Let's go back to the beginning, to the very first page I ever wrote in this journal. Let me show you how I ended up being taken captive in this post-apocalyptic world of mine. To do that here is what I like the call: The beginning of the end
Journal Log:
Name: Wren Hayes
Age: 19
Height: 5’3
Brief description of appearance: Light brown long hair, freckles, scarily pale
Emergency Contacts: The phones don’t work anymore
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Entry 1:
Date: July 16th, 2057
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
I never thought I’d be writing a Journal; after all, I turned twelve seven years ago. But then again, I never predicted this either. No one did, no one sane, at least. Maybe deep down, we all knew it was coming: the end of our world. We saw it on the news, and social media crawled with conflicts that slowly turned into war right under our noses. Nations turned on each other one by one; the violence was a deadly virus that spread like wildfire throughout the world. Yet somehow, we still pretended not to notice. Pretended we didn’t see the bomb sirens being installed around the city or the empty grocery stores or fallout shelters being dug deep into the ground. We all kept relying on the simple belief that no one, no matter how malicious, would be idiotic enough to start a nuclear war.
On April 22nd, 2057, our comfortable allusion was shattered. The sirens were so much louder than I could ever have imagined. I was supposed to be sitting in Calculus at university, but I had gotten sick and returned home to complain to my mom and eat some homemade cooking. So, instead, I was sitting on the couch with my mother, eating popcorn watching her current TV obsession. I remember teasing her about it and how she responded by telling me to return to college. Our giggles were silenced by the deafening alarm of utter chaos that filled our home.
My memory of what happened next is a blur of adrenaline and panic. I have been told that after the sirens started my father got us to the local fallout shelter. People fought tooth and nail for a spot, shots were fired, and fists were thrown. When the door was sealed, more bodies piled outside than in.
The physical sensation experienced when a nuclear bomb lands merely a few feet above head can only be described as cataclysmic. Strapped into gas masks and radiation suits, we still weren't shielded from the searing intensity of the blast. When everything finally came to an end, all fifty people inside the bunker were covered in blistering welts. It became clear as the dust settled that the world we had left on the surface was gone.
That was only a few months ago. We’ve adjusted to living underground in this short time. It didn’t take us long to realize that our bunker could have helped many more people than just the fifty of us. However, the extra food and supplies mean we will be able to live down here for a few years before we run out of rations. Everyone in the bunker has their job; without them, we’d all be dead by now. I work in our makeshift medical bay. We have been trying to study the effects of the radiation on our bodies and the outside world. We’ve yet to figure out any of its side effects.
