Chapter 30 – The Beginning

Mk23 -IRJ Droplet – Class 7 – Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)

Sector - Unknown

Planet - Unknown

11th July 2342 (BSST)

Dear Diary

I have to start a new dairy today as I seem to have misplaced my old one along with all my possessions. I kid of course even I am not that careless! Humour is my one weapon against the depression that encroaches whenever I think upon my current circumstance. Like an insidious little bug it creeps ever closer. A weeping angel, whenever I am not aware of it – staring it in the face if you will – it creeps up on me. If it catches me I don’t know what will happen but I do know it will be bad.

I suppose I should tell you what has happened, well what I know so far, being that I really have no clue what has happened. I don’t know if you can tell but I’m withholding writing this, as if putting it in words will lend credence to it, making it a tangible thing that has happened to me. A dream, this must be a dream! Please, Please be a dream!

Alas, in my heart of hearts I know this is certainly not a dream. No dream has the detail down to such a tee. The faint smells of the forest, the slight glisten of the leaves in the sunlight. The wet look of the sap. The sounds of that which lives, the rich cadence of the forest, the tapestry of life that thrives around me, humming with the business that their everyday tasks that I still. Things that must be completed for the beautiful ecosystem to continue. A dream can’t have that, it just can’t.

Say it! Just say it! Come on Karen you can do it! Just say the words. Utter the truth for your ears to hear, for the words you write to tell you the truth in the bluntest of terms.

Ok, on 3…

3…

2…

1…

“I have been abducted by aliens!”

Or something equally as strange I tell myself backing out of the finality of the statement.

Ok, so what has happened to me then, I hear you ask.

Well, it all started out on a Monday morning - as do all things bad if you ask me. This particular Monday was good, or would have been good. Very odd I know, but fate played its hand and made sure that Mondays are always uniformly bad across the board. This one however probably ends up a little worse than usual. Well, the jury’s still out on it but call it an inkling, a feeling, this Monday and the events that are sure to follow will quite possibly the worst of my whole life.

Anyway, this Monday – 21st July 2339 BSST was set to be the only good Monday in history, of that I’m sure. It was a bank holiday, a tradition carried over from a long time ago when banks had actual people helping run them – who knows how they were confident in the people running them? Corruption runs everything didn’t you know. Anyway, bank holidays are just usually a way of delaying the bad that happens when work starts up again. I suppose you could view it as an extra weekend day, but then everything shuts down and why the hell do people think that makes the day good – just because of no work – morons I assure you.

Anyway, this bank holiday occurred at the start of the week-long retreat that my work was throwing to celebrate a big acquisition, don’t ask me what – I’m not in the know – but I was glad to be invited. “All employees and family members welcome” is what the missive said, and I was pretty sure I was an employee so I decided instead of wallowing at home I’d come up and attend the event at the Warborough Ranch and Retreat. Well, it turns out that quite a few of us had the same idea and when I arrived at 11 o’clock there were already about 30 of us there. I greeted everyone before going to the room I’d been assigned taking out some important belongings and dumping my clothes bag in the bag racks attached to the communal kitchens and locking them in.

For the rest of the day I chatted away with my colleagues and friends, about work, about our personal lives, loves and hobbies and then catching up on the gossip. Since the event was scheduled to take place on the Tuesday some of the lads had organised a big barbecue over the fire pit.

Soon night had begun to set in and many of us decided that we didn’t want a raging hangover for the first day of a work event and we retired to bed. It seemed it was a sentiment we all shared and soon everything quietened down and peace reigned supreme.

It wasn’t long before I drifted off, I dreamt I was flying, free and unhindered, it was beautiful…

Until I crashed and woke with a start.

I lay back in bed and tried to get some more sleep but the ground never seemed to remain steady. I was sure I hadn’t drunk enough to get my head swimming. Well sure enough I hadn’t drunk that much. My head wasn’t swimming, the surroundings were. The building was rocking back and forth as the wind howled past the small chimney pots on the top (there for aesthetic purposes).

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Scrambling out of the hut I managed to grab this diary and pen and my photo of my parents before the hut tipped over the edge and collapsed down the cliff turning into so much wood fragments and shards.

All I remember next is thinking: WELL FUCK ME THEN!!! (I knew Mondays could never be good. (It was 11:59pm))

Day 2

Morning breaks, and I’m still alone. The second day is upon me. Yay!

For most of the day I wandered around aimlessly going in circles, ever increasing radii but circles none the less. Not on purpose I sure as heck wasn’t that skilled.

Eventually tired of doing nothing productive I found a seat and decided to write my diary of the previous day and this one. Sleep comes terribly, I’m just not made to sleep on a hard floor.

Day 5

On day five I meet up with someone else, his name is Kurt, he works in the design department, I’ve seen him in passing when I fill up the coffee, water or paper or perhaps when I’m passing out any mail or messages for the department. Anyway, Kurt is a huge boon, having someone to talk to makes the day go faster and having someone skilled and companionable almost makes it bearable. Perhaps with his help we can find the others, It has become apparent now that something happened to the whole of the Warborough Ranch and Retreat.

Day 11

Today we found some of the others, there’s 10 of us in all right now, shan’t bother listing them all, partly because I cant be bothered and partly because I don’t know all their names.

Day 15

We’ve picked up a few more people, though we’ve lost a couple in the fight against some wolves, well they looked like wolves so I’m calling them that for now, perhaps in the future a genealogist – wait no, that’s isn’t right- it’s a… a… oh who cares, someone will tell us exactly what they are but fuck it, for now they’re wolves. Well the wolves drove us away from our temporary camp, in guess it was their territory after all. It really brings to mind how terrible humans actually are, without tools we can’t even beat some mangy dogs.

Day 16

Taxonomists! I knew I would remember the word eventually. A taxonomist, they classify organisms in biology. Yay!

Day 23

At the lake we found the rest of them, well almost all, some were sure to have perished along the way, like those in our group. A man named James has taken charge, at first it caused some tension until we realised his military background and training meant he kind of deserved to be in charge. I for sure had no problem with him leading. James is a large, brooding man. He is quiet when he needs to be and he leads with a soft voice rather than bellowing commands, though on occasion that does still occur, a shock. A drastic departure from the man he normally is; reserved and withdrawn.

James has a son, his wife named him James Jr to remind her of him during his service. He missed the birth a regret I believe he still carries 9 years later. The boy is quiet, just like his father though filled with abundant curiosity. He wanders around the camp, alone for the most. Watching and learning all of the activities that go on. I imagine him growing up to be a world leader. Leading from the front in a way that would make his father proud.

His birth mark, a crescent moon on his left side, positioned above the left eye partially concealed within the hairline is an ugly mark yet somehow it fits him. Like a wounded war vet who carries his scars as memories he would be incomplete without it. A wonderful child.

Day 24

Janet is here, why did she have to make it? Why?

Day 29

At official count there are 38 of us. I think we were originally around 50 or so on the Monday. A fairly high attrition rate I must say. With James’s leadership a basic camp has been set up, shelters that he calls Lean-tos are being constructed around a fire pit, since there are 16 families, though calling me a family is a little bit generous the 38 of us are all very cuddly around one fire pit. But basking in the company of others has made the days and nights a little bit more bearable.

Day 30

Make that 37 do us, one of the men was crushed under a tree as we felled it, he didn’t pay attention to the shout of “TIMBER” a shame.

Day 31

Make that 35, 2 people went out exploring and haven’t come back, perhaps they fell of a cliff, got eaten by wolves or are simply lost wondering around. Life here brooks no mistakes.

Day 32

No-one died today, I look forward to small victories like this. Yay!

Day 33

Our luck has not held, a tiger I guess I’ll call it, pounced and took a few more of us, we haven’t done I count. No-one seems to be brave enough to request one, the life is being drained out of us.

Day 34

Ed found the some other buildings where we arrived, he scavenged a shovel, axe and some personal effects for some of the people.

Day 35

We managed to make clay pots today, James and Kurt have really stepped up. As a military man James can get us to focus and just helps. As an architect, Kurt can plan and together they seem to have a great working relationship, hopefully they both survive, I think it’s the only way we’ll make it.

Day 36

Today we ran out of water and I told Janet to go and get some more from the lake. She refused! The gall! I can scarce believe it. It’s just outside the camp for goodness sake, all she has to do is take the pot and go fill it up. But no! She wouldn’t even deign to do that simple task, it was beneath her.

I got so mad that I had to take a count, the calming 1 to 10 and then I just walked off with never a glance. If she doesn’t want to contribute then I’m never helping her again, selfish Bitch!

Oh yeah, I’ve read this one already I think to myself as I sit on the chair in the remnants of their camp, the treehouse makes for a safe place to relax and its one of the few moments I can truly do that. I feel safe here which is good, though intellectually I know it didn’t do the one in the other treehouse any good.

This diary has been really good luck, now I know they have a shovel and an axe somewhere around here, I guess I’d better get back to searching shortly. But first I think I’ll read a little more, I have to know what happened after all…