WALKER’S JOURNAL
MAY 20, 2025
It’s hard to believe I’m alive—against all odds—and I’m in the company of a wayward National Guard unit.
Out in the middle of the Mojave Desert.
I know I haven’t been writing much in the journal. I spent almost four months at the Marine base, all alone, and not once did I lift pen to paper. What can I say? I didn’t feel like it. I had other things to do, like learn how to fire a friggin’ M4 rifle! To tell the truth, I was living like a hog in slop. I had enough food to feed an army, books to read, a gun to play with, and a vast obstacle course and miniature town to run around in.
I didn’t want to leave, but I had to. The goddamned Koreans came.
It was toward the end of February when the planes flew overhead and dropped flyers everywhere. I don’t think they thought anyone was at the base; they were probably just carpeting the country with them. They wanted every American citizen to see their propaganda.
The first drop was a simple flyer urging the population to migrate toward “food shipment centers” in the big cities like Los Angeles. “Displaced persons” programs had been implemented so everyone could get food, shelter, clothing, and other necessities. Supposedly the Koreans were “hiring” American workers to bring back the power grid and other utilities. The leaflet claimed there had been a “peaceful exchange” between governments and that the Norks were in our country to “help” us.
Right.
I knew then and there that if the Koreans were running these programs, I wanted no part of them.
If the leaflet hadn’t been so scary, it would have been funny. Whoever wrote the thing needed a better command of the English language. One sentence read, “Make bathroom waste drops at local supermarket deposit facility for clean happyness.” WTF??
Then, in March, planes dropped a slightly thicker document—a small twelve-page book wrapped in plastic. It was lightweight, but I’m sure it injured a few people when it hit them on the heads. The cover was all red, had that bastardized American flag with the Korean coat of arms plastered over it, and was titled: DEMOCRATIC PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF AMERICA – OATH OF LOYALTY AND ASSIMILATION HANDBOOK. Well, this so-called handbook was nothing but bullshit. It was supposedly written by the “North Korean Liberation Assistance Bureau” for “Bringing America Back to Greatness.” Yes, there was an oath of loyalty that every American was expected to learn. Throughout the book were stupid pictures of Korean soldiers overlooking “happy” American families in their homes, or “friendly” Korean doctors and businessmen saying, “We are here to help you.” There were lists of new holidays, such as Kim Jong-un’s birthday, his father’s birthday, his grandfather’s birthday, and so on. And there were the rules, such as curfews run by the Koreans rather than our own people. At the end was a list of “helpful phrases” in Korean, but if you ask me, none of them were particularly helpful. They were subservient. How do you say, “I will obey,” in Korean?
At least the English grammar had improved.
Well, after this, I fully expected the Norks to come rolling up to the base and making themselves at home. But for some reason, they never showed up … until the beginning of May. They must have been too busy taking over military bases that were actually functional, with stuff to steal. Since the Twentynine Palms base had been closed years ago, they must have figured there was nothing here but buildings. But now that more Koreans were in the country, they needed the housing for their troops.
It was midday on May 2. I heard the rumble of tanks and marching troops. Using the binoculars, I spotted them in the distance heading up the road from town. I knew I had to get out of there, and fast.
I grabbed my backpack, which I had already stuffed with emergency supplies—water bottles and food packages, first-aid kit, some extra Marine utility uniforms—the M4 and ammunition, and a cap, and I ran like hell to the northern end of the base. Luckily I had the presence of mind to bring the wire cutters. So, as the Koreans blew off the gate on the southern fence, I cut a hole in the northern one. I slipped through and ran northeast—straight into the boiling hot Mojave Desert.
I was there for two weeks.
Jesus. Looking back, I realize how idiotic that was. There were a few days I thought I’d rather be a prisoner of the Koreans. I about died, I kid you not. For one thing, the food lasted only five days and the water lasted ten. Zip. Gone. And I was lost. I didn’t know where the hell I was. There were mountainous ridges all around me. Nothing but sand and dirt and cactus and prickly brush and snakes and spiders and big giant ants and my old friend, the buzzard, flying over my head the entire time. He knew if he waited long enough, he’d get man meat. But I never gave him the satisfaction. Fuck you, buzzard!
And then there was the sun. My God, I never thought the sun could be so hot. I took to finding holes at the bases of cliffs to sleep in during the day, and I walked at night. Then it was cold as shit.
I shot a jackrabbit one day. Managed to build myself a fire and eat the damned thing. I tried my best at skinning it, but I still got a mouthful of fur. Yuck. I was no frontiersman. I didn’t know a damn thing about surviving in the desert. I had to wing it, you know what I mean? And it was tough. One day I just sat there and cried. And I’m sure that son of a bitch buzzard was up there laughing at me.
Well, I lost track of the days, but it must have been ten or eleven since I left the base. I was barely moving. I was weak from hunger, dehydration, and heatstroke. Nevertheless, I successfully fashioned a little den out of a tiny cave inside an outcrop of big rocks. I nestled in there and waited to die. I cursed the day I made the decision to leave Los Angeles. I cursed the Norks again and again. I prayed, even though I never went in for that stuff much. I became delirious. I had weird hallucinations and talked to desert spirits and thought I saw God.
Then, three days ago, on May 17, a National Guard unit happened to stroll by. They picked me up and saved my life. I’m still recovering from heatstroke and dehydration, and it’ll be some time before I’m completely well. But I thought I’d write down what I could since all I can do is lie here inside one of their tents. Anyway, I’m tired now so I’m going to sleep. If you see that buzzard, tell him to go fuck himself.
Later, man.