Tales Of The Apocalypse: Book II - The Rift
It has been 24 hours since the surface of the Earth was caressed by the Sun.
When it started to get hot in the safe room, we retreated to the underground room where it was much cooler.
Years ago I buried a series of PVC pipe 6 feet deep, connected in such a way as to maximize the volume of air that would move through it, to take advantage of convection cooling in the summer, and to heat the warmer air in the winter as it was drawn into the house. It helped keep this area cool during the event. The temperature is still in the 70's in here, but it is much cooler than outside I suspect.
I have re-hooked up the outside antenna to the radio, trying in vain to pick up some news but I am only getting static.
My wife has insisted that I go check things out, to see what is happening outside. I wish I had put in the CCTV security system now. It would be much safer. It might have fried in any case.
Opening the hatch in the floor has flooded our shelter with stifling hot air. I closed it after me and staggered to the reinforced door of the safe room. It is even hotter outside, though it is night. I hope that it will radiate off into space soon, but with the cloud cover it may take some time.
The night air has an awful taint, a cacophony of odors; it reeks of smoke and rot.
It stinks of death.
There are bodies everywhere, each adding to the charnel odor.
They appear to be burned, as though they had been under a giant magnifying glass, or left in a tanning booth overnight.
Dead birds litter the streets where they fell in their flight to safety.
Fred is dead. I found his body in his front yard.
He bought a bayonet for his AK when he got it.
I laughed at him and wanted to know if he was going to lead a bayonet charge.
It looks like he put it to good use after he ran out of cartridges.
There is a pile of bodies surrounding him with what appear to be stab wounds. He killed the one who killed him, the bayonet sticking into the chest of a hulking brute of a man, the brute's hands wrapped around Fred's throat.
Well fought Fred...
Goodbye my friend.
We offered him space inside with us, but he declined
I don’t know why… ?
I relieved him of the AK and magazines in case we find some ammo for it later.
Fred would have wanted it that way.
It is so quiet, with only the wind moving the trees and bushes.
A stifling hot breeze as in a convection oven.
It is an overcast night , threatening rain.
Perhaps it will cool things down and slow the putrefying of the corpses
There is no reason to stay here, and now every reason to leave.
This could have been prevented. The damage could have been minimized.
If we would have only studied the Carrington Event, and realized it's warnings.
But politics got in the way of reason again, and this is what it has wrought.
It is raining now, cooling the earth, but it is becoming oppressingly humid.
It feels... almost tropical.
We are going to leave here soon, going to the Forest Service cabin.
I had cached many years supply of food, vegetable seeds, and other gear near there in preparation of possible need. My wife laughed at me, but I did it anyway.
There is even a PVC Hoop-House kit for a greenhouse or shelter, along with many rolls of plastic for years of use.
There are food and water caches along the way, so our packs do not have to be so heavy as to slow us down.
It is over 50 miles away, but we should be able to make it in at least 5 days time.
I am loading us up with extra water anyway because of the heat.
It will go all too fast as it is.
We will travel by the forest trail, using the cover of night to remain unobserved by anyone else who might have survived.
The rain has stopped, the clouds are breaking up...
The moon, its changed; it’s a horrible green, a frightening sight at best.
We are leaving now, our pathway lit by eerie slivers of light.
Slivers of the Moon.