The Lost Diaries of John Smith - Part SIX
DIARY
18 September 2014
Finally managed to find something to write on. I work for the aliens now, digging a hole in the ground. Strange sentence that: “I work for the aliens…”. Just over four months ago and I was looking for a job, while trying to keep on top of things, debts mostly. I had family and friends and next door‘s cat to be content with. I would hunt through the reduced-to-clear produce in my local supermarket looking for bargains, and on an evening I would watch FREE promotional DVD films you find in some newspapers.
Where to start? We were picked up by an army patrol and moved to the middle of nowhere - a place not too dissimilar to where we called home. Amy is now back with her dad and I‘m alone again, albeit with around 130 other lost souls. And the aliens are amongst us. Strange creatures. There was no invasion and we weren’t at war with anyone. We are told that it was a terrible accident that killed so many - single accident that wiped out most of Europe and everyone I know.
We were picked up by the army who escorted us to a refugee camp of sorts. Those with kids were sent ahead and into Scotland. Those without dependents were press-ganged into helping the aliens dig a hole in the ground. We don’t know why but there is food and warmth and shelter. Most of us are from the south and have lost everything, so there are few complaints. I’m told work started around two months ago and that the army and its new “recruits” have been digging a series of mine shafts across a wide area.
The aliens themselves are few in number and are escorted around by army chaperones. Both wear some form of communication or translation device. This means that some of us know what the aliens want or need, and we can explain to them what we can or cannot do. All straightforward really.
How to describe an alien: They’re slightly larger than us and more insect that mammal. They are bipeds. Not green. And NOT grey! More sandy brown. Two eyes (bright blue) and a small mouth on an alien head. Tough smooth skin. No hair. Not very muscular but very strong. They’re naked apart from the translator they wear around the neck. No weapons. No insignia. No rank. And it’s almost impossible to tell them apart. We never see them sit down or eat or try to communicate with us workers. They only communicate directly with a select few - mostly army NCOs.
Above the mine hovers that giant space ship. It just floats above our heads not making a sound and not moving an inch. And if the aliens and their giant ship weren’t impressive enough, we are using their technology to dig this hole in the ground. The upside is that we are provided for - hot food and somewhere warm to sleep. The downside is that we are captive. Those unwilling or unable to work below ground undertake menial tasks on the surface, though the food is not as plentiful. The real downside are the accidents.
The first few days were spent resting and being shown how to use the sonic pick - a strange device which cuts through rock like a hot knife through butter. It also cuts through flesh and bone and it wasn’t long before we started to have accidents. The problem is that the pick is extremely heavy and designed for alien hands. The controls are also a bitch. Get it right and you can slice through rock in an instant, but get it wrong and you loose a leg. We work eight hour shifts. Another problem is that the pick induces a bad migraine for both the user and those nearby, so we have regular breaks.
Another piece of alien technology sucks up the shattered rock through a series of flexible ducts to the surface. We travel to the deeper parts of the mine via a flying platform. This is another out-of-this-world contraption, which is piloted by a single alien, who stands while we are pinned to the floor. Not the most pleasant way to travel, as it induces very bad motion sickness. The journey take seconds but the side-effect lasts an hour.
After three weeks of working six days a week we moved our living accommodation below ground. Three large caverns were created around 800m below ground. The aliens even helped by spraying the interior with some kind of resin. This reduced the level of dust and we are told it will also prevent any build up of harmful gases.
And so home has become a hole in the ground, albeit one with lightning and warm beds. The food is hot and plentiful, and without shame or favour I’ve made friends with Miranda, one of the cooks. We share a secluded corner next to the kitchen, albeit with all the other cooks and support workers. Two of the caverns contain the sleeping quarters, while I’m just happy living amongst the pots and pans, which unlike my compatriots don’t snore, scream and fart all night.
The aliens are like any other animal, including your average human. This isn’t a zoo, but all you can do is just sit and watch them as they watch us do the work. We still don’t know why we are digging. But today is my day off and I’m spending the afternoon writing this update. This morning I tended the graves of the eight men who’ve died since we started.
21 September 2014
Trouble from the new boys. Some of the new intake love the food, and probably haven’t eaten for days, but aren’t that keen on working for their daily bread, if we had any.
15 October 2014
Some of us have noticed that our skin has become grey in colour. Not because of the dust, which due to alien technology is almost non-existent, but from some unknown source. The water we drink is fresh and untainted. The food we eat mostly comes straight out of tins. The army doctor is concerned, but not concerned enough to stop us working.
18 October 2014
Panic!!! The morning started with screams and people running about. The army doctor was called. Someone’s eyes have turned jet black. they can still see, but the effect has put the frighteners on us all. Some demand to be returned to the surface, but we’re told that this mine needs to be dug and we are the only ones available to do the work. The victim is brave enough to play down the crisis. He’s young, and when handed a mirror his response was a nervous “cool!”.
We carry on working. Although the aliens are somewhat peaceful in nature, there is a guarded mistrust of them - more so since this new medical condition. Nowadays anything that goes wrong or that cannot be explained is blamed on the aliens. Some of us use this to our advantage in lifting spirits. Any sneeze or unashamed fart is blamed on alien intervention.
23 October 2014
More of us have succumbed to “Black Eye”. To add insult to alien mutation, victims are prevented from returning to the surface, in case they frighten off some of the new recruits. Usually the first sign of succumbing to this disease is when someone calmly asks if you’ve looked in the mirror lately, and the best way to wind someone up is to ask if they’ve looked in the mirror lately - usually a raw recruit, who would scurry to the surface in search for a mirror. The army have come wise to this and someone in uniform always carries a mirror with them.
25 October 2014
Have joined the elite and black eye claims another victim! It’s both unnerving and surreal to stare into a mirror and see this person who is you but not quite you looking back. Miranda is not impressed.
28 October 2014
Unreal! We now have shaving foam and razors. One of the army patrols engaged it’s collective brain and brought back more than just tins of food. Our first victim of black eye decided to up the ante and has shaved his head. He sees himself as a Jedi Warrior, but his demeanour changes when someone christens him the Cumbrian Gimp and the name sticks. Poor bugger.
1 November 2014
More accidents but not involving alien technology. Learnt that yesterday we had a partial cave-in that injured three. Today we learnt that one of the poor buggers died. Like the rest of humanity, medical help has reverted back to the middle ages or rather the late 19th century. Luckily we have an army doctor and a couple of nurses to tend to the injured. And while 21st century technology no longer works, the work of these angels is appreciated.
4 November 2014
Someone in uniform isn’t happy. The first of the guards has caught black eye. No complains from those press-ganged. Found another way to wind someone up - simply approach them and say that there is a phone call for them on the surface - 800m straight up. Why are the gullible so gullible? We are warm and fed and if it wasn’t for the accidents we would be content. Some are worried that the work might end soon.
5 November 2014
Feel settled enough to write about Amy. We were scavenging for food when an army patrol pounced on us. Nothing frightful but we had no option other than accompany them. It was rather strange at first - being with other people. Apart from the eight or nine soldiers there were around a dozen other survivors. During our short journey a soldier explained to us what happened to England. The other survivors all had tales about escaping the firestorm. For England it doesn’t look good.
We were taken to a transit area, and because I was with Amy, we were to be moved up the line and into Scotland. Fine by me as that was our plan anyway. We had walked for around eight hours, and by the time of our arrival we had grown in strength to around 130 refugees, as our patrol joined with another, before it merged with yet another. We were told that between 20 and 140 survivors were being picked up from as far South as Yorkshire each day. We were told that we were the lucky ones, as less than 80,000 had so far made the journey to Scotland.
Our names were taken and entered into a book. Waiting our turn, the NCO finally took down our details. He then stopped and asked Amy what her surname was again and what was her dad’s first name? The soldiers looked at each other before one dashed out of the tent. He returned moments later with Amy’s dad. She rushed over to him and there was hardly a dry eye in the tent. I was almost in tears and so was the NCO. All these chaps had to endure was death and sorrow. Nearby was a makeshift cemetery containing those who didn’t quite make it. Amy’s dad asked about his wife and my heart sank. “I’m sorry”, is all I could say. After being checked over by a doctor we made our way to the field kitchen and HOT food.
That evening I explained to Amy’s dad what had happened to his wife and where she was buried. He explained that he had an argument and that they became separated. He had spent five weeks in a house in the middle of nowhere, hoping that they would turn up. As he explained his recent predicament I realised where he meant, I think? It was that village on the map that turned out to be just three houses in the middle of nowhere. Amy’s dad was living in an abandoned house maybe four or five miles from our tent. perhaps he was the person I heard that day when I took flight and scarpered with some food.
He’d been picked up by the army but refused to be moved up the line. Luckily the army allowed him to help out in the field kitchen, while those patrolling the area were instructed to be on the look out for his wife and three-year-old daughter. We talked all evening about our tales of survival and the fate of England. He’d seen the same flying machines overhead and had had to run for cover as the meteors started to fall, but both he and Amy were now reunited. Job done!
That night Amy slept in the arms of her dad. We came so close to not making it and I again offered up a silent thank you to whether was looking after us. The following morning and the bed next to mine was empty. I searched for them both, only to be told that they had been moved up the line at daybreak. The following day I was moved here along with the other lonesome refugees.
I still think of Amy and her dad, wondering if they made it to Scotland. She still keeps me awake at night, while I could murder a chocolate digestive right now.
6 November 2014
New blood. Because we now only have two sonic picks per mine, new recruits are now taught underground and before the first shift of the day. Most of the new chaps will end up manhandling the suction device that removes the debris to the surface.
7 November 2014
Today we had another injury. Someone I didn’t know. The sonic pick just sliced off his arm. The poor bugger didn’t even notice until someone jumped on him with a tourniquet. Won’t see him again! Hopefully they’ll find him a job topside and he’ll still be entitled to some hot food and somewhere to sleep. The common consensus is that anyone injured should be entitled to more than just a one-way ticket to Scotland. We are constantly being told by the army that we get more food than those trying to survive in Scotland. Maybe that’s just to keep us digging, but as most of us have already endured the unendurable, no one wants to test the water and bugger off.
Interesting day. Alien watching has become something of a past time, and today we were rewarded with the sight of an alien defecating. This chap just pooped and wasn’t embarrassed or phased. They have invented faster-than-light travel but the flushing toilet is still beyond them. And pity the poor bloody Squaddie whose job it was to follow ET with a bucket. Someone shouted “Where the army goes the Pongos!” and we all laughed.
9 November 2014
Some of the soldiers have become more relaxed in their attitude towards us civilians. They’re largely the same chaps who rounded us up. Some even sit with us during lunch breaks. A few are from Scotland but most are from England, so we have a few things in common. Today one of the chaperones sat with us and I finally got to ask about the aliens and the thing around this chap’s neck. It’s a translator provided by the aliens themselves.
The translator consists of a loop of stiff metal that’s worn over the head of either human or alien. At the base of the loop is attached a metal cylinder approximately two inches in diameter and ten inches long. There are no controls and as soon as you place it over your head your words (or some of them) are translated. The whole process is silent and we assumed that any conversation or translation bypasses the human or alien ear. What is noticeable is a sharp intake of breath experienced by the soldier every time the alien says something.
The translator only works if both human and alien have a word for something common to both species, be it a verb or noun. Some words are easier to translate than others. I’m told that sometimes it’s best to circumvent a word otherwise you’d be there all day. Numbers and plain objects were easy to interpret, but how do you describe what a doctor does or the need for more safety?
Translators are only issued to those who chaperon the aliens or who worked with them in managing the site (senior NCOs). Civilians press-ganged into working down the mine were not allowed to communicate with the aliens, and with no means to translate your feelings or anger or frustration, life can become unbearable.
13 November 2014
Another accident and not a pretty one. Two dead and one injured. Same problem. It takes experience to handle the sonic pick, but it’s heavy and after an hour your head explodes. It’s worse than any migraine. If you don’t heed the warning signs you end up dropping the pick while it’s live. That’s when the real accidents happen. The on/off switch isn’t a trigger. You have to switch the machine on and you have to switch the machine off, and if your head explodes or you lose your grip, then you’re a goner or the chap next to you is, or you could end up wiping out an entire working party of around 18 men. It has happened at another mine and I’m told the person responsible went mad.
16 November 2014
We are loosing men to another pit. Finished my shift to find half of my mates have gone. We are now working a single shift. No sign of our alien friends today. They must be either impressed with our work or they are on holiday. With only the single shift things are very quiet.
Potatoes!!! We have real out-of-the-ground spuds, which are being fashioned into chips and are to be served with tinned curry! Miranda and her chums are Gods tonight and don’t they bloody well know it. I know she reads my diary when I’m risking life and limb to impress our guests.
Spent an hour on the surface. It’s been raining and although the air below is filtered and extremely comfortable there is nothing finer that the real McCoy. I stop to chat to one of the sentries. He’s originally from a village south of The Humber. All his family are probably dead. He tells me that more mines are being established. The aliens are looking for something, but don’t know where to look. Some of the original mines have been abandoned, I’m also told. While we talk some of the cooks are tending to the graves of those who’ve died. These are the lucky ones and thoughts drift to those who have no grave.
Life has become surreal. It’s still raining, yet the sun is out. To my left is the mine shaft and to my right is the huge spoil heap. In front of me the sun sets over the graves of the unfortunate, and above is a giant red-brick space ship.
Parting words from the sentry: “Both soldiers and civilians are not allowed to keep notes or write of their experiences at this facility“. He then gives me a slight wink as if to say, “but I don’t give a shit!” Either that or he has a nervous twitch.
17 November 2014
Have asked Miranda to look after my diary, so she has no excuses not to read my deepest and most innermost thoughts. Quiet day. No accidents.
24 November 2014
It’s been a quiet week. Only one accident that I know of. The kid will survive. According to Miranda they have a new helping hand in the kitchen. A few weeks ago one of the miners lost his arm in an accident. He’s returned to help in the kitchen. At least he won’t starve.
27 November 2014
We have a new intake of “volunteers” and most appear to be from north of the border. They are eager to start but not before they’ve eaten. I’m told by one of the sentries that fewer survivors are being picked up and so they are having to rely on volunteers from Scotland, and yes, they are proper volunteers. Tonight they are being briefed as to what will be expected of them. In the morning they will be showed the ropes and the aliens. Because of black eye some of us are asked to wear shades.
That night most of us gain an insight into what Scotland is like. There is no electricity or running water. No transport either and food is in very short supply. No one is being paid because the banking system has collapsed. Food riots are common and people are dying. Yet Scotland is salvation and it is where some of us want to be right now.
29 November 2014
Early start. The more experienced of us are being promoted to supervise the new intake. Problem! Someone forgot to mention the aliens. Yes, there is this enormous red brick floating about us, but there was almost a riot when the new guys were introduced to three of the aliens.
In addition we have started the 30 minute rule. No one is allowed to operate or work near the sonic pick for more than 30 minutes. No exceptions. Accordingly some of us are given clockwork kitchen timers.
2 December 2014
Bad accident today. An inexperienced miner dropped his sonic pick. There was an almighty crack of deafening thunder and by the time someone had managed to hit the off-button, three men were dead (one decapitated) and another two seriously injured. We’re all shaken by what happened, but the ruddy aliens wanted us to continue. This demand was interpreted through a soldier who did his best to explain why we needed to collect our thoughts and rest. This alien wasn’t angry, he just wanted us to carry on. Prick!!!
4 December 2014
Getting on well with Miranda. She lost her family to you-know-what. Most of us have problems trying to remember what life was like before the fire descended. Yet we had mortgages and jobs (well some of us). We watched TV or surfed the internet. We did the gardening or not in my case. We loved or desired or dreamt of a better life, but on this side of the firestorm we just try to stay alive and mourn and scream in silence. How do we cope?
5 December 2014
It’s been three months since my arrival. Looking around and there aren’t many of us old timers left. Some have been moved to other sites but a few have died or have been injured. That’s the most unnerving thing to deal with. We work because we must (alien quote), yet those with experience are dying at the hands of idiots who turn up and are handed a piece of alien technology that kills without mercy. Most of us actually blame the army. They are the ones who recruited these idiots, who let’s face it are only interested in securing a hot meal for the least amount of work, and if that means cutting corners or not paying attention, then I‘m alright Jack.
We not only have to deal with those who inflict the most death and injury, but the said same are also eager to physically assault the aliens. We have enough trying to cope with our own heartache without having to listen to some hot head during our breaks, as they detail what they’d do if given half the chance. Luckily the army are wise to such discontent and the aliens are well protected.
8 December 2014
Witnessed another death. Not pleasant. The army are insisting that we work, but who can? A miner was trying to tune the sonic pick when he accidentally dropped it. The sound wave passed through his body and he just collapsed into a mound of flesh – most of his bones were dissolved in an instant. He just lay there, unable to move or breath. He knew the end was coming but couldn’t speak. Tears formed in his eyes. One brave soul sat next to him and held his hand. He died within a minute or two. There was no question of carrying on that day and we returned to the main accommodation level.
Spent the afternoon sobbing uncontrollably away from the others. Fucking aliens. It’s evening and we’ve just buried him amongst the 24 other miners who have died so far.
10 December 2014
The human race! Idiots!. No, in all honesty I cannot blame anyone who hasn’t eaten properly in weeks, if not months. Taking day one out of the equation, I’ve been lucky and so have those around me. If anything I’ve put on weight and I’m not the only one. Pity the blighters living in Glasgow. Then again if the aliens listened to our suggestions then we might save a few lives.
There was more trouble last night. After the final shift the aliens and most of the soldiers usually leave for the surface. The aliens board their shuttle craft and the army return to their tented barracks. That’s what normally happens on an evening. Tensions were high and have been for some considerable time. We have no idea why, but the appearance of an alien in the canteen was enough to cause trouble.
There were no eloquent or constructive arguments, just mob rule. I remember turning to Miranda and telling her and her mates to leave. Just then I heard a gun being cocked. I turned round and saw the alien on the ground. Someone had thrown something. Not sure what? Suddenly a sonic pick appeared from nowhere. People cheered and I knew that someone was going to die. It was rare for that to happen - rare that you can see an accident waiting to happen. Someone drops a pick and someone dies. It just happens. But here and now. A shot rang out and the chap wielding the sonic pick hit the deck. He was shot by one of the soldiers who at that moment had entered the canteen.
One of us old boys quickly picked up the pick, and was in the process of placing it out of the reach of the angry mob, when he was himself pounced upon by Squaddie wielding a pickaxe handle. So I jumped on the Squaddie. That was then and this is now - me writing this with a couple of cracked ribs. If it wasn’t for the fact that no less than three soldiers - all NCOS - vouched for us both we’d be in serious trouble. I later learnt that the alien died. I have a few days off now. They buried the demonstrator. Four others ended up in the field hospital. The soldier who fired the fatal shot has been moved to another mine. And the alien? No one knows!
11 December 2014
I was told that there was another accident involving alien technology. Two killed. Worked stopped as those working downed tools and remonstrated with rocks. The alien and its army chaperons had to flee. Soon after and around twenty troops were sent in with pickaxe handles and ended what others had started.
People are increasingly on edge. We are fighting amongst ourselves now and it’s difficult to relax. Some of us know why this is happening, but we don’t want to talk about it. Christmas is in two week’s time. Nothing has been planned and in all honesty we all want to curl up and hibernate until the Spring.
12 December 2014
Spent the day walking round like a zombie. Thought I’d seen it all. This morning we had an accident and for once no human was killed or injured. But an alien was injured - quite badly. I didn’t see the accident, but there before me was this poor unfortunate alien laying on the ground. I then noticed the chaperone breath in deeply. The alien had said something. Just then the soldier ordered the area be cleared. I stayed in the shadows and before long another alien appeared. Another sharp intake of breath and the soldier departed.
For the first time I heard the aliens talk in their own tongue in a series of high-pitched clicks. The alien held his dying friend in his arms. There was a short exchange of clicks, and then the healthy alien picked up a rock, and with a single blow to the head the injured alien was put out of its misery. I gasped and the alien just looked at me for an eternity. He then picked up his euthanized friend and departed.
I wasn’t the only zombie doing the rounds today. This afternoon I discovered that the same alien knowing that there was going to be a cave-in pushed two humans out of danger. This creature, whose kind were responsible for so much destruction, saved the lives of two men. Our views of these creatures have somewhat changed.
13 December 2014
A good day! About two months ago I came across the NCO who helped reunite Amy with her Dad. Asked if he could find out if they made it to Scotland safely. The soldier said he would try his best but that was two months ago. Today he turned up at our site. He’d been assigned to another mine and good news! Both Amy and her dad made if safely to Scotland. They spent three days in an emergency centre before being moved on. I’m told that if they had relatives living in Scotland they would be billeted with them. The news made my day and week and month, but it can’t be easy going for them, if the rumours are true about food riots.
We also discussed the work in hand. The NCO had just come from a mine that has been closed. We are well aware of mine shafts being dug then abandoned, but an entire mine? That’s the second time a mine closure has been mentioned. The common consensus us that the aliens are looking for something, but don’t exactly know where to look. We’ve both heard the current rumour doing the rounds, namely the aliens are looking for a rare element, as yet unknown to man, which the aliens need to fuel their giant ship. Well, it’s either that or they have no sense of direction.
Miranda is pleased for me. It’s rare that anyone gets any news from the outside world.
14 December 2014
Busy week. Christmas won’t be forgotten nor our loved ones. Happened upon a senior NCO this morning and managed to persuade him that we need counselling and suggested a priest. I don’t believe in organised or exploitative religion, but my God exists, even though I know not his name or his own personal beliefs. I believe in a God who is as vulnerable and infallible as us humans AND I don’t believe that what happened in May was of his making.
We need counselling because nothing on earth can help relieve the pain. The cooks will do wonders and I understand that food is being stockpiled, but we need someone to help ease the pain.
Sometimes I find myself on an evening listening to someone on the edge and clearly unable to cope. I try my best to comfort him or her, because it is the kindest thing to do, and because it also blocks out my own firestorm. But you can only do so much. I mean how can you erase the memory of watching you wife and children burn while you’re trapped by heat and flame? It’s a common occurrence amongst us survivors - being unable to extinguish loved ones and bystanders alike. The lucky one’s were crushed or suffocated, but fire is as horrendous an end as can be imagined or witnessed.
17 December 2014
I’m told that they have found an army chaplain who will spend a few days with us. I volunteer to chaperone him. No accidents this week, though we do have a thief in the kitchen. Someone has been stealing chocolate biscuits from the kitchen, but I promise not to do it again. Just relieved that we will not be forgotten by either God or his reprehensive on earth this Christmas.
19 December 2014
And now we know! One bright spark has worked out why some of us have succumbed to “Black Eye”. It’s the alien lighting that adorns the walls and ceilings in most parts of the mine. One of the newcomers decided to position his bunk below one of these sealed units so he could read in bed. Within hours his skin had turned grey and he woke up suffering from Black Eye. He had only been in the mine for less than twelve hours. As I write this, some of my colleagues are repositioning these lights to help reduce this alien affliction.
20 December 2014
After a lengthy argument betwixt Pongo and Alien we are to be given four days off work. This news is greeted by cheers and silence in equal measure. Not working means no causalities. Not working also means more thinking time - that can be equally devastating. Works makes us forgot and we work hard to forget, but now thoughts drift towards 25th December and then back again to 14th May. The army are “twitchy” and we are told to be careful. Light exuberance can and will probably lead to accidents. We are told to slow down and take it easy.
Me thinks "The Lost Diaries of John Smith" would make an excellent TV series! I'm just saying...
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