Chapter 35 – Who Else?

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

Sector - Unknown

Planet - Unknown

12st July 2342 (BSST)

When day breaks over the camp, its early morning light shines over me, illuminating my subdued figure. The blinding rays - oblivious to the horrors witnessed the night before, like an innocent child naïve to the world - shine down upon everyone and everything equally, without judgement. It highlights the brutality of this place in its beaming smile.

Vicious in its own right – like young children often are – it reveals all that wishes to be hidden, to be cloaked in the shadows of the world, away from conscious thought. Not in a malicious sense but rather through ignorance. Like the plants in the spring, the thoughts bloom in my mind. The fertile soil of my unconscious mind providing sustenance to grow. What was formerly hidden in the soil, but a small seed has grown into a budding plant that strives to break through to reach the light.

They are not questions per se, but more recurring thoughts, thoughts rattling around my head. What it would feel like to be shredded by those claws. What it would be like to see those you had grown close to during hardship after hardship be taken away in the worst of circumstances. What it would have been like to have lost a family member to those horrors, in front of your eyes.

By lunch I’ve regained my composure a bit more and I decide to update the log.

It takes a few minutes to figure out where to start but I thought it was best to start after making the sword, to recap everything all the way up to getting back to camp last night.

Updating the log takes me the next hour. I talk about making the sword and all the processes that went into that. I talk about feeling more confident, confident enough to begin exploring properly. I take them through the journey describing the terrain and the feelings that blossom and grow as the land passes around you. I tell them about the lake and camp, I tell them about the people and records I had found before I take a break for a few minutes before getting lost in thought. Stuck in my head once again, I fade away.

As the time passes by – the sun tracking across the sky like a time-lapse of a flower or other boring thing whilst I stay stock still – I think of Emily and of Nickolas. A father and daughter left abandoned and alone on such a place.

I think of the Lodge and all the people transported with it. The 50 people that had been sucked away. Away from friends and family. Away from hopes and aspirations. Away from worries and work. Everything that had built them into the people they were at that moment had been left behind abandoning them in their time of need, the only remnants the memories they carried with them. Memories now lost to time.

Well, almost…

‘Cause there were 3. The soldier, the (semi) coward and the pickle hater.

James the soldier, died bravely, fighting to the end till lady death came with a greeting, brought around by a familiar face.

George the (semi) coward who would rather not make the decisions but like a sheep would follow along. A staunch supporter of the mob but, left to his own devices, his inner nature shines out.

And last and most certainly not least…

Karen the pickle hater who waxed ever so poetic about the horrors she had endured fighting to consume those ghastly green pickles. She died ever the hero, perhaps a foolish one, but a hero nonetheless, sacrificing her life in vain to save former campmates.

These 3 left a small mark upon this world as their memories are recorded beyond death. James with his video recording. George with but a couple of written accounts of time here and Karen the one with the diary. Chronicling her time here in sufficient detail that to read about it deals a blow to the chest. A bump to the heart that hurts ever so slightly, the last impact she is ever to have upon the universe.

So, who else will I discover?

Whose remains will I stumble across next?

Perhaps a campsite full of people? Perhaps a house party taken house and all? Perhaps a trucker sitting in his truck or a cyclist on the way to work? Perhaps an office of people striving to meet the harsh demands of an insecure boss or a police station acting in the pursuit of justice?

How far can they go?

Could they get the workers at the spaceport? Those that move the cargo and secure the borders. Could they get a merchant ship and said traders? Could they strive to catch more elusive prey? Who knows?

What more shall I discover? I wonder to myself in silence.

Deciding that the thinking - brought on by recounting it - was only delaying me and achieving nothing, I decide to actually do something.

First off, I decide to sort through my haul. Mostly it is a lot of bedding and things to make my sleeping nicer. Though the body ware I had could handle the temperatures, there’s no feeling quite like being wrapped up in the soft embrace of a warm quilt and a clinging hug of a duvet. Comforting and safe, a layer to block out all the monsters – Figuratively.

Once I‘d packed away all the things I’d recovered, I decided to draw out a map in the dirt and collect all my knowledge.

The soft ground, muddy and sticky because of the snow melting through it was a good base to draw on.

I started by drawing a circle, about 2 metres in diameter. Whilst I had no clue what shape the land I was in actually was a circle would suffice for now.

Within this circle I drew the mountain. Despite it being basically one giant peak rather than several I drew a series of upturned V’s to signal what it was. Coming down from the mountain I drew the beach to the south where I had landed, the charcoal forest to the west and the cliff, my first night shelter as well. I drew the meadow of grasses and the swampy land beyond sitting to the east. I drew the coral land to the far west and then I started with the details. The camp, the stream, the ditches, the staircases and camps I’d found, the lake and the vent and every other oddity I remembered.

The map hadn’t told me much new but to put it down had made things a little clearer. Whilst I wouldn’t ever end up lost with the software in the suit it was nice to appreciate what was around me. It would allow me to plan a little more productively rather than just set off in one direction and try to walk straight.

Staring at the map, I looked through the areas I hadn’t gone much. I had basically gone north east from the beaches until I had found the campsite where I was now and then wandered around in circles for a bit. Only the forays to the coral and swamps had extended my knowledge of the biomes a little.