𝗧𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄'𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 | an apocalyptic novel ©

Chapter 8

Recordings of Insanity

1995

Ryle

I didn't find the scripts on the barrel, perhaps Maxine took them. A part of me hopes she'd return them to me, not that I'd receive them, I want to see her smile.

That thought internally surprises me when I take a seat on my small uncomfortable chair in the office of my barrack.

On duty, you're not allowed to fall in love.

I'm not in love.

Right?

The tape recorder seems quite large in my hand. It's something I never used before - it consists of a play button that I have to press and hold to play the tapes, as the white letters on the hard plastic case suggest. It glistens under the light of my desk when I hold it in one hand and look for the play button. My free hand rummages through the desk drawers to find a pencil and paper to take notes.

This will take long...

I shake my head to clear my thoughts and push away those that include a girl named Maxine.

Focus.

I insert the first cassette tape and my finger presses play.

Carl Willbrand's voice immediately sounds tinny through the small speaker.

Faintly, I remember hearing his voice for the first time on Television after the President of the United States of America made the international announcement.

Now, though, he sounds tired. Grueling hours of testing lab samples, zero sleep, living on three cups of coffee every hour, just internally resigning – all those could be the triggers.

I'm the type of person that analyzes a person's behavior through their voice.

And Carl Willbrand somehow rings some alarm bells in my head.

"March Fifth, almost one month since the destruction." Him clearing his voice is almost enough for the speaker of the tape recorder to give up. "I'm keeping track of my achievements since nobody wants to believe me."

I take a shaky breath.

This can either turn well or into a disaster similar to the one at the international council meeting.

"As I stated at the council, we are unsure what the causes of the weather anomalies are exactly. Since every anomaly has a different occurrence and effect, we suspect multiple causes."

My chair creaks as I lean back, on edge yet invested in his words.

Documenting his results in private is illegal, he – as every scientist does – swore an oath to inform society in terms of news. What I am doing – listening to his results as perhaps the first person, against his will – is just as illegal.

"The truth is," Carl chuckles suddenly, pained, "I am just as afraid of finding the cause as everyone else is."

There is silence for a moment.

"My team and I, we are... seven scientists and one scholar, me. We are trying our best. This is the first of many tape recordings I'm doing. I believe it has been said that only insane people are keeping track of events in the form of lists, diary entries or recordings. Maybe I am insane, maybe I keep track of events to tell myself I am not. But who said that everyone else is still sane?"

With his last words being said, Carl's first tape recording stops.

I stare at the silent recorder in my hand.