March 30, 2053
It's the first night I haven't heard Emy sobbing in her sleep. It must be so hard for her, really hard. I still can't believe it myself... How could they have killed Lucky, those bastards.
That day, we were returning with the firewood. When we got close to the shack, everything happened in an instant: Lucky started barking, a sound filled with anger that I had never heard from him before. With all his strength, he began running toward our camp. Panicked, Emy and I dropped the wood we were carrying and ran after the dog. After a few steps, I stopped abruptly, grabbing Emy to stop her and pulling her down into the tall grass on the edge of the woods.
In front of us was a terrifying scene, even worse than the corpses we found in the attic. I recognized that damn cyborg truck: it was the same one that patrolled the streets where I had found the little girl a few months ago; I'm sure of it. Two of them were in the driver's cabin, with the engine running. The third one was at the back, with the tailgate down, holding a weapon I'd never seen before. It looked like an assault rifle, but without a magazine. On the barrel, which was larger than usual, there was a strange copper coil attached. From that distance, I couldn't see much more, but I got a good look at the one holding it: a muscular man with dark skin, long black pants, bare-chested, and his right arm, the one holding the weapon, was a mass of metal and tubes, starting from the shoulder down to the fingertips. It seemed fused with the weapon itself.
Then the fourth man finally emerged from our shelter. He was holding Lucky in his arms. I immediately noticed the bloodstains on the dog's muzzle and back... he held him like he was an empty sack, lifeless. Lucky's head dangled loosely. The figure approached the cyborg in the back of the truck, who looked at the dog's body for a few seconds. Then, with a nod, he ordered it to be thrown into the truck. I heard the dull thud of the tailgate closing.
Instinctively, I drew my gun. I wanted to do something, anything. But then I heard Emy's sob, stifled, weak. She was right next to me, petrified, her face streaked with tears, her eyes locked on that surreal scene. Her eyes... were even emptier than a zombie's.
All I could do was wait for them to leave. Emy wouldn't move; I had to pick her up and carry her inside. To my surprise, everything was in its place. They hadn't stolen anything, not even the rations or the rifle. In the middle of the room, though, there was a large bloodstain soaking into the worn-out wood floor.
I tried to settle Emy on the chair behind the counter, but she couldn't take her eyes off that bloodstain, even after I had cleaned it up. She seemed obsessed with that spot. The only time she would lower her gaze was when she collapsed from exhaustion and crying.
She hasn't eaten in two days. She managed to drink a little water, after much insistence from me. But I still haven't heard her speak. I don't know if it's right to give her space, but I think when she's ready, she'll speak. All I can do now is stay by her side and wait, trying to figure out what our next move should be.
We're no longer safe here. I knew this day would come, but I hoped it wouldn't be so soon.
March 31, 2053
We are finishing the last preparations. We will leave here tomorrow at dawn, although I still don't know where we'll go. I used the suture kit and some rags to make a small provisions bag for Emy so that we can carry some extra supplies. I will leave behind what we don't need and take only the rifle, the pistol, the axe, the first aid kit, and the cartridges, along with some canned food.
Now we'll try to get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long journey.
April 1, 2053
This is our first stop after three hours of walking, heading in the opposite direction of the city. We have ventured into the woods, continuing straight ahead. Fortunately, the vegetation here isn't dense.
I can hear birds singing now and then; other than that, I don't sense anything dangerous or suspicious. Speaking of sounds: since Lucky is gone, I haven't heard that "Beep" coming from Emy anymore. On one hand, it's a relief: I was starting to think she might be a cyborg too.
We'd better keep moving now.
It's almost evening now, and the darkness is enveloping everything out here. We managed to reach a large, abandoned highway just in time. We followed it for a while until we found a small gas station. We're inside now. This place isn't safe at all, but at least it offers some temporary shelter for the night. The little one has already crashed from exhaustion; she must be worn out. From what I saw today, her mood seems to be improving a bit.
I don't know if I'll be able to sleep, but I need to at least try to rest. Goodnight.
April 2, 2053
We have company this morning. It was still too dark to see clearly from the window, but I managed to glimpse a vehicle pulling up at the gas pump. A man got out with a flashlight in hand. He seemed to be alone. He pulled a small generator out from the back of the vehicle and, with a couple of electric cables, connected it to the gas pump, getting it to work. He filled the vehicle's tank and a few canisters he had with him. Then, he disconnected everything and loaded the generator and the canisters back into the vehicle.
I caught a glimpse of only a rear light from the vehicle: a red light going back and forth, like a single eyebrow. I couldn't even tell if he was truly human. We'll have to be very careful and walk a bit more to avoid unwanted encounters.
As I feared, I didn't sleep much. I barely regained some energy, but I can't stop. We need to find a place far enough away from the tin men and safe enough to keep the zombies at bay.
Outside the gas station, there's a bulletin board with a laminated map of the area. It's not in great shape, but I can more or less make out something.
We finally have an idea of where we are. The city we left is about 20 kilometers from here, which isn't far enough yet. We need to move further. Heading north along the highway for another 15 kilometers, there seems to be a flat area, well-protected and surrounded by nature. There should be a resort or a small tourist village in that area. Usually, those places are fenced, which could work to our advantage.
Alright, it's time to move. I'll wake up the little one, and after a quick breakfast, we'll head out again. I hope my legs can hold out a little longer. They're pretty sore, but we have no choice.
It's nighttime, and I'm writing while lying on the bed in a room. It's so strange, yet at the same time, comfortable. When we set out again this morning, I never expected such an intense day. We were walking along the highway when, at a certain point, we reached a huge intersection. In front of us was a disturbing sight: a large number of scattered cars, there must have been a hundred: half demolished, others abandoned or burnt to a crisp. My eyes didn't know where to look anymore. Eventually, my gaze settled on one particular vehicle, a fairly large pickup truck, and I recognized it immediately: the vehicle had that "unibrow" rear light that I saw this morning.
I immediately grabbed Emy by the arm and quickly dragged her off the road, looking for a hiding spot among the trees lining it. I tried to spot the owner of the vehicle without being seen, but I couldn't detect any movement amidst that car graveyard.
I signaled to Emy to stay hidden. I crouched down and crawled to the edge of the road. Suddenly, "click" behind my neck. A distinct sound of a loaded gun. For a moment, my blood froze, and a shiver ran down my spine. Then the words, "Make a move, and you'll be food for the dead." I didn't know what to do. Even if I had wanted to, I felt my body refusing to obey my commands.
"Slowly take off your backpack and drop the gun on the ground," his words were relatively calm. It took me a few seconds to regain control of my body, and then I immediately followed his orders.
I couldn't see Emy from that position, and I feared the worst.
"Click" again. "Put your hands behind your back, slowly." My feet were trembling as I felt a pair of cold handcuffs tighten around my wrists. "Now turn around and tell me who you are and what you're doing here."
Every attempt to keep my voice relaxed was an enormous effort. At that moment, I instinctively decided not to screw up. I felt that one wrong move would land me in some field, fertilizing the ground, or worse, hunting for brains.
I told the man about me and Emy (at that moment, she was terrified, leaning against a tree, staring at me), recounting all the events of the past few days that happened at "Pic-Love Lake."
The long, gray mustache of that man covered half of his grim expression, along with his silver hair hidden under a cowboy hat, which fell in waves over his shoulders. His face was deeply wrinkled and furrowed, yet despite this, I could clearly feel the intense pressure emanating from his eyes, a decidedly disarming gaze, the look of someone who must have seen a lot in his lifetime. Only one thing seemed out of place: he was definitely out of shape. A slice of a hairy belly stuck out from under his white and gray checkered lumberjack shirt. If it had been a different situation, now that I think about it, I probably would have burst out laughing. But not there, not at that moment. I was truly scared shitless at that point.
Once I finished my story, we stood in silence for a moment. He asked if I was a cyborg. Of course, I denied it. He let out a huff, followed by a faint smirk.
"My name's Walter," he said, glancing briefly at the little girl, then back at me. "If you want, I can offer you shelter. I'm the owner of the tourist village a few kilometers from here. But if I end up regretting it, it will be the last thing you ever do."
No objections from me. Inside, I felt both relieved and uncomfortable at the same time. It was already late afternoon, and honestly, I had no idea how we would spend the night, so in the end, I figured I had no choice.
By the time we arrived at the village, it was already dark, and I didn't see much. We entered the main hall. Walter showed us to our room. To my astonishment, everything here works: running water from the taps, electricity, a toilet, a shower, and a damn bed! It's been so long since I've seen one!
Walter also told us that if we wanted to come down for dinner, he would have something prepared for us, so I deduce that he's not alone in this place. I'm not sure whether to be worried. I declined his dinner invitation; Emy had passed out in the car, and at that moment, I was holding her in my arms, asleep.
Walter nodded, saying he'd have something brought up to the room.
And here I am, washed, smelling good, and on a damn soft, comfortable bed with my head resting on a soft pillow! I still can't believe it. Emy is right here next to me, still sleeping. Dinner arrived a little while ago, but I still don't trust Walter enough to eat his food. What if it's poisoned? We have our own supplies, so for now, that's fine. I locked the door, wedging a chair under the handle. We're on the first floor, so we're safe from external dangers. I'm exhausted, but I can finally sleep properly! Goodnight.
April 3rd, 2053
Damn, what a sleep! The sun is already high up; I must have slept for hours!
I'm at the window of the room right now; from here, you can get a good view of most of the property: a pool (empty, of course), a rather overgrown garden with some benches to sit on, and a few smaller structures among abandoned kiosks and ruined vehicles. I can clearly see the perimeter that encloses the area. It's made up of tall walls built from wood and metal, about three meters high, with barbed wire fixed all around them. I'd say, at least from the brain-eaters, we should be safe.
Emy just woke up and says she's hungry. We'll head downstairs to look for Walter; maybe he can offer us something to eat. I'll take the opportunity to thank him for his hospitality.
Walter told us we could stay as long as we wanted, provided we help keep the place running. This means hunting, lending a hand with various chores, and taking turns keeping watch. I still can't believe it. Could this finally be the place I was looking for? I think of Lucky and how much fun he would have had with Emy if he were still here... I'm sorry I couldn't do anything for him.
After lunch, Walter took me to meet his wife, Lilly. She's the one who organizes the work, while Walter handles the guard shifts and trips out: provision recovery and hunting.
When I asked him who he traded shifts with, he explained that their children, Mark and his sister Asia, are with them. They left yesterday afternoon and should be back by dinner tonight. Walter and Lilly are quite a peculiar couple; they remind me of a comedy duo from a TV show I used to watch as a kid. Walter looks around fifty, while Lilly seems much younger, no more than forty, I'd say. Walter behaves very differently from our encounter yesterday. He seems more approachable and relaxed, like he's one of the staff in charge of welcoming guests, very kind and helpful to his 'clients.' Maybe this whole apocalypse has fried their brains, but they're nice enough in the end.
April 3rd, 2053
I was woken up a couple of times last night by some wailing that seemed to come from outside. I couldn't quite figure out what it was, but I didn't want to investigate too much. I turned over and decided to take advantage of the soft double bed and the sleep I had accumulated.
Today, I have to go out with Walter. We're heading back to the small gas station where I first saw him to fill up two more diesel generators. They're the ones needed to power this place, just as I thought. On the way back, we'll stop to gather some wood for the stove. Walter said we'd be using chainsaws. I've never held one before; I hope I don't hurt myself. I wonder if it's really as easy as it looks.
Last night, at dinner, I finally met Walter's children. Two quite unique people, just as I expected. Asia is a very shy and reserved girl. She spoke very little and never made eye contact with anyone during the entire meal. I have to admit, though, she is really beautiful. She has long, chestnut hair, smooth as silk, and emerald green eyes that could catch anyone's attention. She is very slender, but from the way she moves, she also seems to be in shape. She says she's 26 years old.
Mark, on the other hand, is a completely different story. Unlike Asia, he doesn't seem in shape at all: in fact I'd say he's borderline anorexic. He's 37 years old, but he's smaller than his sister. He sports a rather unkempt beard, and his messy, dirty hair falls over his forehead. There's something about the way he speaks that sends shivers down my spine. It's slow, measured, as if he weighs every word before letting it out.
There was a moment during dinner when I felt a chill of pure instinct. It happened when little Emy introduced herself to the two siblings. They both smiled at her, but Mark's smile... there was something profoundly wrong with it. Yes, I know this family is strange in many ways, but Mark is on another level. That smile was empty, almost unnatural, as if he was hiding something behind that expression. I didn't like it at all.