(From an entry written on February 15th, 2013)
Yuki’s knocked up. It’s been long enough to be as certain as it gets, and that happened to be on Valentine’s Day. I knew that there were some cultural oddities about body functions, but this took the cake; she’s been actively tracking her cycles for years, with notes and annotations. I’m a little squicked out about that.
Been talking with the FEMA operator lately, about once a day or so, and he’s filled me in as best he can about what’s going on. The disaster was world-wide, and apparently an act of terrorism unlike any before it. The ten cities, world-wide, with the largest population centers got nuked off the face of the Earth simultaneously. Then came a global tidal wave of blue-white fire, something no one ever saw before—not even in the most ancient of texts—and ruined much of what remained. Everyone that was topside is believed dead, or will be soon enough.
This squares with what I heard out of Duluth, down to the instant rise of marauding gangs that already resorted to cannibalism, until that guy either fled or got eaten. FEMA’s response has been tied down due to serious logistical issues and unexpected pushback from survivors, but they’re progressing steadily and should be able to get to us by the turn of Spring at the latest. This I welcome, as I wonder if this disaster might affect weather patterns and extend this Winter long past its ordinary duration.
(From an entry written on February 17th)
Yuki’s calling me her husband now, and she’s told me that she thinks that the baby will be a girl. She wanted to know what my mother’s name was, and what it meant in English. I humored her, as it’s kept her focused on the here and now and not on things outside her control. I asked her what her folks were like, and she told me that she was an Onna and thus had a great family that spanned all of Japan. I hadn’t filled her in on the true scope of the disaster, but she’s more or less decided on making a go at family life with me. She’s settled down emotionally, for which I am grateful, but damn if this all did not escalate quickly. I now understand why my uncles were such unrepentant deadbeat dads.
Yuki’s calling me her husband now, and she’s told me that she thinks that the baby will be a girl. She wanted to know what my mother’s name was, and what it meant in English. I humored her, as it’s kept her focused on the here and now and not on things outside her control. I asked her what her folks were like, and she told me that she was an Onna and thus had a great family that spanned all of Japan. I hadn’t filled her in on the true scope of the disaster, but she’s more or less decided on making a go at family life with me. She’s settled down emotionally, for which I am grateful, but damn if this all did not escalate quickly. I now understand why my uncles were such unrepentant deadbeat dads.
I’ve kept Yuki informed on FEMA’s activities, as much as I know of them, but she’s not that excited about it. She’s satisfied with staying here. I get it, but her stern tone has me thinking that she’ll resist removal, and she’s telling me that I ought to stick to my guns about making this a settlement and grow our own community here instead of going back with FEMA. I’m unsure about a lot of stuff about this now that FEMA’s involved, but there is one thing I am sure about: I never said one word about any of this to Yuki, so how did she learn what my plan was- is? She’s messing with my head.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Friday, October 18, 2013
To Split Rock Lighthouse-03
(From an entry dated February 1st)
Yuki’s my girlfriend. She hasn’t said so. I haven’t said so. There’s been no one to say it to, so we don’t need to say a damned word. Actions are enough, and her crawling into bed with me after she got done crying was enough talk for both of us. She and I shared that bed thereafter, and she’s become quite insistent on my affection. I tell myself that it’s just a freak-out reaction to everything going to Hell, something stressful enough for me who’s born and bred here, combined with her being a foreigner that expected to go home come the end of the academic year. Now she’s stuck here for the rest of her life, with no friends or family, so I’m not surprised that something had to give.
That said, I’m still uneasy about it; I’m just a bit concerned that if I don’t she’ll hurt herself, or me, instead. I keep the guns locked away when I’m not using them, and I lock up the axes and other tools I use outside when I’m not using them, but the knives in the kitchen are still good enough to cut someone to death. As I told her, no one is out there coming to our rescue, so I’m on my own here and I don’t need someone of questionable stability near lethal weapons.
She’s become clingy, needy and pushy. None of this is a good sign. Neither is her seeming ability to handle the cold while under-dressed.
(From an entry dated February 7th)
Yuki’s mental state still worries me. She’ll flip from warm and personable to clingy and near-violent at the slightest provocation, so I’m on egg-shells around her all the time. It doesn’t help that she’s convinced that she’s pregnant. While probable, the stress of being a survivor of a collapse of civilization likely has a lot to do with her period being wacky. At least I’ve got Yuki to commit to doing some of the chores around the place that she can take as being “domestic”, including reading up on the way that wiring and plumbing works around here so she can handle some of this stuff.
I stopped trying to keep her from going outside without proper gear when she told me that the weather’s been so very pleasant since she arrived, with storms coming only at night and never being too much for them to deal with, and no negative effects to her at all (other than being a little cool to the touch until I warm her up). She’s fighting me less about this now that she thinks that she’s pregnant, but Yuki’s still happy about being outside at least during daylight hours.
At least one major development happened recently. The other day I checked the radio. The Duluth FM radio warning about the city is gone, and AM is still silent. Instead, there’s someone else claiming to be from FEMA on short wave seeking contact with others within broadcast range. I broke in, and FEMA’s coming here.
Yuki’s my girlfriend. She hasn’t said so. I haven’t said so. There’s been no one to say it to, so we don’t need to say a damned word. Actions are enough, and her crawling into bed with me after she got done crying was enough talk for both of us. She and I shared that bed thereafter, and she’s become quite insistent on my affection. I tell myself that it’s just a freak-out reaction to everything going to Hell, something stressful enough for me who’s born and bred here, combined with her being a foreigner that expected to go home come the end of the academic year. Now she’s stuck here for the rest of her life, with no friends or family, so I’m not surprised that something had to give.
That said, I’m still uneasy about it; I’m just a bit concerned that if I don’t she’ll hurt herself, or me, instead. I keep the guns locked away when I’m not using them, and I lock up the axes and other tools I use outside when I’m not using them, but the knives in the kitchen are still good enough to cut someone to death. As I told her, no one is out there coming to our rescue, so I’m on my own here and I don’t need someone of questionable stability near lethal weapons.
She’s become clingy, needy and pushy. None of this is a good sign. Neither is her seeming ability to handle the cold while under-dressed.
(From an entry dated February 7th)
Yuki’s mental state still worries me. She’ll flip from warm and personable to clingy and near-violent at the slightest provocation, so I’m on egg-shells around her all the time. It doesn’t help that she’s convinced that she’s pregnant. While probable, the stress of being a survivor of a collapse of civilization likely has a lot to do with her period being wacky. At least I’ve got Yuki to commit to doing some of the chores around the place that she can take as being “domestic”, including reading up on the way that wiring and plumbing works around here so she can handle some of this stuff.
I stopped trying to keep her from going outside without proper gear when she told me that the weather’s been so very pleasant since she arrived, with storms coming only at night and never being too much for them to deal with, and no negative effects to her at all (other than being a little cool to the touch until I warm her up). She’s fighting me less about this now that she thinks that she’s pregnant, but Yuki’s still happy about being outside at least during daylight hours.
At least one major development happened recently. The other day I checked the radio. The Duluth FM radio warning about the city is gone, and AM is still silent. Instead, there’s someone else claiming to be from FEMA on short wave seeking contact with others within broadcast range. I broke in, and FEMA’s coming here.
Friday, October 11, 2013
To Split Rock Lighthouse-02
(From a mid-January 2013 entry)
Keeping track of time is difficult now. I’m glad to have my watch, but tracking the days is quite difficult now. If I didn’t have the calendar, I’d be totally lost as to when in the season it is. Instead, I’m aware that it’s mid-January and Spring is just over six weeks away. Supplies are enough to make it, but it means eating a lot of soups and stews. Fishing is not an option right now, so hunting is all I have for getting fresh meat and there’s been just one deer close enough for me to take. Dressing that was a bit of a chore, but it’s done and the venison tastes great.
The light works, and I run it regularly just to keep it in working order. The machinery will work, for now, and keeping up maintenance is what I do to keep busy most of the time. The rest of the time I either check on the traps while hunting or I plan on what needs to be done once Spring arrives. There’s been no sign of life on the radio, and there is no Internet access, so I presume that the disaster’s effects are truly catastrophic. At this time, I presume that there is no help coming; anyone that comes here is a survivor, not a rescuer, if they are not a marauder.
If this is so, then I must commit to making the lighthouse my base of operations hereafter. The old world is gone forever.
(From a late January entry)
It’s been somewhat lonely here. I haven’t so much as a dog for company, and I’m so far north that anyone that could get here is likely fleeing a collapsed shelter from nearby—relatively speaking—and now seeks someplace more solid, as I did, in coming here. That changed today.
A co-ed from the Cities arrived, a foreign exchange student from Japan, who came here for a year abroad. Her name is Yuki, and she arrived during a snowstorm, by herself. Once I took her in, I saw that she’d gotten Frostbite and Hypothermia, but she seemed unaffected by either condition. I insisted on treating her, and she (wisely) relented when I explained the gravity of her situation. When she finally warmed up and recovered, I got her some stew and bread, and that got her talking.
Yuki explained that she had some friends with family in Duluth, and she was with them when the disaster struck. She tried fleeing south back to the Cities, but I-35 got cut off early on and then they couldn’t stay in or near Duluth so they fled north. They stayed ahead of things, fleeing Two Harbors just a week ago, but ran out of gas some miles south of here; she was in the best condition, so they told her how to get to the lighthouse.
When Yuki felt up to it, we got into the Land Rover and went after them. We found them dead of exposure and returned immediately. Yuki wept.
Keeping track of time is difficult now. I’m glad to have my watch, but tracking the days is quite difficult now. If I didn’t have the calendar, I’d be totally lost as to when in the season it is. Instead, I’m aware that it’s mid-January and Spring is just over six weeks away. Supplies are enough to make it, but it means eating a lot of soups and stews. Fishing is not an option right now, so hunting is all I have for getting fresh meat and there’s been just one deer close enough for me to take. Dressing that was a bit of a chore, but it’s done and the venison tastes great.
The light works, and I run it regularly just to keep it in working order. The machinery will work, for now, and keeping up maintenance is what I do to keep busy most of the time. The rest of the time I either check on the traps while hunting or I plan on what needs to be done once Spring arrives. There’s been no sign of life on the radio, and there is no Internet access, so I presume that the disaster’s effects are truly catastrophic. At this time, I presume that there is no help coming; anyone that comes here is a survivor, not a rescuer, if they are not a marauder.
If this is so, then I must commit to making the lighthouse my base of operations hereafter. The old world is gone forever.
(From a late January entry)
It’s been somewhat lonely here. I haven’t so much as a dog for company, and I’m so far north that anyone that could get here is likely fleeing a collapsed shelter from nearby—relatively speaking—and now seeks someplace more solid, as I did, in coming here. That changed today.
A co-ed from the Cities arrived, a foreign exchange student from Japan, who came here for a year abroad. Her name is Yuki, and she arrived during a snowstorm, by herself. Once I took her in, I saw that she’d gotten Frostbite and Hypothermia, but she seemed unaffected by either condition. I insisted on treating her, and she (wisely) relented when I explained the gravity of her situation. When she finally warmed up and recovered, I got her some stew and bread, and that got her talking.
Yuki explained that she had some friends with family in Duluth, and she was with them when the disaster struck. She tried fleeing south back to the Cities, but I-35 got cut off early on and then they couldn’t stay in or near Duluth so they fled north. They stayed ahead of things, fleeing Two Harbors just a week ago, but ran out of gas some miles south of here; she was in the best condition, so they told her how to get to the lighthouse.
When Yuki felt up to it, we got into the Land Rover and went after them. We found them dead of exposure and returned immediately. Yuki wept.
Friday, October 4, 2013
To Split Rock Lighthouse-01
(From the journals of Daniel Hosterman)
It’s been two weeks after the disaster hit. The Internet is down. No sense checking the TV then, since it’s down too, and the landline is dead also. No cell service, so no wi-fi either. Satellite radio is off the air. Terrestrial radio had nothing but a recording by one of the DJs in Duluth saying that it’s gone and no one should approach. There’s no government presence. None of the folks or made it. I’m on my own.
I’ve got to move. This bug-out spot wasn’t for anything long-term, so the couple of weeks of supplies that we cached here are about gone. No sense trying to make this spot a long-term either. The networks are gone, so there’s no reason to protect this spot; what I’m leaving behind is now very pricy and fragile paperweights. I’m packing up what’s left, throwing it all in the Land Rover and making for a spot I’m certain is still all in one piece: the Split Rock Lighthouse.
I’m going there because it’s a known landmark and it’s close to here. Some others will go there, and I hope that we can build a long-term survival settlement out of it, using the lighthouse as a citadel. The place uses older tech, so if we can keep it running we’ll be able to handle ourselves well enough for long enough to stabilize the area and build up anew. But first, I need to clear the path to the road.
(next entry)
I’m now at the Lighthouse. Digging out the path took a while. The weather cooperated, as far as winter does that up here, but I had to pace myself to make the most of my supplies. Getting out to the road took longer than I expected, but fortunately the Land Rover didn’t get stuck. My caution seems excessive now, but it likely was why I got out as fast as I did. The roads weren’t plowed because no one was left to do it, so going was slow there too.
No one came out when I arrived. At least one ranger should be here. This bugs me. One of the residences for the keepers wasn’t locked, so I parked the Land Rover and unloaded. I grabbed the shotgun and checked the rest of the site. I found the rangers—both of them—dead, along with a couple of other corpses, outside another residence. All of them had head wounds, and the rangers had bite marks. I think that the rangers shot the others, and then killed themselves. I took the corpses outside and burned them, just in case. The stench was awful.
I secured the site as best I could, but that doesn’t mean much. If I can get the light working, then I’m sure that I can make it through the rest of the winter just fine. I’m already more worried about other survivors than I am about my own chances, and I don’t need weird shit happening.
It’s been two weeks after the disaster hit. The Internet is down. No sense checking the TV then, since it’s down too, and the landline is dead also. No cell service, so no wi-fi either. Satellite radio is off the air. Terrestrial radio had nothing but a recording by one of the DJs in Duluth saying that it’s gone and no one should approach. There’s no government presence. None of the folks or made it. I’m on my own.
I’ve got to move. This bug-out spot wasn’t for anything long-term, so the couple of weeks of supplies that we cached here are about gone. No sense trying to make this spot a long-term either. The networks are gone, so there’s no reason to protect this spot; what I’m leaving behind is now very pricy and fragile paperweights. I’m packing up what’s left, throwing it all in the Land Rover and making for a spot I’m certain is still all in one piece: the Split Rock Lighthouse.
I’m going there because it’s a known landmark and it’s close to here. Some others will go there, and I hope that we can build a long-term survival settlement out of it, using the lighthouse as a citadel. The place uses older tech, so if we can keep it running we’ll be able to handle ourselves well enough for long enough to stabilize the area and build up anew. But first, I need to clear the path to the road.
(next entry)
I’m now at the Lighthouse. Digging out the path took a while. The weather cooperated, as far as winter does that up here, but I had to pace myself to make the most of my supplies. Getting out to the road took longer than I expected, but fortunately the Land Rover didn’t get stuck. My caution seems excessive now, but it likely was why I got out as fast as I did. The roads weren’t plowed because no one was left to do it, so going was slow there too.
No one came out when I arrived. At least one ranger should be here. This bugs me. One of the residences for the keepers wasn’t locked, so I parked the Land Rover and unloaded. I grabbed the shotgun and checked the rest of the site. I found the rangers—both of them—dead, along with a couple of other corpses, outside another residence. All of them had head wounds, and the rangers had bite marks. I think that the rangers shot the others, and then killed themselves. I took the corpses outside and burned them, just in case. The stench was awful.
I secured the site as best I could, but that doesn’t mean much. If I can get the light working, then I’m sure that I can make it through the rest of the winter just fine. I’m already more worried about other survivors than I am about my own chances, and I don’t need weird shit happening.
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