December 2007
The Journal of Clark Adama
To Clint Narramore
You win. You always do.
November 30, (year deleted)
I never expected any of this. Who would have thought that I would be one of the last survivors of the human race? Only days ago I sat with my family around Grandma’s dining room table and enjoyed a bountiful feast, and now they are all dead. Everyone is dead. All that is left of the city I grew up in is a smoldering mound of ashes. It doesn’t seem real. It seems like a bad dream that I can wake up from any moment now, but I know that it isn’t. I’ve been waiting to wake up for days. I don’t think I ever will.
Why did I survive? I went to get milk. That’s all. Milk. Well, that’s not completely true. If I had just wanted to get milk, I could have gone around the corner to Mr. Hooper’s little store. But I needed a break from them all. I love my family… Excuse me, loved. They were very kind and warm and involved. Too involved. That’s why I decided to drive twenty miles outside of the city to get milk before I returned. It isn’t that I don’t love them, it’s just…
I did it again. Loved. They’re gone. They’re all dead. I think. I’m pretty sure. I didn’t see them myself, of course. A bomb like that is bound to give off more radiation than I could survive, but I saw the devastation from the outskirts, and no one could have survived it. All I can see for miles is rubble, and their house was even further towards the epicenter than I can see. My mother, my father, my grandma, my aunts, my uncle, my cousins, my girlfriend, hell, even my dog… They’re all dead. It’s a concept I just can’t wrap my head around. I keep expecting to see them. I wake up from a few minutes of snatched sleep and turn to hold Delilah to me, and she isn’t there. No one is. Just smoke, and ashes, and bodies.
I wish I had died with them. There’s nothing left in this world. I’ve seen a handful of people, mostly from a distance, raiding stores, fighting over a scrap of bread. It’s the saddest sight I’ve ever seen. I never approach anyone. I figure I’m meant to be alone. I’m probably meant to be dead, but leave it to me to not even be able to do that right. Delilah is going to give me so much crap when… Oh.
I don’t know what to do, or where to go. I’ve been hiding out, sleeping, circling the city, looking for any sign that part of it could have survived, but I didn’t have much hope to begin with, and what I’ve found isn’t encouraging. I did find this notebook, though, and a few pens. I was never much of a writer, but I feel like I should start, you know? Chronicle humanity’s last breaths for some future alien race to find, or whatever. Near as I can tell, we got hit hard by nukes, and if someone bombed
December 8, (year deleted)
Geese! It was bracking geese that attacked us! I wasn’t sure, at first. I saw some small shapes skulking around, thought they were kids with rags or something. Nope. It’s some damn birds with assault rifles. How in the hell did geese get assault rifles? I know in this country we have the right to bear arms, but this is just ridiculous! I found a couple of them the other night, camping near my latest hiding spot. I snuck up, thinking I shouldn’t let kids wander alone in this, but I stopped when I heard them talking. They speak, English by the way, the bastards. That’s our language. Turns out the birds bombed our cities. Now I know this must be a dream, I just don’t know why I haven’t woken up. I should have bashed in their skulls, but I ran. I couldn’t face them.
This past week wasn’t any easier than the one before it. I haven’t felt like writing much. I know I should. I said I would. But when you spend all day looking for something to eat, and avoiding humans and geese, the last thing you feel like doing at night is writing. A journal seemed like a good idea at the time. I just don’t have anything else to write about. I already told you that we were bombed, and from the way those soldier birds were talking, I think they bombed the whole world.
The humans are being rounded up. The few of us that are left, anyway. I haven’t been captured, but I don’t think I can stay around the city any longer. I set off into the woods today, trying to put as much distance between me and those nightmarish scenes as I can. Don’t know how far I’ll make it, but anything is better than sitting around and waiting to get caught by evil geese. Who knows what they do to the people that they catch? I don’t want to find out!
December 28, (year deleted)
I’ve been captured.
January 3, (year deleted)
I can’t believe the damn birds caught me. I thought if I got far enough away from
We’ve been in a holding pen now for a couple of days. I guess they bring people here to wait until they know where to ship us. I’m going to be a slave. I saw that old miniseries a few years ago, with that slave that was taken from
Waiting is boring. I should be glad to be alive, or worried about what’s going to happen to me, but four days of sitting in this pen, surrounded by other humans, not allowed to bathe, barely fed, I’m bored. There’s nothing to do. No one wants to talk, and my mouth is too dry to keep up a conversation, anyway. I get the impression we’re going to be waiting a long time. I mean, they just bombed us a little over a month ago. I doubt they have any places for us to work yet. I’m actually feeling a little relaxed right now, not like usual.
The screams do keep me up at night. Some of the goose soldiers come in the dark and take a companion. Usually it’s a child. I guess, with the geese being smaller than us, it’s easier for them to… I don’t want to think about what they do to those poor kids. I hear the cries, and I lay there in terror, looking up at the sky. Maybe I should just end it. At least I’d be with my family again.
January 21, (year deleted)
I was rescued yesterday. Not all of the prisoners were, unfortunately, but I was. It was brilliant. I heard gunfire and saw camouflage clad humans run out from the trees, as if appearing from thin air. They took out the nearest guards like they were nothing. Just like a movie. I used to watch a lot of movies. One soldier had a big tool that cut right through the gate, and a bunch of us near the exit took off running. It wasn’t until later, when I had stopped fleeing, and the soldiers had retreated with us, that I found out they were run off and had to leave some of the prisoners behind. The geese fought back. I should have known. This was a squad of maybe fourteen men fighting against dozens of geese. We were bound to lose.
The lead soldier is a man by the name of Tate Maguire. Tate is a retired general from the United States Marines, so he knows his stuff. He told me that Vice President Kennedy survived, and that he is organizing a resistance army. Tate and these other guys were on their way to a meeting point when they saw us. He said that we’re not going back for the rest of the prisoners. We have to meet up with the army on time. I understand. We’d probably all be killed if we go back. They only have about ten guns in the squad total, and are almost out of ammo. But there are still kids back there, and in my last entry I told you what they were doing to the kids. Sort of.
I admit it. I’m ashamed to be surviving, again, when others didn’t. I know the other prisoners aren’t dead, but they might as well be. That would be a better fate than what they’re facing. And the screw up of Baton Rogue lives on. I have no idea why. It’s not like I can do anything to make a difference. I’ve never been good at anything. But for some reason, Tate has taken a liking to me. He says that he wants me in his division when we join the army. I told him I’ll think about it. I’m flattered, but I certainly don’t want to get Tate killed. It seems like everyone around me is destined for something bad to happen to them. I don’t want him to join those ranks.
February 12, (year deleted)
We shipped out today, so to speak. I’m in General Maguire’s group. Just an infantry man. I was tempted to run and hide with the children and elderly, which the army sent to an undisclosed location for protection, but as an able bodied person, still pretty young, I don’t feel like I have a choice. Everyone else is fighting, I have to, too.
Our squad is heading for
I told General Maguire about my journal, and told him that if I die, he should assign one of the men to continue it, for prosperity’s sake, or whatever. He told me that the journal was a great idea, and he told the whole squad that I wasn’t as expendable as the rest of them because I was doing something important. They all laughed, but I think he meant it. Now when we come across a goose, I always end up surrounded by other soldiers, protected. That kind of hinders my plan to die a heroic death, like two members of our group already have, but I’m sure I’ll find a way. If not, it’ll just reaffirm my status as the screw up.
March 9, (year deleted)
General Maguire was pretty upset when he found out that I hadn’t been writing these past few weeks, so he made me stay back here and do this entry while several other soldiers are scouting what we think is an armory. I hope it is. Our ammunition is running low. The only reason it hasn’t run out already is that there are fewer of us these days. We left the big army meeting last month with thirty-six, and we’re already down to twenty-three. At this rate, we’ll be out of people, soon. Word is, the other squads are suffering the same fate. The war isn’t going well. I could have told them that it wouldn’t, but somehow, General Maguire still keeps up hope. He is a good man and a great leader. I could never do what he does. Despite the darkness that threatens to overwhelm us all, he manages to inspire.
We’ve had a few victories, though minor ones. We blew up an entire building full of geese last week. It was just a temporary shelter, and there couldn’t have been more than eight of them in it, but we took out the guards and blew them up, just the same. It was satisfying. I imagined that building as
Hopefully this entry will be long enough for the General. He’d prefer that I write every day, but this notebook isn’t that big. I’ve already filled about a third of it or so. I showed him, and he nodded grimly. He said he’d keep an eye out for more paper, but agreed that I needed to conserve my space. So I will.
March 27, (year deleted)
We were hit hard. There are only four of us left now, including General Maguire. I have felt survivor’s guilt for months, but my guilt has to be nothing compared to what Tate is feeling right now. They snuck up on us in the night, with knives, much more silent than guns. Only the General, myself, and two others managed to get a few shots off as we ran. Most of the others were dead before I woke up. The four of us were near the opposite edge of the clearing from where the geese arrived. Thank brack they didn’t surround us. Listen to me, sounding like I want to live. Tate sure has inspired me. I need to figure out how to do the same for him. He hasn’t said a word in the past twenty-four hours, since the assault happened. That scares me more than anything else that has happened so far.
One of the soldiers did manage to get a hold of a radio on our way out, and she’s been trying to reach another squad all day. None of them must be in range, or they all were killed like our guys and girls were. Hopefully we’ll hear from one soon, and we can meet up with them. The four us can’t possibly do much damage on our own. I just don’t see how we cou
March 28, (year deleted)
I am sad to inform you that at 22:49 last night, General Tate Maguire took his own life.
May 14, (year deleted)
I couldn’t bring myself to write these past six weeks. The last time I sat down to write a journal entry, I was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot. I still can’t believe he did it. If someone as strong as Tate Maguire couldn’t survive this war, how could anyone? I really thought we would all die that night. The three of us, left alone, scared. We buried Tate, under a nice tree. We didn’t have anything to mark the grave with, but I’ll never forget where we put him. I’ve never known a greater man.
The three of us wandered for over a week, barely alive, searching for any other humans, arguing constantly about what to do. Diane Wells, the one with the radio, didn’t make it much longer than Tate did, though her death wasn’t self-inflicted. Chris Kulbago, our map guy, was alive until just a few days ago, but sadly the geese got to him, too. Chris and I did eventually meet up with others, mostly other soldiers from destroyed platoons. We banded together, picking up more men and women along the way, and losing them almost as fast. It’s hard enough to survive in an organized squadron. Drifting through the woods, though, without a clear goal, just looking to fight, is a worse idea.
Then we met up with Smitty. I don’t know his full name, or much about him. I know he was a construction worker at some point, and that he still had all of the guys he left his post with a couple of months ago, which is a miracle unto himself. He’s British or something, I was never too good with accents. But we all respect him, and we all call him Smitty. He hasn’t officially declared himself our leader, but we all default to him. Even I have succumbed to his charms. He’s the one who made me write this entry tonight, after weeks of silence. He hasn’t told us that he has a destination, or any certain milestone to hit, but we move out every day now with purpose, and things have gotten a little easier. Thank the gods for Smitty.
June 20, (year deleted)
Smitty is a miracle worker. I do not exaggerate at all when I say that. About a week and a half ago we located a labor camp. Most of the humans have been sent to work in or on geese cities already, but some are still in smaller camps, manufacturing goods and building supplies to build the cities. This camp was on about twenty acres, with almost two hundred humans employed there. There were about five dozen geese soldiers stationed there as guards. I know that doesn’t sound like a lot, like the humans should have easily been able to overpower their captors, but it’s just not the case. These geese are heavily armed, and the humans are weak from hunger and work. They probably didn’t need anywhere near five dozen geese to guard them. So Smitty got suspicious.
For days we staked the place out, watching the movements and happenings. Smitty determined it was a jumping off point for assaults. There was a military office with a big general in command there, as well as the labor camps. I, along with most of the others, wanted to put as much distance between us and them as possible, but Smitty would hear none of it, and his original gang backed him up. He said he couldn’t possibly leave those poor people in that state, and especially when the target was of strategic value as well, we couldn’t ignore it. So he worked up a plan.
Last night we stormed the castle, so to speak. It was a complete sneak attack, and with our spy information, we were able to determine where and when to hit them the hardest. We rushed in, took out the guards, and went straight to the sleeping barracks. In less than an hour, we had taken the base. We lost six good soldiers in the attack, but six is much less than I predicted. I thought all thirty three of us were doomed. Smitty decided that we couldn’t stay at the base, as heavily fortified as it was. We destroyed the place, after ransacking it for food and weapons, and Smitty sent a message to some mysterious man that he sends messages to whenever he can. I need to ask him about that sometime. We are currently escorting the humans to a nearby hiding spot. I’m told some of the survivors from my original prison are there, and have been for months. These people should be relatively safe there, and we’ve picked up another dozen or so soldiers in the process. Thanks to Smitty, we did quite a lot of good yesterday.
The only debate was what to do with the geese we captured. Plenty of them had died in our attack, but there were still a fair number of survivors. We all looked to Smitty to decide, and this was when I knew without a doubt what a great leader he was. I saw the warring emotions in his eyes, but he made the tough decision. We had to kill them. They were enemy combatants, not just innocent geese. Yes, I have learned from Smitty that there are such things as innocents, even in the bird race. He did it himself, every one of them. He refused to let any of us help him, or even watch. He closed the garage door, and when he opened it again, every goose soldier lay with their neck snapped on the floor. I know I couldn’t have done it.
I heard him crying last night as the rest of our squad slept. He does more than plan and lead us into battle, though his skills in that regard are admirable. It is one thing to make the tough decisions. It is quite another to act on them. A lesser man may have let them survive, but in this war, we can’t afford to do that. Even Tate would probably have had us shoot them, but not Smitty. No, he tried to protect the men and women under his command as best as he could. Even after all this, he insists that he is not our leader, and we should only follow him if we agree with him. If we had a hundred Smittys, this war would be over by the end of the year, and in our favor.
Oh, yeah, and I saved Smitty’s life. There was a goose sneaking up behind him, and I saw, and I shot the goose between the eyes. Smitty made me write those last two lines after he read the rest of the entry. He says it’s important that my record contain all the facts. I think what I did was what any man would have done, did do, during the battle. I don’t think it was anything special. But Smitty insisted, so I included it. Happy, Smitty?
July 4, (year deleted)
So the humans we rescued that are too old or young or injured to join us have been safely tucked away in their hiding spot, and after two days of R & R, we are back out on the field. Frankly, I would have liked to stay in hiding longer, but Smitty keeps saying that there are more people that need help where these came from, and upon reflection, I agree. Since I joined up with Smitty I have done more good than I have done in the total rest of my life. It is an exhilarating feeling.
Before the war began, today was a holiday. In the
I am a little confused by Smitty’s constant optimism. I know we’ve had some great victories, and things have been going in our favor for awhile now, but I feel the constant tightening of the noose wherever we go, and see more and more signs of goose rule. It has been months since we’ve encountered any non-prisoner humans, and I’m beginning to lose hope. If it wasn’t for Smitty, I would have given up on this cause long ago.
September 18, (year deleted)
Finally, another victory. We rescued four humans being taken to a goose city to work. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but the last few months have been particularly rough, which is why I haven’t written in this journal. I didn’t want to waste space talking about defeat after defeat, death after death. Our squad, once numbering over fifty, is back down to a mere thirteen, an unlucky number by most standards, but, I guess, lucky for us today. None of the four will make good soldiers, they’re too young, so we’ll drop them off at some hidden base when we can, though I don’t know how soon that will be.
Not the one we took all of those former prisoners to that I mentioned in my last entry. They were discovered, and most of them were slaughtered. There isn’t really any place that is safe anymore. The geese have been systematically rooting out humans, and I hear it will only get worse next year. Still, it won’t do to travel with civilians. What we do is dangerous enough for us, let alone those not equipped to fight.
Funny that I think of these poor teenagers as civilians. Only a year ago I had never held a gun in my life, and now I’m an embittered solider. In a couple of years, these kids that we rescued will be holding a gun and fighting, too, if they’re still alive. We haven’t resorted to using fourteen year olds in our battles yet, though sometimes I wonder if it isn’t past time. We need every hand that we can get. To say things look bleak would be an understatement. I fear it will all be over soon. I can’t believe I’ve survived this long.
November 1, (year deleted)
Smitty is making me write again, though I don’t want to. He’s not happy I just wrote that, as he is standing at my shoulder. Apparently he is going to dictate this entry, although I’ll spare you the dialect. At least I made him laugh.
Three days ago
Good, now that Smitty is gone, I can write what I want to write. It was a nightmare. They took Smitty. We would not have survived without Smitty. We were barely surviving now, and only thanks to him. I attempted the rescue as much for my sake as his. True, half of the squad wanted to leave him, but none did. Most just hung back to see what would happen and bury our bodies later, but five of my friends came with me. I have to record their names for prosperity. Lauren Helms, Irene Stewart, Nicholas Haley, Wesley Jefferson, and Tony Tirey. They were the brave ones. I simply had a foolhardy plan. The six of us waited in the branches of some trees, hoping against hope that the geese would bring Smitty our way. And they did. We just jumped off the branches and landed on them. They put up a fight, but thanks to the training Smitty puts us through every day, we managed to overpower them and rescue our commander. See? Not heroic. Stupid, or desperate, maybe, but not heroic.
By the way, Nick and Lauren died in the ambush. Two good soldiers. Smitty chewed us out, berated us for sacrificing two lives for his, not that he wanted that in this entry. All the facts, ha! But I would have sacrificed a dozen, myself first. Without Smitty, we’re all lost.
December 7
I have gone back through my entries and scratched out the year. Perhaps that was stupid. I was angry. I certainly regret the jagged black scribbles now, but what’s done is done. Our dating system is over anyway, so who the brack cares about how humans used to write the date? I guess I should slow down and tell this story properly.
We took a big chance yesterday. We broke into a goose house. Smitty had found this goose living by himself a few miles from a city, which we usually avoid, but kind of stumbled on. The goose left, heading towards the new skyline, and Smitty figured he’d be gone for at least a couple of hours. He decided that a few of us should break in. He really wanted to get a message off to his mysterious contact. I don’t know why he just won’t tell us who he’s e-mailing. I think finding out there is someone looking out for us, that cares about what we are doing, would only raise morale for our pitiful little troop.
So we got in through a window that wasn’t closed tightly, the goose will never know we were there. Thankfully there was no alarm system or anything. While Smitty tapped away on the computer, sending his e-mail and checking some news, Irene and I turned on the television. We haven’t watch television in over a year, and I admit, I was curious to see what programming was on. Imagine my surprise when we saw a newsgoose telling us about the new dating system that will go into effect on January 1st with 1 A.G., and that all years, including the one we are still in, will count backwards with B.G.! I was floored. No one had told me we had lost the war. I mean, I know we haven’t had it easy, but our gang is still doing what we’ve always been doing. I didn’t see much more than that, because Smitty was done, and he didn’t want us to hang around.
We lost the war. I knew it was coming, but to have it spelled out so black and white for me… It’s a hard thing to swallow. There won’t ever be a
January 26, 1 A.G.
I considered not writing the year at all in this entry, or any other, out of spite, but that would only keep future readers from knowing when these events took place, if this journal survives. Only eight people in our squad now. We lost Irene near the end of December, my last friend, besides Smitty. The other six all joined us late last year. I feel sad for Smitty, too, all of his original crew gone now. These other six are sort of a clique, and we’re excluded. They follow Smitty’s direction, but other than that, they keep to themselves.
Smitty finally opened up to me and told me about his e-mails. I don’t know if he’s losing hope, too, or if he just needed someone to talk to, and I was the best candidate, but he told me everything. I think. He told me a lot, anyway. Apparently there is a Dr. Smith who has a secret underground base and runs a global organization. Though Dick Kennedy and his army are gone, Smitty thinks that Dr. Smith is still alive and operating, and that is why he is able to keep going. I asked Smitty how he was so sure that his Smith was still around. The old Brit looked at me with liquid eyes and said that he has to be. I have never seen anyone look so sad in my life. And I’d never seen Smitty look sad at all, grim, plenty of times, but not truly sad, other than that one time that he killed those goose soldiers.
We heard whisperings of some other humans nearby, so we’re trying to track them now. Supposedly there is a whole group of them, maybe hundreds, all in one place. I have a hard time believing that. The geese wiped out any human groups left. Surely hundreds would be noticed. Hell, a dozen can’t live together without being caught anymore. But Smitty is bent on finding them, and, well, how can I take away his hope? Not after seeing him through all this. So I’ll help him look, for awhile anyway. There’s nothing else to do anyway. We’re in no position to launch any more strikes. I wonder how long before he starts looking for a place to hide away.
February 18, 1 A.G.
It’s a wonder, and that’s all I can say about it. Smitty was right. We found the humans. They are being led by Dick Kennedy’s brother, David Kennedy, of all people! Well, those Kennedys always were great leaders, so I suppose if anyone could keep a group together and hidden, it would be one of them. Granted, the group was about sixty, not hundreds, but still very impressive.
Turns out, Kennedy had survived the war and begun looking for his nephew, Brock, Dick’s son. Along the way, he picked up quite a few followers. I have Smitty, and all these people have Kennedy. What would we do without leaders? Smitty confided in me that Brock is with Dr. Smith, but he hasn’t told David yet. Smitty said it is more important to help David find a safe place for his group first, and that he’ll tell him before we leave. So I guess we’re not staying with them indefinitely. Too bad. If I had to choose a place to hide out in, this would be it.
This? This is a sunken mall near
The others in this group are nice, too. They are perfectly willing to accept us as their own, if we’d like to stay. Smitty is hopeful that we can take some of these people with us as soldiers when we leave, but I’m not so sure. I know Smitty would really like to have Brad. He looks like he could bulldoze a forest with his bare hands, but Brad is nothing if not loyal to David Kennedy. He won’t leave. I don’t think any of the others will, either.
The best thing to come out of this, though, is we’ll have someplace to send the people we rescue. David said we had to be cautious, but he’d welcome any human prisoners we free and deem safe. Of course he would. He’s trying to build a self-sustaining city! They need all the people that they can get! But it’s still nice to know that there’s someplace safe for humans once more, even if it’s just an underground mall.
April 1, 1 A.G.
It’s with heavy heart that we leave the
It’s funny how life has a way of changing. Before I met Smitty, I would never have dreamed that one day I would chose a fight over safety. He has shaped me into so much more of a man that I ever was. I owe him a lot. He turned a nobody, a peaceful, but wimpy, man, into a soldier in defense of mankind. Even if we do not win, I will not give up until I breathe my last breath. He has taught me that.
As we leave Richardton today, I sensed a new purpose in Smitty’s step. We’re not going back to those raids that we once did. We probably couldn’t even if we wanted to. Smitty hasn’t told me, or anyone, but I know that this time we’re going looking for Dr. Smith. If we find him, maybe we have a chance in this war. As it is, I think we may die looking for Dr. Smith, if he’s even still alive.
That’s why this is my last entry, and not just because I’m almost out of room. I’m leaving the journal here for safekeeping. If there is a future for mankind, it is in this place. Looking back over the pages, I feel I did a very inadequate job of telling the story of this war. Hopefully others will chronicle it better. But I can’t help but hope that I have done some small part in leaving this first hand account somehow. I hope that someone will read it. If the humans are truly conquered, perhaps this will be a message to someone that things weren’t always that way, and no how much it looks like you’ve lost, there are always people that won’t give up. Find those people, rely on those people. People like David Kennedy and Smitty. Heroes. They will never lead you wrong.
June 10, 23 A.G.
My name is Tori Mounds and I found this journal in the… in Richardton. There was just room for one more entry, and I felt compelled to finish it for him. Clark Adama died about six months after he left Richardton, but he died a hero, in an epic battle that was perhaps that biggest human accomplishment since the war began. I grew up with stories of him, Smitty, and the others who perished in that fight, and I know what it means to me that have found this piece of history.
Things are dark now, much darker than they were in
If you find this in the future, do not forget us. Do not forget mankind. Do not forget our struggle. And do not forget Clark Adama, an ordinary man who rose to greatness.
posted by Jerome Wetzel | 4:01 AM
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