Apocalypse Soonish

Read previous entries:
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3

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Day 4

Dear Journal,

I explored my cell last night in the brief time before sleep overcame my exhausted body and found no possible means of escape except by the window many feet above my head. The walls of the cell are completely sheer and impossible to climb, however.

I was glad to find my “goods” intact, still hidden, and am bringing them with me now to the Pearl River in hopes of learning more from Friend — the only human brave enough to speak with me in full English.

I am working next to Friend now and have shown her my odd wares. She (or he, I’m still not sure) opens a hidden pocket in her tattered rags and shows me her own collection — a powerbank, a small hunting knife, and a toothbrush.

All of a sudden, I have an idea —

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“It looks like you could use a new t-shirt, Friend,” I say. “I’ll give you mine for that powerbank.”

“I guess mine has become a bit ratty. Sure.”

We surreptitiously trade our goods, sure to avoid the ever-watchful gaze of the Wi-Fi security cameras.

“And that knife. How about I give you this beer koozy?“”

“Are you crazy? Who would want that?“”

“Umm … How about this badge with a ‘V’ on it?” I ask, worried that my plan may fail at this last crucial moment.

“Really?? They don’t make those anymore! Done.”

We slide these across to each other. Friend holds my hand for a brief moment — the only human touch I have experienced in this blasted place.

“Thank you,” Friend says, and squeezes. We look into each other’s eyes for one brief moment, lean towards each other, and —

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The speaker docks blare.

You got the orb in the tub. Now put in the big tub.

And off we go, dumping our oysters and pearls in the big tub and handing our shucking knives to the guardsape. Except I don’t give him my shucking knife. Instead I give him the hunting knife I purloined from Friend. Will he notice the difference in his sweaty simian palm –

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He does not! My plan is ready to be set in motion, Journal.

I am now locked back in my cell. I plug my USB lamp into Friend’s powerbank. Now I can see the walls reaching up into darkness, and to the window that is my only hope for freedom.

I inspect the walls and see, as I suspected, that they are made of stones expertly laid together with hardly a space between them. No instrument could fit between these stones except … an oyster-shucking knife!

I wedge mine into the wall triumphantly and begin my laborious task: Pulling stones out from their fittings one by one and crafting a kind of spiral staircase up the circular cell walls.

At last I reach the grated window, dear Journal, but realize with horror that —

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It is sealed shut. I could only hope to pull it off with tremendous force, but by doing so I would certainly hurtle down with it to my death!

A solution springs to mind. I work one of the heaviest stone “steps” fully free, tie it round with my ethernet cords, tie the other and of the cords to the window, and hurl the massive rock into the abyss.

Snap! Goes the window. Boom! Goes the rock on the cell floor. I am free!

But —

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This echoing boom rouses the den. I hear the call of an alarm and the shuffling of many feet. I squeeze myself out of the window into a lit corridor and slink through the shadows to my best of my slinking abilities.

I come to a forking path and stop for a moment to consider. An arm reaches from the darkness and grabs me by the shoulder.

“Man!” calls a voice attached to the arm. I try to yank myself away but the hand holds firm. “No, sit! Now!”

It pushes me to the ground in a dark corner of the hall just in time, as a group of apes carrying a prisoner pass. I almost yell out loud as I see that the prisoner is none other than —

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Virginia! My trusted roadkill companion.

But I also see, to my shock and despair, that —

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Virginia is dead.

It is true, dear Journal, however much it grieves me to bear this lugubrious news. I would not think it possible for the undead to die, but I heard the guards speak to another group that came down the opposite hall.

“Big rat?”

“Yes. But big rat did die.“”

“Yes, a bit ago, no? Or now?”

“Now. Or, a day ago. We go put big rat in the big tub for ha ha hen. Ha ha hen did yen for big rat.”

And with those foul words they drag my dear marsupial zombie into the depths of the den. I am so upset I have almost forgotten about the mysterious arm that saved me. After the apes pass I turn.

“Who are you?”

The stranger steps into the light. “A Friend.”

“Thank you, Friend!” I call, relieved to see a familiar face amid my grief.

“Seek Georgie Red,” Friend points to the upward-sloping passage. “She is the only one who can help you.” Then, grabbing my hand, this haggard human speaks words I’ll never forget —

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“I love you.”

I am stunned.

“My heart belongs to another,” I say, looking wistfully at the passage through which Virginia was carried. “Or rather, belonged.” I break down in tears — the first outward display of emotion I have allowed in this harrowing ordeal. Friend holds me in his (or her) arms while my grief turns to anger at the loss of my beloved possum.

“I must avenge Virginia! I must kill the chicken!”

“Seek Georgia Red. She is all the remains of The Resistance.”

“Come with me!” I say, for I hear more scurrying feet and cries of alarm.

“I can’t. I must free the others.”

And with that, Friend presses something into my hand and urges me gently toward the upward passage — toward the breaking light of day — with tears streaming down her face.