So here we are. I never thought I'd be spending New Year's Eve like this; hulled up in an abandoned radio station. That's not to say that is was totally abandoned when we got here...at least, not if you count the nonliving.
I want to start by giving a message to anyone who may be reading from back in my hometown: I told you so. I've known for years about the impending outbreak, and now that it's here, I have people looking to me for what to do.
I'm not crazy. I never was. I know of a man in Nevada; calls himself Yahweh and claims he can summon UFOs from the sky. He's crazy. I'm not.
My name is L. Barr. You can just call me L. Of course, Barr is fine too, but I prefer just L.
I grew up in a little farming community in Sutter County. That's in Northern California, for those of you not familiar with it, which is probably most of you. People have always said I'm the quiet type. That's not true, but I guess it's easy to come off as quiet when no one's listening to you. I wish they had. We lost a lot of good people in that first day.
Now, I've found myself in this station in the Buttes. I'm not alone. For those of you who have already heard Summer's address (I let her test out our equipment earlier today), you know that we are both here, as well as an old veteran named Phillip. Summer forgot to mention Andy. He's my dog. He saw this all coming too.
Anyway, I was glad to find this project. It's good to know that there are still people out there, but it sickens me to think that there are people in the world with no idea what's going on here and probably in other places. We can fix that. Summer thinks I have a Messiah complex. She's wrong. I'm not trying to save the world or anything like that. I just want to stay connected, stay alive, and maybe help a few people in the process.
If there are others out there like us, we'd like to hear from you. Please, contact us and tell us your story.
Like Summer said before, stay safe out there. Stay moving, stay alive.
Good luck out there in the Wastes.