Author's Preface
Transcript: Recovered Audio Tape - Zach Hardcastle & Samantha Fisher
[Sound of static, then a sharp click]
Zach: Hello? Testing... is this thing actually recording?
Sam: Is it on? I can't tell in this light.
Zach: Well, the light's green, dummy. That means it's running.
Sam: I'm not a dummy... dummy.
[Sound of a playful scuffle, followed by Sam's muffled laughter]
Zach: Watch it, you'll knock the batteries out. I found this in the electronics aisle under a pile of soot. Thought maybe we should... you know. Leave something. In case Cairn finally loses it and drives that truck into a ditch.
Sam: Don't say that. He's just... he's just looking for a way out.
Zach: Yeah, well, while he's looking for the exit, I'm looking for a reason to stay. Move over, you're hogging the duvet.
Zach: So, it's what day...? I don't know. I stopped counting after two. [Sound of Zach's muffled laughter]
Sam: It doesn't matter what day it is, Zach. What matters is that in all this mess... we found each other.
Zach: True. True. I mean, you wouldn't have found this lovable sack of meat to get you pregnant if the world hadn't ended, right? You'd still be holding out for a millionaire.
Sam: [A soft, exasperated sigh] You're such a kid sometimes.
Zach: Hey, this kid is the one who found the extra-soft duvets. And I think I found a tin of actual rice pudding behind the radiator in the canteen. Five-star dining tonight, Sam.
Sam: [A loud sigh]
Sam: Come on... come on, Zach. Stop messing around. Just for a second.
Zach: Okay, okay...
[Sound of a long, heavy exhale] ...Phew.
Sam: Better now?
[There is the sharp crrk-fizz of a can opening, followed by the rhythmic sound of someone taking a long, deep drink.]
Zach: Much. God, I forgot what real sugar tasted like. Where'd you find that?
Sam: Bottom of a crate in the loading bay. Hidden under a tarp. I think Cairn missed it. Or maybe he left it for us.
Zach: Cairn doesn't leave treats, Sam. He leaves instructions and tire tracks. But I'll take it.
Thomas Baaku's Signature Chili Sponge
Ingredients
225g Unsalted butter (softened)
225g Caster sugar
4 Large eggs
225g Self-raising flour
1 tsp Baking powder
2 tbsp Milk
1 Fresh Red Chili (Finely crushed/minced)
Method
Prep: Preheat your oven to 180°C. Grease two 20cm sandwich tins and line the bases with baking parchment.
Creaming: In a large bowl, beat the softened butter and caster sugar together until the mixture is pale, light, and fluffy.
The Eggs: Add the eggs one at a time, beating thoroughly after each addition. If the mixture starts to curdle, stir in a tablespoon of your flour to bind it.
The Heat: Stir in the finely crushed fresh chili, ensuring it is evenly distributed through the wet mix.
Folding: Sift the self-raising flour and baking powder into the bowl. Use a large metal spoon to gently fold the flour into the batter. Do this slowly to keep the air inside.
The Drop: Add the milk and stir gently. The batter should reach a "dropping consistency," meaning it falls easily off the spoon when tapped.
Bake: Divide the mixture evenly between the two tins. Bake for 20-25 minutes until the cakes are golden brown and the centers spring back when lightly pressed.
Cooling: Leave the cakes in the tins for 5 minutes, then turn them out onto a wire rack to cool completely.
Finish: Sandwich the layers together with a generous spread of raspberry jam and whipped cream.
Recovered Journal - Cairn Taylor
It's been two months since the asteroid hit and took [illegible]. How can I go on? I mean, has it been sheer luck that I've made it this far, or does God have some sick plan in mind?
Well, God, if You do, then I want no part of it. All I want is my family back. I'd take the yellow sky, the fire, and the rot I'd take all of it, as long as they were standing by my side. But they aren't. I'm just a man breathing in ash while the people I love are buried under it. I look at the others in the store and I feel... nothing. Just the weight of them. They look at me for answers, but I'm just staring into the dark, waiting for it to stare back.Foss Bank. What is there left to write about that place? If it wasn't for the group there, I don't think I would have even thought about moving forward, at least not toward Hull.
After Ronald and Gloria... my feet just took me to that car park. I can't even remember the walk; it's all a blur of yellow smoke and screaming. Then, losing the car park the way we did, God, I was already grieving for four people; I didn't need another three added to the tally.
Grant. Richard. And Mark.
Mark was only eleven. He wasn't even old enough to have a proper drink, and now he's gone before his grandad could even finish teaching him about how the old world used to work. I carry their names like stones in my pockets. Every time I look at Zach or Rachael, I don't see them.
I just see the spaces where the others used to be. I'm moving toward the coast because there's nowhere left to go but the sea.Then came the real kick in the teeth: Operation Blue. More like Operation Get Killed. They promised us a way out, a better life, a sanctuary. One thousand and eight people followed those blue flares, hoping for a future, only to be fed into a meat grinder. They vanished-gone into the yellow haze and never seen again.
I think about them sometimes. Were they killed quickly, or is it a slow rot like the one eating Hull? Either way, the government is just issuing orders to ghosts now. They want us to stay calm, to wait for "evacuation," but I know better. Operation Blue was the end of the old world's honor. Now, it's just us, the ash, and the lies they tell to keep us quiet while we wait for the tide to come in.
It's the silence I crave now. Not the rhythmic pulse of the human world the cars, the shouting, the constant hum of a city that never slept but the heavy, dead silence of this new one. Down there in the aisles, the kids are still trying to make noise, trying to pretend the world still has a heartbeat. Up here, on the tower, I know better.
But where is this going? How long can we actually survive on tinned peaches and false hope? And more importantly... how long until a wolf gets inside our barn?
We've bolted the doors and pulled down the shutters, but a barn only keeps the rain out. It doesn't stop something that can smell the blood inside. I sit here and watch the docks, wondering if the wolf is already at the door, or if it's been sitting in the corner of the store with us this whole time, just waiting for the lights to finally fail.
Recovered Journal - [Unidentified Entry]
Christmas is meant to be special, isn't it? Or so I'm told. The tree, the presents, the food, the family.
Here, we do things differently. We built a tree out of stacked tins of baked beans and marrowfat peas. We decorated it with whatever Christmas stock was left in the seasonal aisle tattered tinsel and a few dented baubles that escaped the soot. It doesn't exactly scream Christmas, and the green metal of the cans is a far cry from a pine forest, but it's ours.
We sat around it tonight, the tin-can branches reflecting the flickering light of our camping lanterns. Zach even managed to find a box of crackers. The jokes were terrible, and the paper hats looked ridiculous over our grimy faces, but for an hour, the world felt like it was a mile away instead of just on the other side of the shutters.
Rachael... what can I even say about her? She's the light in this darkness. When I look at her, the old life feels like a different universe, and the horrors waiting outside the shutters don't seem quite as loud.
If only she knew what life could really throw at you the things I've seen, the ways things can truly break maybe she wouldn't pace so much. She wouldn't feel the need to count every single tin of beans every minute just to keep her sanity. She hasn't had to fight just to exist like I have. She didn't grow up in a house where your own skin felt like a cage, or where the people who were supposed to love you were the ones holding the bars.
I've spent my whole life transitioning from one nightmare to another, carving out a space where I could finally just be. And now that I've found it, the world is ending. I want to tell her to stop counting. I want her to be like the kids, like Zach and Sam to just relax. I just want to be the one who finally makes her put the clipboard down and see me. Not the me I was, but the man I am now.
Tomorrow. I've decided.
I'm going to find her a gift. A real gift. Not something generic from these dusty shelves not another tin of sweets or a candle from the homeware aisle. I want something that still carries the scent of the world before the yellow fire took it. Something that proves we weren't always just scavengers living in a warehouse.
I know it's risky. Cairn will call me a fool, and Rachael will probably just count the minutes I'm gone on that damn clipboard. But she needs to see that there's still beauty left, even if it's buried under the ash. I'm going out past the perimeter. I'm going to find something that belongs to the man I am now, to give to the woman who makes me want to stay that way.
My name is Thomas Baaku.
I've bled for that name. I've carved it out of a life that tried to erase me before I even had a chance to breathe. If I'm going out into that yellow fire to find a gift for Rachael, I'm going as the man I made myself to be. Not a daughter, not a victim, and certainly not a memory.