Dead Woman's Journal Read online

  My vote was to find out if we could help them. I mean, they went for food. Yes, they went on a valuables rampage in the process, but they were there for food. Doesn’t that say something? Something about us? I mean, we’ve been helping each other, but avoiding the slouchy-panted drug dealers. They need to eat too. Leaving squash on the porch isn’t the same as truly helping them.

  It sounds so stupid when I write it down. If you’ve been out there, you know. People do not get nicer after the apocalypse. They simply become more of who they are, with a big dollop of self-interest at all costs thrown in for good measure. I think I knew that even when I voted. During the vote, I wondered if I was only voting to help because it would make me feel less guilty later. I’m still not sure.

  I lost the vote. You’re probably not really surprised by that. Now, a day later, I’m not surprised either. In some ways, I’m relieved. That’s terrible too. Let’s just say they won’t be a problem anymore. Not for anyone. Ever. They’re buried in their backyard. Fred and Gerald did the deed.

  They had weapons in the house, but no ammunition, which is a lesson for all of us. Ammo is king. Also queen, jack, and every other card in the deck. All the guns in the world are useless without ammunition. Searching the house afterward was not fun, though it explained a great deal.

  Their mom never came home, which we already knew, but none of us realized the two sons were full-on opioid users. The house was totally trashed. Empty pill bottles littered the place bearing labels for dozens of people, including names from our neighborhood. Syringes lay scattered, along with tiny plastic bags and twists of cellophane wrapping. There were several bottles with Grace’s name on the label, so we realized why Marcy was targeted first.

  Grace used to be given a lot of different meds. The general belief was that FiRFs have enough brain function to feel pain, and it hurts for your body not to move for long periods. Muscle spasms were common enough for FiRFs. When Fred brought out a couple of empty bottles for Marcy to look at, she said they’d been stolen in the mail. They’d had this problem so often that they’d had to cancel home delivery. The two guys probably thought she had a stash in the house. She did, and when we sorted all the bags piled up on her living room floor, her remaining pills were in one of the bags.

  Given some of the names on other bottles, we checked the rest of the neighborhood and yes, other homes had already been broken into without our notice. A door pried open here, a window lifted there. It had been going on under our noses and we had no idea. The houses broken into had been ransacked, but not just during a search. It was malevolent, the kind of ransacking someone does because they simply don’t care what they destroy.

  I keep talking like they’re kids, but they were both adults…simply ones that never left home. The reason is pretty obvious now. Honestly, I thought maybe they were sharing out some pot, which is harmless in my view. I had no idea this was going on. When I say pill bottles, I mean dozens upon dozens of them, most of them obviously stolen.

  The strange thing is that there was food in the house. It was food that needed cooking knowledge though. The boxes and cans were empty, but all the basic pantry ingredients were still tucked into the cabinets. It was an altogether sad situation.

  Does it make me a bad person to say I’ll sleep better tonight? Last night was difficult and I couldn’t drop off, but tonight I’m tired and the deed is done.

  I’ll do a double dose of helpful hints tomorrow. It seems wrong to do them with this entry.

  Day 17

  It’s raining like crazy outside, so I’m going right for the helpful hints. The weather has reminded me of some biggies. The solar on this house depends on the sun, of course, which means today isn’t a great day for power. The big battery unit is one of the new, fancy whole-house batteries. It works exactly as advertised. In a normal situation, I would watch the weather forecast and know to conserve energy days ahead of time, or know that I’ll need to rely on the grid.

  It may sound odd, but this neighborhood is rather competitive when it comes to our solar. We had a neighborhood page on the solar website. Don’t laugh. Having the most efficient numbers at the end of the month was a source of pride.

  Perhaps that sounds incredibly weird to you, but we’re not even close to the only neighborhood that did that. The forums on the site were full of other such groups and neighborhoods. It’s a thing. Or it was a thing.

  Even so, the grid is necessary when there are spells of rainy or overcast weather. That’s no longer an option. What I do now is try to minimize the load all the time, so I have extra when it’s needed in the form of a full battery. If you’re here, then I’m going to bet that the very first thing you did was go crazy with the electricity. I probably would.

  Oh, I read that again and it sounded bad, like I imagine you as savages. I’m assuming a lot and I apologize. That said, if you’ve been out there and made your way here, it probably wasn’t comfortable. I’m not judging any amount of hot water used.

  Back on topic, the solar is great and the battery makes the power last around the clock, but it isn’t plug and play. There’s a steep learning curve to it and it’s really easy to mess it up.

  The breaker panels in the garage will help you save energy. I know the temptation would be to turn everything on and go for broke on a sunny day, but don’t. Conserve all that you can, particularly if you get a notion it might rain. This place needs air conditioning during summer or the whole house will start to rot and mold from the humidity. You can live without heat in the winter if you pitch a tent in one room and shiver your life away any time you leave it to take a pee. That’s fine and dandy, but you’ll also run the risk of bursting pipes, which would suck.

  So, leave the breakers like you found them and keep the AC or heat—depending on when you find this—alone if you want to keep comfy and in power. I’ve gone through and labeled everything in less arcane code. I put my cheat book, which I used while I was getting the hang of solar, on the shelf inside the closet by the garage door. It will help with the learning curve.

  Both thermostats are smart and programmed for the whole year, so they should be fine as they are. There’s no longer any internet, but I took the time yesterday to program them manually for the whole year. It should be fine.

  No matter how carefully things are set for you, there are exceptions, because there are always exceptions. If the rain lasts for more than a day, you’ll risk losing everything if the main power drags are used, so adjust them for minimal use.

  I don’t need to belabor the points. You get it. The generator will do some work if it comes to that, but the propane will run out quickly. Also, it’s loud and loud is bad. Yada, yada. I’ll stop now.

  Side tip of the day also has to do with rain. Namely, if you have trouble with the well pump or anything else happens that makes you feel like you need to gather water, don’t do it without a whole lot of extra care. The birds around here like to roost on the roof and they’re chock full of parasites and all kinds of nastiness. The gutters provide a great way to collect a whole lot of water. It’s about 500 gallons per inch of rain for the size of my roof, but seriously, be super careful with it.

  Another tip for you regards food. It’s important, but also tedious and boring to discuss, so that’s my excuse for not addressing it earlier. If I’m honest, there’s some embarrassment there too. I’m sure you’ve already found my stash and maybe counted it yourself, but here goes. If the stash is gone and already eaten by others in the neighborhood, then you can skip this entirely.

  Technically, I have enough food for one person for three months. It’s in the closet of the smallest room upstairs, the one that’s set up like an office. That’s only half the story though. My pantry and fridge don’t count in that total and my pantry is nice and full. I’ve mentioned before that I have issues with the last of anything. It really runs a little deeper than that.

  Perhaps you’ve wondered about what’s missing as you look around my house. Then again, maybe you h
aven’t noticed at all. Who knows? In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a lot of family pictures. Aside from the old photo of my parents with me when I was eleven, there’s only the painting of my former service dog who passed a year ago from cancer. Even the few photos on my phone show only friends. The reason for that is partly the reason you’re now swimming in rice and macaroni.

  I was adopted, then orphaned. Sounds like an improbable soap opera story line, doesn’t it? Yet, it’s true. I don’t know my birth mother, but I’m told she was a teenager. When I was twelve, my parents died in a car accident and I wound up in the system. I don’t know for certain why no one from their family wanted me, but I can hazard a guess. Why take in a kid who isn’t even related?

  We never saw much of either family. My parents viewed themselves as people who freed themselves from lesser circumstances. I think there was little love lost. Though I never searched for the truth once I was an adult, I was told once that there was prison involved with at least one family member. There were hints that it was something salacious and unsavory. I’m sure if my parents had lived until I was grown, I would have found out whatever it was that separated them from their families.

  As it stood, it wasn’t until I was eighteen that I found out my small trust fund specifically forbade either family from making claims on my account. I’m going to say this might have made them less likely to want me.

  I went to a normal foster home and saved as much of my benefits for college that I could. Most of my benefits were handed over for my care, which is standard practice. My trust wasn’t large. My parents were young-ish and in good health. Their life insurance was average, and our house mortgaged. All told, I still had to take out student loans to get through college, but not as much as many others.

  What has this got to do with food? I’m getting to that.

  The thing is, when you lose everything and everyone, what you’ve really lost is control. That’s it in a nutshell. My safety net, my ability to depend on anyone else or control even a sliver of my destiny, was lost when I lost my parents. Then I lost my legs too. That was another instance of completely losing control over my own destiny. For me, being prepared for emergencies made me feel safe. It made me feel like I had some control.

  True, the longest emergency I’ve had was nine days of no power and flooding after a big winter storm, but I was cozy as a lamb throughout. I wouldn’t have been had I not prepared. That was before my super-legs, so you can imagine what it would have been like if I had no backups. Imagine being in a wheelchair in a flooded neighborhood.

  It’s a harmless hobby, really. I’m not a hoarder and my preps are all logical and current. My house is neat and clean and uncrowded, so I know I’m not riding the unhealthy end of the spectrum.

  And right now, I’m super glad to have them. I wish I had more.

  Once I mused out loud that I didn’t want to be a crazy prepper. It was while Grant and I were watching one of those shows about preppers. You know the kind? They profile people who prepare for the end of the world in truly ridiculous ways, so it was an appropriate comment. Grant gave me one of his classic expressions that defy precise description. With his eyebrows up and crooked, his lip lifted, and all the rest, he managed to telegraph disgust, disbelief, and that I was silly without saying a word.

  He thought I was a lightweight. Now that the end of the world has happened, I tend to agree.

  So, depending on how long I’m here and whether or not the house has been scavenged, you might have food. But you don’t have endless food. If there’s just one of you, then stretch it out. The less you do in a day, the fewer calories you need. Try to remember that, even though it will be hard. If there’s more than one of you, try to forage and scavenge. Try to gather what I’ve planted or plant more of your own. Stretch it as thin as you can, even though it seems like a lot, because it will go fast.

  Also, mix macaroni or rice with everything. It’s good and helps with feeling full.

  Also again, I’ve decided. I’m starting the countdown and I’m going to take my nanites. I can help my neighbors, so it’s worth the risk. After our fight with the Awakened, the choice is clear. They’re all older than me, though not all of them are old by any stretch. They need me alive. For now anyway, taking the nanites is worth the risk. I’m still almost a week out from my normal dose day, but I’ve decided. I’m going to take the nanites.

  Day 18 - Morning

  I’m doing the math. Based on how I’m feeling, which is completely normal, I’m thinking I can hold off a few days, maybe even a week past my dosage due date. You might think I’m gambling, rolling dice I don’t need to roll, but since I’ve only got two vials, the gambling is a necessity. And it really is a guessing game without blood tests.

  When I first signed up for this procedure, no one knew how much or how often I’d need the nanites. They estimated, but didn’t know. Before me, it had only been animals that got the procedure, so what a human would need was a very educated guess. It all comes down to inflammation. It’s all very complicated and science-y, but in general terms, it’s inflammation, a reaction to that which doesn’t belong inside a body.

  It’s not just the metal connectors in my body that connect me to my legs. After all, there are loads of people with artificial joints that don’t need nanites. For my situation, it’s the electronics and arrays of artificial things that connect my systems to the legs. It’s all the bits that had to be added to me in order to make the legs work.

  My brain moves those legs, but also my remaining muscles. The way things link up is complex. Our lungs pump just so much, our hearts beat in time with oxygen consumption, and our chemistry alters with everything we do.

  Also, our mind is wired to believe there’s a limit to our ability. That limit is based on experience. The increase in heart-rate, metabolism, respiration, and everything else is partially driven by that limit. I have no limits anymore. Moving my hips at the speed my legs can run would be impossible, and my brain simply wouldn’t do it without all the connections and electronics. My lungs wouldn’t be able to keep up, my body would become confused because I was moving faster, but not pushing blood through my legs. My legs would not be sending signals back to my brain. In other words, getting super legs means getting a lot of other things super-ed as well.

  I’m enhanced, not just fixed.

  Since the procedures were completed, the key to how many nanite injections I need is often directly related to how much I use my systems, and how hard I use them. It wears on a body to run like that. Or jump.

  On the flip side, normal life doesn’t stress the systems as much. The first few months, while I was wired up, running on indoor tracks, and kicking through walls for science, I needed nanites every two to three weeks. Once I was done with that, the levels changed drastically. I’m pretty sure I surprised them by having such fine nanite levels at the three week point the first month I was home and on my own.

  As time has gone on, I’ve needed less. They thought my body was adjusting to the amount of artificial material inside me. A peek inside my body at one of the relays a few months ago showed scar tissue around it, sort of like my body had begun walling off the things that irritated it. It’s not serious since it doesn’t impact my abilities, but it might explain the lesser need.

  That said, I can usually feel it when the nanites get low. It’s like an itching, burning feeling under my skin. It’s a bit like an allergic reaction, but weirder. I’ve been told that feeling is not good…duh…so I shouldn’t wait when I feel it. I can use it as my guide. I don’t feel it yet, so no nanites.

  Not yet.

  On to other things like neighborhood news and helpful hints for the day.

  We’re going to have a meeting today with the remaining neighbors. I know what the topic will be and we’ve been dancing around the idea for a while. I agree that it’s time to broach the subject, despite how sensitive it is.

  The topic will be the empty houses and scavenging them for food or gea
r. We’ve got to see what the druggies did inside the houses too, then get them sealed back up. While it’s not impossible that some of the owners will make it home, every day that passes means that’s less likely.

  Part of that is our location, I think. It’s worth delving into, especially if you’re going to live here. Maybe you’re here because you’re familiar with this place. Did you have a relative that lived here? A friend? Or did you find some paper map somewhere, point to this spot, and decide it would be hard to find, so that made it perfect for you? I’ll just assume you don’t know this place and tell you what I know. It’s not like I’m here holding the pages down. You can always skip ahead.

  Our neighborhood is a spot cut out of the forest and river lands, just west of the inner bay, which leads to the outer bay and the ocean beyond. It was a farm a long time ago, or maybe a plantation would be a better term. The designation of national forest and state park came after the farm existed, and the farm was exempted from it. Most such places were exempt, so it wasn’t special or anything. Some archaic agreements I don’t know the details of made it possible for the last heirs to sell the place a few decades ago. At some point, all the remaining land was parceled out to create the lots.

  It’s sort of an idyllic place, but it’s not convenient at all. It’s a strange place for me to buy a house, but at the time, I’d accepted my condition. I wanted to be where I would be happy on my own. That was long before my procedure. Plus, my job is mostly telecommuting, so it actually was convenient for me to live here.