The End of All Things

Captain’s Log, Stardate 2008-0819

We’re boarded up now, safe inside. The sky outside is dark, but a few clouds can be seen scattered about, distant scouts leading the way of the monstrous storm that is rapidly approaching. Becky and Paul are hiding in the bathtub as I write, their cheeks streaked with the liquid fear of impending devastation. I just got back from Walmart. It was hell on Earth. The shelves were stripped down to nothing, no bread, no Cup-O-Noodles, no Bumble Bee tuna. I saw a small child reach for the last pack of D batteries and a 300 pound woman tore his arm off at the shoulder and ate it. As the beaten down blue-vest wearing workers hastily pulled pallets from the back room, they were attacked like unfortunate gazelles wandering into a pool of ravenous piranha. I loaded the peanut butter and beef jerky into my cart, anything to get us through the days ahead, all the while dodging the rioters as they tore down displays of bottled water and Wheat Thins, rolling on the floor in fits of rage, overtaken by their quest for survival.

The hurricane is coming, and there’s no way out.

The schools are shut down, the streets are empty. The old man across the street is building a large boat out of hickory bark. Chester is buckled up tightly on the porch with a cat size life preserver. Families are gathered around their television sets as panicked weather men speak of our comrades to the south, already overtaken by Fay. When she gets here, she’ll be a Category I Hurricane. In 2004, the power in Jacksonville was out for nine days. This could very well be my last transmission.

Wait... I hear the thunder. It’s here.