh pair of clothes.

I remember the look on Eve's face wen they returned. A look of peace and calm. Angelic. Apart from one single bloody hole placed into her forehead, the already blood stained pillow soaking up the fresh blood pouring from her head. This was the governments idea of getting rid of the virus. I remember being told there was nothing they could do, and this was the only way of dealing with the virus. I was ushered out, back into the streets, as if nothing had happened.

After returning home, I checked the supplies, bought them up to the loft along with Eve's pet hamster. I wanted to shut the world away. We were going to get married. We were going to adopt. Why did they take her and not me as well? I miss her so much.

They thought they could contain the virus...We believed them. Little did we know they were building a new world....A White Zone. Leaving the rest of us to suffer.

All I can do is sit and listen to the low frequency of the radio hoping to hear a voice...any voice....Any survivors?

Personal Account, Location: Surrey, England

Personal account of scavenger found operating in South East England area.

Boom! Every so often it just hits you like a brick in the face. The sheer enormity of what

happened. There were a lot of people talking about divine retribution; saying maybe it wasn't too

late to repent. I wonder if they're still saying that? Me, I'm a firm believer that this is it. This is all we get; a one shot deal and I'm still trying to make the most of it.

There's no one I know left now. They all believed they would go to a better place and I

guess they have. They're all giving back to the earth they spent their whole lives helping to destroy.

I don't know why the world was surprised when the big one finally struck. All parasites will

eventually exhaust their host's resources. Even a seemingly indestructible virus can consume too

much; destroying the host by replicating itself to excess. Because that's all people are really, just

some sort of parasite; a virus on the earth.

It's strange. You'd think it would be so much more quiet and still now. Full of silence.

In fact now I think it might be noisier than ever. Or maybe it's just that I notice more without the constant hum of the cities and my own humdrum thoughts burbling in the background. Sometimes I can convince myself that I've forgotten what it used to be like. Sometimes I can even pretend I'm the only one; that somehow I survived because I was never really one of them. It would explain a lot; why I could never settle down, why I was always a loner and in trouble, why I acted on impulse instead of thinking most of the time, why they locked me up.

Now it's like they lock themselves up. All walled inside their safe-zones. I went right up to

one of those walls once. I scrambled through the wire and fences and placed my hand on that cold concrete. I would have tried to find a way inside, tried to grasp at some semblance of the mundane life I used to live. That is if they hadn't shot at me. I'm actually quite glad they did. I spent too long locked away because I wasn't like them. I don't want to be walled in again. Out here I can finally be free. There's no one to make me second-guess myself. No walls, no bars and no judgement. Just me and the sounds of a world being left to come alive again.

Artifact 1082: Audio Recording, Location: New Zealand

Archivists note: Transcript of recording found on a Dictaphone found 15 miles north of Wellington, New Zealand

The thing I remember most about The Big One is the silence. There had been so much news, all the time, everywhere, about this new threat. My family, sceptics to the last, laughed it off, calling it another SARS, another swine flu, even with the hourly health warnings that came later. I was the only one that really took it seriously. ‘Course, I took anything health-related seriously in those days. I was a paranoid in the midst of sceptics. My OCD didn’t help, either. Or maybe it did. I was always washing things, sterilising them. Probably the only reason I’m still alive.
It was sudden, when it happened. First, the Telly went down. That shocked my brother. He couldn’t believe that anything could be so bad as to end television. Next was the internet. I think that was what finally shocked my parents into actually taking it seriously. But by then it was too late. There wasn’t anything they could do. One by one, it took them.
My sister was the last to go. She’d been the only one to take it anywhere near seriously, until the Telly went down. She was the luckiest of us. I found her OD’d on the bathroom floor one morning. She’d found some of Mum’s sleeping pills. I don’t know whether she thought that maybe they were little sweets, or something, but sometimes, I think that, somewhere, behind the madness that took her, there must have been some shred of what she used to be, and she knew what was coming, and she couldn’t face it.
The worst moment so far, for me, wasn’t seeing my family taken, or die. I feel horrible thinking that, but I know it’s true. The very worst moment, was the day the radio turned to static. I had never known such soul-crushing agony, such loneliness. It was a few months after that I left the house.
I wandered for days before coming across any sign of life. When I did, I found out they didn’t want me. They thought I’d have the virus. I didn’t handle that too well. When they threw me out, I’m not altogether sure I stayed sane. If I’d ever even been sane. But that was a defining moment for me. It was then that I knew nothing was ever going to be right again.
So, I wandered. During the day, I’d scavenge what I could. Food, clothing, medical supplies, shiny stuff, anything. I’d clean it, of course. At night, I didn’t sleep. I’d set up my camp as best I could, and hope the screams didn’t come nearer. They never did. But I’d found some fast acting poison, just in case it did. I wouldn’t become one of them, no way.
Once, I was shot at, by one of the White Zoners. I don’t know why, but it hurt. I couldn’t fix myself up, too much blood. I can’t handle blood. It’s still in my leg. It’s why I limp.
I hear life’s almost normal inside the White Zones. They sleep in beds, and eat their food hot. They wear clothes that were made for them. Or at least fit them. And it’s clean in there. It would be so good to get properly clean.
I’m almost out of disinfectant. I use it as sparingly as I can handle, but it’s not going to last much longer. I don’t know how I’m going to survive. I need to find some more. Maybe I could trade with some White Zoners?
I don’t know what I’m going to do. I know just one thing, I am going to live. No matter what.

Personal Account: "Disco Matt"

Transcript of Interview with Independent Settler Who went by the Alias "Disco Matt" real identity unknown

It's funny really, all the post-apocalyptic fiction had us running out of fuel in weeks and returning to the pre-industrial age. I think it must have been writers who were scared of machinery and didn't understand how to keep it going. As things were, we're well off for diesel at least. It keeps better than petrol and with only a handful of us still alive we've got enough to last for a couple of years at least.

That's where I come in. I've ended up as the chief mechanic of a now fortified town, keeping the lights on and the vehicles working for the salvage teams. I don't often have time to go out with them, and I've told them to avoid any remotely difficult terrain as we just don't have the parts to repair major damage.

When it hit I watched, and more importantly listened to friends in emergency planning. When they began to go silent or post instructions to get the hell out I gathered a small group. Together we loaded our 4x4s and trailers with supplies and headed for a wooded area we all knew well. There was ample wood for building and heating, and we'd brought enough tinned food for three months or so. We collected rainwater and eventually found a spring in the forest. We grew crops on the land our small logging operations cleared. We installed a CB radio with a giant amplifier that would have had OFCOM at the door in minutes before the virus. As it was, we heard it all. Lone voices pleading for help. Groups like ours searching for a bolthole. We decided early on that we wouldn't transmit in response, fearing either infection or violent attack by people with more weapons and fewer supplies.

As the months drew on, the radio grew quieter. We still had plenty of power to run it, with solar panels charging a large bank of batteries during the day to run lights and charge laptops. The mobile phones went off very quickly, but GPS still works now. I remember reading that it would last for a few years in the event of the system being left unmanned, and sure enough a reliable fix was still easy to find.

We sent out search teams, instructed to keep moving and try to avoid being seen. They found bodies, some areas had suffered so badly that they could not stand the sight or smell. They found valuable spares and brought them back to our base.

At this point, we decided to stay where we were rather than return to our former homes. The towns were too dangerous, with warring gangs in larger settlements. Our location remained secret and we were already constructing permanent buildings using timber felled from elsewhere in the forest. As we searched, we met other groups like our own. Some we recognised from clubs we'd been members of before the outbreak, and alliances were formed. We'd communicate via radio link and share parts and supplies. Our camp grew larger, as there seemed to be little risk of infection now.

That winter was the first blow to our new town. For months we knew no existence beyond collecting firewood and trying to stop the livestock that we had rounded up from abandoned farms from freezing to death. Two of our number were injured when their vehicle rolled off a frozen track, luckily they suffered only broken bones and our resident medic was able to splint them well enough for recovery. We began to see occasional lone road warriors seeking our help, and if they seemed reasonable we accepted them into the community.

Spring came none too soon, and gave us time to take stock. We had built a large village in a previously deserted forest using only those tools that we had brought with us. We had electricity and reliable water supplies.

There has to be an end. We're not sure we want that mythical army truck to come rolling up here and announce that it's all over and that we should accept the interim government, as we seem to have a pretty effective one of our own. We don't really know what's happening nationwide, as the radio traffic in our area is now mostly our search teams. Mobile phones still don't work, and although we managed to get the backup generators working in the local telephone exchange we couldn't find any sign of a surviving internet or anyone answering phones. FM radio just produces static. Our teams have ranged as far as the coast and found only occasional survivors, although a full tanker of crude oil was discovered which will probably keep us in diesel for the rest of our lives once we get a refinery built.

Artifact 2954: Mariane's letter

Note found in Possessions of Intruder (Ref No: 237) , Intruder Shot on attempt to enter through gap in south perimeter of Zone 16, No other ID present, note translated from original.

---

I am writing this letter in the hope that someone somewhere hears my story should i not live. My name is Mariane Prideux. I am a 23 year old office worker from Cherbourg and right now, I feel like I am the last human on the planet. Perhaps I am.

It’s like I’ve been walking in circles for weeks now, just staying mobile from any outbreaks of infection. They seem to be like wildfires so perhaps if they run out of fuel they will die out I can finally settle back down but there is always me, I can burn with the rest of them.

When this began I had just taken a week off to relax, business has been slow so I stayed at home, or at my parents. When mother said that Marc had fallen ill I said I would look after him, he’d just returned from a school trip to Paris and many of them had seemed to get some sort of bug. Stressing Caution the doctor made sure I limited contact with him. I used to prepare what I was saying before hand to maximise the amount of support I could give him. Then Mother fell ill and eventually Papa fell ill with the same illness. I carried on looking after all of them, feeling so helpless, there was no cure, and all these painkillers and medicines were like putting a plaster over a gaping wound.

Every trip out to the shops or into the town would just seem worse and worse with less people on the streets, the occasional looting of smaller shops. Soon the government introduced a curfew and the few that remained like me had to be delivered food by the army. However I had plenty, between my families dwindling appetite and some strange sense of camaraderie between shops and customers I’d built up a stockpile, I think I might need it.

The following week Marc died, I foolishly told the army who came and took his body. So I grieved on my own, Mother and father were too far gone to hear me and I dared not go near them anyway. When they passed away the army dragged me from my house. I wasn’t fighting I didn’t resist; I just didn’t know what to do. They dragged me into a car and drove off, I was the only survivor on our street, or the next, or the next. Miraculously Madame DuPont had survived, an elderly woman of 76. Sometimes life really surprises you.

I overheard the two soldiers in the front, one had forgotten to turn off the radio speaker and through our truck was heard “243 proceed to processing centre for incineration and execution.” Not knowing what this meant I bolted for the back of the truck, jumping over the tailboard and down the street, they called me back but didn’t persue. I climbed a garden fence and hid there until I was gone. I returned to my home to stay there but soon soldiers had returned, so I ran.

I must have carried on running for hours it was night before I reached the forest where I set up camp and slept. Putting my faith in my cover and camouflage and hoping that no one would find me. I survived and kept moving, heading no where in particular. I found towns full of the dead some buried in mass graves some killed in stampedes at train stations or of hypothermia in their cars on the motorways. Occasionally I’d loot a shop for supplies, saying a prayer for forgiveness every time. I stayed away from the cities, from the soldiers; I wandered the farms and villages.

I’ve been like that for weeks now and its just getter harder to survive, less food and roving bands of bandits, trying to eek out their own existence. So here I am, on the beach with a boat, maybe the Channel Islands haven’t been infected, and maybe England is in better shape, anything is better than this surely. Nothing left but France’s corpse riddled with Maggots of people it once sheltered.
Wish me luck

Personal Account, Location: Central California,

Well this is it. We’ve been here 3 weeks and I’d already had enough by the 3^rd day, but all that’s going to change. The powers that be, two cops, 1 phys ed. Teacher and a security guard, had decided, for the rest of us, that we’re not going anywhere until we hear from the outside world, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. I kept telling them that the radio transmitter and receiver they’ve been trying to use are broken but they didn’t listen. They think I’m just a kid and they didn’t listen.

Firstly, I’m no kid. I’m 17 years old, 18 in a few months and secondly I’ve been messing around with electronic gadgets since I was 8 years old. Taking them apart, rebuilding them, seeing how they work and how they don’t work, improving them, that kind of thing. I know when a radio is fucked or not but they just see a geeky kid in glasses and think they know better. Once a jock always a jock I guess.

They were willing to sit whatever is happening out until someone else contacted us, or we ran out of food, which wasn’t going to be a for a long time as we were in a fucking tinned-food warehouse!

It was pure luck that we were on the bus that day travelling between Frisco and LA. There were 10 of us on a bus that normally carried 40 so it wasn’t too bad. I was on my way back from a Science fare with Fay and David when the bus hit something in the road, I still don’t know what. Something thudded under the front wheels of the bus and we could hear it scraping along the ground underneath us. The driver slammed on the breaks and all I heard was a crash as the axel snapped and the bus went into a roll.

The next thing I remember is waking up with a splitting headache in the tinned carrots section of the warehouse. Fay and David were both still unconscious and the only other people from the bus I recognised were the two cops and the teacher. The other 4 passengers and the driver weren’t there. The only other person there was the warehouse security guard, a fat guy called Larry. I never found out what happened to them. I’ asked but the powers that be wouldn’t tell me. Whenever I asked they’d go pale and start shaking and saying things like “its best you don’t know kid.” And “pray you never find out boy.” I wish they’d stop treating me like a fucking 10 year old and just tell me!

Fay and David didn’t know any more than I did so we decided we were going to find out. All we knew was the television were no longer receiving any pictures and the radio was down. So while the ‘Powers’ were having one of their daily meetings we slipped away and headed towards one of the small doors at the back of the warehouse.

It didn’t take the three of us more than a couple of minutes to work our way around the security lock. We knew our stuff.

We pushed against the door and it didn’t budge. At first we thought there was another lock we’d missed but there wasn’t. Something on the outside was leant up against the bottom of the door pushing back against us. All three of us shoved hard against it as we heard the shouts from the ‘Powers’ telling us not to go outside and to keep the door shut. We must have tripped a security alarm somewhere to tip them off, but we weren’t going to listen. We all pushed our shoulders hard against the metal door and whatever was on the other side of the door moved enough for us to swing the door open and see what was happening in the outside world.

3 days later.

Fay and David are dead. The two police officers are dead, the Teacher is dead. There’s only me and Larry left. I don’t know how long we’ll last. However long my life will be I won’t forget a single thing about what I saw when that door swung open.

What did we see?

It’s best if you don’t know kid, I pray you never find out.

Diary Entry: Guard No. 2914

Archivist Note: Diary entry found in standard possessions sweep of Barracks No.3

“The sweetest price he’ll have to pay, the day the whole world went away.”

Its funny, I used to listen to songs like this all the time, songs about loss and the end of the world, which I’d listen to and almost feel excited about something like that happening. Now whenever I hear them all these songs seem a bit crass and inappropriate. I’ve still got my MP3 player, it was in my pocket when the big one started and when the desire takes me and of course when I can acquire the suitable battery I skip past these apocalyptic songs and listen to the more positive tunes, spending a few minutes in a more innocent time, at least more cheerful. A morbid and increasingly active part of me wonders whether any of those dark song writers are still alive, I wonder how they’re dealing with their dream coming true, maybe they were ready all along and their attitude and words were genuine rather than some mysterious routine.

You end up thinking about these sorts of things quite a lot when to have less entertainment than you’re used to. Not that I haven’t got used to life here, if you can that is. I’m kept busy with work, trying to guard everyone else and supply runs into the black zones. After that you’re then kept busy with recovering from what you saw, sometimes what you had to do or what you didn’t do. Then as you’re being decontaminated and being humiliated and prodded and checked for infection your mind tends to drift, subconsciously trying to avoid the subject of the severely confusing hand life has dealt you, and like most hands in life you haven’t been told the rules first.

It’s probably moments like this that leads to everyone thinking and wondering. They all come up with opinions which they seem so intent on sharing with one another. The religious ones mostly think it’s a punishment from god for mankind’s decadence or separation from whichever god that person believes in. I’m not that religious, nor am I an atheist but it seems that if god wanted to punish mankind he would’ve done it a lot sooner and probably more completely. The religious debate raises the question “why was I saved?” Believers of all sorts died just like everyone else. They then say “God has a plan for you,” but as far as I can see it, he could’ve chosen a better servant.

If it was a direct winnowing of the weak from the strong then it would make sense, choosing the strong to lead mankind into the future. Maybe we are the strong. As far as I can tell its all just chance, luck and quite possibly genetics, not that we know for sure, there aren’t any geneticists in the white zones, not in ours anyway, nor the one contacted. That said, they seem to have gone rather quiet recently.

These “White zones” the government’s label trying to hide the obvious fact they were just as taken by surprise as the rest of us. I am not suggesting they’re not a good idea of course. If you want to keep mankind alive you should keep a defensive perimeter against infection. Whether you want to keep mankind alive is another question entirely and I’m sure I’ll give my uninformed and probably incorrect opinion on the matter soon enough.

The government is of course very much mankind surviving and their opinion matters, right? Their authority seems to come from people’s memories and habits from before this all started and their methods seem rather old and stale. Perhaps I shouldn’t complain I doubt I could do better. I doubt there is much choice on the matter, protect people, search for survivors and supplies and of course they’ve supplied us each with a lovely gun and a shiny badge in an attempt to suspend our morality and I think its working on some of us.

I can’t help but think that there is a better way to live. I agree with what their doing I just don’t think they really have the right or authority to dictate what I do. I don’t mind doing what I do if I have to, I’d just prefer to be the one to choose it. It’s a matter of principle, pointless and maybe a little short sighted but that’s what makes us humans.

Anyway, the black zone is calling us, though it seems a lot greener than black, nature seems to be enjoying herself. I’m glad someone is.

Personal Account: White Zone Citizen No. 2713 "R. Darkshines"

And so afterwards it all seemed a bit surreal. At first we had the newspapers telling us about a strange new virus and how people had to take precautions. Most people just shrugged it off as another scare, like SARS or Swine Flu. But thats the trouble when the media keeps crying wolf, when the Big One does come, no-one believes anymore. So yeah, there were stories in the newspapers, then the radio broadcasts started. Hourly shows about how to avoid infection, what to do if a family member dies, the latest outbreaks. Then the press stopped. The papers stopped printing, the radio switched to white noise, no more public service announcements. I heard that some people from Roath went down to London to see what was going on, but they didn't come back. That was four years ago.

Of course I miss my family, who wouldn't? My next door neighbour lost her child, went looking for him outside in the Black Zone. I heard the screams, but I just shut the curtains.

I don't want to go and look for them. If they are alive and safe, then thats great. If they are not alive, well, at least they have two choices....

I scavenge what I can. Food isn't a problem, well, it might be in a few years but we were sensible. Every time we ate something with seeds in, we'd plant them. To be honest, I had been planning something like this all my life. I always felt that when the media and literature talked about the Fin De Siecle, about the degeneration of society, that this time round it might be true. I mean look at the Ancient Egyptians, and the mighty Romans. They too had great empires that collapsed under mysterious circumstances, didn't they? Maybe it happened to them as well.

Its harder being a girl as well. The boys get drafted, get trained, get given weapons to defend us. I'm expected to stay where I am, scavenge some kind of existence from the little thats left. I hate it. I want to fight as well, I know I would be good in combat, but women are rare nowadays, and they need the last of us to survive. I think the idea is that when its safe again, once the infection stops, or dies out or they find a cure, we wil be used for breeding a new society. I'm amazed anybody would want my genes to be honest, and I have no idea how they plan to go about it anyway. Do they just line up all the soldiers outside your room and let them in one by one? Hideous.

I know he's out there somewhere. This is his dream come true. I know he is alive, pobably having the time of his life as well. I hope he still thinks about me, like I think about him. We were going to get married one day. I was going to wear a dress, for once. I haven't even seen a dress since this all started. I do love him, but I cried all my tears a long time ago, and I feel like I am wasting precious energy when I could be trying to survive. I have seen what happens to the weak.

Perhaps one day I will get bored, and go somewhere else. It's dangerous to leave the White Zones but I am young and restless. I have no family left, at least none here, and the other half of my soul is out there, fighting for us, making a difference. I know I am a precious commodity, but so is our freedom. Maybe I can find a way to stop all of this. Maybe I could make a difference as well. All I know is, sitting around waiting for the end is pointless. I want to go and find my begining.

Submission guidelines

Until i think of a better way of putting this up. I shall break character once.

I am planning to create a multimedia/open source project set within the world of the big one. Same premise and background of a vague and nonspecific apocalypse befalling the world and the diaries, testimonials, letters and so on of the survivors. This blog is in the style of an archive set some point in the future when civilisation has reassembled itself enough. This, as with most of it will be kept very vague. On the website/blog there will be segmented bits of evidence and accounts of the Big one, and how this manifests is left open to the contributors, be it photos, diary entries, relics, videos and so on and so forth.

And I am currently working on expanding this. I am accepting submissions of stories and any other bits of media you can think of, which can be sent to thebigone.archvist@gmail.com

At least for the time being, leave the big one’s events and origins vague, allowing people to mentally apply their own character origin stories and ongoing storylines if they want to but the nature of the event must remain quite vague and unsure.

Contributions must be in-universe, from a perspective of being caught in the big one. So no third person stories (unless its someone telling an account of something they experienced), no or little editing on film and no added music. The aim being to be as “real world” as possible. Also, although i promote creativity, no abstract representations (unless, for whatever reason, within the confines of an abstract narrative).

Finally, final say on content rests with the editor (the archivist) to keep contributions with a similar theme

Otherwise, the more creative the better :)

Happy writing

-Luke