Diary of the Displaced by Glynn James Page A

frequent across the rock, and each time they were sticking out of a plastic bag filled with small stones, and bits of junk. The hard surface of the ground looked like marble, but less smooth. Of course, I’ve only ever seen marble on the floor of banks and museums, where it was highly polished. This must have been marble in its raw state. I could have been walking over a natural resource worth a fortune. One thing I did notice was the long streaks of reddish gold. I thought that they look like metal of some kind, but I could have been wrong. What the hell did I know about rocks?
    DogThing stayed a lot closer to me than usual, snuffling along the ground a few feet behind me, and hugging the shadows that the lantern cast. He seemed okay, but a little uncomfortable.
    I reckon it took roughly eight hours to reach the crevasse, and I was about four hours into the journey when the rain stopped. No warning. No light rain, or gradual lapse. It just switched off, like someone had turned the tap off. Twenty minutes later and I was walking on dry ground. I had no idea where the water had all gone.
    The crevasse appeared in the gloom, stretching across the path that the markers had led me along. I had a horrible gut feeling as I approached that it was going to be impassable. It appeared to be about thirty feet wide, and dark. When I finally had the chance to look down into it, I sighed with relief. It was only deep as a man’s height. Of course, there was no easy way to cross it, and no gradual slope, just a sheer drop.
    Well it’s another hour or so later as I sit writing this. I’ve got a little campfire going down in the crevasse, only a small one to cook up some mushrooms.  It took me most of that time to haul my stuff out of the cart, and down into the bottom. Then I had to lug the cart down as well.
    At first, I left the cart and walked a little way along the edge, hoping that it would end soon, so that I might be able to navigate around it, but there wasn’t any sign of an easier crossing, so I gave up. I could have spent hours walking along it to find nothing.
    My stomach is still feeling crap after two weeks or so of drinking only cheap fizzy pop. I’m hoping that drinking water will make a difference, clean my system out a bit. Having solid food seems to be helping a lot.
    Now that the rain has stopped I’m wishing that I’d laid out more plastic water traps on the way. At least I still have quite a good supply of water bottles.
    Day 18
    “How far is it?”
    “Not far, maybe a day or so from the crack in the plateau. You’re making good time.”
    “Okay.”
    “The rains have stopped haven’t they?”
    “Yes,”
    “The maw is still with you?”
    “DogThing?”
    “You named him?” (Laughter) “Yes. Him.”
    “Yes he is still with me.”
    “Good. Pay attention to his senses. The gargants don’t usually move up onto the plateau, so you should be ok.”
    “Gargants? What the hell are they?”
    “Huge things. Vicious. They come from the swamps after the rain. If the ground starts shaking then you run in the opposite direction and hide, fast. But don’t worry. You’ll be ok on the plateau.”
    “No zombies?”
    “No, no zombies. They seem to frequent the junkyards and the ruins, cutting a path straight through the swamp to make their way to the great wall that you found up there. Though they take the long way round the plateau for some reason. I’ve never seen one up near waterfall.”
    “Are they really zombies? Those things?”
    “No. Not really.”
    DogThing was even more on edge for most of the day. I pressed on for as many hours as I could, leaving little time to write this by the time I set up camp again. Honestly, it’s all just flat rock, so not much to report anyway.
    Endless, flat rock.
    Day 19
     “It was nervous?”
    “Yes. He stuck close to me, by the cart for a few hours and he kept watching the darkness, stooping low. He wasn’t a happy dog.”
    “No ground