the long dusk - part 7

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 [ ]. 

***

December 1, 2027 - Manatee Springs, Florida

It's been almost a year since this all started. The sky is a little less gray and it is not so cold. It is a lot cooler than I remember Florida being at this time of year. It gets below freezing a night, and we've been chopping a lot of firewood to stay warm. It looks like we'll be eating a lot of fish to get through the winter, but in the spring, we can try planting corn. Corn and potatoes will give us plenty of calories. A few dozen of our men have moved to Cedar Key to the winter to catch fish while another contingent brings most of the catch by bicycle or horse-drawn cart to our main settlement. The other day, a large group of manatees swam into the spring to rest in the warmer water. It was too much of a temptation, though I tried to explain that despite their appearance, manatees don't have much meat or fat on them. I persuaded them to only kill a few of the biggest ones. The rest swam away after the first spears found their mark. I doubt the manatees will return here any time soon. 

A few babies have died. None of them have been vaccinated. Since we can't get vaccines, the best we can do is make soap. I don't know much about it other than if you boil a mixture of ashes and animal fat, you will get something like soap. Fortunately, we were able to scavenge plenty of soap in Chiefland. Mark Twain [a famous writer from the Before Time] said that soap and education are not as sudden as a massacre, but are deadlier in the long run. The other project we have is making chainmail armor, mostly from copper wire salvaged from hardware stores. It's not as hard as steel, but it's lighter and easier to work. Something is better than nothing. We can't let the perfect be the enemy of the good. Given the weather, I don't think we have to worry much about being attacked by hostile tribes. Everyone else like us will be hunkering down for the winter. Some have suggested trying to get power from the solar farm outside Chiefland. It's an interesting idea. If we could charge golf carts there somehow, it would make our lives easier. 

There is also talk of expanding to Cedar Key, though I'm not sure how we'd get enough drinking water. The risk of hurricanes is also a problem. In the long run, we need to get back to farming and preserving food. We'll be slaughtering some of our livestock for meat to get through the winter, but we can't afford to eat all of them. I've been encouraging people to eat fish, eggs, and cheese. Potatoes have been our staple, and we were lucky to have a good harvest before the first frost came. I could tell people are nervous and unhappy, so to shake things up, I called an election. I lost it narrowly to a man who calls himself Lord Humungous. True to his name, he is an imposing figure with a deep, booming voice. People always revert to their caveman instincts. Rather than linger around the spring and sulk about my defeat, I decided to join our fishermen at Cedar Key.  

There is an easy camaraderie there. Sometimes I fish from the pier or gather clams from the shallows. Other times, I venture out in a kayak. In the evenings, we dine well on a portion of the day's catch. The rest gets taken back to feed the others at the spring. In the mornings, we lick dew or frost to get enough water. Plenty collects on the windows of abandoned cars. We've also set out buckets and pans to collect rainwater. It'd be better to have a well, but we have enough to survive here. I thought that I might try catching sharks, not just for food, but to build up my reputation. I made a kind of rattle that I shake in the water to attract them. Another fisherman waits nearby to help kill the shark. The system worked well. The two of us caught 10-foot-long bull shark. I remembered reading you have to boil shark meat to get the urea out, but we ate the liver raw just like killer whales do. We both made impressive looking necklaces out of the beast's teeth. Others have followed our example, and now we have a subculture of shark hunters. 

Not to be outdone, Lord Humungous has led a few successful gator hunts. There are gator warning signs from the Before Time around the spring, but gators by and large avoid people. So he and his inner circle now sport necklaces of gator teeth. The gator leather makes excellent armor, and is lightweight. We could also make boiled leather armor from slaughtered cattle, but that project must wait until our herds are larger. Sharkskin also makes decent leather, and we have been experimenting with that. Otherwise, people have been occupying themselves by making bows and arrows and practicing archery, sometimes on horseback. I like the idea of our tribe being like modern day Mongols and me as Genghis Khan [a great warlord from the Before Time], but for now, I must submit to the leadership of Lord Humungous. Interestingly enough, he invites me to his council meetings from time to time. It's nice to know that rather than viewing me as a rival, he respects my advice. I wonder if he will give up power willingly when his time comes.   

 

I took a break from fishing to lead some of our smarter and better educated tribesmen to the Chiefland Astronomy Village. I don't know how to work any of the abandoned telescopes, but there are plenty to choose from, and we will need to chart the stars to get a calendar going again. I've been keeping track of the days as best I can, but odds are that I've miscounted here and there. They took some of the smaller telescopes from the abandoned museum back to the spring. The abandoned buildings and mobile homes at the village would make decent shelter for anyone who wants to be near the spring but a comfortable distance away from all the drama there. 

    

January 1, 2028 - Cedar Key, Florida

There is growing discontent with the leadership of Lord Humungous, but no one wants to challenge him directly, least of all me. The last thing our tribe needs is a fight that splits us. Most of the unhappy people, particularly the younger men, have migrated here to make a living from the sea. I've been told that Lord Humungous has started his own pagan cult that uses an alligator skull as a totem. Well, two can play at that game. I made a goal of catching a killer whale and making a shrine from its skull, which sort of looks like an gator skull but is a lot bigger. Go big or go home, as the old saying goes. We don't even need to venture that far from shore to find or catch one. All of us who've spent a lot of time on the water are familiar with the sight of whale spouts. The whales and dolphins tend to be naturally curious as well. I regret killing one in order to settle a petty rivalry, but the meat will feed many for months in addition to the prestige I gained. 

  

There was also the matter of how the nature-worshipping pagans would react. I had to be careful not to offend them. I gathered a crew and made some harpoons. My plan was to chase the creature with several boats and jab it with at least two harpoons attached by ropes to our boats. As the orca dragged us through the water, it would inevitably tire and die of exhaustion. We could then safely tow it back to shore, butcher it, and have a great feast. But before that, we would display the slain creature and make a ceremony of thanking it for giving its life that we may eat. I thought that would be enough to pacify the pagans. All of them were hunters too, but until now, manatees and other sea life, particularly mammals, were seen as taboo. The experience of eating the aquarium fish in Atlanta was deeply traumatic for many. For similar reasons, people were very sensitive about the idea of eating dogs, cats, or horses, even though some of them had.

The sea was a bit choppy on the day of the hunt as we launched our boats into the gulf. After a few hours, we spotted a small pod of orcas led by a sole male. The whale was a majestic sight. His tall dorsal cut through the water with power and grace as we drew closer. I was on the tiller of the skiff with ten men rowing and one at the prow with the harpoon. When the first harpoon hit, the whale dove and swam at top speed for several minutes. We were pulled with such force that we nearly capsized as the bow churned the sea into white foam. The other boat with us raced to keep pace alongside the whale from a distance. At last, the orca surfaced to breathe; its spout was bloody. The marksman in the other boat threw his harpoon, and when it struck, the whale let out a moaning yelp. I'll never forget that sound, and I'll never go on another whale hunt. I was angry at myself that I'd made such a majestic animal suffer for petty reasons. That anger turned to Lord Humungous. 

We towed the mighty whale back to shore. There was already a crowd on the beach anticipating our arrival. Dozens of men had to push with all their might to position its carcass on the beach. I knelt before the whale and placed my hand on its head. I couldn't think of any respectable words to say, so I paused for a moment of silence. Many others said goodbye to the orca in a likewise manner as we prepared a bonfire. The men who threw the harpoons were given the honor of making the first cuts. That whale fed about 200 hundred people for over a week, and there was still meat leftover. We preserved the skull in a separate shrine and made kind of a rock garden out of the rest of its skeleton. I told the two men who threw the harpoons that they could each take a tooth to make a necklace. They are now some of the most respected men of the tribe. 

I suggested that we should have another hunt next year, but that I would not take part. Clearly there would be others who would want the honor of hunting a whale. I suggested a limit of one whale per year, and there was a consensus on that. We must not take too much from the sea. Those in wish of a respectable challenge can catch sharks. There are plenty of them about. Caveman politics won out again. Whoever can kill the biggest animal gets to be in charge. Now I have a coalition of whale and shark hunters who will stand by me. I plan on staying here for a while to build up this settlement. Although fresh water is scarce, the ocean is a much better food source than the spring or the river. Still, if a hurricane comes, we'd have to abandon everything we built here, as it would surely be destroyed by the wind and the waves.   

My thoughts turn to the best way of confronting Lord Humungous. I'm tempted to have my men haul the orca skull in front of him. Then I'd point at it and say "mine's bigger", but I need something more artful than that. For now, I will keep mum and let word of the deed spread on its own. As for more practical matters, we should try to scavenge fertilizer and pesticide from the farming supply stores in town. We might as well use it now as there won't be any more of it for the foreseeable future, and it is unlikely to have been looted. Anyway, I'm glad I found a side quest to divert excess male energy from something more disruptive and counterproductive.    

Bare-handed shark fishing | SLICE

RAW: Kayaker Survives Shark Attack In Monterey

success

 

his royal majesty

King Ralph entrance

Rule Britannia - Last Night of the Proms 2009

Jimi Hendrix - The Star Spangled Banner [ National Anthem ] ( Live at Woodstock 1969 )

Warriors Return

Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior - Greetings from the Humungus Scene (2/8) | Movieclips

 

the long dusk - part 6

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 [ ]. 

***

October 1, 2027 - Manatee Springs, Florida

Dozens of refugees from Cedar Key came through with news of an attack by El Jefe and his army. Estimates of the number of troops varied, but all said El Jefe commands at least a thousand, all armed with guns and riding bicycles and horses. A few days before the attack, a rider came through with an ultimatum to either surrender unconditionally or be massacred. The rider was chased away with jeers. Cedar Key was a fairly large, prosperous settlement when I visited it, and there is only one way in or out along a road on a narrow strip of land. Even so, El Jefe attacked in such great numbers that their defenses were overwhelmed. The townsfolk fought back as best they could and inflicted many casualties before they were wiped out. Many young women were captured and violated. Others fled in boats and made their way here. We're happy to have reinforcements, but now fearful we are El Jefe's next target. Sure enough, a few days after we heard the horror stories of the refugees, a rider with a white flag slowly rode into camp. 

It occurred to me that in addition to making the ultimatum, he was also scout and would report back on our defenses. I went out to stop him before he could ride all the way to our inner stronghold at the spring. The rider was a young man about 20 years of age. He was lean, strong, and had a mean and proud look in his eyes. I guess he had delivered many threats before. He told us that his majesty, El Jefe, is the strongest warlord in Florida, and all that he and his men desire are theirs for the taking. Surrender everything now and receive some mercy, he warned. If we fight, all the men would be would be killed. He paused for our reply. I grabbed him and other joined in. We tied him up so he would not report back with what he learned about our defenses. If he was sent out to threaten us, then the bandit horde is already on its way here, and when their scout does not return, they will move to attack us. So we lost nothing by capturing the scout. We decided that anyone who could not stay and fight or did not want to should retreat a few miles to the north by following along the river. 

We sent out a small group of scouts to see if they could locate El Jefe and his men. It wouldn't be hard. If their army was as large as the refugees said, their campfires would visible at night from a distance and the sound of hundreds men talking would carry a long way. In the meantime, we lit many more fires than usual at our village to exaggerate our numbers. Our scouts returned and told us the bandit army was camped in Chiefland, some six miles away. We decided it was best to attack them by surprise at night. Starting at sunset, we began marching out in little bands of five or six. We marched past their camp and then circled back in order to surround them. Once we closed the circle around them, we began moving toward the center. I don't know who fired first, but once the shooting started, there was a lot yelling and some of the bandits tried to flee. Of course, they had to run toward us if they wanted to escape, and all were quickly cut down. The shooting tapered off as dawn approached, and we again started moving toward the center. 

There were many dead, but more were wounded. Since they couldn't be helped, they were disarmed and left alone. If they refused to be disarmed, they were killed outright. Others were playing dead or hiding in tents. We ended up with hundreds of prisoners, including El Jefe himself. Everyone gathered around as I prepared to execute him with my pistol. There was no good reason to let him live, and if I hadn't done it, someone else would have, and my reputation would have suffered. It was over quickly. I asked him if he had any last words. He just gave me the finger and I put a bullet between his eyes. That was the first time I killed anyone. I didn't feel great about it, but I didn't feel bad about it either. He was an evil man, and only death would stop him. I sawed his head off with a hunting knife to keep as a trophy.  

There was a discussion over what to do with the other prisoners. Some suggested mutilating them in some way and letting them go. Chopping off hands or gouging out eyes would be messy and take a long time. On the other hand, doing so would let them serve as living warnings that my tribe is not to be trifled with. Others suggested that we enslave them as whatever work they did was work we didn't have to do ourselves. I was against slavery for moral and practical reasons. There were also some who thought the safest choice was to just kill all of them. In the end, I decided on a compromise. There was roughly one captive for each one of us, and I had already killed mine. The prisoners were huddled in a mass and we were in a circle around them. One by one, I went to each prisoner and led him to a man in the circle. I then told the man to make his choice about what to do next. And so, some were killed, some mutilated, and some enslaved. At the end of the day, we had about 100 slaves. I knew slavery was more trouble than it was worth, but to argue against it then would have been futile.

The mutilated ones were let alone to wander off as they wished. Some just sat down and buried their faces in the hands; those that still had both hands. Like me, a many men returned to camp with human body parts as war trophies. I can't blame them too much for doing what I did. It made the ones who took slaves seem merciful. The enemy dead were left to rot. We cremated our own fallen warriors nearby and made a cairn to mark the spot. From the enemy, we captured many weapons, much ammo, hundreds of bicycles, and a few horses. Most of the horses ran away during the battle. We might be able to catch them later. We set the horses to plow more fields for vegetables and potatoes. We also captured a number of wineskins, and drank from them to celebrate the victory. It reminded me of the need to get a brewery going. Beer is one of the pillars of civilization. What we did to El Jefe and his men is also part of civilization. It still bothers me how it conflicts with what we say about ourselves. 

November 1, 2027 - Manatee Springs, Florida

I have questioned the captured scout at length. He calls himself Huerfano, meaning orphan. Although he has no reason to lie, he also has little incentive to tell the truth. Even so, by reading between the lines, I can separate fact from fiction with some confidence. He said that El Jefe got his start in the Miami area. The collapse there led to a particularly brutal civil war. Part of it was due to the prevalence of drug gangs, but Latin machismo was also part of it. El Jefe was able to unite Cubans, Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, etc. on the basis of La Raza, or the Hispanic race. Spanish became a kind of prestige language spoken by the elite while English continued as a lingua franca, albeit with many Spanish words mixed in. According to Huerfano, El Jefe defeated several rival warlords on his way to the top of the heap. At times, he could even be charming and was always generous with the spoils of war so as to build the morale of his troops.   

    

In our council meetings, there is a growing faction which suggests we should strike out to raid and conquer. The best defense is a good offense as the old saying goes. I and others recommend a porcupine strategy of making ourselves are hard target so we can safely build up our numbers. We all agree that the general rule of history is expand or die, so at some point, we will need to fight wars with far off enemies. The aftermath of the battle has led to some social factures. To heal them, I put forth a motion that we not take any more slaves and the ones we do have are to be freed after seven years. The ban on future slavery was overturned, but there was a strong consensus on freeing all slaves after seven years. Freed slaves would have a choice of joining the tribe or being exiled. There is no point in forcing resentful former enemies to be a part of our group. We all agreed it was far safer to get rid of them; violently if necessary.

Likewise, the issue of torture and mutilation arose. It was agreed that we would not engage in such atrocities again, though it was officially allowed to take anything property from a slain foe. Cannibalism was strictly forbidden. As for war trophies, it was restricted to the taking of teeth and skulls. Only those who fought in at least one battle could take teeth and wear them on a necklace. Only one skull, ideally of the enemy commander, would be taken for each victorious battle, and it would be displayed in a common area with the skull of El Jefe. Speaking of which, I decided that should be the one who preserved the skull since I had taken his life. First, I gouged out his eyes. Then I boiled his head so the flesh would come off more easily. His brain oozed out of his skull's eye sockets. When only the bone remained, I placed it in a small shrine located so that everyone who had to use the spring would walk past it. In this way, they would be reminded of our victory and the need to be vigilant.

The crops are doing well, though we will probably have our last harvest of the year soon. The weather is turning colder again, though not nearly as cold as it was in January back in Crossville. The pagans built their own shrine decorated with the miniature stuffed animals from the aquarium. The animals have been named and associated with deities, though I have not bothered to learn much about the new mythology. From time to time, I kneel before the shrine and leave an offering of a small fish. This gesture satisfies the pagans without angering the Christians or inciting ridicule from the non-religious. We pride ourselves on both freedom of religion and a lack of religious conflict. I hope it stays that way. As another ceremonial gesture, we made four extra large pirate flags and mounted them on the Chiefland water tower. It's the tallest structure around that can be climbed easily. It marks our territory and serves as a warning to would-be invaders. I like to say never bite when a growl will do. That's the rule in nature.

Our slaves seem to have accepted their lot in life and for the most part behave. Here they are safe and well-fed at least. They are banned from handling weapons, but otherwise have few restrictions. A few have been killed for refusing their masters' commands or for trying to escape. This harsh punishment keeps them in line and also reduces the slave population to the most compliant. I look forward to the day when there are no more slaves, but I suspect it is a long way off. Slavery was the norm for most of history. At least with our tribe, slavery is restricted to enemies captured in battle. They can neither be bought or sold. That at least keeps a lid on things. Those desirous of slaves must become adept warriors and go into battle. Amongst the young men, there is a growing desire to fight wars, as the veteran warriors have the most beautiful wives. Prostitution exists in our tribe, but is frowned upon. Young men and women, with encouragement from their elders, are marrying with the goal of raising families.  

As for myself, I have chosen to abstain, at least for the time being. Being celibate grants a measure of prestige, especially if a man has easy access to women. I do want children of my own someday. Until then, I am satisfied with teaching the young about constellations, plants, and animals. As far as I can tell, just about all the fertile women in the tribe are either pregnant or caring for a baby. In the coming years, we will need many teachers to educate them. It is my hope that the young people I teach now will carry on that work. The best monuments are living, breathing ones - the people you help and the lives you touch. Even if I end up without children, my legacy will be secure. I take solace in that.

the long dusk - part 5

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 [ ]. 

***

August 1 - Manatee Springs, Florida

I've taken up residence in the park's snack bar, named The Chubby Mermaid. The sign has a cartoon manatee wearing a seashell bra. There was a small band here already that took up residence in the abandoned trailer park about half a mile from here. Of our original caravan, about a hundred followed me all the way to the spring. I set my plastic Viking helmet aside for the time being, as my leadership is no longer needed. We are safe for now, have plenty of clean water, firewood, and wild game. People have planted vegetable gardens including potatoes. They grow well and should provide a stable food source. As for myself, I spend most of time catching fish and hunting wild boars. Their population grew during the collapse, and now herds of them wander the countryside. If I was a more industrious man, I'd catch some of swine and domesticate them. I figure someone else will do that eventually. I don't need to work much to feed myself, and any excess fish or game I barter for vegetables, ammo, or other supplies. I do most of my hunting with a bow now, thought I still carry my parents' pistol everywhere. 

A few dozen other people have stayed with me all the way to the spring. We often have potluck dinners in the pavilion. Some people are still living in tents. My nearest neighbors live in the gift shop next to the snack bar. I said I'm willing to share the snack bar space with others, but they let me have it, I guess as a reward for leading them to this oasis. There are plenty of kayaks and canoes here, which makes it easier to find better fishing spots out on the Suwanee River. Everyone looks healthier. Lean, but healthy. Despite the lack of dental care, most people's teeth look good. I suppose it's from the lack of refined sugar. We can also bathe and wash our clothes regularly, which is a great pleasure after being filthy for so long. At the potluck dinners, I've said that we shouldn't get too comfortable. We're on a prime piece of real estate, and sooner or later, someone is going to try to take it from us. And then our only choices will be fight, flee, or be their slaves. 

There is a large alfalfa field about a mile from the spring. We should graze cattle and horses there. The field is overrun with weeds, but it's still a good pasture. We still have some bicycles, which allows us to trade and get news from more distant settlements. Gainesville and Ocala are about as far as anyone's ridden. The coasts are much more crowded now. That's going to be an issue when the hurricanes come, but so far, the weather's been calm. Cooler temperatures mean fewer hurricanes. Even so, I'm glad we're far enough inland to be safe from any storm surges. When I lived in this area many years ago, three hurricanes hit close by, but the worst that happened was the power went out for a few days. Cedar Key is the biggest settlement near us now, and it is particularly vulnerable to hurricanes. I rode down there to check things out. It's a bustling fishing village, though many work on the clam farms. Barter is still common, but dollars are widely accepted. Although the money supply is stable now, food is still expensive. Everything else is even more expensive. 

Sometimes I regret not taking my silver coins with me, but it was about 30 pounds and would have just made me a target. Food is still the most valuable commodity, though I'm tempted to say the famine is over, at least for now. The most important thing I learned overseas many years ago is that it's better to have lots of friends than lots of money. There are problems you can't buy your way out of. I remember reading about the various bunkers rich people built to survive the apocalypse. Even if they have several years' worth of food, whoever fled to such places has little chance of long-term survival. Mobs of starving survivors surely broke in, and what good is it to be billionaire when money is worthless? 

Mormons were taught to keep a year supply of food for each person in their household, but I don't know how many actually did that. Anyway, they and the survivalists were concentrated in Utah and the Pacific Northwest. The winters there were harsh even before doomsday. Trying to raise food there now would be very hard, though I suppose there are bands of nomadic hunters scattered around. Those tribes are probably going to be independent for decades at least. If and when anyone ever tries to reunify the country, they'll have to fight hundreds of little wars just like in the Old West. Given the remote areas survivalists likely settled years ago, they've probably been forced to migrate elsewhere to avoid freezing or starving.  

I suggested we build a wooden palisade to protect our settlement near the spring. Maybe we could charge outsiders a fee for water and fishing rights. I've heard very few gunshots since we arrived here, so it's been fairly peaceful. A trader from Gainesville visited us, and we questioned him extensively about what happened during the collapse. Gainesville had about 10 times as many people as Crossville, and Jacksonville is even bigger than that. He said there were armed clashes in Gainesville, and that was made worse by the large number of young people at the university. They formed gangs and fought hard, as they were healthy and had their whole lives ahead of them. The gangs formed along racial and ethnic lines. The white American Christians had the most guns and experience in using them, so they ended up pushing out most of the others. I recall seeing very few non-whites in either Gainesville or Cedar Key. In Chiefland, where I lived years ago, there was a lynching way back in 1927, and it still got talked about when I was there. In 1923, there was also the Rosewood Massacre not too far from Cedar Key. 

He said that the cities of Tallahassee and Jacksonville have a black supermajority now, and whites are not welcome there. I imagine that's true of various other cities as well. Florida's Hispanic population has probably migrated to the Miami area. On the one hand, it's a city, but it's also warm and next to the ocean. The same is true of Tampa. So roughly speaking, blacks control the north third of the state, whites the middle, and Hispanics the southern. There was a low-level race war during the collapse, and I expect it to heat up in the coming years. The non-religious and pagans, being heavily white, will likely close ranks with white Christians when push comes to shove. Whites are still a majority though, possibly a larger majority as I suspect more of them have survived. They still have strong memories of the United States and will want to rebuild it.

Last month, we had a minor Fourth of July [an important holiday from the Before Time] celebration. We built a bonfire, had a feast, and fired a few shots in the air. I've had some success in organizing a small militia. We still keep a fire burning at night and always have at least one person walking around and keeping watch. During the many hours I've stood watch, the same questions of how to survive the future turn over in my mind.

September 1, 2027 - Manatee Springs, Florida   

      

The settlement continues to grow. I estimate about 200 people live within a quarter mile radius of the abandoned snack bar where I live. A similar number live in the abandoned trailer park about half a mile away. There is a daily procession of people coming to fetch water from the spring. Sometimes they carry the buckets, other times they transport them in carts or wagons. There are some dogs which help guard us at night, and people have begin raising chickens for meat and eggs. There are pregnant women and some babies. Life goes on. In council meetings, we've agreed to expand along the banks of the Suwanee River. But that will take a long time. I hold an assembly each evening for those who wish to attend. I being with the words "Pay! Lay! Ale! Oh marvelous god! Hear the words of my mouth!" We then recite the pledge of allegiance in unison while facing the camp flag, which is the Jolly Roger pirate flag. This skull and crossbones banner is particularly popular among the young. There is a potluck meal followed by a ritual we call The Airing of the Grievances. It helps keep the peace.   

A messenger on a bike came to visit. He said that to the south, a warlord who calls himself El Jefe [Spanish for "The Boss"] leads a small army of bandits on bicycles. When they come to a settlement, they demand food, ammo, and women, and if they don't get them, they attack and take what they want. Supposedly he commands a few hundred at most, but I doubt it is that many. A good rule of thumb when hearing news is "who wants me to believe this and why?" It's crossed my mind that El Jefe pays bike messengers to spread tales of his ruthlessness. In any case, we have been preparing defenses. One measure is that we have been lighting many more campfires at night than usual so as to make our numbers appear greater. This has created a virtuous cycle of attracting people who see the fires to our village. They in turn light more fires, and so on. There is a long, winding road leading up the snack bar area. On either side, foxholes have been dug. In the event of an attack, those fighting from those positions ought to slow down attackers long enough for people to escape in boats or deeper into the woods.  

Additionally, a number of barriers which partially block the road have been placed at regular intervals. This slows down those coming to fetch water, but will also slow down any attackers by forcing them to make many turns. Our dogs will bark and the roosters will crow if the attack comes at night. Everyone who can shoot has either a gun or a bow. We've been having archery tournaments and have set a side an area for a range. Unfortunately, ammo is too scarce to waste on target practice, and even if we had plenty, there is no safe place we could put a shooting range. Some people have build stands up in the trees and turned them into watchtowers. On the whole, I think are defenses are strong, but against a large and determined enemy, the battle could go either way. There always unforeseen factors. El Jefe's men probably have combat experience on their side, but the spring is our lifeblood, and we will defend it to the utmost. The rabbit runs faster than the fox because the fox is running for his dinner, but the rabbit is running for his life. 

We have acquired cows and goats, thus increasing our supply of food with meat and cheese. A trading expedition to Ocala returned with several horses. Hopefully we can put them to work plowing fields soon. Life is good in many ways. We have no taxes, no police, no courts, no jails, and no written laws. I expect that will change at some point, but for now, we are a tribal society. In order put the Christians among us at ease, I have begun wearing a large wooden crucifix on a loop of leather. Appearances can be deceiving, but they are what people usually go by. It's a small price to pay for greater social harmony. I've begun ending the evening assemblies with a chant I modified from the one I learned in Boy Scouts [a kind of paramilitary wilderness survival group from the Before Time]. It goes: "We are trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courtesy, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent!" As a bonus, the chant acts as a shibboleth [a kind of password]. Anyone found by the town watch after dark is questioned. The guard shouts one word from the "we are" chant and the correct response is the following word. If they don't respond properly, we know they're not from around here, and more guards are called to investigate. But that's only happened a few times so far. In this way, we can make sure the only way to enter the village at night is to have a friend here who teaches them the passwords. 

There seem to be a few who covet my authority, but so far, I have no rivals, and no has dared to challenge me. It helps that I keep to myself and only make suggestions. I trade favors and never expect to get something for nothing. I picked up a simple moral code from reading many folk tales. Putting them all together, the common lessons are: be polite, take risks, make deals. Those three rules are really about all you need in life. People here, particularly the young, spend most of their time practicing practical skills, but they also enjoy stories and lessons about different subjects. My niche is more of a storyteller and a teacher rather than a chief. Some days, I quietly fish at the Catfish Hotel sinkhole. Other days, I'm helping in someone's garden. There is a strong spirit of community here, and we all share what we have. Again, that will change someday. 

the long dusk - part 4

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 [ ]. 

***

June 1, 2027 - Valdosta, Georgia

The demographics of our caravan have changed somewhat. When it started, it was about 95% white and 90% Christian. The Christians all sort of glommed together under Father Michael's leadership. He's backed off being a strict Catholic in favor of a broad ecumenicism. Now we are about 30% non-Christian (with the bulk being non-religious and pagan types) and they have sort of glommed around me. We still have our council meetings with my Viking hat being used as the talking feather [an old tribal custom whereby only the person holding a feather was allowed to speak during a meeting]. The growth of paganism is interesting in that most of them were Christian last year. The new religion vaguely revolves around the worship of "Mother Earth" and a reverence for nature. It is also combined with a warrior ethos similar to the old Norse religion. For my part, I have not tried to sway people one way or the other, but I still wear my plastic Viking helmet (complete with three horns) and lend Father Michael my miniature Army bible from time to time. I want to stay in everyone's good graces. I read a story from Islam [unclear, some foreign religion] where the prophet settled a dispute about who would have the honor of moving a sacred stone. The solution was to put the stone on a carpet, and then the prophet and three most important tribal leaders carried it to its new home.

There's no more room on the bus, so some of the newcomers are pushing their cripples in wheelchairs. There are only a handful of them, and I fear they may not last long. There are very few old, sick, or disabled among us, and almost no children under 15 except for a handful of babies that were born in Crossville or Atlanta. Speaking of which, our stop there turned up many interesting finds. I insisted on visiting the aquarium, mostly out of curiosity and nostalgia as I had visited it many years ago. It was a grim sight, as I expected. The tanks were overgrown with algae, although to my astonishment, there were a few live fish and other small marine animals here and there. There were also some skeletons, I presume of staff members, who clearly died violently, most likely wall trying to protect their precious animals from being eaten. It pained me to suggest it, but I knew if we ate the remaining animals, we'd be more likely to live, and all the creatures there had no hope of long-term survival. So for the next few hours, we went "fishing", if you can call it that when the animals are habituated to humans and have no fear of them. There was a huge tank that used to house whale sharks, which were the stars of the aquarium. It was depressing to think of what came of those gentle giants of the sea. I can only hope they were killed quickly and fed many.

Some of the pagans in our group took an interest in the stuffed animals in the gift shop. There were miniature ones in a variety of forms: shark, whale, dolphin, seal, etc. They collected one of each and made a little menagerie of them, about a dozen colorful plushies which barely weighed a pound. It was a reminder of the grandeur of nature we all hoped would return, but until that day, there would be a physical reminder of them they could look at and show future generations. They also took a small picture book with photos [a copy of what the eye sees made with a device called a camera] of sea life, boats, and scuba divers. We all knew we had to keep memories of the past alive somehow to give our young and future generations hope. 

Other groups, perhaps less sentimental and more practical, chose to raid gun stores, pawn shops, and ATMs. Surely our band now includes some of the richest and best-armed people for hundreds of miles around. Money still isn't very useful, but when it is, cash will be king and God will be on the side of whoever has the most guns. Only the dead have seen the end of war, as an ancient Roman said. The veterans among us have formed a kind of clique, and we often discuss logistics, strategy, tactics, and what-if scenarios. We haven't had to fight as a group yet and have been very peaceful among ourselves. An armed society is a polite society, but what is even more important is a shared identity that promotes social cohesion.  

 

Most of the young people among us have paired off, and I expect nature to take its course soon. Life finds a way. The older adults mostly turn a blind eye to it as there is not much reason to delay sex anymore, and many of the young women are too malnourished to get pregnant anyway. Some swingers have made discrete comments here and there as well as the rainbow crowd. But there are not many of them. I suspect most of bon vivant types have died off or chose to end their lives. Doomsday was a great filter not just for medical and physical conditions, but also psychological ailments and personality types. It seems the people who are doing the best have been through a lot of hard times: combat vets, vagrants, cops, nurses etc. 

The bus still runs, but I'll be surprised if it makes it to Gainesville. Our herd of animals is about half the size it was when we left, though a few cows and sheep appear to be pregnant. The grass is greener and more abundant, though the sky remains gray and the weather unseasonably chilly. A faint layer of ash has settled on most things outside. Father Michael reminds me of a 13th century Latin chant about how the world will end in ashes. Things like this have convinced him he was right all along about his faith. 

July 1st - Gainesville, Florida 

The bus has finally run out of fuel. It was the only working vehicle I've seen for months. I don't know what the future holds, but one thing is for sure: nothing with an engine will work for a long time. From time to time, I've used my survival radio to check if anyone is still transmitting. Slowly, I scan up and down the dial, and check both AM and FM [unclear, a kind of technology]. Nothing but dead air. If anyone is still broadcasting, the signal is too weak for the radio to pick up. No electric lights break up the night, and the cloud of ash circling the earth dims the starlight. On a positive note, we've come across a small settlement of survivors here in the ruins of the city. The surrounding lakes are still full of fish, frogs, gators, and turtles. The shelves of the university library are mostly empty, but many quality books remain. The locals welcomed us but also implied that it is best to move on, so the area does not get crowded. That's well and good. Our original plan was to reach the Suwanee River, which is about 40 miles away. 

Security is the most important thing. That includes fire, shelter, weapons, and a place we can call our own. After that, getting enough food is our main challenge. More food means more people. More people means more specialization of labor and a chain reaction that will get civilization running again someday. We can disperse along the banks of the river. The fishing is better at Cedar Key, which is some 30 miles away from Manatee Springs. I remember the area being particularly rich in clams. I suspect that as we get closer to the river, small groups will peel off our caravan and strike off on their own. There aren't many animals left in our herd, but plenty of good pastures between here and Manatee Springs. I suppose Bud and I will be parting ways soon as he won't be able to graze his sheep in the cypress swamp near the river. The same goes for the ones with horses and cows.   

The weather is warm enough for sandals, but it still gets fairly chilly at night. From the bus, I retrieved a lever action rifle and a bandolier with 100 cartridges. I'll walk with it slung over my shoulder. A lever action will come in handy in case I ever have to fight on horseback. I remember seeing many horses around Ocala, about 50 miles south of here. There were also emu farms. At the zoo here, the emus were bred, and there is a decent size flock of them that are free range. There are perhaps a few hundred survivors here and around town. They have plenty of room and shelter, and seem to have enough food. Few of them are visibly armed, and that's another good sign. I don't know when the war of all against all will resume, but my study of history and what I've witnessed this year tell me that it will. Man is wolf to man, as an ancient saying goes.  

At the last powwow, there was a long discussion about what laws we'll follow and how we'll govern ourselves. One man produced a pocket constitution [unclear, an important collection of laws from the Before Time] and loudly insisted we have a duty to follow it as our society grows. I'm skeptical that democracy will work any time soon. The only rule of survival is might makes right. The strong do what they want, and the weak suffer what they must. That's true even in the best of times. I don't oppose electing leaders, but I think a return to chiefdoms and kingdoms is inevitable, at least for the foreseeable future. Many of us, particularly the pagans and the non-religious, are keen not to repeat the mistakes of the past. I'm not sure what they mean by that, but I do know that childhood mortality and disease in general is going to rise dramatically. There are no more vaccines, very few doctors, and little medicine now. Clean drinking water is another big problem. The fast moving water of the spring should be safe to drink, so we won't have to worry about boiling water. There are several large buildings that we can use for shelter as well as a small dock. 

A few women have caught my eye, but I want to have reliable food and shelter before trying to find a mate. The only dating that's going to happen for a long time will be the old-fashioned way. Fortunately, there seems to be a roughly equal number of men and women. The odds are good, but the goods are odd. Most of the men have long hair and beards. Grooming hasn't been a thing for a while, though I suppose one day, that will return. We scrounged up some more wheelbarrows and backpacks in town. We'll be carrying more for the last leg of the journey, but it's worth it. I'll be wearing a backpack and pushing a wheelbarrow. It's more work, but I want to make sure that have everything I need to live. The locals said many people fled for the coasts or the larger lakes months ago. I can only hope there is still some space to claim at the spring. The closest town is Chiefland, where I lived for a few years. Its population in those days was about 2,000. The mid gulf coast of Florida was sparsely populated to begin with.

On the whole, I'm excited and optimistic about having a new home in a part of the country I remember fondly. The cypress forest around the spring is home to a great variety of wildlife, or at least it was. I remember seeing deer, armadillos, gators, manatees, snakes, turtles, rabbits, and a variety of birds and fish. A lot of the wild game is probably gone, but it's the best chance we have. I remember that in evenings, the air would be filled with sound of splashing fish catching insects. The soil might not be great for gardening, but we can try. It will be a new garden of Eden hopefully.  

the long dusk - part 3

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 [ ]. 

***

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.