The year is 20XX. The last two digits don’t really matter, seeing as they just count after the bombs fell. I live in the Western United States, well what is left of the states. The Wild West has returned to its former glory, or infamy depending on how you look at it. The west was left untouched by the bombs that could not only be seen, but heard across the country and around the world. I guess I have the previous government to thank for that. I don’t know why those bombs only hit the most important parts of the US, but I thank the Lord that my great grandparents had been on holiday in the Rockies when the calamity brought the world to its knees.
Day one, April, 26, 20XX;
My mother always taught me that a diary in this world of uncertainty would be a blessing for future generations after my death. I never took that to heart. However at my mother’s dying breath she told me to read the last four years of her diary. The last four years of the madness that was her life has spurred me to keep my own diary. I guess my birthday is as good of day as any to start.
I just got back from hunting. I only killed three birds, not very much for dinner. It seems like my area is starting to become scarce. Which is weird considering that I only arrived a week ago. Perhaps I am not alone. I guess I should go find that GeoCache of ammunition and weapons my father left me. Seems as though I am not far from it, and taking certain precautions is prudent if I am indeed not alone.
End of log;
I feel my eyes start to get heavy in the waning rays of light. I close my worn bound notebook, and stand up to do a perimeter check. I walk 20 paces out from my makeshift camp, and stand by one of four clear X’s. I look down a pre meditated imaginary line, and see a satisfying glint in the fast fading light of day. Good, if even one of those traps had sprung, I wouldn’t see that. A similar check of the other X’s bring equal results. Good, all four points in my little square sanctuary checked out. I squat and carefully disturb a small patch of loam; it really wasn’t a specific area because even a tiny disturbance caused a bell to ring out in the clear silence of the twilight. I knew that if this area worked, they all worked. Satisfied that my small square patch if woodland was secure, I peeled back a layer of my worn sleeping bag and practically fell into the same worn patch. Home sweet temporary home. Right as the light faded and the sun was gone, I fell into a light, but deep slumber. One eye was open, and observing the night. My trusty side arm in bed next to me, and it’s cool worn metal comforting.
Day one, April, 26, 20XX;
My mother always taught me that a diary in this world of uncertainty would be a blessing for future generations after my death. I never took that to heart. However at my mother’s dying breath she told me to read the last four years of her diary. The last four years of the madness that was her life has spurred me to keep my own diary. I guess my birthday is as good of day as any to start.
I just got back from hunting. I only killed three birds, not very much for dinner. It seems like my area is starting to become scarce. Which is weird considering that I only arrived a week ago. Perhaps I am not alone. I guess I should go find that GeoCache of ammunition and weapons my father left me. Seems as though I am not far from it, and taking certain precautions is prudent if I am indeed not alone.
End of log;
I feel my eyes start to get heavy in the waning rays of light. I close my worn bound notebook, and stand up to do a perimeter check. I walk 20 paces out from my makeshift camp, and stand by one of four clear X’s. I look down a pre meditated imaginary line, and see a satisfying glint in the fast fading light of day. Good, if even one of those traps had sprung, I wouldn’t see that. A similar check of the other X’s bring equal results. Good, all four points in my little square sanctuary checked out. I squat and carefully disturb a small patch of loam; it really wasn’t a specific area because even a tiny disturbance caused a bell to ring out in the clear silence of the twilight. I knew that if this area worked, they all worked. Satisfied that my small square patch if woodland was secure, I peeled back a layer of my worn sleeping bag and practically fell into the same worn patch. Home sweet temporary home. Right as the light faded and the sun was gone, I fell into a light, but deep slumber. One eye was open, and observing the night. My trusty side arm in bed next to me, and it’s cool worn metal comforting.
