“The forest did not tolerate frailty of body or mind. Show your weakness, and it would consume you without hesitation.”

― Tahir Shah, House of the Tiger King

I had been alone for far too long.  My cabin in the woods was a secret, my refuge from a world gone insane.  It had been months since any sounds of humanity passed through the insulated wooden walls.  The gentle crackling of the wood stove and its golden glow were my only friends at this point.  Even the electricity had failed me like everyone so long ago.  Either way, I doubt anyone will read this journal or even find my body until long after I am nothing more than bones.  At least the writing is therapeutic.

Everything started to spiral downhill after all the conflict in the middle east came to a head.  The terrorists managed to retake Fallujah just a few months after our soldiers left Iraq.  At the time, nobody thought much of it as the region had been in a state of conflict for thousands of years.  Everyone was wrong though.  The extremists had a very specific point of retaking the city, as it was a repository for some of Saddam's more "interesting" weapons.  By the time the western world learned of it, anything that had been hidden below those dusty streets was long gone, along with those who had planned it.

Of course, I was occupied by other things at the time.  Namely my girlfriend Rebecca was leaving me.  Her last words to me were that she "could never be with someone that thought humanity could be so evil."  Harsh words that stung deeply as she slammed the door behind her.  That was the last time I saw her golden hair or beautiful blue eyes before the world fell.  In a way, she was so right, but so wrong at the same time.  Working with people was my day job, and daily I saw the best and worst humanity had to offer.  In the end, it didn't really matter.  The hours turned to days without hearing from her, and I assumed the worst

My cell phone woke me that fateful morning, blaring   Kaskade's "Move for Me" next to my head.    I kept that as my work ringtone because they only called when they needed me to move.  As I fumbled around for the phone in my darkened bedroom, I could hear a tinny voice coming from the small speaker.  "Hold on.   One sec.  Looking for my phone."  Damnit, I didn't mean to pick it up like that.  After a moment, my fingers wrapped around the black magpul case and pulled the phone to my ear as I noticed the department director's name.

"Sorry about that Steve, I accidentally picked up while I was looking for my phone.  What happened?"

There was a moment's pause before a somewhat high yet definitely masculine voice responded in a way that I wasn't expecting.

"They just declared a State of Emergency.  We don't know any details at the moment, but considering they are mobilizing both bases we think having extra people would be useful.  I'm going to need you to come in with the B shift this morning.  I know it is in two hours, but it is the best I can do.  You'll get briefed when you get in."

Sighing, I just rubbed my eyes as there was nothing else I could do.  Slightly hungover or not, if they said it was a big deal, I would have to go in if I wanted a job in the morning.

"Okay, I'll be there.  We are getting overtime for this, right?"

The only answer was a soft chuckle for a moment.

"Yes, you'll get your overtime Alex.  Bring your turnout gear just in case.  I've got a lot of calls to make still, so I'll see you then."

With a click and finality, my boss was off to make another phone call, and I was left to nurse a throbbing head and the urge to call in drunk.  It would never work, but it was still a thought.  My fingers trailed down the somewhat cold wall, tracing circles in it until my fingers brushed the plastic of the light switch for a moment before I flipped it while my eyes closed.  As everyone expects, the damnable light bulb filled the room with a golden glow that hurt for a moment before I adjusted.

Loathe to leave the comfortable world under my crimson blanket, I forced myself to push it aside and endure the crisp temperatures of the cabin in fall.  With no real need to heat the house yet, the temperatures were in the low 50's inside.  Despite the small size of the building, I did my best to make it my home, each room having it's own theme.  The cream colored walls of my bedroom contrasted beautifully against the dark mahogany of my furniture and deep reds of the fabric.

Either way, it mattered little at the moment as I had more important issues to deal with.  The tickling sensation of cold carpet assaulted my feet as I left the bedroom, pausing in the kitchen to slap the "ON" button for my coffee pot, and leaving it to reheat what was left from the night before.  I could only grin at the reflections of the sunrise on the black granite counter tops for a moment before biology reasserted itself, with only one word in mind.  Bathroom.

I could describe every minute detail of my bathroom or what I did within, but considering I am probably dead you can see it yourself.  Much time was spent designing that room by the way, as I spared no expense on its construction.  I'd always wanted one of those fancy multi jet showers and by the gods, I was going to get one.  After my business and a quick shower, I sat there staring into the mirror, lost for a moment looking at myself.  The world had definitely been an interesting place for me, and my face showed it.  I'd never been what you would call great looking, but I usually carried a smile born of confidence in myself and my abilities.  Today, that was missing and replaced by a grimace of pain as my head throbbed dully, matching the dark bags under my green eyes.  I just looked tired and shaggy, in need of a good haircut as I had let it grow out and away from the crew cut I usually sported.  

As my dark towel wiped away the remainder of shaving cream, I resolved to get more sleep in the evening and less mead.  It wasn't healthy for my mood anyhow.  The feel of cooling metal snapped me out of my reverie as I looked down, forgetting the pentacle I had worn into the shower.  It is amazing how you forget things that you take for granted like that.  Either way, I had spent far too much time staring into the mirror and wondering what went wrong in my life.  Time to get ready and get into work.  I wish I could say something special about getting ready for work, but I'm fairly certain that everyone gets dressed in nearly the same way.  

In the end, I was dressed in my usual work attire of black cargo pants, boots, and a dark blue long sleeved shirt.  They fit a little loosely on my frame, but that was a good thing considering I wasn't in what you could call the best of shape.  My job kept me rather sedate more often that not.  With a few clicks, I settled the familiar weight of my belt onto my hips as I shifted it sideways from side to side while pouches poked and prodded at me.  The whole while, my mental checklist was running, flipping through everything that I would need for the day.  Revolver in holster on hip, check.  Radio and assorted things, yup.  On and on it went in my head as I continued, until I lowered a black vest over my head and snugged it down with a small set of straps.  Emblazoned across the front and back was the title of my job.  Note, I didn't say career, it was just a job to pay the bills.  Either way, the golden badge that was tailored opposite my name still made me smile on occasion, despite it only saying "Alaska Department of Corrections" across it.

Confident that everything was in place and working properly, I grabbed the backpack I had placed near my feet and pulled it over a shoulder while grabbing my travel mug of coffee with the other hand.  As always, the front door was a bit of a pain to open, but I wanted it that way.  The thick wood and steel door would seal tight against the frame and keep any arctic weather from getting in.  Out of habit, my fingers brushed against the engravings on the door frame.  Every time I left, my fingers slid over the smoothly carved surface.  To most it was little more than intricate scroll work, but to me it was an extension of my religion and myself.  

Just outside the door, my faithful ride waited patiently.  Everyone has a vehicle they would to own, mine at least was easy to buy and maintain as the odometer reminded me every time I climbed into my 1996 Toyota 4Runner.  Matte black paint and a matching interior graced the vehicle that had served me well for over a quarter million miles so far.  You can fault the Japanese for many things, but their engineering was top notch, as my truck could attest when it started without an argument as I twisted the key.  With a roar, it sprang to life and just like me, prepared to face the day.

A few miles of small gravel roads awaited me before I could get on pavement and to work.  No better time to get going, as my iphone clicked into a dock I had attached to the dash and music began playing through the speakers     Chicago's "Hard to say I'm sorry"   seranading me as I pulled away from my small cabin in the woods.