Friday, November 23
Treed
The Grey Terriers turned up in numbers. Before today I've only seen them in groups of three or four, but about twenty started following me this morning. I climbed a tree. I'm not sure if they're at all likely to attack me – it's not like they're all gathered around the base of the tree jumping up at me. But every so often they drift back past the tree, and there always seems to be one hanging about watching.
Don't know how long I'll be stuck up here, but I do have food and water – and a sore ass from sitting on this rough bark!
One week
It's been a lifetime. The past couple of days I've been feeling so...annoyed. I mean, if I was going to be whisked off to spend the rest of my life stumbling around the wilderness, couldn't it have happened BEFORE the exams? Or at least after the Schoolies cruise? I don't even get to find out how I did. The whole HSC thing seems pretty minor now. I was going to do an Arts degree while making up my mind where to end up, since there's nothing out there that sounds like an interesting way to earn a living. That I can do, anyway.
The Grey Terriers went away eventually. I waited a long time, not sure it was safe, and saw a new animal as my reward. It must have been hidden in a burrow. It was only the size of a kitten – for all I know it was just a baby, though I didn't see any adults – and was like the tree fox, except smaller with shorter legs and more a creamy manila folder colour with black markings. It was so cute. It leaped about, exploring under the leaves and darting and rushing and then freezing and listening hard and then scurrying back under the tree roots where it lives.
I'm calling it a pippin, and it cheered me up for a while.
The rest of the day was more walking, and finding a rash all over my legs and on my arms. Just pinpoints, but not comfortable. And now I'm sitting here on a hill well away from the river, watching the moon rise. It's the first time it's come up, and if it had bothered to show itself before I would have known straight away that this isn't Earth. It's big, and blueish, and there's a huge scar almost like a bullet hole, or an odd meteor crater, with lines radiating out from it. It's about two-thirds full, and it looks like it'll make the night a bright one. Weird, beautiful. Mum would love it.
Saturday, November 24
I am not my Mother
But sometimes I wish I was.
There was a patch where I hated Mum. My first year of high school, I went to St Mary's. Great school, I really liked it, and April Stevenson was in my class. She was just...there's a certain sort of person who is like a little walking sun. No party feels like it starts until they get there, because they're just so alive. April was full of great stories and ideas and could do anything she set out to. Everyone gravitated to her, like they do with HM at my current school, but April was straightforward nice as well, and a reader, so we were always chatting in the library.
April thought science fiction and fantasy was kid's stuff. She wasn't nasty about it, but she couldn't understand why anyone over ten would read it. So I peeled the fairy stickers off my folders and read other books. She invited me over to her house a few times, and everything was so sophisticated and Mrs Stevenson was like someone off TV. Then we had a parents' day at school and Mum shows up in one of her Celtic dragon t-shirts. She didn't say anything rude, and chatted away with other parents, but I hated her for that shirt.
I said a few things to Mum that year that I can never take back. About how embarrassed she made me. How I was surprised Dad had stuck around as long as he did. Mum doesn't like arguments. She just took me out of St Mary's at the end of the term, and pretty much ignored everything I said for about six months.
Before that I used to think she was the best Mum in the world. When she's not reading she makes jewellery, and eerie but cool little dolls, and sells them online. She plays computer games. She's really bad at racing games, but she'll even play them when Jules bugs her enough. She tries to explain when she wants us to do stuff, and she cares more about what's right than what's in. It's only over the last couple of years that I realised that she wasn't that embarrassing really. And I never got around to telling her that.
I can't imagine what she's doing now. I wish there was some way to at least let her know I'm alive. That no nasty old man grabbed me and did things to me. The worst part about all this is that every day I'm complaining about being Survivor Cass is a day she doesn't, can't, will never know.
Sunday, November 25
One long river
I've been following the river in a loop around the base of a big hill, which is easier than trying a straight line over the top since I get lost so easily once I'm under cover of the trees. The river is narrower and faster than I've seen previously – I'd only swim across it at this point if I absolutely had to – but it's still clear without any hint of salt or tides to suggest that I'm nearing the ocean.
The soles of my feet are black, even after I wash them, and have collected plenty of bruises and tiny cuts, but there's no way I'm putting my shoes on until the sores made by my blisters are better. The rash on my arms and legs went away quickly though. I think it was the tree which caused it. I've lost weight: my skirt keeps slipping down on my hips. I've never been the thinnest girl, though not really fat either, and I wouldn't mind a mirror to see what I look like. Not that I'd pass up a milkshake.
Foliage overload
Another reason I'm glad to stick to the river is it offers a break from the trees. The undergrowth isn't too bad here, but between the trees and bushes it still feels very closed in. Even when I'm up on a hill, I rarely see any distance at all, and big clearings only happen once in a while. When the river's running straight I at least get a reasonable glimpse of what's ahead, but I want a better idea of where I am and whether there's anything out there I should head for.
Which comes down to climbing trees. The problem is, if I fall, if I break a leg or an arm, I'm going to have to fix it. Any accident, no matter how minor, could be fatal. Even the little scratches could get infected, and I don't have the least idea how to make antiseptic, any more than I can figure out where soap comes from.
Anyway, I've found a good tree. It's a kind of pine, I guess. One of the really straight ones anyway, basically a pole with lots of branches sticking out, and if I can use the nearest rock to haul myself to the lowest branch, I should be able to climb up far further than I can on the trees which have lots of low, dividing branches. Time to give it a shot.
View
Okay, just a few scrapes and itches for that effort. And nothing much else. I could see a fair way, but it was all what I already knew – I'm in a lot of low hills covered by trees, and a river is winding through it. Still no sign of farmland or buildings, let alone power lines. I think maybe there's an edge of water ahead. It could just be the river widening again and turning back, but it looked flatter in that direction.
Monday, November 26
Bleaurgh
Very sick. I tried a new fruit, a kind of orange grape (granges). Only ate one, and have been sicking up all afternoon, with the added joy of the runs. I think I'll be okay, but life without toilet paper truly sucks.
Tuesday, November 27
Bad Night
I've made two really large (and very fraying) mats of 'bamboo' leaves now. They're not too hard to carry, rolled up and tied to the back of my backpack. At night I lie on one and completely under the other. It keeps a lot of the dew off, and might even help if it rained: it hasn't rained at all yet, though it's overcast a lot. Even though the mat's paper-thin, it makes me feel safer to be under something.
Last night something walked right up to me, crunching a corner of my mat. I was feeling so awful anyway, and inside I just shrivelled, all while I held my breath and tried to be anything but a big Cass sandwich. For all I know it was a cow, more interested in my mats than me. It was big, heavy. I could hear it breathing, and the tiny sounds it made as it turned its head, right over mine.
And then it left.
I've spent most of today on a rock in the middle of the river, making myself feel warm and safe, and drinking gallons of water. I needed the recovery time from yesterday's food experiment, but it's not bad fruit that makes me stand hunched, cringing from something I didn't even see.
I'll sleep here tonight. I need to. But I know there's no choice but to go on.
Mats
I've been fiddling with my mats, tightening them up again, and wondering how I could make a needle and thread to sew edges. I'd realised I could bend the ends back and thread them through the checkerboard of weave, which keeps them firmer, but mat maintenance is a big part of my day.
My scissors are already showing signs of wear. The kind of paper scissors which fit into pencil cases, even the Pencil Case of Doom, aren't large or strong enough to pretend to be a knife or half the things I've been trying to use them for. The pencil sharpener also has a tiny blade in it, but I'm leaving that alone for the moment, and trying to reserve my scissors for things I can't figure out any other way to cut. Perhaps I'll make another attempt at whacking a stone knife out of the rocks.
Wednesday, November 28
Big Wet
There definitely is an ocean or a lake ahead. I keep seeing the light reflecting from the water, though it's still too far ahead for more. Going to push hard this afternoon, to see how far I can get.
Nature abhors a square
At least, I can't think of any naturally forming squares, except for the occasional odd-shaped rock.
There's a big patch of water ahead. Ocean or a lake, not sure yet. The river's still fresh, without any hint of salt. And to the right, far along the shore, are white, square things. Buildings.
No sign of smoke or power lines or roads or anything but a few whitish squares among the greenery. But this changes so much. Someone made those squares, and although they could be hostile or gecko-men or whatever, it means I'm not the only intelligent person on the planet.
I can barely sit here writing this. I want to run all the way there, I want to scream for help, I want to see a plane fly over, I want it all at once.
I think I MIGHT get there by tomorrow afternoon. I'm definitely going to push as hard as I can, the rest of today and tomorrow.
Thursday, November 29
Water Walk
I'm nearly at the buildings, and should reach them in plenty of time before sunset, though I've yet to decide whether that's a good idea or not.
The lake is enormous. I seem to be walking along an outflung arm of it, and can see a huge expanse beyond the hills directly across from me, so large that I can't see the far shore. It's very cool and still, clear like green tea, and the banks all pebbly. There's these birds which keep flying low across the water in pairs, making the most amazing noises, drawn-out wails. I'm glad I didn't hear that for the first time in the middle of the night.
There are dozens of buildings. And they're old. And obviously empty, with plants growing in all the wrong places. I'm following the shoreline along a road made of white stones which have been set neatly in the ground. It's broken apart in places, where tree roots have lifted the stones, but otherwise it's survived well. There's even what I think must be mile-posts every so often, though whatever is chipped into them is so old and worn I can't tell if it's any kind of script I would recognise.
The buildings are white and blocky, with arched doorways. Most are only one or two stories, with flat roofs, and make me think of Greece, of those pictures of seaside towns. They stretch over the hill, and I think they must continue along the 'main' shore of the lake.
My feet aren't happy with me for walking so hard all day, but I'm going to press on while it's still light. Just to check what's in the buildings, and to see if there's more over the hill. There might be some with people in them. There might be another, occupied settlement.
Dire lack of friendly aliens
No-one's been here for a long time. There's plenty of animal life, though. Ten thousand birds, all singing in the evening. Little pigs which shoot out of the bushes and go racing off, shrieking as if I'd hit them. Chittering squirrelly types jumping from wall to wall. I even saw a cat, a slinky grey one, no different from home. All these different animals, seething through a town overgrown and deserted and empty.
It wasn't a modern town, back when people lived in it. There's no remains of cars or powerlines or anything like that. But it's not caveman primitive either. I can't figure out how the buildings were made, since the walls and roofs all seem to be one single piece of white stone. Like someone took a big block of plaster of Paris and carved out the parts they didn't need to make rooms and doors and windows, and then added pretty decorations around the edges. It's held up really well: worn but solid.
Of the doors and shutters and furniture, most has left barely a trace, making it clear the people have been gone more than a few years. There's little remaining in the couple of houses I've dared to look into, though there's plenty of guck and muck. No visible bones of people, fortunately – this doesn't seem to be like Pompeii.
It's getting dark around 9.30pm (Sydney daylight savings time) and it's too gloomy right now to explore more. I'm going to sleep on the roof of the house nearest the edge, then take a proper look tomorrow. Over the next couple of days I'll hunt for useful stuff and decide whether or not to stay. The fact that this one town is empty doesn't mean anything. Look at Macchu Piccu – it being deserted didn't mean the rest of the world was. And this means there were people here once.