SCANLAN: What I meant was, were there things you did or didn’t do which, in retrospect, could have quickened the spread of the infection?
LIGHTOLLER: Not that I’m aware.
SCANLAN: Do you believe any negligence on the part of the White Star Line led to the spread of the infection?
LIGHTOLLER: No, I believe all proper safety regulations were followed.
SCANLAN: So you don’t believe they should have been able to prevent the virus from coming aboard the ship?
LIGHTOLLER: I believe if they had known about it they would have stopped it. Whether they should have known, I cannot say.
SCANLAN: But this young woman, Miss Brennan, knew she was carrying this infection when she boarded, is that right?
LIGHTOLLER: No, she did not.
SCANLAN: And how do you know that?
LIGHTOLLER: She explained in her diary.
SCANLAN: Were you the only one to have read her diary?
LIGHTOLLER: No, it was read by at least three others. Dr. O’Loughlin, Dr. Simpson, and Thomas Andrews. Of course, they all died in the sinking.
SCANLAN: Then you are the only survivor who has read the diary?
LIGHTOLLER: I should say so.
SCANLAN: And the diary did not survive?
LIGHTOLLER: It is most likely with the ship.
SCANLAN: Thus, you are the only record of what was in it?
LIGHTOLLER: I believe we’ve established that.
SCANLAN: How much of this diary would you say you can recall?
LIGHTOLLER: All of it.
SCANLAN: Every word?
LIGHTOLLER: Those that matter.
SCANLAN: Would you mind sharing those words with us? I think everyone would like to know.
LIGHTOLLER: Aye. Sure they would.
ONE
HUNDRED
YEARS
LATER
Planet Earth is dead!!!
Was that enough exclamation points? I can never tell.
You’re probably wondering who I am.
My name is James, but my grandma always called me Jimmy.
And you are...?
Well, if you’ve found this time capsule, then you must be one of the unlucky ones, meaning you’re still alive. I’m sorry about that.
I’m sure you have one hell of a story to tell.
Maybe you’re part of a group. Maybe you’re planning to rebuild. If so, I wish you luck.
Me, I’ve decided not to stay. I was always a reluctant believer, but I’m now convinced there are better places beyond this earth, and I’m ready to go.
You see up until the infection took hold, if you had asked me to tell you a story, I would have likely told you about how my great grandmother survived the sinking of the Titanic. She was only an infant at the time, saved by the captain just after the ship went down.
But that was then and, well, depending on how many years have passed since my writing of this and your reading of it, you may not know what a Titanic is anyway.
I’ve got a better story, one that may mirror your own, full of action and adventure and death.
Where to begin?
I know.
At the gun shop. Guns Unlimited.
It was February 13, 2012. A Monday, around noon. The day before Valentine’s Day, in fact. But I wasn’t shopping for my imaginary girlfriend, Julie. No, I wanted a gun for myself—needed one, just in case things got worse.
The biggest problem was I knew nothing about guns. I'd never held a gun before, let alone fired one.
Sure I'd seen plenty of guns on TV and in movies, but how much of that was manufactured magic? How many times would I have to shoot someone to make sure they stayed down?
But first I needed to know—
“Where do you put the bullets?” I said, thoroughly examining the handgun Ted called a Glock. The gun was cold and heavier than I expected.
Ted was the owner of Guns Unlimited. He was a rather large man with equally large hands. His skin was darkly tanned and he had freckles everywhere, more than I think I'd ever seen on one person. I found myself staring at them curiously, even while he did his best to ease my anxiety and answer my stupid questions.
He took the gun from me. It looked like a toy in his hands.
“See this.”
He pointed at what looked to be a button or switch of some kind on the left side of the gun, near the top of the handle.
“Push it to release the magazine.”
He demonstrated then handed me the magazine.
“And so the bullets go in here?”
He looked at me like I was an idiot.
I suppose that was fair.
“You sure you want to buy a gun? I mean, you've thought this through?”
“Yeah, sure.”
He looked at me like I was a liar.
“Okay then, hang tight.”
He turned around and walked through an archway to the rear of the store.
“I really appreciate your help.”
“It's no problem,” he said from the back storage room. “We all have to learn from someone. My dad taught me when I was young.”
“I never knew my dad.”
Ted returned to the counter with a small box of ammunition.
“I could sell you a gun even if you have no clue how to use it. I could let you shoot yourself in the face, and my hands would be clean. But that's not good enough for me. I want a clean conscience too. So I take gun safety very seriously. I really hope you're listening. I don't want to see on the news that you committed suicide. You ain't depressed or anything, right?”
“No sir. Though it might be hard to shoot myself if I can't figure out how to load it.”
“I'd say it would also be difficult to shoot someone else, assuming you must. You said you wanted the gun for protection.”
I nodded.
“Well then, since an unloaded gun is about as useful as a pecker on a priest, I guess you'll need a crash course. Follow me.”
He led me across the store and through a heavy wooden door to an adjacent building. The building was colder than the store and had a funny smell. Later I would know the smell as gunpowder. To say I was out of my element would be an understatement—I stuck out like a headless man in a hat store.
Ted explained to me that this was a gun range, a place for people to come and practice their marksmanship. Ten dollars for a half hour was the current rate, but freckle face was happy to let me shoot a few rounds for free.
There were six stations with a maximum shooting distance of fifty feet. Ted set my target up at fifteen.
He showed me how to load the magazine and then outfitted me with a pair of earmuffs and protective eyewear.
“Is all this really necessary?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s the law.”
“Like wearing your seatbelt?”
Ted pointed out the different parts of the gun and then took a few shots downrange to demonstrate.
Bang.
Bang.
Holy crap. I still didn’t know why I had to wear the goggles, but I was glad I had the earmuffs on.
Ted had put two holes in the paper man-shaped target right between the eyes.
Next it was my turn.
He handed me the gun. “Always keep the safety on until you’re ready to shoot. Did you pay attention to how I was holding it?”