Free EMERGENCE by David Palmer Page B

snicker in return.
    Took several moments to establish location, circumstances leading to night spent in chair with clothes on. When succeeded, opened mouth, then didn't bother—realized bad word wouldn't help; no longer offered relief adequate to situation.
    Casual approach had worn out about one A. M.—by which time had read possibly ten pages (of which couldn't remember single word). Featherhead snored on stand; nothing within reach to disassemble, had lost interest.
    Yawning prodigiously myself by time abandoned pretense, grabbed phone, dialed number.
    Got through first try. But was busy!
    Repeated attempt at five-minute intervals for two hours or until fell asleep—whichever came first.
    Have just tried line again. Still busy. Better go make breakfast.

    Contact problem no longer funny. In two months since last entry have averaged five tries daily. Result: Either (usually) busy signal or transistorized moron spouts same message. One possible explanation (among many): Recorded message mentions no dates; could have been recorded day after Armageddon, yesterday—anytime.
    Not that am languishing, sitting wringing hands by phone, however; have been busy. Completed move to farm; padded supply reserves; shored weaknesses; collected additional livestock, poultry. Have electrified fences, augmented where appeared marginally dogproof; trucked in additional grain (learned to drive semi, re-re-re-replete with 16-speed transmission—truly sorry about grain company's gatepost, but was in way; should have been moved long ago); located, trucked in two automatic diesel generators, connected through clever relay system so first comes on line (self-starting) if power fails, second kicks in if first quits. So far has worked every time tested, just as book said.
    Have accumulated adequate fuel for operation: Brought in four tankers brim full of diesel (6,000 gallons each); rigged up interconnecting hose system guaranteeing gravity feed to generators—whichever needs, gets. At eight gallons hourly (maximum load), should provide over four months' operation if needed. (However, farm rapidly taking on aspect of truck lot. Must think about disposing of empties soon; otherwise won't be able to walk through yard.)
    Overkill preparations not result of paranoia. Attempting to make place secure in absence; improve odds of finding habitable, viable farm on return, even if sortie takes longer than expected. Which could; is over 900 miles (straight-line) to File's address on Peter Bell. And he's only first on AA list; others scattered all over.
    Have attempted to cover all bets, both home and for self on trip. Chose vehicle with care: four-wheel-drive Chevy van. Huge snow tires bulge from fenders on all four corners, provide six inches extra ground clearance, awesome traction. Front bumper mounts electric winch probably capable of hoisting vehicle bodily up sheer cliff. Interior has bed, potty, sink, stove, sundry cabinets—and exterior boasts dreadful baroque murals on sides.
    Though might appear was built specifically to fill own needs (except for murals—and need for buildups on pedals), was beloved toy of town banker. When not pinching pennies, frittered time away boonies-crawling in endless quest for inaccessible, impassable terrain. Bragged hadn't found any. Hope so; bodes well for own venture.
    Personal necessities, effects aboard. Include: ample food, water for self, Terry; bedding, clothing, toiletries; diverse tools, including ax, bolt cutters, etc.; spares for van; siphon, pump, hose for securing gas; small, very nasty armory, including police chief's sawed-off riot gun, two magnum revolvers, M-16 with numerous clips and scope.. Not expecting trouble, but incline toward theory that probably won't rain if carry umbrella.
    Leaving this journal here in shelter for benefit of archeologists; keep separate book on trip. Can consolidate on return; but if plans go awry, this account still available for Posterity.
    Well, time to go: Unknown