Monte Vista Village: The Survivor Diaries, #1

By Lynn Lamb

Imagine: The apocalypse—would you survive?

I’m Laura, and I survived global nuclear war. When I walked out into the devastated landscape, I didn’t find zombies, witches or vampires—what I found was infinitely worse; it was real.

Is this our reckoning?

Our tormentor is no longer the enemy; it is what’s left of the desperate earth. My neighbors are starving and sick from the biochemicals in the air. Our food, water, and meds are running low. Our only hope is to come together to stay alive.

Who will lead us to salvation?

Certainly not me! Why would it be me?

The Army Colonel is driving me nuts. Something is just not right there. He should be the leader of the Village, not me.

Can my story have a happily ever after? Can it have any kind of ever after?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lynn Lamb
• Release date: Dec 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519903372

Book preview

Dust Jacket Summary

Imagine: The apocalypse—would you survive?

I’m Laura, and I survived global nuclear war. When I walked out into the devastated landscape, I didn’t find zombies, witches or vampires—what I found was infinitely worse; it was real.

Is this our reckoning?

Our tormentor is no longer the enemy; it is what’s left of the desperate earth. My neighbors are starving and sick from the biochemicals in the air. Our food, water, and meds are running low. Our only hope is to come together to stay alive.

Who will lead us to salvation?

Certainly not me! Why would it be me?

The Army Colonel is driving me nuts. Something is just not right there. He should be the leader of the Village, not me.

Can my story have a happily ever after? Can it have any kind of ever after?

This book is lovingly dedicated to my family, the best bunch of characters I know.

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"Seven Deadly Sins

Wealth without work

Pleasure without conscience

Science without humanity

Knowledge without character

Politics without principle

Commerce without morality

Worship without sacrifice"

― Mahatma Gandhi

It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.

- Albert Einstein.

"When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.

–Jimi Hendrix

Table of Contents

Dust Jacket Summary

Character Bios Link

Part I: Toxic Soup

Part II: Surviving the Outside

Part III: In Our Defense Against Man and Nature

Final Notes

Dear Reader

Sneak Peek, The Beginning at the End of the World

Acknowledgement

Character Bios Link

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Wonder what your favorite characters look like? Sneak a peek!

Part I: Toxic Soup

A Letter to Brianna and Amanda Taped to Our Front Door

Dear Bri and Ammie,

I am completely despondent that our call a few hours ago got cut off. What if it was the last time I ever hear your voices? I didn’t even get to tell you how much you both mean to me and that I have loved you both like my own daughters ever since the moment you were born onto this earth.

I have been trying to get a hold of you again since we got disconnected, but I keep getting either the busy signal or a message that the lines are experiencing a higher than usual caller volume and to please try my call again later. But here is the thing—I don’t know if there is going to be a later.

If you are actually reading this, it means you made it through the bombs, missiles, and chemicals—have traveled 690 miles—all the way to Monterey. I know that if it’s possible, you two will find a way here to read this letter. I am glad we got to at least discuss you making your way here before the lines went dead. Gosh, right now that word—dead—is my greatest fear, not just for our family, but for the planet. Are we all as good as dead? How did it come to this?

My generation was supposed to be leaving everything better than the last. We ended the Cold War, but after 9/11 we jumped too quickly into two more decade long wars out of fear and anger. And now, we have this.

What started this? We have been greedy and have had no idea how to live within our means. When the economy tanked, we were supposed to soldier-through. But we couldn’t live without the big screens, keyboards, and monitors that took the place of plain human interactions. We were more eager to upload a photo of our dinner from our iPhones than to invite each other over for a real meal, sans electronics.

Right now, I would give everything I own for just five minutes with the two of you. Now that we are on the eve of probable human extinction, I don’t regret not being able to afford the latest gadget. No, I regret not being able to give you one last hug—one more kiss on the forehead.

I am not really sure why I am writing this. Maybe there is a chance that you can make it up here. But what will you find?

How did it get this far? Humans are supposed to have an instinct for survival, at almost any cost. Between China not forgiving us our debts, and the Middle East terrorists and their allies, maybe it was inevitable. Funny—it doesn’t even really matter anymore.

Your grandmother, uncle, and I have been scrambling since New York and D.C. fell to get things together in case, by a complete miracle, we survive what is coming. My rational mind knows that this is highly unlikely, but it is giving us something to do besides panic. Don’t get me wrong, we have panicked. In fact, we have gone through all the stages of grief, several times, and now we are getting things done. We move through the motions as if we are in some kind of horrible dream, mere zombies. Maybe some of the things we have gathered and accomplished will fall into your hands. That is probably the most I can hope for now.

Our cable went out a couple of days ago, but we don’t need it. We have the radio, and our imaginations are good enough to build a picture of what is taking place.

We have no more government, can you believe that? I can’t. What is to stop anyone from breaking the laws, taking what they want, murdering for what they can’t just grab? In fact, that is already happening, isn’t it? The radio said that the rioting is out of control in just about every major city left standing. Can anyone explain why exactly they need a big screen TV when there is no signal? And we know that sometime soon there will be no electricity, either.

Am I rambling? Maybe, but I am afraid that the minute I stop writing this letter it means that I will never get to see you again, and I am just not ready for that. So, I guess it’s not hurting anything to spill out all of my thoughts right now.

Here’s a thought. My memories of the events of 9/11 are seared into my brain. And not just the images of the Twin Towers being hit by huge passenger planes turned into make shift-missiles, either. One of my clearest memories of the day is of my strong but small nieces making their way from the bus on their own. You were in the first and third grades, and the lady who ran your day care was supposed to pick you up like she did every day when you got off the bus. But that day, the one when fear and sadness gripped everyone in the Country, she failed to appear at your stop. Later we found out that on that day her husband left her and she fell apart. Instead of following through with her obligation to keep her young charges safe, she simply didn’t bother to go and get you; she was too wrapped up in her own grief. Amanda—despite being so little—you grabbed your sister by the arm and led her home. There, you climbed in the window, and made sure that everything was locked up before you made yourselves a snack and started your homework. After that day, I knew that the two of you would always stick together and make it through, come what may.

Today, I am hoping, praying—even though that’s not something I usually do—that you will take each other by the hand and make your way up here, with your dad in tow. If anyone can, it’s my two capable, intelligent, and courageous nieces. You are both warriors.

As you mentioned in our brief phone conversation, Bri was called to duty today by the National Guard, and she will uphold her solemn oath, but I am wondering if this is too big for even the US Army to hold together. Maybe Bri will eventually find her sister and father, and led you all here to Monterey. Am I making up happily-ever-after stories to get myself through this? Probably!

I just read this letter over, several times, to see if I have said everything I need to say to you both, and I am sobbing. I am inconsolable, and that has brought your uncle to tears. So I now say to myself, Stop it, Laura. If Bri and Ammie are that strong, you must be at least as strong yourself ... for your family.

One last thing ... if you have found this letter, it means that you are ten times the amazing young women I have always believed you to be. Go out and live, Bri and Ammie. Find strength and happiness in knowing that your family loved you until our last breaths.

It has been a true honor to be your aunt. I love you more than words will ever say.

Sincerely and eternally,

Your Aunt Laura

July 13

How crazy is it to be starting a diary on the day that you are almost certain will be your last? I haven’t written in a diary since I was a child, when I started every entry with Dear Diary, as if the totally inanimate Norman Rockwell themed diary containing blank pages (with a little gold lock and key) could actually hear me, and was a Dear friend. But that was the way I believed you were supposed to write in a diary. I guess getting such a late start on writing my thoughts is how I roll, how I have always rolled; a day late, and a dollar short. But writing to the girls was cathartic, as much as it could be, considering the circumstances. So, I will just keep my pen moving until I feel a little better or until I see that white flash of light we expect at any second. Here goes!

Dear Diary,

I was supposed to be so much more in life than I am now. At least, that’s what my upbringing would suggest. I went to a top private girl’s school and hold a college degree in Cinematic Arts and Technology. Why I never found my professional footing, I will never know. I have had some success in life. I was in corporate video when I met my husband. I was older than I expected I would be by the time I finally settled down. Did I waste what was supposed to be the first half of my life? When I finally did go off and start my career, I did well. But my work wasn’t going to change the world like I had always thought it would. I was supposed to make documentaries that won awards and inspired people to think and behave in ways that would change things. That was always the dream. Maybe, if I had been more motivated ...

Not that I think this whole thing is my fault. No, I think everyone who always thought they would start to make a difference TOMORROW is at fault for this. We own it, folks. All of us who thought that being politically correct on social media was all we needed to do. Just clicking on computer links that said that our government needed to come together, to stop the partisan bickering, was never enough to change one damn thing. It only pacified us into believing we were helping. How stupid I was to believe that was all I needed to do to make the world safer—how stupid we all were.

It has taken me until this last moment to understand that it’s not your beliefs that make you a good person, it’s how you acted on them that does. I never acted.

The only good thing I ever did on social media was to say an emotional good-bye to all of the 625 friends I had. Funny thing, I didn’t even know most of those people in person. They were only photos of happy people, going about their lives, uploading photos of their dinners and family vacations. But I never really knew them. And now, I never will.

The internet went down completely yesterday, although it had been crashing down around us, bit by bit, since it happened—the East Coast Armageddon I mean. My husband, Makram Balous, he goes by Mark, told me to stop worrying so much. He always thinks I worry too much.

Just stop, then, he said, exhausted at my constant afflicted chatter about the subject.

How long are we supposed to believe that this is going to be contained on the East Coast? I replied, fumed angrily. Things were starting to get real up in here. Mark always hated drama, even the real kind, but I just couldn’t pretend anymore.

"We are in real trouble, and we need to start really preparing on the off-chance we do make it. And I don’t mean just buying emergency goods," I said vehemently.

For the last year, we have been staying in my mother’s large home due to our lack of funds and terrible luck during the employment crisis. The strain of our money problems, coupled with the gradual decline in the relationship between my husband and mother, were bringing us to a boiling point. In a way, our marriage mirrored the government’s breakdown. The longer we had no money, the harder it was to hold our relationship together. We had periods of our own shut downs, so to speak. And the more behind in our bills we got—with the debt piling up—we too were about to blow up, just not as literally as it has been happening in America.

After the first hits on the East Coast, we still had television just, and we saw the devastation play out there in the news. The images of the mushroom shaped clouds were indisputable. We have endured a nuclear attack. The President, who has been taken to an undisclosed location, as one would suspect would happen in an event such as this, delivered what he has called his last public speech, indefinitely. He went on to say that we need to rely on our local governments, and that we need to be prepared for the inevitability of further attacks throughout the entire country, but our local government has said very little. They alluded to the possibility of martial law but have given no instructions as to what we need to do. I think we are on our own.

Since the President’s address, we have seen DC, Pennsylvania, and New York succumb to what the Leader of the Free World has called the inevitable. We know that the Midwest, as far west as Ohio, has also been under attack. Rumor has it that they have endured unprecedented biochemical warfare. We have only been told that the perpetrators of these crimes against humanity are an alliance of U.S. enemies. I wonder if it matters anymore who fired the first shot.

Logic dictates that the entire country will soon be hit. The government has been quiet about what we are doing in return; only that we have all the troops possible deployed on foreign land at this time. Who is left to protect us on our own soil now?

I have to find a way to keep it together until we either come to the point of survival of the fittest, or die. I am not sure which I would prefer.

It’s now almost 1:00 in the morning, and I am so tired. I feel like if I go to sleep, I will miss the last moments of my time here on earth. Perhaps that’s for the best.

Good night, Dear Diary ... may we meet again tomorrow.

July 14

When I woke up today, there was no electricity. We knew that if we made it much longer, it would be gone soon.

Annie, my mother, started to fuss about the food in the refrigerator, which made pragmatist Mark livid, but I actually agreed with her. We needed to start to deal with our reality, day-by-day and minute-by-minute. So often, I wish I can climb into his brain and make sense of what he was thinking.

Honey, I said. We have to do something with the food. We can’t afford to waste even a mouthful.

Fine, let’s do it. Bring me all meat items, and I will fire up the grill. Maybe I can dry it into jerky somehow.

I took a deep, grateful breath. He was actually getting onboard. At least, I hoped so. Man, you two, he said under his breath. First it’s ‘buy up everything in the store,’ and now it’s, ‘let’s become Doomsday Preppers, like on television.’ Maybe you will get your own reality show.

I blew off the comment because he was actually starting to help.

By the way, I don’t want to make my husband out as some kind of jerk. Most of the time he is just the opposite, actually. He just doesn’t do that well at planning in general, especially not for the end of the world. I have always been the unofficial prepper in the family. With my emergency box of band aids and ointment, seed vault, and hand cranked NOAA Radio and charger-in-one, I am the self-appointed disaster readiness professional in our household. If I had only known it would come to this, I would have been way better at my job. Something tells me that we are not even close to being prepared for what’s to come.

Mark has actually been helpful getting some things ready—despite his superstitions surrounding planning. Somehow, he believes that me being prepared is the reason we might be in the path of global destruction. I don’t see how that could be true.

I needed to get out of the house while my husband focused on his grilling. I hadn’t really been going out very much in the last couple of days. I just expected, and wanted, to die in my own home with my family, if it was going to happen any time soon. I didn’t want to be caught at the grocery store when it went down. That’s too unceremonious of a way to go. But at the moment, I needed to get out and walk for a while.

For the last few days, I have been thinking about getting to know our neighbors. It’s sad that Annie, my mother, (yes, my brother Jake and I call my mother by her first name) had lived here, in the same house, for nearly three decades and barely knew any of the neighbors. My need to meet them wasn’t exactly altruistic. It seemed the best course of action to begin to compile a list of information about those people closest to us—what they did for a living, how old they were, and how willing they seemed to come together as a community—if it came to that. We would need to start with a list of assets, so to speak. Did anyone own generators? Have they begun stockpiling food and water? Whatever they were willing to disclose, I wanted to know.

Reaching for my tablet, it dawned on me that it wouldn’t be helpful in the long run to use anything that required electricity. Instead, I found a clipboard, some paper and a pen, and set off about my task, not knowing what to expect.

In our defense, none of our neighbors ever seemed to talk to each other, either. We had a bit of an ongoing feud with the people to the right of us. They left the dogs out, howling until the wee hours of the night, and we were known to yell at the little yappers over the fence when it got to be too much. You know, just typical neighbor stuff. The idealistic, close-knit neighborhood with block parties and long chats in the front yard, we were not. We never had any sense of community whatsoever. Hopefully, my walk from house-to-house today will have an impact.

With Hershey on his leash, our beautiful chocolate Labrador Retriever and I set off towards the house next door. Sadly, we had never spoken more than a hello to those people. If I recall correctly, they were a couple with a quiet little dog. There was never much activity at their house, and we assumed that they owned other homes where they must spend most of their time.

A long set of stairs led to the front door. Many of the homes in the neighborhood stood on stilts and were partially built into the sturdy bedrock hillside. At one time, all of the homes had beautiful views of the bay until the trees in the surrounding forests grew high, engulfing them in a beautiful green hug of protection—or at least that was what I was hoping.

I took a deep breath, and actually felt that old shyness from my childhood well up as I knocked on the first door. Nothing. I tried the bell, forgetting that we had no electricity. Finally, I knocked one more time, not sure if they were afraid to come to the door with all that has been going on, or they were just not home.

Next house—same problem. It was looking like I would be encountering this quite a lot.

Three houses more and down the long wooden ramp, someone was finally willing to open the door. I actually knew these neighbors. Well, at least we had had conversations on the street while walking Hershey.  I had almost forgotten their last names because we always just called them The Architects. The Richmond’s are actually both architects. Jill opened the door wide and gave me a hug so hard I could barely breathe.

Thank God you came, Jill exclaimed. I was confused. Had she been waiting for me?

Hi, Jill, I just barely squeezed out under her tight embrace. Hershey jumped up, excited for a group hug.

Let her go, exclaimed Joseph, as he rolled to the door in his wheelchair. Come in, come in.

Hershey, down boy, I commanded.

Jill must be in her early sixties. She is of sturdy build, with long grey hair and glasses. Joseph is about the same age, and if I recall, he has been in the wheelchair for around ten years. I am not sure what put him there, but I would never come out and ask. I was raised with manners. Truth is, it didn’t really matter.

I had never been inside their house before. There was a giant, floor-to-ceiling, aptly named bay window, overlooking the silhouette of the entire bay from Monterey to Santa Cruz. The trees had yet to obscure their view. I would be jealous if I hadn’t believed that none of us would be around to enjoy it soon enough. In fact, this house would probably come crashing down when the bombs hit, alongside ours.

Jill had been inside our house several times asking if she could look in our yard for her lost cat. Every day for a month she would put up flyers and search the neighborhood for her beloved sixteen year old cat. She was a very driven woman. Sadly, she never did find Bunny, the cat.

I was thinking about coming to see you and your mother. How are you guys doing? We are a mess. I can’t reach my daughter in North Carolina. She must be so scared. It was like she had been keeping in all of