Preface
The is history my father wrote of the great famine as he experienced it and recorded in his diary. Here and there, he makes references to things from the Before Time which may not make sense to today's readers. In these instances, I have added my own explanatory notes in [ ].
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April 1, 2027 - Crossville, Tennessee
It turns out Bud is friends with the priest from my mom's church, and they've stayed in touch since this all started. Father Michael might be the oldest survivor in this area. The three of us met at Bud's house to talk. We agreed that it was best to make the trek to Florida, but we should stay here long enough to rally more survivors and gather supplies. There is some vegetation now, but not nearly as much as usual. Bud is letting his flock of lambs grow into sheep. That way they can walk with us as we make our way south. The other day I saw some geese flying south, which was an odd sight in the spring. Father Michael says he and his network of survivors saved up enough diesel to power a school bus for a few hundred miles. We can load the bus with supplies and let the weaker survivors ride in it. All the bicycles, wagons, and wheelbarrows have been gathered up. All that's left to do is for us preserve food and build up our strength. Bud thinks a pace of 10 miles per day is reasonable.
I asked Father Michael how could a loving God let something like this happen. He answered that it must be like Noah's flood. Maybe doomsday was God's way of cleansing the earth of evil. The lord works in mysterious ways, he says. That seems trite to me. On the other hand, if there is a God, then maybe the extinction of the dinosaurs was also his doing, and the purpose of that was to make space for mammals to live and evolve, ultimately leading to the rise of mankind. I don't see the point in arguing about unprovable things, so I usually avoid discussing these matters. There is value in faith, particularly in that it gives people hope to endure the hardships of life. I have a miniature Army Bible. It's the only other book I plan on taking to Florida. Many years ago, I underlined my favorite passage in it. It's Psalm 18:37 - "I pursue my enemies, and I catch them. I do not stop until I destroy them." At the time, I was a young and aggressive soldier eager to prove my worth.
A lot of people, particularly young men, want to be important or do something important. They want to make their mark on the world. In my case, this desire was also driven by a fear of death. I was always doubtful about the existence of an afterlife, so I wanted to do great things and achieve a kind of immortality by making it into the history books. How foolish I was, although the desire to be great motivated me to work hard. Circumstances have given me chance to be important by rallying the survivors and leading them to the promised land, like Moses did. The weather is still fairly cool and I find that a Baja sweatshirt, also humorously known as a "drug rug", keeps me warm enough.
Father Michael and Bud organized a town meeting. What's left of the town anyway. There was a consensus on the need to migrate south, but the details need to be hammered out. There are a few pregnant women, and it's safer for them to give birth at the hospital even though there's no power or running water anymore. So it seems there will be a small faction staying behind and making the best of it at least for a while. It seems very unlikely they'd survive another winter though, especially with no one else to help them. I suggested that we try to make it to Atlanta before their due dates. Hopefully we can salvage supplies and medicine from a hospital there. Everyone agreed that was a good idea.
During some long expeditions in history, they brought extra horses or camels and ate some along the way. That practice was called "walking supply" and avoided the problem of having to preserve food. We did a headcount, and there are about a thousand of us. We're still trying to figure out how we can feed that many people for a journey of over 500 miles that will last at least two months. I'm reminded of a video game [a game played on an electronic device] I played as a kid called Oregon Trail. The goal was to lead your small family in a wagon over thousands of miles through various hardships and dangers. It was based on real events, and many people died on the actual trail from accidents and disease.
We can let the pregnant women, the old, the weak, and the very young ride in the bus. There aren't very many of them, maybe a dozen. Everybody else can walk, push a wheelbarrow, or push a bike. We need to load the bikes with supplies too. A modified bicycle can carry a few hundred pounds, but I doubt the loads will be nearly that heavy simply because no one here is strong enough to push something like that for hundreds of miles. We need to work out a system where people take turns pushing a walking. There are a few horses left, but I don't think they could handle the strain of being ridden or carrying a load. We're bringing them along to eat them as needed, though there is a small chance they might survive the journey, and I hope they do. When their strength returns, we can use them for transport and for plowing.
The days of careful rationing are over, but that's only because we'll be on the move soon. The lake is crowded with fishermen, hunters have killed every wild animal they can find, and all the looted animal feed is being given to the surviving sheep, cows, and horses to fatten them up. People are smiling and joking a bit. It seems the worst is over.
I've been thinking carefully about what to bring. I'll need to travel light so as to save my strength. The good book says "take nothing for the journey but the staff", so I'll be taking my big bamboo walking stick I bought in Florida. It's a symbol of hope for the journey in addition to being protection. The guns and ammo are heavy, so most of that's going on the bus. We'll have a few people carrying rifles as they walk for protection, though I suspect the size of our caravan will ward off any bandits. I'll carry by parents' pistol in my pocket. Hopefully I'll never need to use it. There's been enough death already. Otherwise, we won't be carrying much besides food, water, knives, lighters, and blankets. Like an old song says, the secret to surviving is knowing what to throw away and knowing what to keep. We can't take too many books, so we're just taking the road atlas and some guidebooks about practical things.
Of course, everyone wants to take a few items of sentimental value. The only one I'm taking beyond what I've mention is a plastic Viking helmet. I figure I might as well have fun and dress up since we're all living in the dark ages again. I'll be taking this journal and some writing materials with me. Someone needs to keep a record of this.
May 1, 2027 - Atlanta, Georgia
The weather had gotten warmer and we are few miles outside Atlanta on I-75 south. We've encountered many abandoned vehicles on the way. Some show signs of a struggle, with bullet holes, smashed glass, and burn marks. People just avert their eyes whenever the occasional decayed corpse appears. For shelter, we sleep in abandoned buildings along the way. We sleep in turns with the strongest standing watch for an hour or two each at night. Our pace has been about 10 miles per day, which even in our weakened state is not too exhausting. The bus goes on ahead of the rest of the group in order to save fuel and scout ahead. Otherwise, the rest of the caravan is organized so that the slowest are up from and the rest are behind. That way the group stays together.
The pickings are pretty slim, but we have managed to scavenge some food and other supplies from the abandoned buildings we've come across. A handful of other survivors have joined our band along the way as well. Each evening after we make camp, Father Michael gives a sermon and leads us in prayer. Most take part, I prefer to watch from a respectful distance. Also in evenings, we have a council circle where anyone can speak. Whoever is wearing my plastic Viking hat has the floor, and when they're done, they had it off to someone else until the meeting ends, and the helmet goes back on my head.
Although it's obvious I'm the leader, I've been trying to be humble about it. I don't give any orders, but I do sometimes use my bamboo stick to point at things or bang it on the ground to get someone's attention. When we make camp, I help gather firewood, build fires, and cook. I have a little experience slaughtering and butchering animals, but I mostly leave that to the hunters and Bud. He's the real expert when it comes to livestock. There's more grass now, and our animals graze whenever we stop. I suggested we could drink cow blood for nourishment instead of slaughtering them for meat, and we've had some success with that. The Mongols of Genghis Khan's army traveled great distances with few supplies, and their main source of nourishment was the blood of their own horses.
Little tidbits like that are the way I earned my authority, I think. It's true I know a lot of random and useless trivia, but I also know important things. Sometimes for entertainment, I recite poetry, tell jokes, or play my kazoo. I suggested we raid the music store before we left and at least get a guitar. We ended up with a fair number instruments including a bugle and a drum. The bugle stays on the bus, and whenever the rest of the caravan reaches the bus, Bud plays a bugle call to celebrate the end of the day's march. It helps maintain morale.
We've lost a few people so far. Pretty much everyone here has eaten pets, people, or both, so if the deceased becomes dinner, we just avert our eyes and try to ignore the smell. We all hope for the day when no is forced to cannibalism. That's going to be a hard habit to break, I think. Our only hope is to reach a place where we can get enough food from hunting, fishing, and gardening. There are some farmers among us, but without machines, fuel, fertilizer, and such, there's no way we can grow food the modern way. I remember seeing many cattle ranches in the part of Florida we're headed for, so I'm hoping we can get beef-based economy going eventually.
From time to time, someone along the side of the road will pop out of the bushes to spy on us before quickly disappearing again. We beckon them to come, but often they don't. We haven't encountered any bandits yet, but I'm sure they're lurking out there. We stumbled across the remnants of a few smaller caravans that had been ambushed. My guess is it's bands of escaped criminals and perhaps soldiers that deserted. Those are the people I'm really worried about, because they're armed, dangerous, and desperate. Anybody who's wanted to kill or rob with impunity has had ample opportunity to do so. A famous philosopher said that in a state of nature, life is nasty, brutish, and short. That about sums up our situation.
On a positive note, one of the pregnant women gave birth and both her and the baby are doing well. Praise the lord, says Father Michael. It's the miracle of life. His faith really does astound me, but I can't argue with results. Among the survivors, there are the strongly religious and the opposite, and not much in between. The plastic Viking helmet I wear is sort of my silent way of expressing my opinion about religion - it is regarded by the wise as false, the foolish as true, and the rulers as useful. Even so, many of us wear crosses or American flags, and the bus is decorated with them. Such symbols of hope are useful. I remember 9/11 [the date of a huge terrorist attack that killed thousands of Americans in 2001] and how the next day there were American flags displayed everywhere. Maybe if enough people see crosses and American flags, it will remind us of our humanity, the way things used to be, than the need to rebuild.
We still have over 300 miles to travel, but at least we are near the halfway point. At the council meetings, we discuss how to handle Atlanta. It may be tough to keep the group together and pass through as quickly as possible. People will naturally want to explore a little a scavenge, but that makes us vulnerable to ambush by bandits. I suggest that the bus and herd move through the city and stop for two days to give anyone who wants a chance to explore. We agreed that seemed reasonable and fair, since at least half the caravan would want to play it safe and stay with the bus, as would Father Michael as usual and Bud as an extra precaution.
At our last evening powwow before entering the city, we'll find out who plans to stay and explore and divide up into small groups for safety. I'll be leading one, and I plan on seeing what happened to the aquarium.
