July 15, 2252

Undeniably the worst day here. It's Thursday. I used to thoroughly enjoy Thursdays. Lara and I had our date night on Thursday. Every time we went somewhere different. Somewhere special, and coming up with those date locations was one of the few things about my week that I enjoyed.

We picked Thursday because that was the weekday Lara's dance studio was closed. There was lots of other extra curriculars for kids around that any day of the week would've done fine. Thursday was just the best choice.

Not only is this Thursday the first Thursday where I haven't seen my wife in the last twenty-six years. This Thursday is our anniversary. Twenty-six years I haven't forgotten an anniversary or a Thursday. This time I guess it seems like I've forgotten both.

I hope she knows I expect her to find someone else. Preferably a random stranger because the last thing I want is mock Hamlet happening in outer space. Really unnecessary. Not that Croft is actually my brother but I've done him enough favours that it's pretty damn close.

Just thinking about that kind of amuses me actually. I don't know which one of them was more excited to see me after I came out of that coma. Him being him, Mr. Temperamental Stoic himself tried to be all calm. Like "Oh yeah, how was your beauty rest Princess Ackerman?" I think I just punched him in the shoulder, I must've said something though because the  the waterworks started. If I didn't know better I'd have thought I was dating him and not Lara.

He gave me this hug and muttered something like "You fucking still reak like ocean, man." Of course I was laughing at him because no one knew that guy to lose him shit quite that way. Except me, maybe his wife Luna.

Poor lady. Don't know why she married him. Girl could've been a model. But she settled down all of her fancy Human Resource madness and married that navy medic. I think he loved her about as much as he's capable of. At least a hundred times I'd had to rescue him from an angry mob of young women swinging their purses at him because he was a complete skank. I'd come to his rescue more times than I can count because he'd screwed the wrong girl and now someone's dad was out for his head. And never once before her had he gone any farther than a one nighter. With anyone.

He was devastated when she was killed in the middle of a mall in Italy by some man who'd already shot twelve people. She tried to mediate, Croft tried to get the guy to chill out but they'd gotten violent really quick and the guy pulled the gun on Luna. Shot her five times before she bled out in Croft's arms.

Hard to think that was three years ago.

I'm getting fucking old.

The worst part is I remember every single anniversary. And my favourite one will always be 13. Of course that's weird because I'm a superstitious son of a bitch on a good day and 13 is bad luck. As my whole life has proven.

Except that 13. Was overseas "peacekeeping" the Russian oceanfront border. Not supposed to have been home for the anniversary or even another two weeks after. As is my luck, three weeks before the anniversary our ship got caught in a hell of a storm, lost contact with everything and we were fucking lost.

My old buddy Dean leans on my shoulder and waves his arm in front of me across the finally settling ocean. "You ever get sick of scaring your wife to death and almost dying?" he says to me. I remember laughing and telling him it never got old because when I finally came home she wasn't mad that I forgot to do my laundry anymore. I think he probably slapped me then.

Anyway, we decided to just float our way back to England and when we reestablished contact with someone we'd alert them of our plan. And on the day of the anniversary we got into London's harbour. I got on the first plane back to Brighton and kept every crossable part of myself crossed that I would get home in time.

Plane landed at 9:30 p.m. and my stomach was churning so bad I lurched out of that seat and hurried out of that airport as fast as I could. Didn't even stop to hail a cab I just ran with my twenty pound duffel bag slung over my shoulder. I got to our street, could see our house and the only light that was on was the kitchen. And inside I could see my very pregnant wife reading a book.

I took a few deep breaths and tried to make myself appear less sweaty as I slowly approached the house. When I got to the door I knocked gently, staying out of view until she opened the door. And the look on her face at that moment was one I wouldn't change for the world. I'd barely dropped my duffel bag before there were tears streaming down her face and she was squeezing me so tight it was almost hard to breathe.

And that was my favourite night of my life. Which is saying something because I've had some fucking awesome nights.

Like this time when Croft and I were still doing our training the stupid ass decided we'd completely ditch the day and go on a drive to Scotland to go to some specific beach that was supposedly "better" than the other beaches.

Took until we got there for me to realize he meant the girls were better. And I'll be the first to admit, I Shay Patrick Ackerman, was a complete slut back in the day. Got away with it too. But that day I kept it in my pants long enough to see Master Man Whore Michael Croft get his ass whooped by an old bird whose granddaughter he'd tried to hit on.

Just, imagine this with me; Croft, black hair and (before being hardened over time by seeing lots of blown up people) big excited green eyes comes up to this girl. And she's a looker and a half, beautiful redhead, lots of freckles, big rack and wide hips. Just Mike's type. Anyway, next to her is this old bird, all white hair and wrinkles and sag. He's talking up the granddaughter and they're about to... "Hit the water" if you catch me, and granny catches on.

Never in my life have I seen a pink leather purse fly around so angrily and leave THAT many bruises.

It was a good day.
_________

July 19 2252

Three more days and I can get off this thing. I've been so bored and lonely on this stupid yacht I tried to have a conversation with a lobster I picked up yesterday. And as you can imagine it was not successful. I was also very drunk.

And at some point the thing clawed my leg so I very kindly chucked it back into the water. Probably not the nicest thing to do to the only company I've had in weeks but he was bad company so he isn't much of a loss. Seagulls make decent company, but I've been so far out that the only ones I see are the dying ones. And everything else has been green dolphins and one eyed sharks.

I really have nothing to talk about so I think I'll close up and come back when something interesting happens.

July 21, 2252

I can see the outskirts of the city from here. Faint trees in the distance and the bluey skyscrapers- or, I guess what's left of them.

Doesn't seem like there's a whole lot of life over there. Not that I can see silhouettes from here but you'd think there'd be smoke coming from somewhere. Or something like that. Some kind of a sign of life.

But it could be a total free for all and anyone alive might just be doing their best to hide so they don't wind up in the harbour. At least if it's like that out there I'll have something better to do. My head's already put itself in soldier mode anyway. When you're away from your family you fight to stay alive until you can find them again.

I think my subconscious has forgotten that I won't ever see my family again. Have had several conversations with myself to say "You can't just make this like any other overseas thing. This is real. You will never see you family again. Get that through your skull."

Apparently I'm a terrible listener. Still hasn't gotten through to numbskull. Too bad he's still my problem for the rest of my life.

That's another thing we can't agree on. How much longer I'll live. One half (subconscious) says it borders on a couple of years depending on the concentration of the radiation. The other half says a matter of hours depending on the strength of my will to live. No clue on that front.

The wind off the water here is absolutely freezing. Which is extremely strange because it was hot as hell an hour ago and the sun is beating hard. This harbour just has a weird feeling to it. Can't put a finger on what it is...

Just a second.

There's no aquatic life here either. And I'm still a good ten miles from the shore. What the hell did the Americans do to this place?

No animals.
No gulls.
No sounds.

And it's cold. Why in hell's name is it so cold? It's July.

The closer I get there's still no signs of life. No smoke, no smog. No distant pings of gunfire.

I'm going to get a blanket and a cigarette this is too weird.

Docking now. Going to spend the night on the yacht, hide out until it's absolute morning- say... 4:30 or so and go searching for a few hours. Until probably 7. If it stays suspicious I'll come back and spend another night. Well, no matter what I'm coming back. This yacht is where I live now. But if I find life I might have to reaccomodate. Or I'll be dead and never return.

Either way makes little difference to me.

I've been staring out the window now for seven hours watching the sun go down. The whole yacht except this window at the back that looks over the ocean is shut down and secured. Don't trust this place even a bit. It feels weird. Maybe just because there's no guarantee of safety. Maybe it's because it seems so devoid of life but logically and humanely it can't be. Maybe I'm just nervous to find Callum. Maybe I'm nervous that he's dead, that everyone is dead and I'll be left alone to sail for the rest of my life until I run out of supplies and abandoned buildings to steal from.

Maybe I'm absolutely petrified of the idea that their craft hasn't left yet and there's still a chance I could get home.

Maybe it's all the wine I've drank that's making my skin crawl.

All I know is I'm not ready enough to find out what's there. It feels like Damian is sitting right inside my chest and reaching up my spinal cavity and treating my brain like a rattle. Shaking it around to screw me up and make me nervous. But it's probably just nerves. So I'm going to shut the window and try to get some shut eye.

Try being the absolute key word because there's less than a 1 percent chance that I'll be even slightly successful. It is only ten o'clock after all.

But first things I need a checklist to reference everything to do tomorrow.

Do:
1. Wake up at 3:45
2. Stow everything in the coded compartments and drawers in the event of raiders looking to steal the stuff you stole.
3. Shut off all the lights, make the beds and remove the plates that would disclose where the yacht was from.
4. Replace the plate with a stolen one from a similar vessel down the harbour.
5. Cover the yacht with a tarp for safe measure
6. Steal a sharp piece of metal from an uninhabited ship.
7. Investigate as wide an area as you can before 7 a.m. 7:30 at the latest.
8. Return to yacht and dwell in silence with the tarp still over and everything you've changed untouched.

IN THE EVENT SOMETHING GOES WRONG;
1. Search out a building with the most frightening stature. (The more rickety the better)
     - if you're in a building that looks like it's about to fall down no one will look for you in there. Find a good spot to hide until the sun goes down and you can safely sneak back to yacht.
2. Do not look for food.
     - unnecessary noise is a horrible idea and could easily have you killed.
3. Do not look for people.
4. Do not answer "hello" calls.
     - no one is trustworthy in the dark. No one is trust worthy if they are looking for you.

I will find people. People will not find me. That's all there is to it. No questions asked.

Goodnight.