"Refugee"

Classified document, do not read further Excerpt from the journal of Alexandra Pullman

I can’t remember the date. I’m dying now. It’s not bad yet, or I wouldn’t be able to write this out. But I’ll be dead in a few hours. I hope it’s quick, but it probably won’t. I’d be dead by now if it were quick.

I survived as long as I could, but I can’t anymore. I don’t want to survive anymore. If someone finds this before I die, please, let me die in fact make it quicker I can’t stand it anymore I can’t

The following is copied from the journal of Alexandra Pullman. The journal was found with Pullman in Exeter, New Hampshire.

September 28, 2008 5:00 AM

I promise that the next words I write are true. Five hours ago, a nuclear explosion went off somewhere, probably in Boston. Over half of Massachusetts is dead.

My name is Alexandra Pullman. If you find this journal, I want you to know. I am 18 years old, my birthday is March 31, and I live in Tewksbury, Massachusetts. If you find me and I am dead, please send my body to my father, Frank Pullman. But only if my mother, Anne Pullman, is also dead. He lives in Dixmont, Maine.

Most of all, if you find this diary SURVIVE!!!

September 28, 2008 4:30 PM

Not dead yet.

I need to write down what happened. I still don’t know what happened, I don’t think anyone does.

Shit.

Ok, so this all started yesterday. I was home from college, doing my laundry. My college, Pine Manor College1, is an hour away from Tewksbury, so it’s not a big deal to go visit Mom on the weekends.

Anyway, we stayed up late watching tv. I went to bed when Saturday Night Live came on, and Mom stayed downstairs to watch.

A loud explosion woke me up, and then the power went out. The house shook for a couple of minutes, and then Mom ran upstairs.

“Alex!” she was shouting. “Wake up!”

“What was that?” I asked.

“The A-bomb!” she shouted. It took me a moment to remember what the Abomb was, and then I grabbed my sneakers and shoved them on my feet. I ran into the living room. Outside, the sky looked strange, and red. People were leaving their homes to stare at it.

“Come on!” Mom shouted. She was running out of her room with the Do-Not- Spend money jar. That’s when it hit me.

Mom threw me a jacket and put one on herself.

“Where are we going?” I asked. She ignored me, and grabbed the keys.

“Come on!” she shouted.

I ran to the front door, and only paused to grab my camera bag on the table next to me.

“Come on!” Mom shouted again.

I ran to the door, and she grabbed my hand and dragged me out. We ran to the car, started it, and drove away.

More later.

September 29, 2008

No clue what time it is, so I’m not going to bother. Sometime in the afternoon.

Right now, me and Mom are taking a break. We’re walking along 495 to New Hampshire. We’re headed to Dixmont, where my dad lives. We were driving, but we had to ditch the car. I’ll explain later, but right now, I’ll just pick up where I left off yesterday.

Me and Mom were on the road, heading north. The sky was incredibly red. I fiddled around the radio, but all we go was static. As we got further north, we could hear some of the New Hampshire stations, who sounded just as confused as we are. We were on the highway, but it was clogged. By about 2 AM, both sides were full of cars. I went through my camera bag and found this notebook in it. I’d been using it to record F-stops when I took pictures, but I started using it as a diary. I don’t think anyone in my photography class would care if I did. I also loaded my camera with film and started taking pictures. I don’t know why, it was like some kind of weird instinct kicked in.

g2g2

Later.

Sorry about that. Mom wanted to move again. We’ve stopped for the night, and we’re in this little motel in Haverhill. It’s next to 495- we’re still not in New Hampshire.

So around yesterday, people started ditching their cars and setting out on foot, walking along 495 to the north. This morning, me and Mom joined them. Not much has happened between then and now, just me snapping photos and writing in my journal on breaks.

When we stopped in Haverhill tonight, we went to a shopping strip. We entered a Market Basket, but it had already been ransacked. There wasn’t much food left, but we took what was left, stuffing them into backpacks we grabbed from Marshalls next door. We also got clothes at the Marshalls, and some other survival stuff. Mom says that when the clothes get dirty, we’ll wash them, or just get new ones at other stores.

The sky is cloudy. Our cell phones don’t work, probably because all the lines are jammed with calls. The radios do, but most of the stations aren’t broadcasting. We can only pick up the ones from New Hampshire. The radio keeps saying that the bomb went off in Boston. They don’t know who did it, or why. Troops have been sent to Massachusetts, and New England has been cut off from the rest of America. Bush has been granted martial power, and the election is on suspension until further notice. The radio is advising Massachusetts residents to stay where they are, but no one is. Everyone wants to go north, and get as far away from Boston as they can.

Even though people still don’t know who set off the bomb, a lot of people are blaming Al Qaeda again. It’s kinda scary. This morning, Mom and I walked by this group of guys beating up a Muslim man. The man kept screaming for help, but no one did. Finally, one of the guys knocked him out, and they left him there. I wonder if all the other bystanders are as ashamed of themselves as I am for not helping that man when he needed it.

But it doesn’t make sense? Why Boston? Why not Washington or New York? A guy me and Mom ran into said that the explosion was an accident.

“What happened was,” he said. “One of those ‘geniuses’ at MIT or Harvard dropped the wrong test tube, and bam!”

I don’t think that that’s what happened. I think that the people at MIT were a lot more responsible than that guy was giving them credit for. But I don’t know, and it’s frustrating not to know.

I’m scared. I really hope Dad is ok. Mom’s holding up, but she’s wearing thin. And… I’m pretty sure that my friends are all dead. There I said it. They’re dead. All of my friends at college were on campus the night of the explosion, and the rest of my friends, the ones who’ve been there since kindergarten, they went to college in Boston. Oh god.

I’m so scared.

September 30, 2008

We’re taking a break again. Mom says we’ll be at the border soon. Once we cross into New Hampshire, we’ll be able to walk into Maine, and then we’ll be a few days away from Dad. We might even get reception in New Hampshire, and then I’ll be able to talk to him!

I’m still taking photos. I’m on my third roll of film now. Mom doesn’t know why I do it, and I’m not sure either. But whenever I see something, I shoot it with my camera. It’s a little soothing, actually. Maybe someday my photos will be in a history book!

Anyway, the next time I write, I’ll be in New Hampshire. So I’ll update then.

September 30, 2008

Mom is dead.

September 31, 2008

It happened yesterday afternoon. We were just reaching the New Hampshire border, when we saw this line of people stretching across the border. Most were wearing weird clothes, like Haz-mat suits. They were all wearing masks, and they all carried guns.3 At first I thought they were the Army, but then I realized that none of them were in uniform.

They stopped us and another larger group. I wanted to take my camera out, but instinct told me to keep it in my bag.

“Turn around,” they told us.

“We need to go into New Hampshire,” someone in the other group. “It’s safer there.”

“Turn around,” they sad again.

“Please,” Mom said. “I just want to go see my husband. He’s in Maine.”

“Turn around!” they shouted. Mom grabbed my hand then.

“Why?” a man from the other group shouted. “We’re Americans, like you! We have rights!”

“We don’t want you to get us sick!” one of the gun people shouted. “Radiation’s contagious!”

“No it’s not!” I shouted. Mom put her hand over my mouth.

And then they opened fire. I ran off the highway and into the woods. When the shooting stopped, I looked out from the bushes. And that’s when I saw Mom laying on the ground. Half of her head was blown off. When I looked down, I could see that her blood was all over me.

They were all dead.

After a while, I started walking. The guard didn’t continue in the woods. I kept my eye on the road and walked north. After a while, when I was sure that the people with guns were behind me, I walked back onto the highway. There still are cars on the road. In fact, it’s the same here as it is back in Massachusetts, just less people on the road.

Now what?

October 1, 2008

The radio is telling people to stay in their homes. It’s not advice anymore, it’s federal law. They’re being told to avoid “refugees”. Like me. I guess I’m a refugee now.

Well, anyway, since everyone’s in their house, that means that no one’s at their jobs. So I was able to break into some stores. I got food, and new clothes. I also got a gun. What happened to Mom isn’t happening to me.

I haven’t seen any of the National Guard. I guess they’ve all been sent down to MA. Poor bastards. I wonder how it is down there now? If it’s anything like those apocalypse movies, then there’re soldiers everywhere, and they’ve set up hospitals in weird places, like malls and high schools. Or maybe the schools are morgues.

I’m still taking photos. I’m on my sixth roll now. I started out with ten; now I got four left, not including the one in my camera now. The used rolls are in my bag. I don’t know what I’ll do with them when I’m done. I can’t develop them. Maybe I’ll burn them.

October 3, 2008

It turns out that there aren’t 31 days in September. So the day dated for September 31 is actually October 1, and yesterday was the 2. Oh, fuck it. Who cares anymore?

I’m trying to head for Maine, but it’s hard. I got lost last night after I left the highway, and now I can’t find it anymore. Fuck. FUCK!!!

Later.

I shot a man.

He was going to kill me. So I shot him.

October 4, 2008

The man I shot yesterday caught me walking outside his house. He asked me if I was a refugee. I didn’t answer, I just kept walking. Apparently, he took that as a yes, because then there was a loud bang. Lucky for me, his aim was off and he hit a tree.

Not so lucky for him. I aimed for his chest. The bullet didn’t hit where I aimed, but it still hit him. I don’t know if he lived or not, I just ran.

On my ninth roll of film.

October something, a few days after the last entry

Still no clue where I am. I used up the last roll of film today. Now I got nothing left but this diary.

I saw a little girl tonight, the first human life I’ve seen in a few days. She was leaving her house, looking up at the sky. It cleared up for a second, so I guess maybe she was looking at the stars. When she saw me, she looked scared.

I held a finger to my lips and pulled my bag of film out of my backpack. I walked over and gave them to her.

“Make sure people see these,” I said. “It’s important.”

I walked back to my things and walked away. She ran back in her house, but I could see that she still had the film. Hopefully, she won’t throw them away. Hopefully, they’ll get developed. I hope they do.

It feels good to hope again.

I got shot in the stomach.

Didn’t see who. Don’t know why.

It hurts.

I can’t remember the date.

I’m dying now. It’s not bad yet, or I wouldn’t be able to write this out. But I’ll be dead in a few hours. I hope it’s quick, but it probably won’t. I’d be dead by now if it were quick.

I survived as long as I could, but I can’t anymore. I don’t want to survive anymore. If someone finds this before I die, please, let me die. in fact make it quiker I cant stand it anymore I cant

Alexandra Pullman’s body was found in Wilton New Hampshire. It is estimated that she was shot on October 6th and died in the early hours of the 7th. Her remains have been buried in Dixmont, ME.

Photographs taken by Alexandra Pullman have not yet been found. In any are, be instructed to take said photographs into custody. If any or all of the photographs carry incriminating details against the U.S. military or government, destroy them.

1 Pine Manor College is a private women’s college, located in Chestnut Hill, MA. Chestnut Hill is a suburb Boston, therefore in the blast radius.

2 Instant-Messaging acronym, meaning “got to go”.

3 It should be noted that the people guarding the New Hampshire border were civilians and were not acting on military or government orders.