Expeditionary Log
Day 68
The sky has gotten worse. It has gotten progressively darker ever since we encountered it. The day is hardly visible without secondary light sources. This is incredibly bad for us, considering our lack of torches and…well, anything that can burn. I sit and wait.
Day 70
Today is the most monumental day we have experienced. Land sightings are confirmed. In the distance, you can just barely make out a murky gray skyline. Had the sky not been marred, we would have realized our proximity days ago. We appear to be 3-4 months ahead of time. There are two possible reasons for this having happened. One being that the trans-Atlantic current routed to Antarctica from Europe is actually an arch-shaped current that goes from Europe, to Antarctica, to North America. If such is true, we will not be able to return the way we came. The second is almost as bad as the first. It is possible that we have been thrown off course by the numerous hell-storms we endured. Our spirits are both towering and sub-zero simultaneously. We will be on dry land within 2 days. We have to face the fact that we may never return.
Day 71
I awoke today to a loud crash and rumbling. My heart leaped as I considered the many grim things that could have cause the crash, I rushed above deck to discover that our ship had stopped. We had bottomed out on the ocean floor. And no less than 1 mile away I could see the dry land we have waited so long encounter. Our flat bottom boat was jammed pretty bad, and it appears there is a definite current that continues to hold us in place. Numerous attempts have been made to re-route the ships pathetic excuse for a rudder. This would cause the current to push us back out to see. We have yet to succeed. It seems that we will have to make the mile or so journey to dry land. We launched all three of our land rafts. It is sad to say that all our crew was able to fit on them, after suffering one casualty after another on the arduous journey to the hellish looking place we were currently trapped within. As we set out, someone noted the hot nature of the ocean. He was right. It appeared to be about 70 degrees, while the air was maybe a crisp 50– A paradox to us all. It took us about 15 minutes to travel half the distance we thought was a mile (it was actually more like 3). It was at this time we witness the destruction of our ship. We heard the clamor aboard, turned our heads and watched as the current pushed our ship over. The constant pushing had lodged one side on the sticky clay-like bottom, while the other came up and over. Not a man said a word.
We finally reach dry land. We all stared intently at the vast wasteland before us. Barren, gray landscapes littered with random blackness (no one really knew its composition) stretched for miles. There wasn’t a wink of life. It seems we had ended up in the worst case scenario. I sat down and slumped against a boulder, laughing to myself. And that’s when I saw it. In the distance, a monstrous structure, looming over everything like some sort of wicked lighthouse, was spotted. In fact, several structures could be seen. Everyone agreed that these had to be ruins of a near direct nuclear hit. It was at this time that began to wonder if we had passed up Maine and ended up slam in the middle of New Jersey. In fact, I begin to think that we were all actually looking at an island that we had all heard of before—Manhattan. We decided to set out for the ruins after a full night’s rest, so we set up camp and waited for the moment of truth to arrive. I knew inside that nothing could prepare us for what awaited,
