The End of the World Diary Day 5, 4th December


Missed a couple of days there; not cos nothing happened but the morning after I last wrote I went into Franks house. I couldn't write about what I saw straight away.

The smell was still there, more a background now than overwhelming. The internal door was ajar and the mosquito screen had been ripped open, I guessed by the dogs.

Franks wife was in their bed, Frank: or what was left of him was in a couple of places on the floor. I thought I should do something with the remains; bury them or something? I tried to gather up franks bits but flesh and bone just fell apart. It probably sounds a bit wussy but I had to run outside and throw up. I couldn't eat for the rest of the day, or go back inside.

The following morning I felt a bit better: after rationialising that if I was to kill game to feed the dogs I'd see a lot of blood and gore, and when you think about it what's the difference between us and a hunk of pig meat? Yea I know a lot, but put aside the human and meat is meat: obviously at least as far as the dogs were concerned. The thought crossed my mind; did that include me too? When my time comes will Kit and the others see me as just another feed, like they did their old masters?
I went back in the garage and got into the truck: I had seen the keys the previous day; it stared first time. I reversed it out and parked it in the sun where the solar panels were bathed in light. The diesel fuel was pretty much full. I spent a couple of hours checking it over and finding out what was what. It would be perfect when the time came for me to scavenge further away.

I spent the rest of the day taking all the food that would last out of Frank's pantry. Being as I had got the truck out I didn't use the wheelbarrow; instead I packed everything on it so I could drive it all over at once. I also found the gun safe, but not the key. I'm guessing that's with him, and I don't fancy looking for it.

Either the stench wasn't so bad or I'm getting used to it, but cleaning out the rest of Frank's pantry yesterday wasn't so unpleasant, even straight before breakfast. The dogs woke me at dawn; I've never been up so early as I'm getting up now. I'm a night person, but now I'm starting to get to sleep around eight or nine: or as soon as the solar runs out, and wake with the light. I took the last of a butchered kangaroo out of the Freezer in Franks garage, it was beginning to go off now though you wouldn't have thought that watching the dogs tear into it. I'm totally at home with them now, and they seem to have accepted me as their pack leader.

The dry dog food has almost gone; I'm not sure what to do after that. I should let them find their own, but like I said I ain't a hunter, but the future seemed that or starve.

I didn't feel like doing much after breakfast and watched a movie from one of Franks hard drives. It occurred to me that I'm talking a lot. I hadn't realized it but for a while I had spent entire days without opening my mouth, except to eat. Now I spent a lot of time chatting with the dogs, especially Kit. I don't know if anybody ever studied it but dogs fill the companionship role far beyond the sit and roll over stuff. I got to thinking that Kit doesn't just react but he understands.

Around lunch I went back to Franks. It was still hot and sunny and hoping the solar cells would have topped up the house batteries, I plugged in Franks grinder to the house electricity. Flicking the on off it spun up to speed.

The gun cabinet was about three-mill steel, and cut reasonably easy; problem was that the discs didn't last too long and I ran out before I could cut the second hinge off. I used to crowbar to open the door enough to see inside: to my relief the guns were there. I gave up and went home to watch a movie.

I realized something else about the dogs; they had got me to eat. Over the days when I found I was alone I had become depressed. I really didn't have the enthusiasm to do much at all; I don't know what I was feeling: self-pity, hopelessness, but even eating was too much of a chore and I got to the stage of opening up and eating straight out of a can of cold beans.

Now I felt obliged to feed the dogs and making something for myself just seemed part of getting them fed.

Late in the afternoon I summoned up the enthusiasm to go back and have another look at the gun cabinet. I had cut around one hinge and most of the second but even with the bar it was still too tough to bend open: I really needed the keys.

It was a no brainer that I just open the cabinet but I had put the idea out of my mind. The keys would or should be in the bedroom, but so was frank and his wife. I'm not squeamish: I don't much like slasher movies, and I don't faint at the sight of blood, but gore is another thing.

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The End of the World Diary Entry 4 soon