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Friday, May 4, 2012

last chapter Z for Zachariah

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Chapter 7


August 1


Morning.


I’m lying down in the tent. My vision is blurry and I’m disorientated. I’m unsure whether this suit is doing any good. I suppose it is, otherwise I may be dead by now. But it is weighing me down and I’m finding it difficult to walk. I feel my legs and arms getting weaker and weaker.


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Staying alive seems to be a struggle. I now have an idea of what it must be like to be old and frail, or to have a life threatening disease. My vision of death now is more vivid than ever. I hadn’t really thought of death much before, because I didn’t think I was close to it.


Yesterday, I saw what part of my journey was about. The truck. I knew straight away which truck it was. It was the truck which left my driveway carrying my family, a few months ago. I fell to my knees. I didn’t know whether to feel happy and relieved or sad and tearful. I cried anyway.


“ Mum! Dad!” I shouted, running towards the truck. I prayed to God to find my family alive. I was horrified with what I saw. Three dead bodies. I made out they were the ones of my mother, father and Joseph. David was missing. I searched the truck, and all around it. Where could David be? He could have ran off, or somehow disintegrated. I didn’t care what happened to him, I only wanted to know if he was alive or dead.


I carried the bodies out and rested them on the ground, side by side.


I wanted to show my respect and cover them up. I saw a large tarpaulin about 0 yards away. When I lifted it up, I put it straight down. More dead bodies. They were arranged, side by side, with arms crossed. I knew someone took much care to bury their loved ones. I went with my conscience and left it be.


I wrote names in the dry, crumbly earth above the heads of my family. After a quiet 10 minute mourning session alone, I walked away and carried on with my journey. I would have driven the truck, but I couldn’t find the key, and there may not have been much petrol left in the tank. It’s been weeks. Maybe months, but nothing. I look out for every little thing, every little sign of life. An abandoned birds’ nest, a dead leaf or a little scrap of radioactive food is the closest to life I’ve seen. I did see a small insect scurrying around on the crumbly earth under me. It was an earwig. I wondered whether it was going through what I’m going through. This idea moved me. Maybe it’s looking for a sign of life, or a mate. I presumed it needed help, so I picked it up and put it in a small matchbox I found, which I’ve been using recently for fire. I t is around the peak of winter, so it is very cold.


This earwig made me overcome my fear of insects. I knew it needed something from above, to help it, so I became that “something from above”. We were alike. I needed “something from above” too. But lately, I’ve been losing faith. I don’t want to, but I can’t help it. Maybe that is why God isn’t giving me any guidance. He does know everything I say and think, so I’m not surprised. I keep telling asking him to help me. But each time, I become more convinced that nothing is happening, or that God isn’t listening. I feel so alone.


It may seem like a silly little earwig, but for a long time it’s the first life form I’ve seen for months. It means so much to me, to find something alike to make me feel I’m the not the only one.


I also wonder how it has survived, how it has eaten and what it has eaten. For the past few days, I’ve been lying down and watching the earwig for hours on end in fascination. I’ve been feeding it by putting a small pile of tinned soup on the ground. It seems to like it.


I’ve been thinking of giving it a name, but I don’t know what sex it is. I could call it Jackie or Charlie. I soon discounted the idea, as it doesn’t really need a name and I don’t think it’s bothered too much.


Yesterday, I lost it. I woke up and the matchbox was missing. I still used it as a shelter, even though I have no matches left.


An hour later, I found the matchbox. It was open. I always left it open, as it needed air and I didn’t think it could jump out. It must have jumped out, or smartly tipped the matchbox over to let itself free. I felt rejected. During the three days of knowing it , I’ve been treating it like a human. So I felt like a friend befriending me whereas it is just a measly little insect which has no emotional feelings. I suppose the loss of the earwig did good to me. In the last few days, I have made hardly any ground. Barely half a mile. Usually, I’ve been making a few miles a day, so I am now back on track. I was also starting to go mad. The best part of my last few days was spent with the earwig, so the loss of it has been a relief.


I’ve noticed I haven’t been writing about Mr. Loomis at all. I have been thinking about him now and again, but I’ve decided not to write about him.


I’ve lost track of time and direction. It could be a year or so, since I left the house, and I could be miles away from home, even in a different state. I swear I look older. When I look at myself in a reflection, I can see changes in my appearance. I must be a year or two older.


I’ve just woken up, I had a bad dream. I was in a laboratory and I was wearing an orange suit with a strange man and he was holding a gun and was pointing it at me. I turned around and saw a door. I instantly ran towards it, but it was getting farther away from me and were gradually closing. The strange man was calling,


“EDWARD! EDWARD!”


I think he was calling for someone but when the doors closed, there was pitch black and I felt an eerie feeling in my shoulder. Then I woke up.


I must have lost my memory. I’ve been reading some journals which were mine. I recognised they were mine because they are in my handwriting. I remember writing up to the point when my family left in the truck. Since then, the story has been new to me.


Maybe someone has written new things in my journal but it’s all in my handwriting. I don’t know where I am but I am in a tent which I’ve written about.


Everything from my journal seems to be true. Everything I’ve written is happening. It may be a dream and that I’ll wake up any minute. I hope it is dream. I want to go back before my family left and before I met Mr. Loomis. I can’t believe I did what I did to him. If I went back I would have done things differently. I better not talk of him any more. I did tell myself not to. For the last few months, I’ve been walking in ,what I hope to be, one direction with little breaks. My aim was to find another place which supports life. I am sure the only place was back home.


I’ve been surviving on any tinned food from stores I come across. It’s all cold. Cold soup, beans and tomatoes.


Tinned food is all I can eat. Any other food would be radioactive. Maybe tinned food is radioactive, but it’s the safest I can eat.





The most amazing thing has happened. I have ended up here destiny has taken me. A large area outside deadness. It looked like my house. I swore it was. But there was something different about it. It felt like it wasn’t mine, someone else owned it. I felt guilty about going inside. But I did. I saw open cupboards and wardrobes and an unmade bed.


I felt someone was watching me but if they were hiding, they would be in the house. Right? I went back outside.


“HELLO! HELLO!“ I called. There was no reply.


I had d�jà vu. It seemed like everything I did already happened before. If someone was watching me, I would have looked quite weird with a large orange suit, and whoever was watching me must have been quite scared.


I was almost certain I was being watched. That strange feeling inside was getting stronger and stronger.


I haven’t washed for years. I saw a river. I presumed it was safe to bathe in, as it was out of the deadness. Without checking with Geiger counters, I stripped off and made no hesitation to get in.


Just as I was about to get in, I thought I heard a shout, a warning. This d�jà vu was as strong as ever. I knew this has happened before. Things were very, very similar.





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