We rejoined the flotilla a couple of days ago. It was good to catch up and see everyone on board. We had our first shower and decent nights sleep in days, before refueling the Rotoiti and sending them on their way. We've got a fresh ground crew now, and we fixed a truck that we found on the docks. We left Dunedin before the sun was up and continued our journey North. Not much happened between Dunedin and Christchurch, there were a few abandoned towns, but none of them were worth stopping at. Progress was a lot faster now that we had a working truck, and we made it to Christchurch well before the flotilla did.

It was weird arriving back in the city that I grew up in. It had been 9 years since I left, and 7 years since I saw it burn to the ground. Charred remains of buildings were still scattered everywhere, and nature had taken over most of the city. We droveas far as we could to the tunnel linking Christchurch and the port of Lyttelton, but eventually the mangled, grass covered roads gave us too much resistance so we ditched the truck and continued on foot. It was late morning by the time we arrived at the tunnel. As with the rest of the cities we'd passed through, there were very few zombies around, and the ones that were had decayed so much that they could barely move any more. I guess these things can just die.

The mouth of the tunnel had collapsed some time ago, and it would be a tight fit through with no guaranteed way out. We sat in the sun for a while resting, before deciding to hike over the hills instead. I had grown up in these parts, so I lead the way, following an old overgrown trail that I had walked in my youth. The Bridle Path, named so because it was too steep for people to ride their horses over, so they lead the horses by the bridle. The hike only took a couple of hours before we were at the summit, it was a nice clear day too. We could see all the way to the Southern Alps, and far out to sea. One of the men thought he saw a glimmer of light in the distance, but it was too far away to make out any details about it. We carried on down the path into Lyttelton, and set about scavenging around the port for supplies. These guys survived the fires pretty well, although they had one hell of a fire break between them and the city. Despite this, pickings were slim, and nothing of use was found. We set up camp on the wharf, and waited for the flotilla to arrive.

It was raining the next day, and no-one could be bothered doing anything, so we just hung around the dock area exploring. The flotilla arrived around midday picked us up, and carried on North. I looked back on my city, and remembered all the good times I had there. All the friends I made, all my favorite bars (damn I miss good beer...), the people, hell, I even miss my house. Shitty old place as it was, it was still home.

And now it's in ruins.

We carried on North, hoping to spot some sign of civilization. It was starting to get lonely down here. We figured that the North Island was our best bet, more people there, and a smaller island. Once we got to Cook Strait we would head West, and follow the coastline North to Auckland. That was our safest bet. We would also continue broadcasting on as many frequencies we could, hoping to make contact with anyone. We're even trying to bounce a message back to the Australians! Desperate times call for desperate measures...

This morning we spotted a plane. It was high up, but there was no mistaking it. I've formed an observation crew to keep an eye on it, maybe track it down if it lands. This is huge! We thought we were the only ones left down here, let alone flying down here! Two of our pilots are trying to ID the plane, but haven't had much luck so far. I'll update as things progress.