Max. Second to the youngest. For you future people, my parents named me after their favorite character in their favorite sci-fi series which I’ve always thought was fucked up, like they gave me the script of a main character of a horror show to live out in apocalyptic technicolor! And yes, I have red hair.

  This is a confession. It rambles a little bit, because I’ve tried to keep it in chronological order. A friend confided in me, knowing I could be trusted, which is how it began and no small thing! The dude who sits on the top step all day and meditates whispered, ‘do it’ and it just seemed to fit with my preordained fate of a fictitious character, if that makes sense.

  @@@@@@@@

  The SWAT team since renamed the Search team who goes out and searches the buildings around our Keep, have been finding everything we want, not that that’s nuts but its nuts. So nuts that a rumor spread to just tell Cuma what you want and it gets sent magically to the gods who plant the stuff that night. No, I’m not kidding!

  If rope, more walkie talkies, medical supplies, respirators, large silicon batteries, large clean containers to hold rainwater, anything the group wants before they go out the day before, is on the list then boom, they find it.

  We’re not all that different here. We all get stirred by the same emotions, most gifted in one way or another and value the Earth as a living, breathing organic being who’s sick, perhaps beyond getting well. To be the best we can, to be able to make the right decisions, we need accurate information, nothing kept secret, everything out in the open. Some think broadcasting our location is risky, others think we should push our journal entrees out every week while others are caught between that hard place and a boulder. What, I say or we five including Cuma and probably the meditator say privately for now, is that it’s already over! They know and are providing us what we need. They know because they sent that girl and they know because how could they not! They have a quantum, fucking computer on the moon that can do a kazillion things at once including listening in on buildings with thermal readings of people. And maybe, just maybe they need us, seeing as though the world population has dwindled down to millions not billions.

  So, I say, get over it. I don’t know what’s going on but I do know that something is happening to us, that’s good or not bad, we hope. Anyway, humble me went around and did my own personal survey of what people wanted so I could add to the list and the majority of the answers fit into the larger category of Nature. Some wanted a large open garden with flowers and root vegys like potatoes and carrots, others wanted wildlife, others forest or mountains or fast moving sparkling streams or rivers. In general, most all were tired of city and wanted natural spaces. So I asked a close friend for help on figuring out how we could make more nature here and that’s when he told me the secret and it sent chills down my spine. I looked at him as in, seriously, don’t make fun of my name! But he was as serious as I’ve seen him.

  The odd things, yes stranger things. From Pogs always around to gone, from severe weight loss and diseases taken hold possibly due to months of bad water and little food to water filters and gaining back the weight from substantial meals and the protein powder mix sent on the second drop, from raining seven out of ten days to raining two out of ten days, from needing things to increase odds of survival to finding everything on the lists every day and from a tired out, burnt out bunch of hardened resisters who rather be by themselves to a renewed spirit and bonding and friendships created every day now. ‘But Nature’, I said, ‘we need it bad! It’s why everyone likes the top.

  A lot of us believe it could only be a lull, a temporary respite to Armageddon in your face but others, see a new beginning, a crack opening up to an alternative reality. And five plus one of us know. We have taken proactive steps to ensure survival. For now, it’s a secret, but not for long. If Abby, our Journals Keeper, is reading the entrees, then she also knows and so does her partner Free’d.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  So, this is my confession, I believe the first, and I’ll let the others do as they may. This is how it happens. You make a date, such and such a time and place. Now that anyone can volunteer to search buildings, you can do it that way. Make sure you’re on the same search party as her, wait for the perfect time when you’re alone with her and take spit. Open your mouth and swallow immediately else you choke. Also, you can go outside on the steps at night and sit next to each other. Its okay because she can sense any danger that may be present.I

  t's been two and a half weeks and I’m flipping. The first thing that happens is that it triggers stored memory of things you forgot. It kind of releases these things that you aren’t consciously aware of and as they add up you begin to feel different, lighter imo. But as this is going on, sounds, visuals, scents become pronounced and dreams become detailed stories that are so good that you’re bummed when you wake up. We five speak together when we’re alone, mostly outside on the steps and this is the common consensus. The rumors of hybrids with third DNA strands are true and its happening to us because of Kris passing it on to Cuma. The others speak of weird dreams of other lives locked up and released. At first, they seemed random but now they think they’re just like our own where something happened to them that caused some kind of blockage and loss of their better angels and by reliving it, it disappears. Karma. And the stories are intense as if we were in some movie. Poverty, nobility, secrets passed and held of the powerful and wicked, rickety boats crossing the Atlantic, wars and slaughter approved in dark rooms from weak small minds, dungeons but no dragons, yet, our DNA lineage. Small steps, some feel, getting ready for the larger stuff. In short, we’re evolving towards something that will better prepare us in helping the others with restoration. Keeping it quiet is no small feat!

  But there’s no instruction manual that comes with this. Cuma was first, the second, a few days after, the third, ten days after, the fourth, twelve days and me, two weeks. We have heard some things on the WORD, and rumor from the streets but otherwise are going into this blind. If Kris was fully evolved, then things should be okay. We won’t sprout any weird extra body parts or turn green except for maybe a tinge in the whites of the eyes. But Kris is a total unknown. We don’t know how long the change lasts, if we can continue to be just us with the add-ons or if our behavior will noticeable change. We don’t even know if we are just a tweaked hybrid using the advanced crisper tech or if this is something else, as in a dormant alien implant, awake due to our experiments, another rumor on the street by the fleeing white collars.

  When I began the first draft of this entrée, I wasn’t a member of a secret cult and since my taking saliva, its changed my world. I have my own things going on but I also know what’s coming up to a point, the most advanced Cuma who is still undergoing changes and still can be herself when required. I’ll be glad when it’s all out in the open or at least understood by all. I also believe that there may be some that aren’t saying because Cuma won’t say who she’s been with. And I’m suspecting Abby, the Keeper of the Journal and probably her partner, Free’d since he gives me a look and little nod like he knows.

  So, for one thing, we can be just us and different at the same time. At meetings, we hardly say anything unless the group decision is really fucked up. We are always on the look out for anyone who would unhesitatingly join us. We don’t want to give ourselves away yet but probably soon. Looking for a few more brave souls.

  @@@@@@@@@@@@

  Back to Nature, the new religion. Most of us want more of it so we figured if we put the compost that we found in the storage shed in back in the cracks in the street that happened during the schizophrenia hot as hell, arctic cold back and forth we had a few years ago, then we could plant trees in those spots. Last week the search party, armed to the teeth with guns and the list and a special researched request, Mulberry seed, took off down the other side of our Library hold out and radioed back after an hour saying that they had found mulch used probably for the small, landscaped areas in front and behind the brownstones stretching as far as they could see and one sickly Mulberry with a ton of seeds. When they got back we were ready to plant as many as we could around the front and sides of our Keep. Besides the weird seeds , they also brought back some struggling saplings they found in planters on the outdoor decks of some of the apartments. We didn’t know what to expect but certainly not what we found the next morning. Zenith, hit the gong once early, meaning something significant had happened but not dangerous..As soon as I stepped outside, I knew who had been out there last night. The street rumors were true. Spit was also a growth accelerant to plants. Zenith looked perplexed and maybe a little worried, so we knew she was out of the loop.