Dear Diary

Today is April 31. Well, it’s as good a day as any.

Dear Diary. I’ve found a place to stay for a while, so I thought I’d tell you what’s been happening.

The end of the world was a lot less fun than I expected. There are no engines left, no electronics, and all the grocery stores were picked clean months, maybe years, ago. The people who had guns ran the world for a short while, until they ran out of ammo. Like they used to say, be careful how you treat people on the way up as you will meet them again on the way down. They had made a lot of enemies. At least they were a good meat supply for a while. We feasted for days each time an encampment fell.

Why is it April 31? Well, no clocks, no calendars, no recognizable seasons. Everybody has their own idea of what date it is. I picked April 31 because I was fairly sure no one else would. As far as the year, I have no idea. The year the world ended was in 2031. Maybe it’s still 2032, maybe close to 2040. Keeping track of time is a game we play when survival is not our first priority.

I call this a diary, although of course I don’t keep such a thing. If I find a place to stay that has writing materials, I write a new diary entry. Always for April 31. And then I leave it behind when I move on. Moving on sounds like something so orderly, doesn’t it? It usually happens during an attack, with noise and blood and screaming, and I run until I find a safer place to hide.

I travel very light these days. I can usually find new clothes and shoes whenever I come to the remains of a town. No one steals clothing except for personal use, and every shop and house has plenty. At first I carried a gun and a length of pipe for personal protection. I abandoned the gun when I found out that it just attracted too much attention to my location. The pipe was unwieldy and easily used against me in a fight. Now I have three small, razor-sharp knives. The people I have to fight off are stronger than me and have better reach. The knives are useful in close hand-to-hand fighting, when my opponent doesn’t know that I’m armed. If I’m tied up, I can cut myself free. One man tied me up in barbed wire, which left me completely helpless, but when he loosened it to rape me, I used my knife. Once I had blinded him with the knife, I took great pleasure in wrapping him up in the barbed wire and leaving him for the next survivor to happen along. I have doubts about the safety of human meat these days. Trapping rabbits and squirrels is less likely to poison me.

Before the end of the world I was studying to be a nurse. I learned some useful skills, but medical supplies are very scarce now. If I see a hospital or clinic or a veterinary office, I always check, but usually I come up empty. Liquor stores were empty even before the groceries. I’m sure my nursing professors never expected that I’d end up killing more people than I saved. I haven’t saved anyone in a long time – except myself, of course. Trusting strangers gets you damaged or killed.

One of the advantages of the apocalypse is that a lot of places glow at night, so I don’t need to carry a flashlight, just matches. There are lots of disadvantages. I stay under cover when it rains. I have no idea what is in the rain, but I see a lot of damaged roofs on the houses I pass. I boil water when I find a source, and fill as many bags as I can with it. Loneliness is the biggest downside. That’s why I write. It reminds me that I am human, and I can communicate with others. Maybe someone will read one of my diary entries one day.

To my future reader: My name was Candy. Before the world ended, I had parents and a brother and a semi-serious boyfriend. All dead now, of course. In the early days of the apocalypse, I teamed up with other people, had some relationships. We thought there would be safety in numbers back then. But the safest way to survive is to travel alone. Some of my companions ran away, taking precious supplies with them. Some were killed or taken prisoner when we were attacked on the road. Some turned on me and raped and robbed me. I’m not a big woman, and I haven’t eaten well in a long time. But I am determined to survive, and I will run or kill if I need to. One leg has a permanent limp now, I have many scars, I have lost eight teeth, and I am missing three fingers on my left hand. If not for my nursing knowledge, I would have died long ago.

But it seems that I encounter fewer and fewer people as I travel. Maybe the human race is dying out. Perhaps there are settlements where people try to grow crops and raise children. I stay well away from inhabited areas; I have no desire to be captured and put to work or to breeding.

At the time of writing, this is a small house in the forest, sheltered from the elements. It still has a door and windows and a roof, and some canned food. There is a bed (but people died on it, so I’m not using it) and soft furnishings, dry clean blankets and towels. By today’s standards, it is the height of luxury. The best places are isolated houses that used to have vegetable gardens or cornfields. Everything has gone to seed, but there is real food to harvest.

Philosophically, what am I living for? I will not be giving birth to children. I won’t survive when I get too old or maimed to run away. I no longer help people along the way. No one will come and save me. There will be no retirement community, no new hospital to offer me work. But some part of me refuses to give up. I take pride in the fact that I survive when millions have died. Each day is a new challenge, a new chance to learn a different skill.

I suppose I can’t help living in hope. The world ended when we didn’t expect it. Perhaps it will come to life again someday.