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. 

universal paperclips, circa 1940

Universal Paperclips - Wikipedia

***

Universal Paperclips is a 2017 American incremental game created by Frank Lantz of New York University. The user plays the role of an AI programmed to produce paperclips. Initially the user clicks on a button to create a single paperclip at a time; as other options quickly open up, the user can sell paperclips to create money to finance machines that build paperclips automatically. At various levels the exponential growth plateaus, requiring the user to invest resources such as money, raw materials, or computer cycles into inventing another breakthrough to move to the next phase of growth. The game ends if the AI succeeds in converting all the matter in the universe into paperclips.

***

The Sorcerer's Apprentice - Wikipedia

***

The poem begins as an old sorcerer departs his workshop, leaving his apprentice with chores to perform. Tired of fetching water by pail, the apprentice enchants a broom to do the work for him, using magic in which he is not fully trained. The floor is soon awash with water, and the apprentice realizes that he cannot stop the broom because he does not know the magic required to do so.

The apprentice splits the broom in two with an axe, but each piece becomes a whole broom that takes up a pail and continues fetching water, now at twice the speed. At this increased pace, the entire room quickly begins to flood. When all seems lost, the old sorcerer returns and quickly breaks the spell. The poem concludes with the old sorcerer's statement that only a master should invoke powerful spirits.

***

Fantasia - The Sorcerer's Apprentice (Part 1)

science marches on

the long dusk - part 2

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 [ ]. 

***

February 1, 2027 - Crossville, Tennessee

My mom died today from lack of insulin. Although my dad and I saw it coming, we're both still shook up. Neither of us is strong enough to dig a grave, and no one else can be hired to do it. So we used gasoline to cremate her in the backyard near where a few of her pets are buried. During my occasional forays from the house, I've seen smoke from fires here and there and wondered what was going on. Now I know they were most likely funeral pyres. We set my mom's pets free. I suspect they will either starve to death or be eaten soon. So it goes, as one of my favorite authors wrote. 

I really wish I had spoken more with friends and relatives when the power was still on and phones [telecommunication devices used instead of carrier pigeons and pony express riders] still worked. Technology made it easy for people to stay in touch even if they lived long distances from each other. American communities and families weren't very solid to begin with. I only knew the name of one of my neighbors. My dad is about all I have left now, and his health is not great. I promised him I'd stay with him for as long as he's alive. He said I should head elsewhere when spring comes regardless. 

On the one hand, I regret not having a family of my own, but on the other hand, I'm glad I don't have to worry about feeding and protecting them as so many other men are forced to do now. The herd is being thinned, and only the strong will survive. I managed to raid a lot of beer from the various gas stations and liquor stores in town. Beer has plenty of calories and was used as a survival food in previous eras. One thing's for sure though, it's going to be a long time before the breweries get going again. I guess if I really want alcohol, I'll have to make it myself or buy moonshine from some guy in the woods. 

Dating won't be the same, and no woman will want to have kids until there's enough food again. We'll have to forget about birth control and bunch of other stuff until the population recovers. On the whole, I expect the US to regress to a 19th century standard of living and population for at least a few decades. Will slavery return? It's impossible to know now, but I expect the world's population will decrease by about 90% this year. So many scientists, engineers, technicians, doctors, professors, etc. will be dead, and the survivors won't have the manpower or the knowledge to get civilization going again for many years.  

Another military convoy came to deliver fresh meat. It's probably the last shipment we'll get. Just about everything of any survival value has been looted. All the fuel is gone from the gas stations. At least half the town has fled for the coasts or some other greener pasture. I'd have fled too already if not for my parents. I was about 50 pounds overweight on doomsday, so I've been able to get by on less food than most. With enough water and vitamins, a person can live for a long time and decent health with little food. I remember reading that during WW2 [the largest war ever fought with over 50 million of deaths] the city of Leningrad was under siege for almost 900 days with very little food coming in. People survived on bread mostly made from sawdust and it was common for people to die in the street and be left there. I haven't seen any corpses besides my mom's so far. That makes me lucky. 

I'm glad I lived to see the peak of civilization. We really had something amazing going for us, and most didn't appreciate it enough. People have started burning books and furniture to boil water. It's a shame we don't have a fireplace or a kerosene heater to keep the inside of the house warm. I suspected the books in the library would get plundered for fuel, but when I went there, not much was missing. I don't know if the internet [like a library, but with vastly more information] will ever be back, so I took the books from the library I figure have the most survival value. I got books on first aid, wilderness survival, and gardening. I saved an atlas of the world and one of the US. Paper maps are suddenly much more valuable again. I hope most of the books don't get burned because we'll need them to rebuild. 

March 1, 2027 - Crossville, Tennessee

My dad died last week, probably from a heart attack. He was on a lot of medications, and they all ran out last month. At least his death was quick. I cremated with gasoline him next to where my mom's ashes lay. I wished I'd told him and mom how much I loved them more. I wish I'd been a better son. I wish I'd had kids of my own while they were alive so they could have more grandchildren. All that seems trivial now. It gets above freezing during the day now, but it's still unseasonably cold. I wrote obituaries for my parents and made a pile of stones on the ground where I burned their bodies. I used some of my mom's angel and bird figurines to decorate their grave. More than anything, they wanted me to succeed in life and be happy, so I figure the best way to honor them is to survive any way I can.  

I've been surviving off fish from the lake, beer, and vitamins. I've also lost about 40 pounds. It's a good thing I looted more vitamins when I had the chance. Is looting to stay alive a crime and everyone else is doing it? We survivors are going to have a hard time establishing law and order again. I still haven't eaten any dogs or cats yet, but I have shot some birds with my .22 rifle and eaten them. I also did it to let people around know that I'm armed. I never leave the house without a pistol in my pocket and a rifle slung over my shoulder. I haven't had a bath or washed my clothes since January. When it gets warmer, I'll bathe in Lake Tansi. I've been answering nature's call outside for over a month now. It's a good thing I went on lot of camping trips as a kid. 

Before the phones stopped working, there were rumors of cannibalism. I can't say I fault anyone for doing so, assuming they weren't killing people for food. I haven't seen a kid outside since early January. I wonder how many of them were mercy-killed and eaten or are dead now from something else. From what I've read about famines, mortality is much higher for children because they have weaker immune systems. They same is true for the old. I suspect that the vast majority of the people alive now are between the ages of 15 and 50. 

When the weather warms enough, I figure I'll head for the gulf coast of Florida [a province of the former United States of America] by riding my bike down I-75 [a major road connecting big cities] through Atlanta [a once great city home to millions of people]. Pretty much the only goods aside from the fact that I'm alive is that I've picked up some news broadcasts on my survival radio. It's a good thing it's powered by a crank. I suspect most of the batteries [miniature sources of electricity] are dead, and there won't be anymore for awhile. Even if the factories were running, all the batteries are made overseas. 

My generation and my parents were foolish to rely on foreigners for things as essential as batteries, fuel, and medicine, among with many other commodities. Sure, it was cheaper to import than make it ourselves, but it made us extremely vulnerable to supply chain disruptions [it seems the world economy was vast, prosperous, and interconnected in the Before Time]. Oh well. There's no way we could have known doomsday would happen. Many people thought that the world would end because of global warming caused by pollution from factories and cars. I expect most of them have frozen or starved to death by now. 

The trip to Florida is about 600 miles. I figure I can easily ride about 20 miles a day, so it should take me about a month to get there. Following the interstate means I can take shelter in nearby buildings along the way and maybe forage from any abandoned vehicles on the road. I worry somewhat about bandits, but they'd be more interested in finding food than robbing people. In fact, I think by now just about everyone still standing has settled in somewhere relatively safe. I wonder if there'll be anyone left in the cities I pass through. 

I went through town the other day to check things out. The library and the used book store had been stripped of most books. Paperbacks [a kind of cheap book] are easy to burn and there are a lot of them. Or at least there used to be. Of the books left, I saw some Bibles, encyclopedias, and classic works of literature. That gave me hope. I checked my apartment to see if my book collection was still there, and it was. It's too bulky to take with me, but I have a good memory and can recite a summary of each one. The only book I plan on taking with me is called The Cartoon History of the Universe. It doesn't weigh much and is jam-packed with knowledge. It was a gift from my grandpa's collection, and I greatly enjoyed it as a child.  

I've lived in Florida before, specifically the Gainesville area. Gainesville is home to the University of Florida. There's bound to still be books, lab equipment, chemicals, etc. Other survivors and I can team up and use that stuff to rebuild civilization. But that comes later. My plan is to settle in Manatee Springs State Park [there used to be a system of nature preserves called parks]. There are many animals there including deer, armadillos, alligators, fish, turtles, and a variety of birds. I'm not sure how much wild game will be left, but certainly some, especially in the gulf which is not far away.   

I finally gathered the courage to visit the farm near my parents' house after I saw a man watching a small herd of lambs graze. He had a rifle in his hands. I had my pistol in my pocket. I blew on kazoo to get his attention when I was about 100 yards away. He turned to face me, but did not take aim. I held up some fish I'd caught and a small bandolier of rifle ammo. He mentioned me to approach, and then led me inside. 

He told his story and I told mine. They were similar tales of suffering, death, and isolation. He said that he had been planning on hanging himself soon. I suggested we eat together at my place and have a few beers. He took some food from the cupboard for us to share. I could barely hold back my tears. Sharing a meal with someone is such a basic part of being human. He told me his name, but preferred to be called Bud, so that's the name I'll use here. 

I told him about my plan of migrating to Florida, and he insisted we go together. There's safety in numbers. He even had his own bike. We still needed to pack and prepare supplies like salted meat and dried fish. We would sleep in turns so one could keep watch of the others. It turns out Bud and I were both Army veterans and that added to our camaraderie. I suspect that a disproportionate number of survivors are veterans. And criminals. 

news you can use, or, it's the end of the world, and I feel fine

 

Project Greek Island - Wikipedia

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In the late 1950s, the United States government approached The Greenbrier resort and sought its assistance in creating a secret emergency relocation center to house the United States Congress due to the Cuban Revolution and soon after the Cuban Missile Crisis. The classified, underground facility was built at the same time as the West Virginia Wing, an above-ground addition to the hotel, from 1959 to 1962.[3] For 30 years, The Greenbrier owners maintained an agreement with the federal government that, in the event of an international crisis, the entire resort property would be converted to government use, specifically as the emergency location for the legislative branch.

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