Kent Kelly - End of Days

(As originally published and serialized in the University of Tasmania, Australia [UTAS] Holocaust Studies Newsletter for Q2, 3 and 4, 2317.)

The following is the first section of a factual yet restructured narrative derived from the 21 st-century confessional written by one Sophia St.-Germain, a female adult survivor of the 2014-15 Pan-Global Nuclear Holocaust. Saint-Germain lived near to the town of Black Hawk , an unrecoverable site believed to have been located some 60 kilometers west of Denver, somewhere along the eastward-facing “Rocky Mountain” spine of U.S. Province 38 (then known as “Colorado”).

The narrative — in the form of a single spiral-bound cellulose notebook, reinforced and preserved between two square-shorn and modified automobile door plates — had been re-titled by later generations as a holy book, specifically as “THE BOOK OF WOMAN.” The original title, derived from the first nineteen words inscribed upon the title page in St.-Germain’s own hand, is:

This miraculously intact work was recovered from the fourth excavation of the Shoshone Geyser Basin hunter-shelter conclave, a site discovered in Yellowstone, U.S. Province 44 (“Wyoming”) by UTAS Team CCCXIII/2316. This artifact was originally discovered at dig site 84, 3 rdstriation, depth 3.2 meters and had been ceremonially buried with seven female human skeletons and one feline skeleton of indeterminate subtype.

The preservation and recreation of St.-Germain’s tale represents a very exciting milestone in the field of Holocaust Studies, being only the forty-fifth survivor diary ever found intact, and to date the only one solely written by a woman. The document was written in both English and an obscure 21 st-century language classified as “Teeline Shorthand,” likely to maximize the limited amount of paper available. The current narrative has been slightly extended by this researcher to provide explanatory bridges between the partial entries made during Sophie’s ordeal throughout April and May of 2014, chronicling her experiences on Zero Day and the twenty-six post-impact Cycles (“days”) immediately thereafter.

This researcher is indebted to both Joseph Peter Carrington and Tatkret Begay of the Kodiak Trial Court Clan on Kodiak Island, Alaska, for their ceaseless efforts in translation, historical reconstruction and artifact preservation. I have written this narrative from Sophie’s diary in an attempt to realistically portray her hopes, her fears, her love and — dare I say — her spirit. Despite a certain artificiality of voice, I have made every endeavor to simulate “suburban” and “upper class” life as it persisted in the 201X post-industrial era, but any errors pertaining to vehicles, products, branding, electronics or other cultural minutiae are certainly my own. Fellow researchers in possession of any conflicting first-source information are respectfully encouraged to correct me with the appropriate artifacts and/or period citations.

This is the book of a challenging woman, one who may well prove to be unlikeable at times. But she — among the millions — emerged from the Nuclear Holocaust; she became strong and selfless, and she certainly grew to become one of the eminent matriarchs of the Lost Age which emerged from the White Fire. The trauma-induced personality shift of St.-Germain herself, from cold and selfish daughter of wealth to noble-hearted Samaritan, has been portrayed herein as it is directly reflected in her diary’s change of tone, from entry to entry over time.

This recreated tale of terror, hope and ultimate survival is intended for all, without restriction. May your Lore-Masters and -Mistresses find it pure. Please disseminate, share and retell this tale as one of the Reborn Truths as best you can, wherever your Clan may find you. And for my part, be it known that this work is dedicated with all my heart to Paul and our one surviving son, Gabriel. I love you both more than life. May you find these words of the Illumined Ones comforting as we approach our own darkest hour.

Sophie gritted her teeth as the NPR daily Shelter Event Report segued into a BBC World Service recording. “Christine Collins re- por -ting,” began the reel. Very British. Static hissed as the satellite signal bounced along the Rocky Mountains. Sophie clutched the Hummer’s steering wheel a little tighter.

“…for BBC World Ser -vice. As tensions escalate all a- long the Persian Gulf following the sinking of tanker Burmah Endeavour by discredited Iranian splint -er forces, the Shelter Panic continues. More conflicting reports are coming in to us from Russia , and from sources quite beyond the Steel Line of the Vol -ga. Entire cities, certainly including Volgograd and Orenburg, and — depending upon con- flict -ing satellite imagery declassifications — perhaps even as far east as Tomsk and Novosibirsk, are being to -tally evacuated. We know that the Shelter Panic is becoming contagious , something of a social and Internet -contracted hysteria, as Russian citizens con- tin -ue to secretly report via uploads to Youtube and social media from behind the Line.”

“Elsewhere in Europe, Vienna has been partially evacuated, Monaco is in chaos, and riots in Zurich continue for a third night tonight. Meanwhile, tragedy in Versailles as French police come to blows and then trade gunfire with self-termed survivalists digging alleged shel -ters for their families in the forest behind the Palace of Versailles, an event which has led Président de la République Giraud…”

Keep it out , thought Sophie. She massaged her forehead. Keep it all out. I can’t take it anymore.

She lifted a recycled-paper coffee cup out of the center console, took a sip of her cooling latte. The wipers of the Hummer H4 pulsed back and forth, purring and glimmering with sunset and the fitful springtime rain. Humming an off-key tune to herself to cloud away the BBC report, she slid her latte cup back into place, then pulled her iPhone 6GS out of its door-handle socket. The world news report droned on.

Can’t take it anymore. Don’t let me think , don’t feel , don’t—

Sighing, she texted to Jolynn up in Centennial, something trivial about the sheet sale at Park Meadows Mall. The more vapid the better. Be a bitch if it clouds it out, pretend you’re not a social scientist. Not a mother. Not an NSA widow. Lacie is fine. Tom is fine. Don’t think , don’t feel , don’t …

She frowned as her cell phone auto-corrected ‘Frette’ linens to ‘Friday.’ It was only her glance up at the corrector bubble on the iPhone’s crystal face that caused her to see that she was drifting her Hummer straight into the Escalade in front of her. In two seconds or less, she would cause a low-speed collision.