Meringia Bunker Log
From SCross
Entry 1: "Captain" LaRiviere, describing third month operational log, and arrival of last accounted for shinra executives.
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Captain Ronald LaRiviere, Day 94 After Holy.
We've agreed that using the coming of Holy as the basis for our notations makes sense. It's already clear that the world as we knew it is done for. All further operational notations will be marked with this datestamp in mind from now on.
Operational note: The last stragglers arrived today. Fourty-seven total Shinra executives. Thirty-eight operatives. Approximately sixty surviving family members. Seventy civilians. Total bunker population today: 225.
Casualties are down to forty-four.
Two new mutations discovered today, bringing the count of our population up to one hundred and eight.
VP Donald Santig, director of Mako energy sales for western Junon, requested private quarters for himself to use as an office. Request denied.
Energy production is at eighty-seven percent capacity. Food reserves are at half of bunker original mandate. We can last another six months with rationing.
Fresh water supplies are holding steady; heavy rains keep our collection system full.
End entry.
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Entry 2: Botanist Lynn LaRiviere, daily entry 108 AH, describing accordance with the After Holy timescale, and description of catalogue of local plants. Description of Ochu Lillies showing disturbing mobility.
Botanist LaRiviere, daily entry, day 108 After Holy.
Well, the stuffed shirts finally agreed on something. We're going by this new After Holy date thing, which is a pain in the ass for the few computers we have left, but oh hell. They're not going to live a few more years at this rate. We might not either.
Local plants look good. A good deal of cropland will regenerate in the springtime, and I think we can salvage enough to get a few hectares of wheat up. The natural grapevines in the region will produce well with some cultivation. Wine's a privilege we won't bother affording, but sugars and juices will go a long way.
Some further abnormalities have been noted in the local plantlife; many plants, particularly in low-lying areas that saw a good deal of lifestream exposure, are slowly regrowing, and showing distinct signs of mako poisoning and mutation. The ochute lillies, in particular, are showing disturbing signs of... mobility. I know they're predatory pitcher lillies already, but there's a difference between finding the husks of dead flies in one, and a mouse skeleton in another.
Potato crops are thriving, and I've managed to fend off the hungry. They're mostly understanding that the more our food plants grow now, the faster we'll have a functioning agricultural base again. Without that, we're dead of starvation.
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Entry 3: Medical Log entry, Doctor Moux, describing initial indications of ongoing mutations over the long term; clinically self-describing her own changes, and that of Botanist LaRiviere, among other survivors. Description of initial trauma casualties, general increase in disease resistance across the surviving population. Lamenting of the loss of Materia-driven healing, with the last healing Materia finally crumbling, powerless.
Doctor Moux, daily entry, day 108 After Holy.
Case study: Self. Down another inch this week. Ring fingers continuing to fuse. Depilatory functions complete; with the exception of eyebrows and slight sexual dimorphic traits, I've gone entirely hairless. Epidermis and dermis continue to thicken, suppleness unaffected. Ears continue to deform; length, seven inches. Striking resemblance to shaved basset hound ongoing. Skin continues it's trend towards albinism, however, due to thickened dermis confirmed by self-biopsy, ultraviolet ray damage is negligble. Sunburn won't be an issue in the future, clearly.
Pelvis continues to widen, femur and lower legs shortening. Visual acuity unchanged, hearing remains slightly acute, no doubt due to larger ear size. Sense of smell slightly improving.
Moving along.
Case Study: Botanist Lynn LaRivere.
Confirmed through physical examination yesterday that Botanist LaRiviere's femurs continue to elongate. Elongation of bones in hands and feet both evident. Body mass loss to her pelvis and collarbones becoming noticeable; gracile form dominating the phenotype. Some slight distortion of her voice caused by elongated sinus passages consistent with the migration of her ears continues. Their growth has reached three inches, and the features are starting to approach distinctly lapine. Thus far, results are consistent with Mako poisoning.
Visual acuity is sharply increased; her vision is presently 10/20, and will likely further improve. Aural acuity also sharply rising; patient complains of pain when doors are slammed, consistent with the increase of hearing proportional to ear size.
Height has increased by an inch in the last 100 days, and shows no signs of slowing. While the increased growth would ordinarily herald the onset of endocrinal issues, usually the thyroid, with the commensurate loss of bone mass to the pelvis and collarbones, I'm forced to conclude that based on the evidence, the mutation is simply making her taller. Short-twitch fibre muscle has noticeably increased; and patient is noting increased strength but decreased stamina, an expected effect of such muscle change.
Endocrinal balance is unusual; suggest further bloodwork, when resources allow for it. Testosterone levels are abnormal, as are estrogen and progesterine. MediComp is unable to assign a diagnostic tree.
Case Study: General Bunker Population
One hundred and eight out of two hundred and twenty five survivors exhibit mutations and physiological changes ranging from minor to extreme. Most of those in the extreme are simply a new species, biologically. I don't have the resources for genetic analysis, but I don't need them. Simple blood chemistry is showing ranges and tolerances (and intolerances) well beyond human norms. Worse yet, most of the surviving humans are showing signs of extreme phenotypical drift as well; I believe we're seeing an evolution in the human species catalyzed by Holy. While externally, deviances from human norms are minimal.
Trauma cases are numerous, and to be expected. Unskilled hands performing manual labour, many of them unfit from years of sedentary office lifestyle. Strained backs are universal. Trauma to hands is frequent, without any personal protective equiment to speak of. Monster attacks continue to increase, and guards are coming in clawed and bitten more often.
Disease resistance has noticeably increased in the general population. A combination of more active living and closer medical review may be helping, but even so, infection rates are sharply declining, particularly in the still-human population. I would estimate most of us are now twice as resistant to disease as we once were before. Common colds and influenza immunity seems very high.
Operational note: My last healing materia died this week. They keep crumbling away, and no-one can explain why. I'm down to medicines and surgical tools. A setback I didn't need.
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Entry 4: Captain LaRiviere, personal log, day 111 AH: Describing relationship duress, the ongoing changes of his wife, his personal worries of how she'll change. Describing how she's slowly growing cold and aloof to him, and echoing, softly, some of her frustrations with the stuffed shirts.
Personal log, Captain LaRiviere, Day 111 AH.
I'm losing Lynn. I caught her looking in the mirror last night, cupping her hands. I tried to wrap my arms around her, but she pushed me away. She's always pushing me away these days. It's hard to look at her. Not because of the changes, but because I know she looks at them in horror, and I think she hates me that I find her more beautiful than ever before. I wish I could tell her, but she doesn't listen. Her entire world is more and more about the forest, the plants, her work. She wants a world that can be saved. I want a world worth saving.
I can't blame her. The VPs and executives are stuffed shirts. I spend more time every day browbeating labour forces with them then I do managing the bunker operations. Most of my work, these days, is in convincing these lazy bastards to get off their ass and plow the ground for eight hours.
Shouting matches daily with people whose titles stopped mattering the day the sky lit up. Fuck. At least a few are young enough and smart enough to start the work hard. Got a couple turks that kept the gym busy; and while it ain't lattes and costa del sol all damn day long, they manage to show up and pull the plow. They're talking about trying to rope in a few chocobo, good luck to those boys, hah.
Lynn... you used to be such a perfect wife. They'd call you a trophy wife, and they were right. You were my trophy. You were my best prize, the best thing in my life. And it's beautiful to see you out there, working, with something that finally matters to you.
I just wish you'd let me matter to you anymore.
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Entry 5: Botanist LaRiviere, daily entry day 115 AH, persona log: Deeply frustrated entry about the stuffed shirts, too many chiefs, too few indians, her personal outrage at being asked by a once VP of Marketing to make him and his family breakfast. Marketing! Ongoing anger at the group in general, commiseration with Doctor Moux, description of nearby edible crops suitable for cultivation, seed storage efforts.
Personal log, Botanist LaRivere, day 115 AH.
This morning, Jack Gabbin asked me... no, ordered me, to make breakfast for him and his family. This guy used to be the VP of marketing. Marketing! I told him when he and his family got out in the fields and pulled the plow for twelve hours each, they can ask me for breakfast then, and I'll make sure they get it in six to seven months. I itched to slap that bitch of a wife of his; she still puts on makeup in the morning.
Too many chiefs, too few indians.
The group as a whole... there's so few worth saving. Ronald's trying to whip them into shape. He's a good captain, better than I thought he'd be, but... he's still them. He's still in his office all day, organizing everything, but he's not out there pulling plows or pulling weeds. He tried to... he just... he doesn't understand. I'm in the middle of the most important work of my life, and I just don't need that right now. I don't. I'm not even sure I love him anymore. It's the first time in his life he's had to be really effectual at something, and he's managing it, but only barely.
Doctor Moux's been a big help; she's taking to her own changes with a lot better cheer. My ears hurt every day, still growing, but nothing like hers. I caught her the other day shaking her head in front of a mirror, asked her what she was doing, and she barked a laugh and told me a story about a beagle puppy a friend of hers had had as a child.
The potatoes and wheat are going to grow, I'm sure of it now. It's hard to explain, but it feels like, at least now, with all my focus on my work, that I'm more confident in what I'm doing with my work. I understand the forest much better than I ever could have before. I can thank Holy for that, at least.
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Entry 6: Doctor Moux, medical log (with some personal touches), day 155 AH, describing the ongoing difficulties of "abnormal physiological deviations" of survivors. Describing the interim and rather grotesque form she's finding herself in, difficulties in providing ongoing medical care in a medical clinic she's becoming too short for. Case study entry of Botanist LaRiviere. Pleased entries of medicinal herbs discovered by Botanist LaRiviere, proving to be useful to replace dwindling stocks of pharmaceuticals. Describe first suicide by one survivor.
Medical Log, Day 155 AH, Doctor Moux presiding:
The "abnormal physiological deviations" of the survivors continues to prove challenging.
Case study: Marissa Bangi. Subject is seventeen years old, female, at time of writing, six foot four, although with the attendant forward scoliosation of the spine, only five foot four when standing. Subject's eczema resolved into scales, and the growth of her tail is ongoing. She complains of depression and irritability, and owing to her appearance, I can conclude that this is a natural reaction to the ongoing physiological deviations she's enduring.
Case study: Botanist LaRiviera. Subject has, in the last few weeks, endured ongoing alterations of form. Bone mass has stabilized in a classically gracile posture and form. Her ears are unmistakeably taking on the characteristic shape of a rabbit, and fur samples taken from the back of them are reflecting, under microscopic resolution, definitive fur structure, and not humanoid hair. Vision is approaching 40/20, with exceptionally acute color and motion perception. Hearing is characteristically amplified by her ear growth.
Owing to the migration of her ears, and subsequent osseous reformation, her sinal cavities are abnormal; causing her voice to modulate in an unusual fashion. She is no longer able to adequately pronounce numerous phonemes; her own name, now, resembles "Lynnn LarViera". Diet remains functionally unchanged, no identified malnutrition or deficiencies. She claims a significantly lowered libido and sexual response to her husband, but under the circumstances, this may be a reflection of environment.
Case Study: Doctor Mous. I am female, fifty-four years old. I was five foot six prior to the physiological deviations beginning; I'm presently four foot three. Gross deformity of my own ears are noted; comparisons to a "shorn beagle", while hardly flattering, remain apt. Length of ears: One foot six inches. Body mass relatively unchanged, bone mass definitely increased. Upper and lower body strength diminished. Sinal changes have likewise awkwardly modulated my own voice, to be expected with skull deformation. I have a tail now, measuring one foot ten inches.
Report on clinic: It's becoming more difficult by the day to move around my own clinic; everything is so damn *high* up now. The other day, one of the turks was sweet enough to bring me a stepladder he'd made, which is helping. Botanist LaRiviera has provided me an inventory of medicinal herbs and plants she's gathered, including some opium poppies, which means that, for a little while longer, anyway, we have painkillers.
Four more casualties to monster attacks; no fatalities, this time. One of our crew has discovered he can shoot lightning from his eyes without the use of materia, now. Unfortunately, every time he does, he suffers serious arc-blindness for a few days. Careful checks of his retinas provides no evidence of permanent damage somehow. He's as mystified as the rest of us.
The first pregnancy has been reported; Susanne Vorta. She's seven weeks along.
One young man was found dead yesterday, by asphyxiation. He sealed himself into one of the bunker doors, set a fire of brush and grass, and let the smoke damage and asphyxiation do him in. Suicide. Friends of his reported he was overcome with grief at being a survivor in a world where his entire family had died. Apparently he didn't find the answers we have.
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Entry 7, Day 240 AH: Botanist LaRiviere, finding that alterations to her cleft palate to accomodate the slightly different facial, nasal, and mouth structure, finding her own name hard to properly pronounce. (LaRiviera begins to be heard). Describing ongoing efforts at rudimentary agriculture, successful, chance of crop sustainability high. Ongoing frustration at the amount of dead weight in the bunker; ongoing once-executives failing to understand that THEY TOO MUST GRAB A HOE AND GET TO WORK IF THEY WANT TO LIVE.
Personal log, Botanist LaRiviere, Day 240 AH:
The first crop of potatoes is up! We cut half for food, and the other half for replanting, but they're taking root and growing. We baked them over the fire, and everyone got half. Famine's hurting us, but for the first time today we've got some hopeful eyes around here. The wild green onions I found went well, and one brave foolhardy little girl scooped up some water chestnuts, and my farmers and I had a proper supper. Our crop sustainability is high; we've got raspberry plants that will weed their way through our area, rhubarb, kale, and our grapes are sustaining us as well.
I have to take back what I said about Jack's wife. A few days ago, she finally broke down, lost it, and then got it, so to speak. Threw her handbag at her husband, screamed at him to go find something useful to do, and then came downstairs and started setting up a canning station by herself. Now, a quarter of our crew is on berry-picking duty; we're going to have preserves to last us a while. I'd smack her for sitting on a talent that valuable for so long; turns out she learned it from her grandmother as a little girl.
I'm starting to think I can't patch up with Ronald. I'm trying, but my heart, my body, it's just not there anymore. And it should be, and I just can't force it.
He's still having problems with the executive branch; he cought them last week having a "meeting" to "form a committee". A bunch of stupid old fat men sitting on their asses trying to look like what they're doing is meaningful. Honestly; men outnumber women here about 65 percent to 35, and it feels like the 35% is doing 75% of the work. The young guys who can pull a plow, they're out there and working, they get it. It's survival time. But we've still got so much dead weight that can't figure out that either they grab a hoe and get to work, or they're going to die. This isn't the world they were born into, but if they can't adapt, we're all done for.
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Entry 8, Day 285 AH, Personal Diary of Captain LaRiviere: Describing his wife as never having been so beautiful, and never having been so cold. Dispassionate, uninterested, tired constantly, complaining of earaches, headaches, and finally, begun to sleep seperately. "Non voluntary labor directives" announced to the bunker population. Description of ongoing ingress of humans and the mutated alike. Seismic sensors indicating that the central portion of Valente is undergoing catastrophic volcanic upheaval; light dustings of volcanic ash are providing richer, fertile soils for the future.
Personal log, Captain Ronald LaRiviera, Day 285 AH.
She left, last night. Lynn's never been so beautiful to me, and never so cold. We've spent the last month... barely there. Dispassionate, she was always uninterested, tired constantly, complaining all the time of earaches and headaches. I started to worry she was having an affair, perhaps with one of the "Farmboys", but, no.
She looks incredible, and always so fierce and focused. A couple nights ago she came to bed, and... well. I know when a woman is saying goodbye. And she was. And now she's gone. Taken a bed in the common dorms, took a few things of hers. Left her wedding ring behind.
That's that.
I finally had four turks with weapons called in. We're calling it "Non voluntary labor directives", because it's finally come to that. If they'll only pull a plow by gunpoint, then that's how they'll pull a plow. Tony Orlando, hell of a soldier, I watched him shoot down some flying horror that took a swoop at our guys in the field. Crack, one shot, and he nailed it through the eye. Didn't take long for someone to suggest we roast the carcass. Doctor Moux wasn't thrilled, but the meat did us all good, and nobody's been sick. Call ourselves lucky, this time.
Seismic sensors are saying the center of the continent is just plain exploding; we've had another dusting of ashfall last night, carried on the wind. Not enough that it'll kill the plants, but it should be a good fertilizer for the future. Same seismic triangulation says Wutaii's suffering some bad seismic too. Wonder how they're doing through all of this; or if there's anyone even left alive over there.
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Entry 9, Day 285 AH, Personal Diary of Botanist LaRiviere: Describing much the same thing, and her own sorrow, that her husband, despite having begun as a beareaucrat, might just make this bunker survive after all. But that he can't make their marriage survive. She's lost so much faith in so many, and the few who are actually willing to work, aren't looking forward to it. The woods, day by day, call to her; a natural place that she understands, close to plants she can harvest, grow, and thrive. How more and more she understands the ecology of the area in ways she never grasped before.
Personal Entry, Botanist Lynn LaRiviere, Day 285 AH.
I left last night. It's done. I couldn't stop crying over it when I was in the field today. Who'd have thought that the end of the world would come, and Ronald would prove he can run a place like this after all? This bunker doesn't deserve to survive. Half of it doesn't, anyway.
He can make a bunker run, he can make sure the fields get plowed by the reluctant, but he can't save our marriage. He can't... he can't make me be what I used to be. I'm not, anymore. I thought about losing his last name, but then I laughed and realized: There's no courts around here anymore to care, there's no taxes, no paperwork to fill out. It's stupid to worry about something like that, just another stupid leftover from a world that's dead now.
Like half of this bunker.
I've just lost so much faith in the people here. So few willing to work, and even those that are willing, they don't look forward to it. To them, it's just scraping by. They don't love it like I do. Not the fields, and especially not the woods.
More and more, I catch myself just walking the woods, getting down and up and everywhere to find what I'm looking at. Understanding what insects pollinate what fruit. Understanding the whole web of life around here. Found plums yesterday; the pits should germinate in a few weeks, and we'll plant the shoots and see if we can start an orchard.
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Entry 10, Day 365 AH, Personal Diary of Dr. Moux. Citing that she is no longer human, and that her husband now dead for a year, she is casting off the patriarchal name she assumed upon marriage. Citing the lack of electricity any longer, and pharmaceuticals to ply her trade, she renounces her position as Doctor, as well. Her morphology stable for the last two months, she can only conclude this strange, awkward form, is her place in this world. She registers her name change in the bunker computer, a joking entry and play off of her name, after a child compares her to a nude mouse: NuMou.
Personal Entry, Doctor Moux, day 365 AH.
Barry died a year ago, today.
I never had a chance to miss him much, not for so long. I was so busy; people to save, my own changes. But I felt it last night, for the first time. Tomorrow, I've been here a year, and things are stable.
I'm ready to change my life, now. A year is a long time. And I can't keep pretending.
Power's out, permanently. I'm draining precious solar time for this entry. The pharms are totally expended; we're running off of just herbs and plants now. The first aiders are more equipped now for the day to day things than I am. So, I've tendered my resignation. I can't do anything more here.
My morphology has been stable for the last two months, now. I am what I am, now. One of the kids asked me what I was today, and I told him I didn't know anymore. And he said I looked like a nude mouse. A few months ago, that would have stung a lot more than it did. But I am what I am.
So no more patriarchal names. No more pretending I'm human when the bloodwork's been saying otherwise for months and months.
Look out world. Call me NuMou!
(This is the last recorded entry in the system by Doctor Moux.)
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Entry 11, Day 365 AH, Operations Log of Captain LaRiviere, describing the sombre celebrations of a year of survival after Holy, summarizing the year's findings, and a five year plan for self sustainability. Describing that the mako reactors have utterly failed, solar power is sufficient for administrative management and nothing more.
Operations Log, Day 365 AH, Captain Ronald LaRiviere presiding:
The Meringia Bunker has sustained operations for one year.
Summary: Population is holding steady, and beginning a slow climb. We've thirty two new children expected within the next year, and four homes have been built externally outside the bunker so far, with eight more in planning.
Mako power has utterly failed; and solar power is providing sufficient energy for administrative management and little more.
The year has been a tremendous challenge, but we're through the worst of it now. We're onto our third harvest of the year, and with dedication, we can maintain that pace next year, and with enough food to enjoy a surprlus, perhaps.
Monster attacks remain on the upswing, and ammunition supplies are low, and being conserved for hunting. We've identified four individuals with irregular talents that we're calling on to face those threats now; lacking any better term, they're good with "magic".
Fresh water supplies are holding steadily, food and shelter are assured. Malnutrition is down sharply, and while it is with some regret I note the resignation of Doctor Moux from our ranks, she's ensured we have three other capable first aiders to see to the basic, day-to-day injuries.
Our five-year plan for sustainability is looking conservative, now. Barring disaster, we might make it by three. Our biggest goal is to stockpile a year's worth of nonperishable food stores in the bunker in case things go sour, or in case of monster swarm or wildfires, or more localized volcanic eruptions.
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Entry 12, Day 365 AH, Personal Diary of Dr LaRiviere: Descriptions of ongoing acuteness of senses; ears and eyes sharpening, ease of hunting, ease of finding in the woods what she would have overlooked long before. No further lamentations of her separation from her husband. Musing about the year, and the slow, stubborn success of agriculture in the fields surrounding the bunker.
Personal entry, Botanist Lynn LaRiviere, Day 365 AH.
I can hardly believe it's been a year. Time flies, I guess, when you're working. I can't believe how sharp my ears and eyes are, now. Hunting is so easy; I made this bow a while ago, and it's just too easy to hunt. I've stopped hunting for the bunker; they can have the medicinal plants, and the fruit pits and seeds I bring them, but I'm done working for stuffed shirts and whiny people that look at me like I'm an alien, or young men that stare at my ass, forgetting I'm knee-deep in the dirt so they can eat next month.
The fields are stubbornly growing under their hand, though. At least they're holding out. Ronald will no doubt be glad-handing and congradulating them all.
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Entry 13, Day 450 AH, Personal Diary of Botanist LaRiviere: First description of magic use among the few newborn babies, an ice spell unmistakably sparked off by a toddler. Excited description of three survivors finding the bunker; their mutations match hers morphologically!
Personal Entry, Botanist Lynn LaRiviere, Day 450 AH.
Three survivors! Looking like *me*! Two men and a woman! Same ears, same look, same sound. They've been wandering, lost, in the wood for the last year and some, they said. Hunting and fishing their way through! Gone native, definitely, and in all the right ways. I've had a great talk with them, trading tips and good hunting spots around here, and hearing about the deeper forests in the old national park that has fantastic hunting.
Funny thing; looks like the boys she's got with her are just boys! One's her husband, the other is her son, I guess, but both of them are smaller than myself or Lorryanne.
Speaking of just boys, Susanne Vorta's boy, she named him Red. Cute, right? Well, all this morning she's been trying to find a babysitter for him. I guess he's taken to flinging these icicles around out of nowhere. She even joked she checked his diaper for a materia, but no; this kid is the real deal. Not even a year old and he's making magic, I guess. Crazy! Makes me wonder what they'll all do here if all the kids start picking it up. So many pregnant women these days. Bunker's going to get real full, soon.
Ugh. I just want to be alone with the woods, but I know that's not possible.
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Entry 14, Day 457 AH, Personal Diary of Botanist LaRiviere: Final entry. Leaving for the woods. The bunker is self-sufficient, and all of her findings are in books now, and there's competent survivors ready to take up farming and herbalism in her stead. The bunker makes her sick to stay in; and she's leaving with the other of her kind. They've taken to her as a sort of leader, and want to return to some rich forest lands that used to be a national park, to set up a first home for their kind, and be rid of the stuffed shirts that led to this world's ruin.
Personal Entry, Botanist Lynne LaRiviere:
I'm leaving with them. The forests in the national park are rich and good, and they can be the first home for people like us. The bunker can take care of itself; all my findings are in my notebooks, which I'm leaving behind for the agricultural crews. There's enough competent people that they can get by on their own, and they'll manage without me.
The bunker makes me sick to stay in these days. Living out there in the woods with Lorryanne and her boys might not be luxurious, but it can't be worse than here.
I think they're starting to think of me as some sort of leader here, just because of how I keep the farms going. They want to know if I'll go with them, and I will. They're more my people now than these bunker-folk are. They pay attention when the forest has something to teach them; and they see the lessons most of the people here will never see.
(final entry of Botanist Lynne LaRiviere.)
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Entry 15, Day 494 AH, Operational Log, Captain LaRiviere: Description of 'defections' of Botanist LaRiviere, Dr. Moux, and other professionals. First boat built by ex-VP of Marketing, nets being woven. Fishing expected to begin this season, bringing badly needed protein to complement the crops. Foraging missions successful; military operatives training recruits in basic fighting techniques against monsters.
Operational log, Day 494 AH, Ronald LaRiviere presiding.
Following the defection of our Botanist and Doctor, and a few other professionals, we've less mouths to feed, and a solid talent base to replace them. Jack Gabin's new ship is done and can float the river nearby, and nets are being woven for fish, ensuring we'll have protein enough to get by. Fishing should start this season. Foraging missions continuing successfully; basic military fighting training is given to everyone going out of the bunker now, and that's saved a few lives already.
Monster attacks are levelling off, but the rate is still high. There's nothing to keep them in check right now, so once they find us, they don't stop until they're dead. We're out of ammunition, so now we're down to spears and knives. A couple men have made crossbows, and those are proving helpful. Ten more are expected by the end of this year.
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Entry 16, Day 14873 AH, Operational Log, Captain LaRiviere: Death noted, burial with ceremony, community of Meringia sending representatives to other bunkers to arrange trades of necessities. Scouting trips report ideal coastal zone returned to habitability after passing of lifestream flows. Village of Meringia to be established in four years time. Last entry.
Operational Log:, Day 14873 AH, Mayor Hanlin.
Captain LaRiviere died last week, and was buried with ceremony. The community of Meringia is sending representatives to local other surviving bunkers, basic trading of necessities commencing. Scouting reports indicate there's an ideal coastal zone returning to habitability after the lifestream flows ebbed last autumn. We'll be establishing a village there in the next four years, and decomissioning this bunker.
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