Collapse Journal
The Brayhill and Dunham archeological team found the journal excerpted herein in a mine tunnel located in the area once known as the Applegate Valley. The Brayhill-Dunham report attributes the journal to Thomas Eastman, a Collapse survivor and one of the founders of the Applegate Valley Congress (see: Early Post-Collapse Governments in North America, by Gregory R. Townsend, Terra Nueva Publishing, PC643). How the journal came to be in the tunnel is the subject of conjecture and debate among historians reconstructing the first two hundred years of Post-Collapse history. The fact this journal begins without preface and ends abruptly suggests the existence of predated and postdated volumes, though none were found.
The journal covers a period of eleven years beginning eight years after the Collapse. (For a discussion of the theory a fast-replicating omni-cyber-virus destroyed world communications networks, and the resulting Collapse, see An Analysis: The Second Dark Age, PC1 to PC200, by Erika Rhinemann and Alberto Takashi, Terra Nueva Publishing-Periodicals, Issued PC652.08). Together with similar records found in other Post-Collapse settlements, the Eastman journal provides some insight into the barbarous conditi ons suffered by the early Survivors of the plagues and violence that followed the end of the First Electronic Age.
Where appropriate, this author will provide references to, and excerpts from, other sources to give context to Eastman’s understandably narrow view of world events. All dates are shown in the original form, using words for the year divisions, with the modern equivalent in parenthesis.
The latest fight at Provolt Junction has made people start talking about armed expeditions to the Galice area again. The prisoners taken yesterday admitted coming from a large settlement in that area but refused to give information about population and weapons. The Council ordered the prisoners, six in all, hung at the Junction and the bodies left hanging two days as a warning. The eight raiders killed in the fight were lined up on the ground nearby. All were buried in a common grave at the foot of Baker Hill. We suffered only four wounded this time, which has given some people the idea we can beat any group we face. I hope this bravado doesn’t get anyone killed.
The alarm came at midmorning. A young girl was just ending the third hour of her four-hour watch in the school tower when a mirror flash lit up her small post. She looked to the north--the flash came again from a hilltop sentry three miles away. The gunfire she had heard a few minutes earlier wasn’t from the practice range. Trouble at the junction! She grabbed a rope and yanked hard. The century-old bell could be heard all through the Williams Valley.
Within minutes, a dozen armed riders had arrived at the school. Thinking it was just another drill, the first to arrive had begun teasing the "slugs" when the young lookout leaned from the tower, poi nted north and shouted, "Trouble at the junction!" Distant gunshots could be heard when the girl’s words silenced the group.
Thomas Eastman, Commander of the Williams Valley Irregulars, reined in his Appaloosa long enough to hear the lookout’s report. Then he kicked the mare into a gallop again and headed out of town followed by his squad. As they sped through the valley, a dozen more riders, two and three at a time joined them. Eastman split his group at Baker Hill; twelve to reinforce the two guards posted in revetments at the summit of Baker Hill, overlooking the junction, the rest on foot with him through the zigzag trenches that led to the old store at the junction.
"How many," Eastman asked Joey Dunfee, the oldest of the four young guards manning the fortified old store.
"At least five, over there," Dunfee said, pointing down the road. He grimaced as he raised his arm. A bloodstain on his sleeve surrounded a bullet hole.
In the middle of the old highway, about a hundred yards from the store were two bodi es. Another lay crumpled in the pasture just beyond the road. A fourth was face-down twenty yards closer to the safety of the trees at the edge of the Applegate River about two hundred yards beyond.
Joey’s pale face split into a feeble grin. He was trembling slightly.
"There were three more with them that made it to the tree line, but we wounded at least one on the way. And more were hiding in the trees. They fired on us while we tried to get inside here. The ones in the road were real nice until they shot Barry." He pointed to a young Irregular sitting by a gun slit. Barry’s shirt was off one shoulder and there was a crude and bloody bandage over his ribs.
"That’s when everybody started shooting," Dunfee continued, excitedly. "I got shot and dropped my rifle. When I picked it up to shoot it jammed. I had to use Barry’s to cover us so we could get to the culvert. Ben and Jenny opened up from Baker Hill too. That’s the only way we made here."
"Easy, Joey." Eastman rested his hand gently on Dunfee’s shoulder.
Just then, bullets thumped the old walls of the store. Everyone ducked instinctively then rushed to the gun slits and windows.
Eastman peered out a rifle slit. As the Irregulars outside opened fire, he grabbed Joey’s binoculars and searched the tree line. Occasional puffs of dirt and bark particles showed him they were just spraying the trees randomly with the precious ammo.
"Cease fire!" Eastman yelled as he ran out the back door to the chest-deep trench on the west side of the store. "Hold your fire until you have a target," he ordered as he went down the culvert in a crouch. He stopped next the last person.
"Tanya, you and Billy move down the ditch to the left about a hundred yards. Don’t shoot unless you have a clear target." The two young people started off in a low crouching run.
"The rest of you spread out between here and Tanya. Don’t waste your ammo."
Eastman ran behind the store to the opposite culvert and the Irregulars taking cover there.
"Follow me," he said and, keeping below the trench’s lip, hurried to the east where the snaking ditch came closest to the old highway. There he stopped and held up his hand to halt the others. He peered carefully over the lip of the trench.
Across the road was a line of trees that nearly hid the Applegate River. The new leaves were brilliant green in the morning sun. Eastman didn’t see anything moving in their shade.
"Okay. You five stay here, spread out and cover us. The rest of you follow me across the road, one at a time. Ready?"
Ten heads nodded.
He motioned to two of the Irregulars. "Make a step." They knelt and held a rifle between them. Eastman stepped on it and vaulted out of the culvert. Staying as low as possible, he ran across the old road and took cover in a grassy depression.
Four Irregulars made it across safely and took cover with him. But as the fifth reached the middle of the road gunfire erupted from the tree line ahead and a bullet ripped through his right leg throwing him to the cracked pavement in a heap.
The Irregulars in the culvert and store fired into the trees.
While two men from the culvert retrieved their wounded comrade, Eastman and the other four took advantage of the covering fire and dashed for the tree line. In the trees he signaled two Irregulars to advance along the river below the bank. He and the other two moved through the trees and underbrush on the bank.
The gunfire from the Raiders ahead and the Irregulars to his left died out as Eastman reached a small clearing. From his position he could see two bodies crumpled behind bushes twenty yards away. Again he signaled the Irregulars to advance, hoping Joey Dunfee was watching through his binoculars and would recognize them. Joey was--no fire came from across the road as they moved through the clearing.
They quickly checked the two strangers for signs of life and found none. Then Eastman noticed blood on the ground and pointed it out to the others. They spread out as much as possible and moved forward cautiously, weapons at the ready.
The Irregulars were within a few feet of the Raiders when each group saw the other amid the clumps of thick brush and blackberry bushes. The firefight was brief and brutal. Eastman was the first to fire hitting a Raider in mid chest with a short burst from his M-16. Within seconds three more were wounded and the other two had dropped their weapons and shouted, "Don’t shoot, don’t shoot." Their quick surrender saved their lives, for awhile.
The "trial" was brief. It took the Council less than an hour to hear the story of the fight at the Junction, arguments for and against hanging the surviving strangers and to make their decision.
"This isn’t right," Eastman said sadly, as the six strangers were loaded into a wagon.
"They would do it to you if they had the chance," Calvin Thompson, Council president, replied. His son had been ambushed and killed by raiders the year before.
"Revenge, Cal?"
"I didn’t vote, Tom. The Council decided."
"They did what they knew you wanted them to do." Eastman mounted his horse and turned its head toward home, away from the road to the Junction, away from the wagon. "I know how you feel. But this isn’t right."
"You think we should just let them go?"
Eastman nudged his mount into a walk. "No. But we should be better than this," he said over his shoulder.
"It’s a brutal world, Tom."
"I know," Eastman said quietly. "I know."
A hunting party was ambushed today on the north bank of the Applegate across from the Provolt Junction. They had been told to avoid north bank areas because two men were spotted there the day after the fight at the junction looking at the corpses through binoculars. When our people approached to within 100 yards of the river on our side, the men rode off in a northwesterly direction. It’s now generally assumed these two were from Galice, maybe part of the group who had attacked the junction.
Eastman had called the Council meeting as soon as the search party looking for two missing hunters returned with two bodies.
"We can’t just sit here and wait for another attack, Tom." Calvin Thompson said firmly.
"You don’t know there will be an attack. If the Wilson brothers had stayed south of the river they’d have been safe," Eastman said.
"And you don’t know there won’t be an attack," Thompson countered hotly. "How many people have to be wounded or killed before you want to do something about it?"
The two men had been increasingly at odds for months and with the hangings in April the gap between them had grown wider. In lighter moments, to others, Eastman joked that he and his old friend couldn’t agree that the sun was up even if they got sunburned while arguing. Those light moments were rare.
"This isn’t getting us anywhere gentlemen." Jason McCollough, the South Valley councilman said gently. "The question is, should we send a party to scout the Galice area, and I agree with Cal that it seems the smart thing to do. The more we know about who’s up there the better. No surprises."
"You’re not going Jason." Eastman said. "Would it still be a good idea if you were?"
"You know I can’t sit a horse since I broke my hip, Tom."
"What I know is that you and Cal are very brave with other people’s lives. I’ve seen fighting more than once, and worse than what we’ve faced here in the last ten years. Going to look for trouble in Galice will bring more back here, to our homes and families."
Murmurs from the other four members of the council made Tom think they supported him.
"We have to know what we’re up against, Tom. I call for a vote." Thompson looked around the big pine-plank table. "All those in favor of a scouting party going to the Galice area raise your hands."
Four hands went up slowly.
"That settles it, Tom," Thompson said evenly. "Pick your people."
Eastman stood. "It’s a one man job. I’ll go alone. And if I don’t come back, that’s it. No more scouts." He looked at each of the council members who had voted in favor of the trip and knew they wouldn’t vote that way again if people died.
"Your own rule, Tom: Always at least two in case of accidents." Thompson didn’t meet Eastman’s eyes as he said it.
"I don’t suppose you’re volunteering, Cal."
No answer.
"Didn’t think so. I’ll take Billy Dunfee. No more." As he turned and walked away, without turning around he said, "At least there will only be two more dead if we fail."
Billy Dunfee and I made it back from Galice after almost a week of hard riding. We found signs that a large number of people had lived a few weeks, or more, in the abandoned houses, but had made no effort to make a permanent settlement. By the tracks we found leaving the area I estimate the group numbered about thirty and was headed southeast, roughly following the Rogue River.
I didn’t want to get ambushed by a rear guard and we were running low on supplies so we broke off the trail at on the outskirts of Grants Pass without sighting the Raiders. Since we made it back alive a larger party left a day later to make sure the Raiders continued on toward Medford and didn’t turn south, toward us. I can’t shake the feeling these trips are tempting fate.
(Author’s Note: The problem of large groups of heavily armed and aggressive nomads, often referred to as Raiders, is a common theme in all of the journals of the time, worldwide. Some of these groups formed temporary alliances for the purpose of looting the larger settlements. Wanderers and Outcasts, other nomads who traveled in groups or alone, were generally more peaceful in nature. The Wanderers and Outcasts served as bearers of news and trade goods.)
News of a large Settlement on the coast near Old Brookings came to us yesterday, brought by a man who said he talked to another Outcast who knew someone who had been to the Settlement. Not the most reliable of sources, especially since this information was withheld until the wanderer was given ten pounds of jerky and a good knife. The news has prompted some to volunteer to go to the coast. If the story is true, this will be our first contact with another large settlement. Everyone hopes they can add something to our effort to regain our old level of technology. No one wants to believe that other settlements might be worse off than we are.
The coast expedition led by Todd O’Brian hasn’t returned. They were to be back in the Valley no later than the end of October. The plan was for them to go as far north as Coos Bay, turn east to the old freeway and follow it back south, checking some of the more promising valleys on the way. Some fear the expedition may have run into Raiders and been killed or captured. Those who said women should not have been members of the group have convinced the Council to ban such participation in the future, an action that angered many women.
Search parties have gone as far north as the Roseburg ruins and southwest to the tunnel on Highway 199. The start of heavy snow has prevented any attempts to cross the Coast Range. There is little hope the fifteen souls of the lost expedition will be found alive when searches resume.
We found the remains of the O’Brian Party yesterday. We counted thirteen skulls. The fate of the missing two is unknown. From the fact that no weapons or other usable items were found, and the existence of a bullet hole in one of the skulls makes it pretty clear Raiders attacked the expedition. We couldn’t find enough of their bones, these having been scattered by animals, to bury whole skeletons. Since we had no way of putting names to the skulls, we buried them in a common grave and marked it with this inscription scratched on a car door:
thirteen members of the
O’Brien Party. Murdered the
winter of 2021.
Rest in Peace
We are going to stay in the Brookings area to search for a few days, going no farther south than Crescent City. We have seen no sign of the rumored settlement and all have agreed we should complete the O’Brian party’s mission.
So far we have killed seven of the Raiders who murdered the O’Brian party and recovered weapons and personal items belonging to several of our people. We first saw the Raiders north of the mouth of the Pistol River after tracking them for two days on a wandering course upstream on the Chetco River then across the mountains back to the coast. We tried to capture two of the group who were riding flank positions but they opened fire when they saw us and we were forced to kill them. The main group split into pairs and threes and scattered in a generally northward direction. They must believe we are part of a much larger group but they out number us two-to-one. At least they did.
Jack O’Brian, younger brother of Todd, and Bill Roberts rejoined my group today and reported killing the three Raiders they had followed from Pistol River. Jack said the Raiders attempted to lay an ambush but were given away by one of their horses that got loose. Bill shot the other Raider in both legs and captured him. After questioning him for most of the day without success, Jack hanged the Raider with the Raider’s own rope. I can’t blame him for doing it. The two Raiders Tommy and I were tracking can’t be far ahead, maybe as close as half a day, so we four are going to try to catch them before we head to Port Orford for the rendezvous.
We are low on supplies, including ammunition. We camped in the hills above Port Orford tonight after searching the town for canned goods and ammunition. The town and all the houses we’ve checked on the outskirts were picked clean long ago. Joey Dunfee died this morning from his leg wound. Probably loss of blood and infection though we cleaned and bandaged it right after he was shot. We are thirteen now against about twenty Raiders scattered to hell and gone. With Joey’s death, the hard riding and lack of supplies our morale is pretty low. I suggested we take a vote on going back in the morning. Jack is bent on revenge and says he’ll go on even if we don’t. I hope he’ll change his mind tomorrow because he doesn’t stand a chance on his own.
Jack and Bill are going on north at least as far as Coos Bay in search of the phantom settlement and the Raiders. They each took about 200 extra rounds for their rifles and a week’s worth of jerky from the pack animals. They are going to travel fast and light along the coast highway and try to catch up with us by the time we reach Brookings. Ted’s wound is bothering him but I think he’ll be okay, at least physically. Mentally he’s still shaken up by the fight he and Joey had with the Raiders they were chasing. It was Joey’s shooting that saved their lives when five Raiders ambushed them. Ted feels a lot of guilt because Joey died from a wound he got saving Ted when he was pinned down.
This afternoon we lost Darryl in a fight with some of the Raiders that must have doubled back on us. He was riding point as we crossed the bridge over the Rogue River at Gold Beach. He was almost to the other side, and we were just getting on the bridge nearly 60 0 yards behind, when someone opened up on him from the trees on the hillside. He and his horse must have died instantly because they went down and neither one moved after that. We slowly worked our way toward Darryl, using the cars and bridge features as cover. We killed two of the Raiders who tried to get Darryl’s stuff after everything had been quiet awhile. From then until dusk we exchanged shots with them off and on but no one was hit, at least on our side. When it was dark Ted and Eugene headed across the bridge on foot to try and recover Darryl’s body. Six of us followed a little way behind to cover them. Just as they were pulling Darryl back toward us the Raiders opened fire. We were too far across the bridge to make it back under fire so we went forward instead. When it was over six Raiders where dead, two wounded and captured, and at least one wounded and escaped helped by an unknown number of his friends who I don’t think had been in on the fighting.
It’s a miracle no one on our side was hit. We executed the captives after we questioned them. We will trail the others tomorrow.
We found the body of the wounded Raider yesterday morning. It looked as though his companions had finished him off to prevent his being captured by us. I think they are beginning to fear us as much as we once feared them. I begin to wonder if we are becoming like them. This thought worries me.
We have lost the trail of the other Raiders. We spent yesterday and this morning trying to pick it up again with no success. We have decided to go on to Brookings and wait for Jack and Bill. Unless we find game to supplement our food we will not be able to wait more than a few days.
Jack and Bill arrived at midday. They found no sign of a settlement as far north as Bandon. No sign of Raiders or the two missing members of the O’Brian party either. We leave for home in the morning.
Arrived home this p.m. Our depression and frustration over our failure has spread through the settlement. Two more men dead and only bad news to report. Our community has lost fifteen (seventeen with the two missing) of our best young people looking for a rumor.
There is talk of firing on strangers without warning from now on.