Fifteen days with Cathy

Today is April 31.

It's become a quiet rule to avoid saying “May 1.” It's the day the giant gastropods irrupted. The month of May begins with the 2nd.

Some scientist had the brilliant idea of inventing a genetic lettuce that kills snails in vegetable gardens. Only, it ended up enhancing the anabolic protein in some species of snails, causing them to grow at an uncontrollable speed until they were as long as a blue whale. Some might argue they’re slow, and the military could wipe them out with missiles and tanks—but at the size of an Airbus, they’re faster than the average running human; and missiles do almost no damage against their thick, hydrated bodies. Besides, there’s just too many of them. You’d run away from one and then run into another. Wherever they crawl, they leave behind their slimey trail, covering everything in their path with thick, sticky and putrid mucus. No one survives under it when it dries. If you find yourself caught beneath a snail's foot, you’re sucked into their gooey, rippling muscle of a body. That’s how they feed themselves—plants are now too small to chew on, so they suck up any living organism in their path. Rainforests in Africa and the Amazon are down to nothing but patches. They destroyed everything.

When the Gastropod Irruption broke out three years ago, cities had the small ones crawling on the sides of skyscrapers (the big ones became too heavy and fell off, taking half the top with them). They crawled on apartment buildings and submerged cars in both lanes of the streets. Suburbs had them sludging over houses, sucking up dogs and people. When they arrived in our town, seeing them for the first time reminded me of that movie War of the Worlds with the giant tripods—only these were gastropods with shells the size of hot air balloons. It’s a miracle we escaped. The military tried salt-loaded missiles when the normal ones didn’t work. Unfortunately, these genetically scaled slugs became immune to salt, preventing osmosis. There’s still no way to win at the time of this journal entry. My bet is that they’ll eventually die out from starvation. We had news of two snails battling, and the victor cannibalised the other. Last we heard, the military was working on something to wipe them out, but it’s been two and a half years since then. The world population shrunk by two-thirds.

Dad, Rupert and I are on our own, looking for a rumored civilisation up north. We’re now hiding in a sewer tunnel. Underground seems to be the safest way to navigate these days. Slime leaks in everywhere. Once the goop touches your clothes, they become useless, hard, and smell like old fish. I lost my previous pair of sneakers that way, but had to walk with them for two weeks.

“You’re gonna have to wear them or go barefoot,” said Dad. “We don’t know if we’re going to find clean ones.”

When we rested, I had to take them off and place them far away from us, because none of us could handle the smell. Luckily, we found a clean pair in someone’s car that fit me—and no one these days cares if you’re wearing boy’s shoes. We’re glad it’s Autumn now. We don’t look forward to Summers anymore. The heat makes the smell of surrounding mucus unbearable.

I never thought that snails made sounds, other than the constant squelching of their heavy pedal waves rippling above us (the fear of the ground collapsing is real). They grunt like elephants, only deeper, louder. I guess at their normal size, they’re too small to hear. It’s the only thing I like about them. Right now, all we can do is wait for morning when most of them are asleep so we can move ahead. Dad has a map drawn out for us to follow.

“We'll keep heading North,” he said.

That’s where he heard of a rumored civilisation, safe from these crawlers.

* * *

May 5

We arrived at an empty house. Water is low, and the taps are dry. I am dying for a bath. Rupert went out searching for a puddle or stream to get fresh water from last night’s rain. It’s more dangerous to go outside now. Even in daylight snails take advantage of moisture.

We survived on tinned food found in abandoned houses like this one, or cars left for us to scavenge. Other days we set traps for rodents and birds crafted by Dad. I too had to learn to skin animals. It took a while to get used to. We forgot how luxurious we had it before to walk into a butchery and buy pre-cut steaks or neatly packed minced meat.

* * *

Today is May 8.

For us, today is worse than May 1. It’s the day we lost Mom after the irruption began. I can’t believe it’s been three years already. It feels like yesterday that she was with us.

Our car got stuck in the mucus that day. If you saw any movie about an erupting volcano where the lava ran the streets—it’s like that, except it’s sticky, thick and deep up to your ankles. We had to run on foot from there. Somehow Dad, Rupert and I could avoid the slime, but not Mom. She got out of the car and stepped into the mucus, unable to get out by herself.

”Ben! Help!” Mom cried. She yanked with all her might to get loose, but her feet remained steadfast beneath the slime.

Dad reached for her from the roof of the car, shouting, “Angie, grab my hand!”

I haven’t seen him panic like that before.

Mom grabbed his hand, but one of the sludgers had already caught up to us.

“Mom!” I shouted.

“Dad, watch out!” cried Rupert.

Dad saw the monster and let go of her. He narrowly escaped the vacuuming glands.

With devastation, I watched as the snail swallowed Mom and the car under its muscle mass.

“It was the hardest choice I ever made,” Dad once told us. “Having to choose between trying to save the love of my life—possibly dying with her—and letting go of Mom to stay with you. You two are my responsibility. I couldn’t leave you by yourselves.”

I guess I’ll understand one day what it’s like to love someone like that. That’s if we find civilisation. It seems we’re nearing our destination. Dad showed that we’re only about five days' walk away. Snails still roam the land as if they owned it. Another two battled it out yesterday, providing food for three other snails.

I found some candles and matches in that house from three days ago. We’re going to light them in honour of Mom later today before we leave.

I miss you, Mom. We love you.

* * *

May 15

We arrived. The rumours about the civilisation were true after—ll. We had some trouble with craw—ers two da—s ago, but we s—vived. My p—n is dr—ng up. H—pefu—ly I c’n get a —ew one soo—