Claire’s Travel Diary, Day 1

My mission is to save the human race and die in the process.

Maybe I phrased that a little too harshly, but that’s the reality of what we’re doing. Yesterday, the scientists back in our bubble cluster figured out the next steps for humanity.

I feel like I should explain some of the context behind what I’m doing, if not for me than for whoever picks this up from my dead body.

After the nukes dropped in ’16, they didn’t stop dropping for six months. Worldwide communications were nearly completely wiped out by the fourth month. The last transmission my bubble cluster received said that over forty percent of the world had been killed, with a projection of ninety-five percent death rate by 2021.

The bubble clusters weren’t designed to be nuclear shelters, but the few of them remaining after the bombs finished falling were repurposed into shelters. Each bubble cluster has almost fifty square kilometers of bubbles, each one a kilometer-wide dome of radiation-shielded steel.

I entered my cluster a week after the first nuke. That last transmission we ever got came a month after I entered. It said that only twenty-seven of the original hundred bubble clusters were still intact.

Yesterday, our scientists solved a problem that we’ve been facing for a while- our future. The clusters aren’t totally radiation-proof, and the land is so heavily irradiated that most if not all of us are infertile.

Our lab figured out how to artificially create the next generation of humans, and how to do it in a way that allows them to have a natural resistance to radiation.

The issue now is that the Germany cluster alone isn’t going to be enough to create the next generation. For that to work, we need every single cluster left alive to operate at full capacity and preserve our future. Long-range communication is permanently down,

To that end, our cluster selected fifty couriers from among our former active military, me included, to take radiation-shielded data sticks to the other remaining twenty-six clusters. We’re going by bicycle, since our cluster has neither vehicles nor gas.

I’ve been assigned to the Tacheng cluster in western China alongside two others. We’re going to be travelling nearly five thousand kilometers.

Right now, the twenty-five of us that are headed east from Germany have stayed in a group. We’re going to make camp for the night. Tired. Will update tomorrow.

Day 2

I have no idea where we are.

Back before the bombs dropped, I was a navigator in the army, but everything’s different now. All we have to go on is miles upon miles of flat wasteland dotted with debris from the cities that once were here.

When we hit countryside, we won’t have that, either.

Of course, we’ve been keeping track of our location with paper maps and compasses, but my mind just can’t associate this cold, barren expanse of nothing with the term ‘Berlin’.

We split with the main group today. It’s just going to be the three of us in my squad for more than a quarter of a year.

God.

Day 3

Have a little more energy today. My squadmates are Kyle and Christina. I know from our time in the cluster that they’re typically more talkative than me.

It’s not really a talkative time for anyone, though.

We wear lead-lined suits which weigh about twenty kilos, which is supposed to protect us from radiation. No system can be perfect, though, and we need to preserve all the water we recycle for drinking, so we can’t do decontamination showers.

The scientists knew this. We know this. There’s a reason we packed so many painkillers.

Still, it’s a bit off-putting going on a mission with the knowledge that we won’t live long past the end of it.

Day 4

We spent all day biking again. The terrain is full of debris and sometimes requires us to walk over larger chunks of building, but we can average fifteen kilometers an hour.

Today we found a fragment of a sign where we set up camp. I think it’s in Polish. Have we come that far already?

Kyle says it makes sense and that we probably crossed the Polish border today.

It’s all the same anyway. There’s no vegetation or landscape to speak of, and it’s cold no matter where we go.

It would be so much better if we could see the sky. The smoke from the wars still blankets them now, over a decade later. Sometimes, I can’t tell the difference between them and the dirt we travel over.

Day 5

Spotted a dust storm on the horizon. It’ll probably be here before the next sunrise. Early on in our cluster’s existence, we sent a few scouts out. If the reports from back then hold true, these dust storms carry incredibly irradiated material around, along with massive amounts of debris. The reports pretty much sum up to “avoid storms at all costs”. It’s going to be a pain. The storm covers half the horizon, and it’s going to eat up a lot of our time.

Day 7

We barely dodged the storm. Only had time to rest starting at sunset yesterday. We seem to be in good shape, though. I don’t think we got close enough for an immediately lethal dose of radiation.

Kyle and Christina have started to talk more to fill the silence. We sort of know each other from the cluster, but we’ve never really shared all that much about ourselves.

Kyle was active US Navy and was doing a month-long stopover in Germany when the nukes started dropping. He was lucky enough to get into the bubble cluster before the country turned into a wasteland. Kyle’s pretty determined to get the job done. Says that he’s waiting to join his family, who died in the first bombardment.

Christina is a little different. She was only in the training program for Germany’s Engineering Corps back in 2016. She was still able to find her way into a cluster. Christina talked a lot about the honor bestowed upon us. I think she’s a little insane, which means she fits right in with the world today.

I shared a little bit about myself too. I told them my unit doesn’t matter, because no units exist anymore. I wasn’t even on duty when I entered the bubble. I was just lucky enough to be someone who was passing through and was cleared to enter a bubble.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

I suppose it doesn’t really matter. If everything goes right, we’ll all just be remembered as the corpses who got the job done.

Day 8

I hate our food. I can stomach strenuous activity for ten hours a day. Dealing with the weighted suit on top of that isn’t even that bad. Even the twenty-minute long process of relieving oneself is manageable.

But our food. It feels designed to chip away at my sanity. We have several kilos of food cubes, each one a two-centimeter wide block that provides the same nutrition as a meal. Logically, I know it’s the only way we can bring enough food for our whole journey, but it tastes like used cardboard.

Day 9

More of the same today. We had to delay for four hours to dodge another storm. At this point, we’re just heading east and hoping that we hit something that’s recognizably China at some point. Our sense of position is completely shot. There’s no landmarks of any kind- just monotonous wasteland and a dead sky, grey and brown and black stretching further than the eye can see.

Day 10

Hate this place. Hate the land hate the sky hate it all hate it hate it hate it.

Day 13

I got a headache today. I don’t know if it’s stress related or if it’s the beginning of radiation poisoning. I know it’s one of the symptoms, but I don’t know if I should start popping painkillers yet. Kyle still feels fine, though Christina is feeling some of the same symptoms.

I can’t believe it. We’re less than fifteen percent of our way to the Tacheng cluster, and we’re already feeling symptoms.

At this rate, we’ll be dead long before we even enter Asia. The only witness is going to be the ever unchanging sky.

Day 14

It’s cold. Have I mentioned that already? Nuclear winter still hasn’t abated, and I’m fairly sure it’s reaching winter temperatures.

It’s June.

We’re sleeping in the same tent to preserve heat, cramming together as close as possible. Kyle says it reminds him of camping with his family as a kid.

It reminds me of far less fond memories. Of public shelters, packed so full that more people inside died from being trampled than being nuked. Of crowds of people, panicking and screaming as the world as we knew it came to an end.

Day 15

I’m definitely radiation sick. I tried to get up this morning and fell flat on my face. Nothing to be done about it. I had some painkillers to alleviate the symptoms, but the root problem is still there.

I knew I was going to die coming into this. Hopefully I’ll at least live long enough to see this mission through.

Day 23

Way too long since I last logged anything. We’re in Russia now, at least. Some buildings still have corners intact, and the text labelling the few intact pieces of building we’ve come across has been in Russian.

Still a long way to go.

Today we found bodies. Not fresh. They were skeletons already. Three of them, and one of them was much smaller than the others.

The smallest one was holding a stuffed animal. It was still intact. They must have died of radiation sickness after failing to get into a bubble.

It’s getting easier to forget that these people are who we’re fighting for.

Day 25

I saw the sun today. Only for a few minutes. But the hazy sky cleared up enough for us to get a short glimpse of what we no longer have. I think I feel worse, knowing that the possibility is there but always unreachable.

Kyle and Christina are talking with each other more now. I join the conversation sometimes, but I get nauseous and have to lie down.

I think I can hear them together in the sleeping bag next to me. Good for them.

At least someone’s making the best use of their time in this mess.

Day 27

Sometimes I wonder what I’m trying to do here. My mother and father died long before the war. I never married and didn’t have a boyfriend or girlfriend when the apocalypse began. Nobody that I’ve closely connected to is still alive.

So who am I trying to save?

Maybe I’m just a selfish coward, but I’m not so sure about our mission anymore. Why are we trying to eke more out of humanity’s last breaths? It’s our own fault that we got here.

My head is spinning. I’m going to go lie down.

Day 28

There’s a storm on the horizon.

Correction: there’s a storm, and it is the horizon.

This is bad.

Day 29

This is really bad. We’re stuck in the storm.

All of us are wearing our suits inside our sleeping bags inside our tent, but it’s definitely not enough.

I’m sick enough as it is already. I’m taking two painkiller pills thrice per day. What’s this storm going to do to me?

Day 30

Christina tried to go outside to ensure the safety of the bicycles. She’s okay now, but she got half her suit sandblasted off. It’s a good thing it has multiple layers.

Day 32

The storm finally passed. By some miracle, our tent never got hit by anything.

That miracle didn’t extend far enough. Two bikes are broken, and both of them are beginning to show further symptoms of acute radiation sickness.

We’re all vomiting blood.

I don’t think we’re going to make it to China.

Day 33

We spent the day gathering ourselves and planning.

There’s another cluster in Russia. Kyle says that he’s been tracking our movement, and if we start moving northwest, we could make it to the Moscow cluster in less than a week.

It’s a gamble for a number of reasons, first and foremost of which is the fact that we already sent a squad to Moscow.

But maybe, just maybe, that squad is dead. If that’s the case, then we are the closest to the bubble cluster.

Either way, we’re dead. Kyle is an advocate for it. He says that since we’re going to die soon either way, we may was well pick the small possibility of hitting Moscow over the impossibility of reaching Tacheng.

I think I need to vomit again. I need more time to think.

Day 34

We neglected one incredibly important fact in our planning.

We only have one bike. The other two were carried off by wind or debris when the storm passed through.

We’re going to camp for a few more days while we figure things out. Christina says she’s thought of a way we can create a sidecar and have a system to take turns propelling the bicycle.

I don’t know how well Christina will be able to bike, though. She’s deathly pale, and she can’t keep any of the minuscule amount of food she eats down. It took her two hours to get out of her sleeping bag this morning.

Day 35

God fucking damn it.

Day 35 (2)

I’m alone. Christina vomited up something that was supposed to stay inside of her and died this morning.

Kyle just smiled at me kind of sad right after. He said he’s going to go meet Christina and introduce her to his family.

He was kind enough to take the minimum number of painkiller pills to overdose.

Those two were the only company I’ve had for the last thirty days. What am I going to do?

I’ll have to move on. If I let myself be bogged down with sorrow for my fallen teammates, I’m going to go the same way as Christina.

They left behind nothing but their equipment.

If nothing else, I’m going to take their painkiller pills. There’s enough pills in all three containers combined for me to last another month.

Day 36

Who am I even trying to save? The last squad should have already arrived in Moscow. I’ve failed, and there’s no getting around it. In part because of me, humanity’s grasp on life has taken another beating.

God, my head hurts. I’m going to go take some pills.

Day 37

My father once told me that if you try and fail, you will still have accomplished more than if you hadn’t. I don’t remember the context that he said that in, but I think it’s relevant.

I’m going to die doing this. But maybe the squad going to Moscow is suffering too. Maybe they couldn’t find a path. Maybe they looked up at the unforgiving sky and gave up hope, just like I wanted to so many times this past month.

I need to try. There’s so many factors that I can’t account for.

But maybe I can make a difference.

I’m going to Moscow.

Day 39

I found a river today. It must’ve been almost fifty meters wide. It doesn’t appear on any of our maps, but it points north. Towards the destination.

I’m going to follow it.

Day 40

I found the Holy Grail. There’s a partially intact road still here. It had a completely intact street sign.

Moscow is only three hundred kilometers away.

Day 41

I rode straight into a storm today. Don’t have enough energy to care. I set up camp after two hours of getting bombarded by irradiated sand.

Christina died two days after ten minutes of exposure to the storm.

I know I’m on a timer. Even now, just after downing another handful of painkillers, I can still feel the pain.

I don’t care. I’m so close.

Day 43

I made it.

Day 43 (2)

Writing this from the Moscow bubble cluster. The group that was supposed to come here never arrived. They didn’t expect me, but the scientists have already begun work on implementing the discoveries I brought them.

They told me that nothing can be done. I know that. The cluster’s doctors gave me the best painkillers available, and still my whole body feels as if it’s on fire.

I can understand how Kyle felt, just a little. And I guess they do too, because they let me acquire a lethal injection and go outside the bubble. It’s supposed to take five minutes to take full effect, so I’ll keep this quick.

I asked once why humanity deserved to be saved. To be honest, I still don’t know. But I know that today, I have helped us take another step towards salvation.

There are people I want to save that are beyond saving. My mom, my dad, my unit, Kyle, Christina… Maybe the whole point of saving humanity is so that the next generation can have their own moms, their own dads, their Kyles and Christinas.

I am going to die staring up into the unforgiving sky. One day, I hope that the future I’ve helped create will never need to look at that sky again.

. . .

Goodbye, everyone, and good luck.

- Claire