Photo illustration by Joel McCarthy.
By Dean R. Bell, Survivalist
December 20, 2012
Day 1. Today is the day I make my descent below ground. Everything is going according to plan. My life savings have been converted to gold. I have spent the last five years painstakingly collecting what I feel to be the best of what humankind culture has to offer: Anna Karenina, The Great Gatsby, The Holy Bible, and War and Peace to name a few novels. Not to mention my extensive collection of Beatles and Queen records. That ought to keep me busy while the rest of humanity succumbs to our new alien overlords, to the scourge of intergalactic turmoil that has been predicted by Mayan cultures for centuries. All the citizens of the world, save for a prudent few survivalists, will be writhing in pain while I bide my time in my cozy and secure shelter below the ground, deep in the forest, in an undisclosed location.
I just wish my disbelieving wife hadn’t left me, and had allowed me to keep our two sons underground with me. She will come to regret her decision.
Day 5. I’m keeping this journal so that once the Earth is saved from the otherworldly demons that will take over us with mind control, there will be at least one account from a brave man who survived. The aliens have landed. They’ve already taken control. If I play my cards right, if I can just make communication with the other survivalist groups (I KNOW THEY’RE OUT THERE), perhaps we can all have a hand in saving our beautiful planet. I will go down in history as a hero.
Day 15. My homemade plumbing system stopped working a week ago: the aliens are to blame for that one. My steel shelves, once filled with tinned meat and vegetables, hold only enough to last me perhaps another two weeks. I guess I underestimated my tendency to eat out of boredom. In one week’s time, I will begin my first expedition. Based on plans I bought for an economical $3,000, I’ve constructed the perfect barrier for the aliens’ mind-control rays. I’ll be safe in my metal suit. I only hope the other humans do not turn on me.
Day 22. My heart is racing. I’m terrified. The horrors I witnessed outside—oh, the horrors!
I’ll start from the beginning, with my ascent into the outside world. I was wearing my metal suit when I emerged from my safe cocoon, my fortress of protection. I was dirty from my climb through the soft earth that covered the entrance to my underground home, that very same home I write from now, the home I will never leave again.
I walked through the forest, making my way to the highway. My CB radio garnered only static: it seems all the humans have been compromised. After walking for about 15 minutes I saw my first glimpse of people! Oh how I had missed people, but these were not normal people. No, they were clad head to toe in dark robes, the obvious trappings of our new alien overlords. They threw strange, coloured orbs at one another, shouting incantations. This was clearly an alien-devised battle game, and the coloured orbs, while designed to look like simple bean bags, were clearly a form of advanced alien weapons.
All of a sudden, the humans noticed me. They must have been aware of the purpose of my mind-control-shield suit, because they all came toward me at once. My helmet blocked their voices from my ears but I can only assume that their intent was to capture me. I ran back to safety as fast as I could. I had seen enough. This is where I will die. Hopefully someday someone will find this journal and know that at least one person made an attempt to resist the alien invasion. Oh, if only more people had listened to me!
With files from Sophie Isbister.
