Remnant

This is my survival journal, through the 4 waves of pandemic, COVID-19 being the first in 2020 to this cancerous fourth wave crushing what remains of us less than two years later. Being in the remaining 10% of survivors, I might be someone worth listening to.

If we’d only known that the coronavirus was just the beginning, maybe more would’ve survived the next three waves. Dad said it was pointless to think of what could have happened, because that’s not a productive use of our precious time.

That’s the funny part—not that anyone laughs anymore—no, I mean the fact that time is all we seemed to have had during the initial wave of the coronavirus.

We didn’t know what we were looking for until it was too late.

-Remy

SEPTEMBER-ISH, 2021

MICAH! You keep interrupting me. I’m trying to write this FOR you. You’re too young to understand it all, at least, that’s what I tell myself. Maybe I’m just not ready to tell you.

You broke the rules, so we have to leave again. Not that his community was that great, but it was safe.

Why do you keep forgetting? You CANNOT show your locket—and our pre-fallout pictures—to ANYONE, even kids. We won’t need these rules much longer, but I can’t tell you that. Poor kid, you can’t keep a secret to save your…well, you know. And these days, that truly is the power of secrets.

It’s probably a good thing you’re fast-forwarding our stay here. It’s a matter of time before they’re raided, though ‘conquered’ might be a better word. And we do not want to be around for another one of those, especially not you, little one.

That last escape cost more than it was worth. This time, Micah, you may have just saved our lives.

“But, I just made friends,” you’d said, “and there’s this girl who’s really nice, and she showed me her picture when she was pretty and I wanted to show her--”

“That’s enough.” I had to stop you. I don’t like doing it, and I know exactly how it feels.

When Dad did it, I stared fire through him—not to be confused with the third wave, of course. And now, I find myself doing it to you. Now I know why, it’s because I know a lot you don’t…but still not enough.

Maybe if I’d filled my head with words rather than social media—

and…I just had to chase you down again. You tried to run back to the last settlement. For an unusually intelligent nine-year-old, you’re not very bright, which is proof my plan is a good one. Whatever it takes, I’m going to get you to Sam’s place.

I know not having Dad is the worst. I hope you can’t tell, but I’m barely holding it together myself. We miss him, and mom. I had a few more years with them than you, but a hundred more wouldn’t be enough.

-Remy

SEPT-OCT, 2021

Soon enough, Micah, you’ll learn all you need to know about surviving in this new world. You’ll go back to the old-world ways with Sam’s help and be ready for anything.

When we lost Dad, I wondered if I could make it myself. Sixteen years of comfortable living did nothing to prepare me for this.

“Remy,” your angelic voice squeezed what little is left of my heart. “Is Daddy waiting at the next community?”

“Don’t worry about Dad,” I said, having to turn away. “Everything will be alright.”

Dad’s face lights up in my mind, the last time I saw it. Even then, he was saying his same trademark phrase. I never understood how he could say it’d be alright when we all knew it wouldn’t—especially that last time, his hand outstretched as I pulled you away. I still can’t remember who was crying louder.

I shouldn’t be so emotional. He said you were more like him and I was like mom, always wearing my heart like a new piece of clothing, ready to show it off, like you and your locket.

“Stay that way,” he’d said, but I know better. That won’t work in this new world. None of that old stuff matters. We’re just ants scrambling in a tsunami.

Getting to Sam’s is our ticket to first class butt-kicking (that would’ve sounded cooler with another word, but you’re still only nine.) And by butt-kicking, I mean we’re the ones doing it. Crap, I miss being able to backspace…

-Remy

LATE OCTOBER (MAYBE), 2021

I’m pissed. tbh—crap, to be honest—I seriously thought about offering you as a trade to get the phone back. This crappy crank charger is a waste without the phone. I remember winding that thing for an hour to stare at our pictures for a minute that was faded to a black mirror in seconds. I’d stare at the darkness for five minutes longer, wishing to burn the images in my mind.

I’m glad to have the locket though. Inside, a girl stares back at me, and I think of you and remember what’s most important.

Memories don’t do us any good anyways. All we have is what’s in front of us, and we’re damn lucky to have each other.

You may not have known, but Dad had the cancer from the fourth wave. Well, technically, the cancer had already died inside him, like it does for a lot of people. But they usually die within a few weeks, sometimes months. That’s why we’re in such a hurry.

The only reason I’m not still mad at you about the phone is these cold beans we just shoveled in. Fire or not, food is food.

“How’d you find that?” I asked when you came back this mined gold in the shape of a dented can.

“It was between the shelves, under them. I always check the places no one else thinks to.”

You’re a genius. Maybe you will be fine without me after all.

-R

MID-NOVEMBER, 2021

When I arrived at the address Dad gave us, I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t a little bit excited, though I also had this feeling of dread. It’s not the same feeling I get when something bad is going to happen. That’s more of a forecast. This feeling is one I recognized as a conditioned response. Everything we’ve experienced since the fallout has been a letdown. Every new community was great at first, until we saw the filth of humanity show its ugly face within days.

People are all about themselves, and those who are truly selfless don’t last long enough to help many others. It’s makes me wonder still if there is a God, because it doesn’t make sense that he would let the helpful people die and leave the rest of us to burn with the world…unless this is hell.

Like we always do on new stakeouts, I had you stay about a quarter mile down the road in a little safe house, a barn way off the road we almost didn’t find.

As always, I wondered what the hell I was thinking, leaving a nine-year-old alone—“basically ten,” as you always say. But I know you won’t stand a chance in the future if we don’t get you the training now. It’s a crazy risk, but the bigger risk is trying to survive without any skills. There’s something about being desperate that makes me extra tenacious, even fearless when I have no business being so.

"Everything will he alright," I said, quoting Dad, and you still seemed to believe it for some reason.

When I got to the house, I could tell it had been abandoned. The front door was boarded shut from the outside rather than the inside, the first sign something was different here.

“Hello!” I shouted. Best to announce yourself rather than sneak around. Odds are, if anyone is around, they know you are too.

I stepped onto the creaking porch and glanced at the windows, careful not to put my head in sight of a potential gunshot or spiked baseball bat. Unlike most houses, these windows happened to be boarded up from the outside.

“Ezra sent me, Ezra Holden,” I say as loudly as I can without shouting. “He said you could help us—"

Shoot! I realized I shouldn’t have said that. “Me,” I shout, “he said you could help me.”

I stepped around the house after checking the back door to see a closed barn in the distance.

I finally worked up the courage to speak again.

“Ezra is—was—my dad.”

The wind picked up, and I pulled my parka tighter. If we end up staying here, this is going to take some getting used to.

“He said you owed him a favor, that you would help us if we could find you.”

I heard a crack near the barn and immediately collapsed, sinking into the musty ground as though we were long-lost friends.

The sound repeated, and I recognized the sound of wood and old hinges. When I worked up the courage to look up, I saw that one of the side doors on the barn was open, being whipped by the wind.

I don’t always have the best instincts when hunting— I’ve never actually been able to kill anything…another reason we’re here—but I have plenty of experience being hunted. If you act like everyone is out to kill you, you’ll have a better chance at surviving.

I know the power of distraction, so I used the slapping door as my chance to glance back at the house. Sure enough, in the half-inch gap between two boards of a rear window, I saw the slightest flitter of movement.

The fact that I wasn’t dead by then means they’d been considering my words. I stood slowly, raising my hands to become as vulnerable as I can, your heart-shaped locket hanging from the silver chain in my hand.

“Remnant,” I remembered the code-word as I tossed the locket toward the house. “Remnant!”

How appropriate. How Dad could have seen any of this coming is impossible. He never explained what it meant, just that ‘Sam’ would know, and that it would earn us anything we would ask of them, assuming they kept their integrity. I’ve had my doubts. In a world like this, who could have integrity and still survive?

I stared hard…no more movement.

Instead, I heard the muffled sound of locks disengaging from behind me, in the direction of the barn. When I looked at the barn, I lost track of where the sound was. It was closer than I expected, much closer.

The ground quaked only ten feet away, but it was just one portion of it, as though it were thumped from below. Then, it began to swell. Naturally, I sprinted back to the house, never looking back as I rounded the corner.

When I felt I was hidden, I pulled a pocket mirror out and slowly pushed it around the corner. A plaid-jacketed figure was bent over the place I’d thrown the locket.

“You must be Remington,” shouts a gruff yet feminine voice. “This must be Micah’s…is she okay?”

MICAH

As you know, Micah, things have been going well for the last week. I’m considering staying a little while longer to see you grow into a bad-“butt” survivalist like Sam. It means a lot to know you’re in good hands.

I can feel that the cancer in my bones has finally died, and I feel good, but I hear that’s how most people feel before dying. The probability of my death rises with each new day, but now I’m okay with it. I think I’m finally starting to understand why Dad always said what he did.

"Everything will be alright."

Micah, you are the remnant, and you still have a lot to live for. I hope this journal helps whoever finds it. The rest is up to you.