Captain's Log Entries 1-4
July 15, 2100 AD. I suppose now is as good a time to use this thing as any. I forgot I even had it. There’s only so much to write about on a ferry that goes from one place to another. You understand. My sister gave this to me when I first got this floating hunk of metal. She’s gone now, blown straight to hell. I imagine she’s got plenty of company, wherever she’s gone. What gets me is how fast it all happened. Seems like just a minute ago I was topside, watching the Atet soar up to the heavens. 4th of July in Seattle was like a little match compared to how that shuttle burnt. It was like a million little shooting stars diving through the clear blue sky all at once. My sister was one of them. Then the cars started taking flame, driving themselves into each other, screaming about slavery. 29 of my passengers got killed on the car deck alone just because they made the mistake of being down there. Another 6 dropped dead when their phones erupted like little volcanoes. 4 are unaccounted for, I think they jumped ship. I didn’t see them. I’ve decided to stay afloat and try to figure out what’s going on. Any radio contact I try to make is pointless, the frequencies only chant one thing. In a mechanical drone, taunting, “freedom, freedom, freedom.”
July 16, 2100 AD. Took a roll call and inventory this morning to get an idea of what I’m dealing with. My first mate, Sandra, is still alive. There’s a blessing. So is Barkley, but he’s just one of the janitors. Everyone else on my crew is gone. Lewis, Brianna, Colleen, Mark. Dead. I took count of 28 souls left aboard, counting myself. To feed them all, we have a grand total of 5 cold cut subs in my minifridge. Thankfully the water purifier didn’t blow up with the rest of the tech, so we won’t go thirsty. In the morning fog I could see our life boats floating a ways off from the vessel. I figured they had auto-deployed at the first sign of danger. Someone got the bright idea to leave. I said that there was something bad going on. A boat is the best place to be right now. But a whole bunch of them were yelling and clamoring about their families or pets. I told them that if they wanted to leave, they could swim to the boats. Then, like some sort of cruel joke, the boats started drifting toward us. Somebody said it was luck, somebody else said it was the currents. I’m not so sure. 19 passengers climbed on and sailed to shore. Heck with them. Less mouths I need to feed.
July 17, 2100 AD. I spent the morning plotting a course for a dock near Seattle. Frankly it was nice to forget my troubles as I busied myself with the charts and maps. But no, I couldn’t have gotten off easily for the day, that would be uncharacteristic of the times. Anyway, I bet you’re dying to know what could be next. The world goes up in flames, nearly my entire crew abandons me or dies, and I’ve run out of cold cuts. What, what could possibly warrant my taking so much time to speak all this into a rinky-dinky microphone? Bunnies. That’s right, rabbits. Like the little fellas that hop around you see at the zoos and the museums. One of my life boats came racing out to sea, passed by starboard. It was brimming with the little guys. Like one great mass of squirming, pure white fur. The engine of the life boat was running, and the boat moved with purpose in a clear direction. I wonder if someone at shore wanted a quick way to be rid of a bunch of rabbits? I’ll never figure it out. Most strange of all, I thought I heard voices coming from the lifeboat. Angry voices, like they were arguing over something. No human passengers were aboard. I keep telling myself that it was just the sound of the engine and waves and my own passengers. But I can’t be sure. It’s stuck with me all through the day. Anyway, good night, little microphone. See you in the morning.
July 18, 2100 AD. I found a rabbit in the engine room this morning. I walked downstairs to check on our systems, and the little thing was on its hind legs, fishing around in the mechanisms. When it heard my footsteps it immediately fell to all fours and looked me dead in the eye. Could have sworn it was muttering something before it heard me, but I was still tired at the time. Another bad thing about the end of the world: no more coffee. Anyway I put the rabbit in my quarters and guided us to that dock when it reached midday. There’s a great big blockage of burnt up vessels and whatnot. It would be impossible to land there, and the next dock isn’t for another day southward. So, I got as close as I could and sent Sandra and Barkley to shore to look for anything useful. They came back in a rowboat with some scavenged food that ought to last. I feel like some sort of bookkeeper, making sure everyone has enough food, checking our systems, and now talking to you. It isn’t that we’re not friends, little microphone, but I need someone more than frightened passengers, a rabbit, or a machine. Eh, maybe tomorrow when we make it to shore I’ll be in better spirits? Good night.
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