viernes, 19 de noviembre de 2010


Before the Fires, I never really liked Nogales. It's not that it wasn't nice (although, in my opinion, most of the most noticeable areas are awful), but it was too clumped together, too much disorder), but nothing would prepare me from how Nogales seemed right now.

The road itself was blocked by piles and piles of scrap and concrete barriers, all covered with rusted, pointed protrusions, large enough to penetrate the engine of a fast-movin car. There were military cars, black from the smoke of previous fires, and all of them devoid of diesel or gas. There were skeletons, some were picked cleanly of their meat, possible by vultures, others showed signs of fire. The silence was thick enough to cut it with a knife, and the landscape looked horribly torn apart.

I was running out of diesel, and I certainly knew that I was gonna be fresh meat from the moment someone saw the jeep. It pained me to do it, but I ditched the jeep with the generator. I removed the radio as best I could. I took some water and rations, as well as my two remaining guns (my beretta and my Xiuhcoatl rifle), I donned the modified armor and started advancing.

My dogs were silent, but they were sniffing around, and listening. I swear the place was as quiet as a tomb, but all of a sudden I could hear a few dozen gunshots being fired not far from where we were. I hid quickly and my dogs followed suit, and we could hear the rumbling of a car and a few people yelling as they shot back at others who were chasing them. I waited for a while and kept on walking...

miércoles, 10 de noviembre de 2010


"The story of Sonora is as old and as long as the Sonora River".

At least that's how the first few lines of some history books start.

After the last incident, I tried to stand away from the highways. The jeep can take it, I knew that. The state is not exactly flat, but it was pleasant enough to avoid some natural hazards as well. I had to check on the tires at least a few times, though. The past owners were not exactly kind to the car, and the tires showed signs of heavy use.

The dry desert stretched on for hours as I was driving along, and I could a few cars that have been abandoned in the highway. Not as many as in Hermosillo, but there were plenty.
During the travel, I stopped through several of the smaller towns, making quick runs for fuel and food, but I had to leave quickly and going around the cities, instead of rushing through. I wasn't gonna take my chances on finding anyone there.

However, the nearby villages alongside the Sonora River were of great use. These smaller towns, mostly run by farmers and ranchers, were far less dependent on technology, and better prepared to fend for themselves. There was, however, a lot of people in them. Most of them refugees that came from the nearby cities, many of them were young, and did not know how to work the fields or to take care of the cattle. Most of them tried to work a living in whatever they could do: Menial work, some of them were doctors, but even with their knowledge, they had to learn about herbs and actual pharmaceutical work, mixing reactives and so. And then there were the thieves and whores. People with no actual skill, and many of them from formerly wealthy families that thought that, with their names, they might have stuff.

Tough fucking luck. Many of them began to learn that, with isolation, came with its own set of laws and rules. It's not to say that they're savages, but most of the farmers and ranchers were not going to tolerate some snot-nosed kid or wise-ass bastard to be stealing, so the law of the land was the law of the gun or the noose. They learned slowly, but they learned.

I traded some of the stuff I brought with me: The extra guns, a book or two (a couple of novels and a field guide to wilderness survival I just read and remember by heart), some meds they'd need; all for some water, food (I missed red meat quite a lot), and some eggs. The I trated with, and old man named Fabian, told me that some of the towns had been taken over either by the military, or the drug cartels, and that they were having all sorts of skirmishes, and that they survived because of the isolation and the roughness of the terrain (I can't say where this town is, for their safety).

I thanked Fabian, and asked him if he knew anything about Nogales. He told me it was a bad place to go, and that if I was thinking of hoping the border, it was a lost cause.

Maybe it was, but it's better than nothing, I can only try, at this rate

miércoles, 3 de noviembre de 2010


I never thought that a simple thing as rain would be so liberating.

I stood far from the highway, when I stopped for rest. I did lots of fuel runs to keep the jeep with enough gas to go to Tempe. It was night, but there were no starts, the clouds were covering them.

The jeep had a small cop radio attached to it, so I was able to pick up radio signals if possible, but at the moment it was silent.

My dogs were sleeping together when the rain started to fall. It was strong and full of thunder, it was that calm and cold November rain, the kind that chills your bones the next day. The raindrops fell constantly, but they were small, and the sound put me to sleep.

I dreamed of our time in the museum, of Lisa's cute voice and singing, her love for the animals, and her hope to find a place where we could call home; I dreamed of Karen, her sweet words, her joyous laughter; of us, exploring each other's bodies in the night, her smell, her tears in her eyes when she told me we were going to be parents. I wanted to cry, I really wanted to, but the moment the first sniff was done, the sound of the door opening up woke me Two people in front of me, and maybe a third was in the back. The two people were armed with revolvers. They ordered me out of the car.

I did, and then I whipped out my Beretta and pointed it at one of them in the head, at point blank. The three men ordered me to throw away the gun, while I yelled them to leave me lone, they continued to shot and I responded with the same intensity, buying myself enough time to they wouldn't expect me to shoot both men in the head. The third guy shaked, threw his gun (a hunting rifle), and started running into the night, panicked.

I took the rifle and shot at his direction, hearing a thumping sound in the ground. I walked, and saw him crawling on the ground, begging me to let him live. He wasn't gonna last much in the desert, so I did the sensible thing to do.

I walked towards the jeep, rain still falling. It felt as if all the bad deeds, all the regrets, all the pain, was washed away with the water. I got inside, changed my clothes into some dry ones, and slept again, praying that I would dream of Karen again.

jueves, 28 de octubre de 2010


Me and my dogs stayed in the museum for a little longer. Days. Maybe a couple of weeks, it didn't matter anymore. I was no longer myself. I buried Lisa and Karen, and burned the rest of 'em.

Didn't matter anymore. Still, I wasn't able to kill myself, something in me would not let me. So I instead made a makeshift speakers with some wires, a couple of disposable dishes, and some aluminum foil. I've been listening music from my mp3 player, at least for a few hours. The men brought enough food that me and my dogs never really needed to step outside. I looked on their gear: Weapons, ammo, food, water, medicine, you name it. There was even a few ceramic plates for personal armor. I tried to remove any idle thoughts by placing the plates inside the old Spanish Armor. It was a little rough, but I was able to do it, via trial and error that is.

The music was pretty much a godsend. It helped me not to fall deeper into depression, but the work I was doing also helped me. It took me days, but I was able to learn to use the radio. Most of it was trial and error, but a little of it was thanks to observation, looking at Karen move the radio.

After much silence, I was able to find another person. He called himself Johnson, and said he was from Tempe. I asked him what was going on in the US, and told me of the situation:

It seems America was in mess, just as here. The Federal Government started rationing oil and electricity, and only for keeping the peace. Local governments and militia types started to revolt, and already states like Texas and Florida started to call themselves "independent" from the US. Most other state governments started to do supply raids in neighboring territories, including Mexican cities. It seemed that I met one of these men, as I saw a series of codes right next to me console, written in paper. The writing was not Karen's, or Lisa's. I told him what was going on here, but I didn't go into much detail. I never mentioned the girls.

He told me they needed good people in Tempe, and if I came, I'd be treated nice. Was there a point in going? My roots were growing here. Also, from what Karen and I suspected, is that she was pregnant. I was gonna be a dad.

Whatever life there was here, now it's dead and buried, but not forgotten.

I took what I could carry in one of the vehicles the men had brought: A jeep. this was from the generator, to some food, lots of water, books, ammo, some weapons, and my dogs, obviously.

The jeep rumbled to life when I started it. And I drove in silence, with only my dogs seeing me with an expression that I could only imagine it was worry.

miércoles, 20 de octubre de 2010


Wounded, angry, and tied up is no way to survive in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

But that was my situation. It was night, and they held me tight and well watched. Most of my wounds were treated, though. I could only hear the calm burning of wood in a fire, the small talk of some of the men, and crickets. My dogs, my faithful beagles, were locked in a makeshift cage, close to me. They waggled their little tales at the sight of me waking up, but they did mournful whimpers, instead of the joyful pants and dog smiles.

Lisa was dead. And Karen was nowhere to be seen. I feared for the worst.

One of the guys stood in front of me, with a metal coffee mug and what seemed to be military rations. He wolfed it down and took big gulps as he looked at me. I simply stared, why I was testing the ropes, so how well the knots were tied.

He said, in english, that it was "that bitch's fault" of what happened, that they would've only kicked us out of this place. He sat down, and looked at my hands. I kept myself still. He made a quick laughed and assured me that the noose was well made.

Another man came in, and said that it was "his turn". The guy stood up, looked at me and told me that "she's now the official hooker". I waited for all of them to sleep. I finally was able to slip away from the knot, and took a knife that was in the table.

No one survived that night.

I remember little, but I do remember my breathing, the slowly moving towards the men, the sudden gushing sound of the blood pouring out as the knife cleaved in. The sudden muffled screams. The one thing I do remember was Karen, though. She was tied and naked on one of the rooms. She was beaten up, bruises all over her face, her blonde hair all messed up. I was angry, angry at them. At myself.

She cried, and said my name in a whisper. I came with her and hugged her. She hugged me back and cried longer. She dressed, but, about the time we were in the room, gathering stuff, she took a gun, and.

I can't write anymore about this. I just can't. I'm crying as I type this.

God, why? Had I not.

I'll finish later


I ran like hell. And for the first time in weeks, I didn't notice the gunfire, nor the running of the car engines. Note to self, always keep a cool head.

I reached the museum quickly and opened the door. I closed it and shut it off with the barricade. Karen and Lisa came darting down the stairs and saw me in the hallway, asking me what was going on. Then the gunfire started.
I'm guessing they thought the door was gonna give in easily with the first ten shots, and then proceeded to stop. I yelled them to run and then a thunderous roar made way to a powerful blast that ripped open the door of the museum. We closed the door that lead to the second floor, and sealed shut the main hallway. We could hear them coming in, and they tried to take some shots at us. They hurt Karen in the shoulder, but me and Lisa managed to stay okay. We ran upstairs, and they kept shooting as from the closed doors. This time they got Lisa in the back. I roared in anger and shot back, emptying the clip at them.

And failed miserably at hitting any of them.

Karen pleaded me to get up therer, I snapped back and complied. We got everything ready: Guns, ammo, explosives, the works. I still think this place is my favorite refuge, but it was compromised. I'll miss having electricity.

The men came, guns blazing. We were overrun, and outgunned. Some of them, looking at Karen, whistled and laughed, making dirty remarks she responded. One of them came and told us to surrender our guns.

Karen shot him in the nuts. And the guys shot back.

I blacked out, and woke up weak, tied, and pissed.

domingo, 10 de octubre de 2010


The seed bank used to be a modest building: A very large building that looked more like warehouse, painted dark green, and infront of it, written in large bold yellow letters were the words: "HERMOSILLO SEED BANK". But it had changed: The large metal doors have been ripped open, the words were almost left blank, graffiti was everywhere. But the fact that the doors were open worried me the most. I felt I was too late. But I wasn't gonna go back with nothing.

I loaded the AK and started moving. My steps made a wide echo as I walked on, the large metal ceiling had evidence of bird nests, and the occasional soft sound of a pigeon flying about. I looked everywhere, and it seems that, contrary to what I thought, the place was indeed ransacked. I looked around, and found very little seeds, but this would do: Mostly beans, corn, squash, bit of tomatoes, and to my luck, sweet oranges. While looking for seeds, you have see if they're organic, if not, it's a good chance the fruit won't have seeds, and that means a one shot investment. The upside is, they're tougher.

I was gonna leave from the same place I entered, until I heard the rumbling sound of a machine, slowly making it's way. I could hear the screeching of wrecked steel moving, and some people talking in English. I quickly hid, and waited. I saw a group of men, all with military gear, but they didn't look like soldiers, then I saw a tank. Big one, with desert cammo painted all over. Over it, there was a small white flag with a snake and the words "DON'T TREAD ON ME" writen below the coiled snake in black bold letters. I had no idea who these men were, but I wasn't gonna plan on asking. However, they did got inside the building, so I needed to move quietly.

I sneaked past them, and left the building. Once I was far enough, I started to run, hoping they would not notice the single guy darting the street.

domingo, 3 de octubre de 2010


One of the things I missed the most: Music.

Silence is a two-edged sword: For one, it comforts you, it tells you you're safe, it lets you sleep. On the other side, it's also a reminder that you are alone, that there is no cavalry that will help you whether you're surrounded by gangs, starving, or worst yet: Thirst.

Which leads me to this entry, which, after the last one, is probably one of my happiest entries so far.

We started looking for supplies near the market: Obviously it was empty. The hospital near it just as well, but the most eerie thing was the silence: Heavy, long, and frightening silence. It kept you on you feet, but it also let your imagination a wide space for it t play with your head: Every corner was a possible ambush. Every building could very well be at the point of falling apart. Karen and Lisa were there to keep me from going paranoid, and my dogs helped us to confirm that, in fact, we were alone.

We looked everywhere in the old hospital (which kept most of its modernist feel, despite decades of lack of maintenance, and the chaos of the Fires) for any scraps, but there wasn't any medicines or food supplies. Even pieces of metal were ripped and torn open. We did, however, found something that would later on be the most useful find.

In the supplies section, near the well-decayed corpse of a possible looter, was a portable generator. The thing seemed to run on diesel, and it looked very heavy, but this thing would help a lot in the museum. I told the girls to stay there and keep an eye for anyone. I got out and started looking for a car and stuff to help us move. I found an old truck -still with fuel- that wasn't damaged (very), some rope and a few pieces of cloth to help us haul the generator into the back of the car. It took us about a couple of hours and a lot of noise (I swear I was nervous all the time), but we were able to load it. Lisa had found a single diesel container still full of fuel, so that was more than useful. We moved slowly, due to the cars smashed and stalled in the middle of the street, but we finally made it.

None of use knew how to install it, though, and it took us a few solid hours of moving it through the stairs. And it took us about two or three days (not to mention several diesel runs in case we ran out) to figure out how to use it, but we did.

The first thing I did -And I learned it back a while when there was still the internet- how to connect my mp3 player. I always had it with me, for some reason, but it never occured to me to play it. The slender metallic square was there, charging, along with the power lines we found, and to my surprise, it still worked. I let it charging for a while with some wires, and I was happy as a clam. I looked around for some working speakers, but no luck, the Fires fried most of the electrical and electronic equipment in the museum. What was left in working conditions was under a EMERGENCY section in the basement, protected in a security cage that, in my opinion, could've acted as an impromtu Faraday Cage. So, what was left? A HAM radio transmitter (after all, this was a government building), a couple of flashlights, and a flare gun.

We took it all and installed the radio. Karen, to our surprise, actually knew how to use it, since her dad taught her the "radio hobby"and in less then a few hours, we had a working radio. It was a pleasant day, that one: The warm sun against the cool wind, Lisa playing with the dogs, the stillness of the city against the gentle sound of the nearby trees below us, and Karen, with her headphones, trying to get a signal.

There was only silence, and the only actual signal we received was an emergency broadcast. We were alone.

We had some expertise with the basics of electrical instalations, so we managed to rig some of it to the generator, We made it work, and we had lights, and a working fan. It all semeed as if the Fires never happened. We slept well that night, and Karen snuggled with me, and I hugged her back.

The next day, I figured that we needed to grow food if we were to use this place as our own settlement. I knew of a seed bank not so far off, closer to the market, but this time I needed to go alone. Too much of a risk to be along the girls and the dogs. Karen understood and assured me they would be alright.

I went along the street, but avoided to be in the open. There were charred bones, almost everywhere. Police cars and military cars crashed and burned in the sidelines, and several concrete barriers torn off by civilian cars. Weeds started to grow out of the cracks of the roads and the streets. I knew well most people would raid the supermarkets, the grocery stores, but very little people, at least city folk, would go for seed banks.

I headed over, and... Interesting things, would happen.

miércoles, 22 de septiembre de 2010


It had been hours since we arrived at the shelter. Karen helped me clean my wounds, and I rested for a while. We waited about three days -going out only to find food and water- until we finally moved out of the shelter.

There was no people left near the city center, as we approached. Everything that was prized for looted mas mostly gone, or expired. We found only scraps of medicine and water, not to mention food. We fed on rats and pigeons, but thankfully the sour oranges were still intact. Lisa had a keen eye for searching places, while me and Karen moved the stuff. I found some books and canned goods, while Karen had water and medicine with her.

She asked me where we were going. I smiled and pointed at the Cerro de la Campana, the massive stone hill that was the landmark of the city.

Right besides it lies an old prison, then turned into a museum. The place was solid, with exterior walls of massive stone and several small battlements and only a small part built on brick. The place, despite to keep people in, was strong enough to be used as a massive shelter. I knew well the layout of the place, but what worried me was if it was inhabited. That question would the answered shortly.

Getting near there, I noticed that the flimsy wooden door of the main entrance was still intact. As we got there through the main stairs, we couldn't open the door. It was barred from the inside.

There was, however, a service door that was useful, right besides the main entrance. This was a tall iron fenced gate, as tall as the stone walls (perhaps about 16-20 feet). It took a while, but me and Karen climbed through that fence and opened that door to Lisa. We locked it back and got inside, carefully.

The silence was thick in the prison, with only the sound of pigeons and that of the wind, moving the trees surrounding the building. We opened the service door that led to the lobby and we saw that the previous occupants were long dead, their bodies rotting on the floor. One of them had a gun in their hand, a revolver, and a single shot in the head. We assumed it was suicide, but we kept looking.

The prison was largely intact, except maybe for a few looted food and beverage vending machines in the offices upstairs, but everything else was there, including a very old Spaniard chest plate, along with some gauntlets and vambraces and a helm. I admit on trying on the armor, it took a while, let alone the laugh of both Lisa and Karen when I fell on the weight, but otherwise it fit like a charm.

The place was perfect: Intact, well-defended position, and best of all, wide. We slept in the offices, which have a good view from anyone trying to get it. While Lisa slept, we saw the blackened night view: All the buildings crumbled to ruins, and the odd smoke and fire in the far parts. There was still life in the city, but it was quiet now. The dogs kept a good eye on Lisa, one of them slept beside her (being the social creatures that they are, my dogs love to sleep alongside their 'pack mates'), while the other was sitting and keeping her ears up, as if listening to see if someone was coming.

We walked for a while in the courtyard of the museum, talking about what to do next. We agreed to first get some supplies, and possibly an electric generator. The problem was, of course, fuel. However, there were plenty of wrecked cars, so we might be able to draw a few of them if we get them quick. Also, we needed ammo, or at least stuff to make it, mostly because we were running low on it. It was during this that, while walking in the silent halls, she kissed me.

It has been months since I had sex. It was pleasant, and there she lied on top of me, her warm body over mine. Her slow breathing put me to sleep like a baby.

We woke up early, and prepared to look for supplies.

miércoles, 8 de septiembre de 2010


I was down and out, at least in a figure of speech. I could still hear Karen telling me to keep up, while she was carrying me. I felt hot, and weak. Mostly weak and very tired. I haven't been drinking much water for the last days, and I didn't clean most of the wounds from the previous gunfight with the rogue soldiers when I needed to, so I'm sure there was an infection.

Karen kept pulling me, as far as I knew, and she kept calling my name, keeping me alive. The little girl also helped, I felt her little hands wrapped around my arms, crying softly as they pulled me. It was the only thing that kept me here.

However, I was still not dead. With a last effort, I slouched off, telling them about where the shelter was, I gave two steps and finally collapsed on the ground, feeling the hard pavement pounding my head.

I had a vision: Days before the Fires, I pretty much saw a common day that was for me: Waking up, walking the dogs, running, bathing and going to college, returning home for thesis work, checking Facebook, returning to campus to defend my thesis, and so on. I felt a bit of nostalgia and sadness for the world that was, the world that shall never be again.

But, as some people have pointed out, we needed a clean slate. Our society was too centered on having more, no matter the cost. We killed, we did things, horrible things, for the desire of instant gratification. What happened now, with the looting, the slaving raiders, all this is just all these past sins revealed, the veneer of civility removed. Our own demons had surfaced.

One day, these demons will be conquered, I thought.

I woke up in my shelter, with one of my dogs sleeping right alongside me, the other was looking at me, his little tail waggling with joy, the other dog looked at me and waggled her own, patting my rib with it. Karen was helping the little girl (her name was Elizabeth, but we called her Lisa) sleep in the sleeping bag. She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and called her name.

She took a cup with water and gave it to me. I tried to get up, but she put her hand on my chest and told me not to. I was too weak, she argued.

I listened and stood there. And we past that day talking, pretty much about the days before the Fires. About our dreams, jokes, friends we had, and also about the future. She suggested we should travel north, to the border, she said that maybe the Americans had figured out how to outlive the Fires. I wasn't so sure. I told her we needed to relocate since the shelter outlived its purpose, and subsist in whatever way we could. But, she insisted on moving. I told her I would think about it.

Still, if we were gonna go with this, we would need supplies and transport. So the next few days would be interesting.


(Author's note: Sorry for the delay, but recently I had too much thesis work that pretty much didn't let me continue. I shall try to make up for the lost time)

lunes, 6 de septiembre de 2010


It's not so hard to believe that, with any semblance of civilization gone, humans have gone to a state of brutal barbarism.

Here I am, in what it used to be one of the most luxurious residential communities, now turned into a fortress. Hell, look at how the city turned out with just one heavy solar activity. Granted, it took out a lot of the things we so selflessly depended on, and Mexico wasn't particularly a peaceful country a few months back before the Fires, but all this turned it for the worst. I thought about the horror stories some of the survivors told me when I was at the hospital: Former friends, colleagues and acquaintances turning on each other, the rampant murder, theft and rape from the unsuspected, the violence. Order was needed.

Justice was needed.

As I walked through la Joya, I saw more and more boarded up homes, but no one was to be seen. Only pikes in some parts of the streets. Some of them had heads. The smell of carrion, shit, and something worse was heavy in the hot summer sun. I gripped heavily on my beretta, when I heard the pickups coming back.

I was lucky enough to hide behind the houses when the cars passed through. They were driving slow, and on the lookout. I knew I should've disposed the bodies. They'll be looking for me; but on the other hand, they don't know it's just me, I could use that for my advantage. I could use diversions to take them out little by little, playing on their fear. I just needed a plan.

I moved slowly, following them down the road, I holstered the beretta, and got only my knife with me.

They finally arrived to an enormous mansion. The black wrought iron fence was immaculate, comparing it to the other houses. The house was white and pretty much intact, save for some impromptu towers made of wood, derelict debris, and some pieces of solid concrete. There were, it seemed for of them, each for every corner of the house. Beautiful cypress tress surrounded the house, but the apparent beauty of the place was removed because of the guards: Most of them were of bulky build, wide-bellied thugs, several of them had faux gold jewelery and well-armed. Sometimes they would go inside the building, and then I heard the screams. I moved slowly to the side of the house, taking care as to avoid the sight of the sentries, and saw that were several people, mostly woman and children, chained to the floor. How they looked, I dare not type even now, but let me write this: I will not suffer anyone to own or be a slave. Not anymore.

Among them, I saw the little girl the old man described. She was scared, and beside her, someone I knew from campus: Karen. Her pretty long dirty blond hair now ripped and ill-treated. She used to smile a lot, and was extremely friendly, now that was gone; instead, she now was battered and broken, a shell of a human, with her big brown eyes looking for an escape that will never be, and her pale skin now bruised and cut.

My wish was to get there, guns blazing, and once again become the knight in shinning armor as I did before, but these were not just a dozen soldiers, these were narcos, several of them, and I was in their turf. I needed to play this just right.

I waited for the night to come. I hid well in the houses and below cars. I moved quietly, I moved in the shadows, I kept my distance. When it was well near midnight, and even a bit after that. I moved. I took advantage that they were under very heavy sleep to get into the slave pens. I woke Karen up, told her to keep quiet. She nearly cried and hugged me, told me what happened: She and her boyfriend, trying to reach a military checkpoint, were ambushed; he fought tooth and nail, and went down fighting, but they still took her. She never let herself get touched by any of them, and she was beaten because of it, lost a couple of teeth as well, a premolar and second molar, both in the right. I told her we needed to move, and we needed to take the little girl with us, she asked me to help the rest, but I told her that, at least today, there was nothing we could do.

The other slaves woke up, and made a racket out of my situation, the guards were awake now. Shit.

We quickly moved as we could, picked the little girl and tried to make a run for it, but with all the people begging us to save them, it was too late, the sentries spotted us. They gunfire began, but this time we were able to make a clear run for our lives. I gave Karen my beretta, and she made good use of it.

We left the mansion like a bat out of hell, but the rest of the thugs were waiting for us outside. They turned spotlight on infront of us, and readied their guns. Behind us, in a balcony of the mansion, a man got outside. Probably the gang leader.

He simply told me I could not escape with his property, and that I surrendered. Me and Karen looked at each other in the eye, and smiled at me.

"Thank you" she said, with tears in her eyes. She pointed the gun and shot him dead.

The shock of the scene gave us enough time to shoot ourselves out of there. Karen got shot in the stomach, and I in the right arm.

Thank God I'm a leftie, motherfuckers.

The adrenaline kept us from falling to the ground, and kep shooting, sometimes we took the guns of the fallen, sometimes we made them shoot at each other thinking we splitted. Morning came, and the three of us were alive.

Treating Karen was difficult, but the books and the supplies were of great aid. I honestly thought she wasn't going to make it, due to the blood loss, but she's made of stubborn stuff. She helped me with the wounds both inthe leg as well as the arm, went out to my shelter. I didn't brought enough cans with me for all three of us, but I was able to do a makeshift sling and hunt some pigeons with it. We ate our fill, mostly of the breast, since that's where the most meat is in those things, but the rest had to be eaten as well, we can't just leave the rest like that. With the cans, some lighter fluid and bit of wood, and a bit of a very small net fence, we made a tiny grill in which to cook the pigeons.

We were close to the shelter, when I collapsed.

sábado, 4 de septiembre de 2010

La Joya

Just as I got in the last house and set up my rifle, the gunshots started.

Obviously, the dogs alerted my presence, and it was hard to look for cover, but there was a chimney that worked quite nicely for that. I tried to see where the shooter were at, but I couldn't see anything, other than that the shots came form La Joya, I nearly got shot in the head trying to peer again, so I knew this place was no longer safe.

I ran for it, and more shots came. One hit my arm as I jumped to another rooftop, so I wasn't able to hold on. I fell, and I grabbed in pretty much anything to avoid killing myself in the fall. I hurt like hell, but I was still alive, and very pissed off.
Finally, I was able to see who was shooting at me. It was a trio of snipers in the hilltop, just above where the gated entrance of the residencial. I pointed my rifle and hoped the bullet flew true.

I was able to shoot down one of them, hitting him in the head. The others, puzzled, tried to look for me, but the fact that I fell behind some bushes and tthat I was prone helped a lot. After a few failed shots, I managed to hit the other in the shoulder. The third ran away. I stood up, my arm hurting like hell, as well as my legs, but the good thing about adrenaline is that it keeps you going. I walked slowly, and did not got in straight through the entrance; instead, I walked through the underbrush that grew alongside it. I could hear cars coming out of the place, and there they were: Three pick up truck, all with men and women armed to the teeth. I was scared, but I wasn't gonna let that fly. I hid and remained silent.

As they passed by, they let a few guards in the gate. Hopefully I would be able to take them down, I thought. I took out my knife, and the gun, leaving my rifle in my back. I moved slowly, and closer. They were talking about how the rogue soldiers were getting closer. I moved slowly, and closer. Their guns were in decrepit conditions. I moved slowly, and shot one in the neck.

The other, slow to react, drew his uzi at me, but I rushed in and slammed him, knocking him to the ground, this is where I pinned him with the knee and stabbed him. The third tried to shoot me, but missed by a few inches. I shot him back, and when he was gurgling blood from his moth, I sliced his neck.

I looked at the residencial, all the houses now boarded up and reinforced. And started to walk on.

lunes, 30 de agosto de 2010


So, where have I been? Perhaps the best place to have landed in a post-apocalyptic city: A history museum based on a prison. I'll give you later a bit of the basics of this place, which so far is my favorite shelter.

La Joya is a rich neighborhood built on a hilltop, and even surrounded by even bigger hills from the north, it has only one entrance and, last I knew, it was well-guarded, so it makes it a natural choice to fortify and use as a hideout. Even a better choice if you have a good number of thugs under your command.

There's two ways to go anywhere near la Joya: One is going over the main street, but on plain view of anyone looking from above. The other is via another neighborhood on the other side of the road, right infront of la Jolla, problem is, I've been seeing people patrolling that area. Fortunatelly, there's plenty of wrecked cars, debris, houses and trees to use them as cover. Before getting any closer, I left my dogs in my home's shelter. I figured they'd be safer there than anywhere else. My dogs whimpered as I climbed out, and one let out a lamenting howl; it brought a few tears in my eyes, because I well knew this would kill me. I moved silently, trying to avoid looters and rogue soldiers. I heard the odd gunfight here and there, and kept myself quiet.

After a few hours, I finally found myself in the street. The name is Pitic, and is another rich district (most of the affluential people lived near the hotel section, this being the presentation of the nicest parts of the city, if you came form the northern highway that led to the border), I moved slowly, hoping no one would notice me. That is when I heard the barking of dogs, big ones.

I looked back and I saw a pack of two rottweilers, a german shepperd and a boxer, all running towards me, barking menacely.

I wasn't gonna waste my bullets on them, so I ran, there was several tall trees, and I figure I could climb one and leap from there to an nearby house. I climbed a very tall, but dead tree. The dogs were barking mad, the german sheppered near tore my leg, but only managed to rip my jeans slightly. I climbed quickly, and I found myself on the roof of a house, with a very nice view of La Joya. The bad thing is, the noise will most likely attract people, so I had to move quickly. I jumped from rooftop to rooftop, until I ran out of houses.

I set up the Xiuhcoatl, and looked around the area, just to make sure.

sábado, 28 de agosto de 2010


What the old man told me, gave me a lot of hindsight of what was I gonna face from here on, at least in the city.

I do remember the first days the Fires struck, though. There was no electricity, save in hospitals, government buildings and the odd home that had a diesel generator or two. Gas soon became a commodity, and food prices started to skyrocket. My dad got out of retirement, and started to work as a private doctor, just to get enough food. Classes were 'canceled until further notice', but some of my professors still gave them on the field. A few days later, the riots started.

It started, at least here, when medical supplies were given not to a government hospital, but a private one that was surrounded by armed goons, hired by the most affluent members of the city. They were overwhelmed, however, and that gave origin to a riot on a supermarket, then another on city hall, several angry mobs of people raided the rich district and the hotel district, a military outpost was taken over, the soldiers dead and their guns distributed amongst the rioters. Chaos everywhere.

That was when my story closes and the old man's begins. He told me that, right after that, several soldiers broke rank and joined the rioters, many of them were already on the payroll of the drug dealers. As the days went on, the started to carve a feudal system of sorts, with several people moving out of town, to work in the fields for the dealers, whether for food or for supplies, most of them did so willingly, but they started rounding up people for slave labor. The most rich people spared their lives helping the cartels attacking other families, or giving up their servants, sons and daughters, wives, husbands or siblings. This was his case, that in an act of fear, he gave his own grand-daughter to the cartels.

She was only twelve.

Out of self-loathing and pity, he tried to join his other family members into committing suicide, but again, fear got the best of him, and vomited most of the pills, but some did took effect. He told me he wanted to die, but he could not do it.

I got up, served myself another glass of water, and quietly drew my pistol. I asked him if he knew where they had taken his grand-daughter. He told me that somewhere in La Jolla, a wealthy neighborhood but, rumor had it, was a den of drug lords.

I gave him the beretta, and told him that, if he had the courage, he knew what needed to be done.

The storm had already passed when I got out. I saw my dogs walking alongside me, their little faces fixed on the house, I just told them to follow me, and I kept walking when I heard the gunshot, coming from inside the house.

If there is a God out there, and I hope there is, He will judge this old man with justice, and will have mercy on the child he so willingly gave away to the monster that can be the human being.

jueves, 26 de agosto de 2010


I've talked much on how about the city: On what it has become, the damage, and the struggles within; but I've not talked about the weather.

Supposedly, this is the rainy season, but it has been rather dry and hot this time around. However, the wind has blown quite a lot, and I have seen rain-heavy clouds just above the horizon.
One thing is to protect from the elements when there's power, civilization, order; a different thing is when there's no such thing: A heavy storm brings out lots of dust that will cover your visibility and will hamper your mobility. Thunderstorms will -a small chance, but it is quite real- knock you out permanently with lightning. Soaked in rain will bring a cold, and weaken you. You have to read the patterns, see the environment. Your knowledge is your most important weapon.

Here, the sound of cicadas are the prelude for rain, there's the excessive heat that is a dead giveaway that a huge storm is brewing, stuff like that.

Indeed, a few hours after I buried my parents, the clouds were gathering. I needed shelter quickly. So I moved fast as I could. However, I needed to move away from where I was, the zone was heavy with looters days before, it was not gonna be different now. Me and my dogs kept moving in the shadows, and ran when we could. The sound of the wind howling in the rubble and the wreckage of cars was eerie, but it was more worrisome was the sound of the odd distant car, blistering narco-corridos (music of Mexican bandas that praised the drug dealers) and one of two gunshots. Looks like the drug lords were not messing around with their little idea of making a stronghold here.

When the first drops of rain started to pour, I got into the old money neighborhood of the city. I was expecting wrecked cars, destroyed homes, fire... But there was nothing of that.

The houses, perhaps not as big was other 'Old Money' districts were intact. There was the odd car stalled in the middle of the road, but other than that, it seeemed that nothing happened here, as if civilization still was intact.

The wind was starting to get violent, and the rain was getting heavier and heavier. My dogs were nervous, and so was I. I quickly climbed the wrought iron fence of the nearest house, shouted to see if there was anyone there a few times, and when I heard no answer, I broke the lock with a couple of shots of my gun, and let the dogs in. As we got closer to the main entrance, the first lightning was seen. I knew nothing of lock-picking, so I used the same tactic with the door, using my gun to bust open.

The sound of the dark interior was thick, only the sound of the howling wind, the dogs sniffing around, and my steps, were the only things that interrupted that solemn silence. I kept calling for anyone, but as I went down the dark hallway, my steps started to falter.

For the first time in a while, my fear of the dark kicked in. I felt the urge to run away from the house, venture into the storm, I didn't care, my steps were less sure, and my neck felt stiff. Still, I needed to go on, I needed shelter.

My dogs were sniffing around, seeing them near me was comforting enough, but, I let out a scream when I opened a door. A dead body came falling down, making a powerful thumping noise that resounded in the house. I was an old man, tall and thin. His eyes slightly swollen, and cold as dead can be.

I turned on the flashlight, and lit up the room. It semeed the occupants of the house commited suicide, as there were more bodies here, all calm and in different beds in the bedrooms. I saw pill containers, and saw that these were powerful sleeping pills. All empty, the place did no reek of death. They must've died recently.

Once the rain was less violent as it was, I grabbed the bodies, one by one, and went out to the garden. I picked a shovel from a shed in the garden, and proceeded to dig, to give them proper burial.

That's one of them, the old man, suddenly grabbed my arm. It completely freaked me out, but it seeemed he did not took the full dose. He begged me not to kill him, to bring him water. I asked him where was the kitchen. I took off and gave him a glass from water that I found in several gallons, well hidden from prying eyes.

As he drank, he told me everything he knew of what happened right after the Fires started.

miércoles, 25 de agosto de 2010


No words of wisdom, no ostentatious tombstone, no parade of black cars; just me, my dogs, and the unmarked grave of my parents, that was the way I buried them.

I thought of the moments we had, the lessons my dad and mom taught me, what I truly learned from them, and remembered the love they had for me, and I for them. I left that grave, and took a last look at my house.

There was nothing left, whatever was not bolted on the floor was gone, and even then. All, except a few pieces of personal documents (birth certificate, passport and laser visa), as well as some books, too heavy for me to move. So I only took a few, and was on my way. We lived right in front of a supermarket, but raiding that was asking for trouble, who knows how many looters were holed up in there, or worse. Still, I was short on supplies, and I needed some extra things, so I ventured there.

I readied my beretta, and my dogs were very alert. Whoever said beagles were useless in a survival scenario, they were wrong, beagles are very good trackers. With their nose, I was able to find some food, as well as water and batteries along the way. A bottle of good wine that was miraculously intact, and a can of powered milk. It was a good day. I took a copy of Don Quijote, as well as cooking book for outdoors, as well a set of small pans. The whole bulk of resources was slightly heavy, but nothing that I couldn't do without at this rate.

The question was: Where to, next? The city was gonna be a battleground, and I honeslty had no wish to stay because of it. I had to move north, the weather's cooler, there's rivers, game, a new chance to live.

On the other hand, I knew everyone would probably move north as well, so I'd perhaps find more of the same, but it was still worth a shot.

Need some sleep. Will continue on later.

martes, 24 de agosto de 2010


Sorry about the blackout. Had to relocate from the mayor's house due to looters. The problem with being a long gunman is the fact that you don't have a lot of backup. Too bad I had to leave the generator, but I am still alive and the computer still has some battery left, and I was able to rig up an antenna (the techie died in the firefight, rest in peace Mike).

I remember Alex well. Before the fires, I had a bit of crush on her. But, she was the kind of a girl that was born with a boyfriend in her hand, along with two replacements. I tried to date her with no avail, and so I preferred anonymity, living my life and trying to finish my career.

And here she was, sleeping besides me; I can't say I wasn't tempted, but I chose instead to doing guard and take a look at the rifle I took from the soldier, instead. I had no idea where to start, but I first started with getting familiar with the basic functions: Where the safety function was, how to remove the magazine, that kind of stuff.
I got a bit away from her, as not to wake her up with the noise, but close enough to keep an eye on her and the supplies. I heard the noises of the soldiers looking for us, but we were safe enough. I saw one of my dogs cuddling with Alex, while the other, slightly older, walked near me and slumped beside me, giving out a tiresome nose exhalation, the dog's version of a sigh.

The next morning, we took a light breakfast: Fruit salad and tuna. Three cans less, and two cans left. I was seriously thinking on what to do next. As the day went on, I gave Alex a quick guide on how to shoot, but I made a suppressor with some junk I found. It wasn't much, and it took several hours (five, to be honest) and several try-outs, but I did it. It wasn't going to last much, but it was better than anything. I placed it on Alex's gun, and we headed out to look for the other girls.

The trail was easy to find, unfortunately. I did see the soldier's footprints as well, so we moved quickly, but trying to keep to the shadows. We moved north, away from the main boulevard, but close to another major street, from what used to be the restaurants, bars, and a night club or two. We stopped quickly in a drug store, and took what we could: Some bandages, a bottle of antibiotics, and several bottles of Mebendazole (sold by the name of Vermox in Mexico), I also took a book that had the name of the active ingredients in medicines as well as most commercial names both here in the US (this would prove useful later on, not only when scavenging pharmacies and hospitals, but for anyone who's a chemist with extensive knowledge in pharmaceuticals will thank you). Then, we finally saw a group of dead soldiers; I did recognize some of them, the others must've been in the compound, I also found Kathy, with a rather nasty gunshot wound in her back. Who shot the soldiers, though? We were gonna find out soon.

Right where used to be a public hospital, there was several makeshift shacks, as well as concrete barricades and military cars. Not this shit again.

This time, however, were not welcomed at gun point, at least not as aggresively. These were not soldiers from the outside the country, forced to serve in a desertic area, these were home-grown men and women who knew the place and the people. However, I hid the Xiuhcoatl, as I know how soldiers are with their equipment. We found the rest of the girls, along with several more people, including a doctor that was friends with my dad. I talked with him for a while, and I told him what happened to my parents.

I stayed in the night there. For the first time I slept in a bed, with both my dogs with me. I did not had to worry where my next meal was gonna go, and for a moment, I felt like I was back in civilization.

Next morning, I spoke with several soldiers. The concensus was clear: They were gonna relocate, too many criminals and rogue soldiers were starting to get in the city, trying to carve a turf for their own, especially in the areas that used to be for rich people, while the grunts occupied the rest.

I felt that it wasn't a good idea, but I wasn't gonna go bitching about it. I asked the doctor for a few basic med supplies, and some water and food. I said goodbye to the girls, and was on my way back to my house, to bury my parents.

domingo, 22 de agosto de 2010


The old wound is aching again, so this time I'll be a little brief, if you excuse me.

The soldiers had us surrounded, I guess it's better to keep the stock and take the poor bastard's stuff, right? They were heavily armed, and well trained. It wasn't like the looters in my house, any move I did would result in all of us getting killed.

There were at least seven of them, most of them armed with the typical assault rifles of the mexican army (what we used to call H&K G3), and only whom he seemed the superior carried a fancy Xiuhcoatl assault rifle, battered up but still usable, from the looks of it. They all shouted that I raised my hands, and I complied.

The girls started to cry, or at least whimper a bit, as one of the soldiers approached. I quickly grabbed him and used him as a shield. Didn't matter much to the soldiers, as they still fired away, killing him. I fired a couple of shots with my beretta while the girls ran. Two soldiers went after them, but I killed one with a shot to the neck, and injured the other in his knee. I still had to deal with five pissed off soldiers, so I took cover quickly. Now instead of couting five, I saw two, not good. I looked back, only to find a soldier about to stab me in the neck with his knife. I shot him three times before he fell to the ground, his blood in my face. I ran to look for better cover, as bullets flew over my head. I took the other beretta and, with some cover, shot back. I would've busted his head wide open, but I only managed to make the soldier's helmet fly. Then, a soldier tried to sneak through me with his Xiuhcoatl, using his rifle butt to hit me. We strugled for a minuted, but I managed to take his rifle and shoot him a couple of times with the beretta.

Three down, four more to go.

I looked over again, and the other three soldiers were, from the looks of it, returning to campus. I could not let that fly.

The rifle felt smoothly as I fired it, but I had a problem with the recoil. I managed to hit two soldiers, one in the back, the other in the neck. The third one was hit, but not by me, but shrapnel. That one, I'd take down with my knife, at close distance.

Didn't took much, but there's a difference between killing a man with a gun, and killing him with a knife. Much more visceral, more primal. Not a very enoyable thing to do. I hid quickly, and tried to look for my friends. I saw the blood of the soldier I shot in the knee, only to find him in a house, hitting poor Alex. He overcame her.

I grabbed him from the back and slit his throat, looking at him as he tried to gasp for air. Alex thanked me and hugged me. I dropped the knife for a moment and held her tight. We looked for the others, but with no luck, they splitted. She told me we needed to find them, but I knew it was not gonna be an option, not while there's still looters around. But I told her I'd try, that I needed to go back to look for the rest of my things.

We came back, my dogs we slightly happy, wagging their tails and doing little whimpers, as if I was gone for years. Alex was drawn to them, and my dogs like to meet new people. The sniffed her around and welcomed her to the pack (which I was graceful enough to belong to, heheh), I told her we needed to rest a bit, but she was still worried.

That would be my first experience with settlements, and more importantly, answers to what happened the days I was in the panic room.

sábado, 21 de agosto de 2010


Damn rats, you have to keep them away from the cables, otherwise they'll chew them off.

Where was I? Oh, yes, the city. I wanted nothing to do with the blow I found with the looters, but I knew it might give me an edge for barter. I took the pickup, it was the first time I drove one. It was difficult to move between the wreckage of the cars, so after half an hour of driving pretty much to nowhere, I decided that we needed to walk. I traveled light, and my dogs kept their eyes and ears well on the spot. Dodged a few more looters, most of them carried pipes, knives, maybe a gun or two, but I was outnumbered. I have never seen my dogs more quiet as I did those days. Maybe the felt that 'nothing was right' ever since the Fires started. Maybe it was their survival instinct.

I needed to get away from the city as fast as I could, but I was, honestly, afraid. We had to move slowly, block by block, avoid the big streets and keep to allies and already looted houses. The point was to keep moving and keep hiding. Maybe even scavenge what I could find. A little bit of water here, a bit of medicines over there; also, the leg wound from the past firefight was aching, but it was nothing more than shrapnel, and I had to remove it during the night. All it took was a bit of wood to chew, some rubbing alcohol to clean the wound, hot tweezers, and lots of booze. It hurt like hell, and I drew a bit more blood, but I was able to make it. Bandaging the wound with part of my clothes (soaked with what was left of the alcohol), I made sure the wound was clean. I didn't slept well that night, not because of the wounds, but because of what I heard.

Screams. Women's screams. Apparently they were taking them... Somewhere. I did not know where back then. But I was scared shitless. I heard several men, and lots of machinery. Cars? No, it was heavier. Tanks? Could be.

Morning came, and it was time to keep moving. Keep pushing forward. I ventured a bit in the less wrecked streets, and thankfully, there was no one. I set up shop in an abandoned bus and made breakfast there. At that point, I've never thought Spam would taste so good, but it did. One can less, and I knew me and my dogs might be able to survive a day or two on the food and water we had, but I had no idea what I'd do after that. Keep scavenging, I guess. Or maybe start hunting.

This was gonna be a month of firsts, I thought.

After an hour or two, I got closer to my college campus. I remembered there were oranges there. Sweet ones and plenty of them. I hoped that no one figured that out. But as I got closer, I could see soldiers, holed up in the campus buildings. I kept hiding, and looking... And there they were.

A few friends of mine, some of them I thought they were hot. Captured, and tied together with rope. There was a line of men, about four of them, standing in line looking at them. They'd pick one and the soldiers would untie them, and they'd go inside to one of the buildings.

... Their look on the girl's faces... It is a look that will always haunt me. It boiled my blood just looking at it.

I looked for a safe place to keep my dogs hidden. I tied them down, and told them I'd come back. They just wiggled their little tails and sniffed my face. Bless the dogs. Even at the bleakest of days, you can always count on their loyalty and love. I left the books and part of the food, and most of the water. I only took with me two berettas, an AK-47, a bit of food and the cocaine.

The guns were loaded.

As I moved closer, the soldiers pointed their guns at me, screaming. I just showed them the blow and told them I wanted to do business. They complied, and one got close to me.

They told me, since their captain was dead, they pretty much survived on what they could: Prostitution of any girl unlucky enough to be on their way, or slavery. I pointed at the girls: Fionna, Alex, Nadia, and Kathy. He said that the cocain could only get me two. We bartered for a bit, and with an extra of the food, and the AK, I took the four. Their look still haunts my dreams, but when they saw me, I think something in them grew back, like if they were trapped in darkness for a time, and now they finally saw the light of day after a while.

However, the soldiers did not needed to know I knew them. I yelled at them, ordered them to move. The look on my friend's faces was of confusion and horror, some even really thought this was true and pulled the noose of the ropes I was holding, as if they thought the soldiers treated them any better. I kept the act, but when we were at a safe distance, I told them what was going on. Kathy, who was more scared, didn't believe me; the others didn't seem to care, as if they were now used to this 'life'. Only Alex, her brown eyes staring at mine, asked me to how did I survived. I assured them all I was on their side, but I did not said anything of what happened on the house, or the panic room. I removed the ropes from them, and they all cried. Kathy hugged me and thanked me. It's funny, months before most of them didn't either cared much about me, but now... Now I needed to know how I was gonna feed five people and two dogs. And no way I was kill the dogs.

That was going on when the soldiers came, and tried to ambush me.

I need to take care of a few things. I'll leave this for later.

viernes, 20 de agosto de 2010

Getting out

It seems that every time I connect this computer to the generator, it glitches and dies off. Poor thing, most of the pieces I cobbled up together were slightly damaged from the Fires.

So, how did my scrawny ass survived the pillaging of the first days? The panic room, along with the supplies, was more than enough for me and my two dogs to survive a little more than two weeks. When food and water ran scarce, and the bathroom was pretty much smelling, we emerged. The house has torn to pieces, and pretty much everything was ransacked over and over: Food, water, knives, any electronics, clothes, you name it.

I had the gun with me, and it felt heavy. I've only used a gun once or twice during Military service, but that was, maybe a few years back. I had to teach myself how to use a gun, and how to defend myself. I knew a bit of hand to hand combat, but honestly, I didn't felt any safer knowing that. My dogs were a bit nervous, and howling. We ran back to the shelter, but before I closed the lid, I heard a car parking infront of a car, and several people, possibly armed.

The panic room (more like a shelter, if you ask me) was a simple thing: It was made below the backyard, the lid entrance covered by a patch of grass (the one you used to see rolled up), wich you had to climb down, and the room was perhaps not bigger than my old room (which was 16x19 feet), save it had a bathroom, a diesel engine, lots of cans of food and bottled water (now eaten and drank), as well as a few amenities that kept me sane.

Where was I? Oh, yes, the men. I closed the lid (and obviously placed the patch above it before) and loaded the gun. My dogs weren't barking, but their ears and eyes well placed on the lid.

There were sounds of more ransacking, muffled voices, very angry, trying to look for anything. I heard steps above me, and one of my dogs (the female) lifted her front paw. I just held the gun with both hands, eyes covered in tears and hoping that they would not find me. The lid opened.

I swear I still don't remember what happened afterwards. I do remember shooting, I remember a man falling, I remember picking his rifle quickly, an AK 47 I think. I remember getting out, and gunshots. I screamed, I think. My dogs were barking.

After that, I remember all the blood. Mine, the five guys, and my house covered in bullets. I cried for a few minutes, and saw my parents' corpses, rotting away. I could not do anything else. I brought my dogs from the shelter, one by one, and took what these men had: Ammo, their guns (not just the AKs, but also an AR-15, a couple of berettas (one of them painted in gold), and several bottles of water, canned goods and what I think it was cocaine, all that stuff in their trunk of the pick up.

I took what I could find from the house: A set of very heavy medicine books (my dad was a doctor), a blanket, and a few set of wires and cables.

The sight of the street was horrifying: There were cars crashed everywhere, I saw smoke coming from several buildings in the horizon. The houses were torned up, mostly by other cars, and several doors were smashed on the street. I think I heard a helicopter in the distance, but I didn't want to venture on that.

I needed to move out, seek food and water. I needed to make a choise.

I'll leave this for the moment. Heard some noises outside.

jueves, 19 de agosto de 2010


Finally, I was able to rig this up. It might take a while, possibly even months, maybe years at worst, but I was able to rig up the generator. Befriending the techies was well worth it.

My name is Diego, and I'm writing this from what it used to be the Mayor's home in Hermosillo, a city of what it used to be the country I knew as a kid as Mexico. The year? Twenty, possibly even thirty years after the Fires. The moment the sun decided to give Earth a gigantic solar storm, even more powerful than most scientists predicted.

I don't know about the rest of the world, but it seems that pretty much the North American countries (Mexico, Canada, and the US) have been hit hard. Days after the Fires, I remember the riots started. The pillaging, the raping, the raiding, my parents died when a car crashed in our house. We just moved, since the previous owner died of age. I hid in the backyard along with my dogs, two beagles. I noticed that there was something below the yard, a secret room, a panic room of sorts. I got in, and the looters took what they wanted and left.

From what I remember, pretty much every electronic device was fried, except those that were well-protected. This means most government equipment, and private equipment as well (private as in corporate and very rich people). There was little noise from outside, and the place was well-stocked: Canned goods that weren't expired, bottled water, a flashlight and plenty of batteries, even a gun: A small beretta, with plenty of ammo.

I didn't realized it then, but I realize it now: We're never going back to the way things were.

For now, this is it. This computer is glitching again, might need to use a little elbow grease to fix it again.