13 May 2035
My name is Sam Pretorius. I live in Johannesburg. I am ten years old and yesterday was my birthday. I was hoping to get a skateboard but when I opened my present, all I found was this great, big book full of empty pages. Pa said it's a journal. Ma said I'm a lucky boy because now I can write down everything that happens. I said thank you even though I was disappointed about not getting the skateboard.
Now I'm looking at all the empty pages and wondering what to write. Nothing exciting ever happens in this place. We get up in the morning. Pa goes to work. I go to school. Ma goes to Pilates and Yoga and gym and book club. Nighttime, we watch TV. If I hurry up and get my homework done, Ma lets me watch Star Wars or Harry Potter, but when Pa walks in, he switches to the news channel. Then all we get to see is disasters — a typhoon in India, a volcano in Japan, a flood in America, a drought in Australia, a tsunami in Taiwan. I am glad we don't live in those places. All we get here is earth tremors. Pa says that's because Johannesburg is built on top of a big old goldmine.
15 June 2035Four weeks have gone by since I wrote in this journal. Pa says that's okay. He says journals are not logbooks that have to be written up every day. Journals should only record events that are worth recording. Like the hailstorm that smashed our windows and covered the garden with ice yesterday. And the flood that swept bridges away last week. And the tornado that ripped roofs off the week before that. Pa says it's all because of climate change. I asked him what that meant, and was sorry I asked because he went on and on — about greenhouse gas and deforestation and fossil fuels and paleoclimate records and rising sea levels and overpopulation and the ozone layer and global warming and what will happen if people don't stop polluting the environment. What he said then was real scary so I was glad when Ma called us for supper.
30 November 2035We got out of school early today because of the sandstorm. The day started off nice and sunny but all of a sudden a big wind came up and began blowing. A tree crashed down. Next thing, the sky got cloudy and dark. But instead of rain, sand came down. It covered everything — roofs, trees, grass and cars parked in the car park. Some got up my nose and made me sneeze.
6 February 2036Pa was away five days last week. Ma said he went to Switzerland to give a talk about climate change. She said scientists and important people from all over the world would be there. She showed me a newspaper, and there was a photo of Pa. The words below said: Renown environmentalist, Dr. Rueben Pretorius, warns of crop failures due to acceleration in global warming. Famine is predicted when stocks of maize, wheat and rice run out.
Pa came home in a real bad mood. He poured himself a whiskey then walked up and down, shouting, "The bloody fools won't listen. They've been warned and warned, and now it's too late." He said a lot more. After a while, Ma said, "Calm down, Rueben, shouting won't help."
That made Pa even more mad. I didn't understand half of what he was yelling but I did learn a few new swearwords.
10 July 2036Pa has been away a lot these last six months. In fact, he's away more often than not. I don't know where he goes. When he is home, he spends time watching the news, or talking on his cell, or working on his computer. I peeped over his shoulder once to see what he was doing but all I saw was graphs and equations and calculations of some kind. Nothing that made sense. Ma said I was not to worry him with my endless questions because he is very busy doing very important work.
30 August 2036Yesterday began like any other day. Ma woke me at six, I got up, went down for breakfast and was about to help myself to a glass of juice when Pa switched on the TV. And there was Table Mountain, exactly like the photo I took last year when we holidayed in Cape Town. Only now, the city below the flat-topped peak was gone. In its place was a wide sheet of water dotted with debris —cars, uprooted trees, floating billboards and other rubble.
Ma gasped. "Oh, my God, what happened?"
"Tsunami," Pa said. "It doesn't surprise me. There's been a lot of seismic activity lately and, with the rise in sea level, a tsunami of this magnitude was bound to happen. It was just a matter of where. And this is just the beginning. Things are about to get worse."
Ma's eyes opened wide. "Worse? How much worse?"
"A lot. Tornadoes and floods and wildfires and drought and starvation. All the things I warned about. This is the tipping point, Anna. From now on, it's all downhill."
Ma pressed a hand to her mouth. "How much time do we have?"
"Very little. According to my calculations, all hell's about to break loose."
"So it's time?"
Pa nodded. "If we don't go soon, we may not get away at all."
"What about the others?" Ma asked.
"They're set to go. All I have to do is put out the word."
I had no idea what —or who — Pa was talking about, but his words, 'All hell's about to break loose,' made me shiver. Until that moment, the disasters I'd seen on TV were catastrophes that happened to other people, in other, faraway places. Not here. Not in South Africa. Now, for the first time, it dawned on me that my comfortable, safe world might not be comfortable or safe anymore.
3 September 2036We left Johannesburg in a hurry. I had no idea where we were headed because no one told me. When I asked, all Pa said was, "Somewhere safe. There isn't time for explanations. Go pack a bag, just one, and get a move on. The sooner we hit the road, the better."
An hour later, we were on our way. Pa drove steadily, past the shopping mall, past the four-way stop, onto the highway. I gazed out at houses, shops, traffic lights and people coming and going. It was a scene I'd seen a hundred times yet somehow it looked different. It took a while to realise it was because everyone seemed in a hurry.
6 September 2036Three days have gone by since my last entry and now here we are, in the middle of nowhere, holed up in a dugout with a bunch of strangers.
Pa says a journal should record facts, not fiction, so I guess I'd better rewrite that sentence and tell things the way they are. First of all, the Kalahari is not, 'nowhere'. According to Pa, it's a big semi-desert, so big it covers much of Botswana as well as parts of Namibia and South Africa. The farm we're on is near the centre. That means we're as far from civilisation as we can get. That's why pa bought the farm. He reckons this is a good place to be when the shit hits the fan. He didn't use those words, but I know that's what he meant.
I freaked out when Pa told me we'd be living underground for weeks, maybe months. Maybe even years. "Why?" I asked. "Why can't we stay in the old farmhouse? It's empty. Why don't we move in?"
"Because," Pa said in the kind of voice he uses when he's set to give a long lecture. "Because, although the Kalahari is the safest place to be right now, it won't escape the effects of climate change. We must expect extreme weather—blazing heat, gale-force winds and massive sandstorms. The house will not provide enough protection. The only way we can hope to survive is by going underground. So that was my plan. However, I realised there was no way I could achieve such a big undertaking on my own, so I invited two friends to join me. Piet Barnard and Jan Venter. Like me, they saw danger coming so were more than happy to agree. Piet is an architect. He designed the shelter and supervised its construction. Jan is an engineer. He sank a borehole and installed solar panels to provide water and electricity. Also many other things we'll need.
Pa paused, then added, "So we'll have company. Jan and Piet and their families will join us in the shelter. The children—five in all—are more or less your age. So you can look forward to making new friends."
He went on—about the difficulties of living in a small space and how important it was that we got on well together, how duties will need to be shared, how grateful we should be that we had somewhere safe to live while so many others faced terrible danger. I was grateful, I really, truly was, but that didn't stop me from wanting to shout out that I didn't want new friends. I wanted my old friends. And my old house. And my old way of life.
4 September 2036Pa led the way into the old farmhouse. Ma and I followed. He stopped in the kitchen, lifted a trapdoor set in the floor, and beckoned us on, down a flight of steps, into the shelter below.
I stepped into what looked like a living-room filled with tables, chairs, bookshelves and, on one wall, a wide-screen TV. Pa pointed to a smaller screen, set to one side. “That one’s connected to a camera on top of the farmhouse roof. It gives us a view of what’s going on outside—comings and goings as well as the weather. He led us on, stopping to point out a kitchen, a greenhouse—where he said we would soon be growing vegetables—and, further on, past the door to a big storeroom. I didn't get to see how big, because Pa didn't open the door, but it must be very big because he said there was enough food inside to keep us going for years. Also seeds And medicines. And other stuff we'll need.
A passage led to a row of bedrooms. Pa opened the door to one that held three desks, a cupboard and a three-tier bunk-bed. "This will be your room. You'll share with the Barnard boys, Andre and Paul. They're younger than you and probably a bit nervous, so I'm relying on you to make them feel at home. Okay?"
I gazed in, wondering how anyone could ever feel at home in such a small, cramped space. Living there on my own would've been bad enough. Sharing with strangers, would make it a hundred times worse. For a while, I stood speechless, then ma said, her voice bright and cheerful. "Of course he will. And because Sam's the oldest, he can sleep in the top bunk. And decide what time the light goes off." She turned to me with a smile. "There! That's decided."
Ma's words made me feel better. Especially the bit about the top bunk.
30 September 2036Two weeks have gone by since we moved into this shelter and it's turned out better than I thought. The first few days were the worst, but we soon settled into a routine and, after that, things got better. Everyone gathers in the hall at 7.30 for breakfast. At eight, Pa turns on the TV and, for the next half-hour, we watch the news. All we see is one catastrophe after another and, when you think things can't get worse, they do. Today, the announcer went on and on about the heat wave in Russia and how the wheat and sunflower crops have shrivelled and how starving people drop dead while queuing for food.
At half-past eight, it's school time. I was hoping to give lessons a miss. So were the other kids, but no such luck. Piet Venter's wife is a teacher. The first thing she did was line us up and divide us into groups. I'm in the, 'Eleven-and-over', group. So is Elsa Venter and Katrina Barnard. Elsa is a quiet girl who spends most of her time reading. Katrina is tall and skinny, with freckles and red hair. She talks too much and has an irritating way of asking questions when the lesson is about to end. Questions that keep Mrs. Venter talking for another ten minutes, sometimes more.
After lunch, we help with the chores. I give Pa a hand in the greenhouse. Today the most amazing thing happened—every seed we planted germinated. Yesterday, the beds were brown and bare. Today, they are covered with tiny green sprouts.
4 December 2036Today marks the third month since we moved underground. Down here, every day is much the same—one boring day after the other. That's what makes it so hard to believe that the terrible things we see on TV are actually happening. Like Arctic ice melting, massive icebergs, sea levels rising, mudslides wiping out thousands, and rain forests going up in smoke. Yesterday, we saw photos of a volcano shooting lava and ash for miles around. And an outbreak of plague in South America. The day before, it was a fire in Australia, with whole cities going up in flames. And the day before that, millions upon millions of dead fish floating on a sea that stretched every which way for as far as we could see. And this morning... this morning, it was an earthquake in Johannesburg.
We watched in horror as a camera panned over a scene so awful I could barely watch. I didn't actually see the house we'd lived in disappear, but the devastation was so great it was unlikely to have escaped.
"Oh, my God!" Ma called out, her eyes wide with shock. "Those buildings and... and all those people. Friends, neighbours, people we loved. Gone, gone, all gone."
Everyone started talking at once. Children began crying. Someone burst into sobs. Pa put up his hand to hush them. When he spoke, his voice was calm and steady. "Mourn for those you've lost. It's okay to cry, but don't wish them back. They're better off than those who survived. The real horror is still to come."
3 December 2037A year. A year and three months to be exact, since we moved into the shelter. Twelve months, since we saw Johannesburg wiped out. Since then, we've watched more disasters on TV than I can count. Pa calls it the domino effect. An upheaval in one part of the world triggers another some place else.
With so many catastrophes happening all over the world, it was hard to imagine anything worse. But Pa was right about that, too. The real horror began when survivors ran out of food. First rioting, then looting. News channels showed police firing teargas, then rubber bullets, then real bullets, but nothing stopped the starving crowds. When shops emptied, people turned on each other, killing anyone suspected of hoarding food.
Then people started dying. Some from starvation, some from a sickness that killed with terrifying speed. Hospitals overflowed with the sick and dying. When morgues could no longer cope, bodies were dumped by the truckload into mass graves.
That was the last footage we saw because, this morning, when Pa turned on the TV, no pictures came. No matter which buttons he pressed, or what knobs he turned, all we got was silence and a blank screen.
4 December 2038Every day, without fail, Pa turns on the TV. He switches from channel to channel but not once during the past year, has he managed to catch so much as a glimmer of news from the outside world. We're on our own. Totally. And, as Pa points out every chance he gets, right now that's the safest place to be.
15 July 2041It’s raining! After five years, two months and six days of scorching heat, the CCTV screen is full of raindrops.
Pa opened the trapdoor and we went topside. For a while, we stood looking out the farmhouse window at the rain pelting down, breathing in the sweet scent of wet earth. Then, one after the other, we rushed out, waving arms, laughing and calling to one another as we ran about.
Katrina came by, her face upturned to the rain, hair dripping wet, clothes clinging to her body. It struck me that she was no longer the skinny girl she’d been the day we met. Quite the opposite, in fact. As she came closer, I held my arms wide. She ran straight into them. That’s how we came to kiss for the very first time.
30 September 2041Rain and the green grass that sprung up soon afterwards made everyone restless. When people gathered together the talk was all about topside and how good it would be to live under a blue sky and breathe clean, fresh air. Pa put a stop to it by calling a meeting. His message was plain and simple: Although rain and mild temperatures were signs that conditions outside had improved, the weather was by no means stabilised. Until it did, plans to leave the shelter should not be entertained. According to his calculations, that would take another five years. At least. Maybe longer. Maybe a lot longer.
11 June 2044Pa's announcement dampened our spirits but, apart from a few mutters and curses, life went on as usual. On good-weather days, we went topside to walk and run and soak up the sun. On bad-weather days, we stayed down below. Katrina and I took to going up at night to gaze at the stars. Those were the best times.
21 October 2046Ten years, one month and seventeen days—and at long, long last, the day we've been waiting for has come. After years of watching and waiting for just the right moment, Pa has finally taken the drone he brought with him out of wraps. It's fitted with a camera and programmed to send images of the landscape below to the small screen in our lounge. Now, at last, with a bit of luck, we'll get to see what lies beyond the Kalahari.
It's set to fly tomorrow at sunrise. I can hardly wait.
22 October 2045As photos from the drone came in, we sat huddled together, eyes fixed on the screen. Little by little, desert sand gave way to scrub, then grassland dotted with trees. Then farmland. I leaned forward to get a closer look, but all I saw was an abandoned tractor and a house surrounded by weed-covered fields.
A town came into view, and we had a fleeting glimpse of rooftops, cars, shop-lined streets, an airfield and a church with a tall bell-tower. Nothing moved, or at least nothing I could see. Next came valleys, mountains, a river, more farmlands, another town, then the ruins of a burnt-out city.
The scene changed, this time to mile upon mile of bushveld. And there, in what had once been a wildlife reserve, we saw the first evidence of life. Not in abundance. No great herds of buffalo or wildebeest. Or zebra. No elephants or giraffe. Or rhino. Just a few solitary impala, a family of warthogs and a pair of jackals. And birds. And crocodiles lazing on a river bank.
Then, in the distance, from among the trees, a plume of smoke.
"Smoke!" I yelled. "There are people down there. Look — that's smoke. That's smoke!"
"Or mist from a waterhole," Pa said.
We didn't get to find out who was right because that's when the drone ran out of power and spiralled down into the trees.
23 October 2045The question whether we'd seen smoke or mist kept us up arguing till late last night.
Pa, as usual, had the last word. "It's possible, even probable, that it was smoke. In a country as big as South Africa there will, more than likely, be others who survived. Let's hope so, anyway. The time may come when it will be to our advantage to make contact. That time is not now. What we need now is a new home—a place to settle and put down roots. A farm large and fertile enough to support us. And we need that with some urgency because our food supply is running low. I was hoping to find something suitable from the drone footage. I'll need to study it more closely, of course, but at first glance, nothing I saw meets our needs."
"How can you say that?" Jan Venter asked. "I saw hundreds—maybe thousands—of farms on that footage. All lying vacant. There must surely be one to suit us?"
"Maybe. The problem is few have fertile soil," Pa pointed out. "Most of the land you saw has been ruined by GMO crops. The seeds we take with us will not survive there. We need to be careful. Very, very careful. The wrong choice and a failed crop will be a disaster from which we may not recover."
He paused to look around. "We need a volunteer—or two—to go out and scout around to find the kind of home we need. A home that will not only provide shelter but one with a source of good, clean water and soil that hasn't been contaminated by chemicals and GMOs. It won't be easy and it may be dangerous, but there's no other way."
"I'll go," I called out. "I'm your volunteer."
"Me, too," Katrina called. "Count me in."
For a moment there was silence then everyone began talking at once. Pa raised his voice to make himself heard. "Right! That's it, folk, we have our volunteers. Sam and Katrina. And I can't think of two people I'd trust more to get the job done." He paused to smile. "Now that that's decided, let's wish them well."
26 October 2046Pa's ten-year-old Land Rover has been oiled, greased and thoroughly overhauled. Jan Venter has assured me it's in tiptop condition and ready to go. [Learning to drive]. Ma has packed enough food to last us ten days. Pa gave me a compass and map. Also a handgun and box of ammo. "Just in case," he said as he slipped them into the cubbyhole. "You never know what you may come across, and it's as well to be prepared."
27 October 2046Katrina and I leave at first light tomorrow. We will head east. There's no knowing where that will take us or what lies ahead. The only thing I know for certain is that there will be no turning back till we have found what we set out to find.
