11th April

11 Apr

So this is it then. Possibly the last time I write in this diary. I’ll bequeath this to Adam after I write this entry. Chances are he’ll lose it, destroy it, or use it for its soft and absorbent qualities the first chance he gets, but with any luck, perhaps he’ll carry it on. Who knows, perhaps it’ll be an outlet for him.

He seems to grow more withdrawn as he gets older. Back in the days of too much sugar, television and video games, a shrink would have diagnosed him with some mental illness or deficiency. Me, I just think he’s, what’s that word? Melancholy. Withdrawn. Likes to keep his thoughts to himself, and not let too many people into that inner sanctum. The only ones who have seen a chink in that armour are myself, and Jenny. I even feel a tad envious of Jenny for that. Me: I spent the past seven plus years changing his pooey butt and cleaning up after him. Protecting him from things that wanted to slurp his innards and taught him, albeit very poorly, how to read and write, but very well at how to shoot and kill. Jenny: well she just befriended him a month or so ago and went and lost her leg in the process. It is nice that he has somebody other than me to lean on though.

I look around our rag tag group. So many familiar faces now. How many of them will make it through tomorrow. How many are just cannon fodder for the Boss? Have I taken this a step too far, and we should have just backed that train up and run? What was I thinking?

In the morning, a smaller group of mainly children, with one or two of the adults for protection, will branch off from the rest of us and seek shelter to the west. If all goes well, we will come back to find them later. If not, they are to make their own way out of the area and fend for themselves.

The rest of us, accompanied by the group from Sanctuary, and lead by Christy, will make our way into the township. We will carry the ammunition from the train, and a lot of the remaining food, at least what we haven’t already given to the children’s group, as a means of distraction. As excited as the Boss and his lot will be to have me back, and a bunch of the woman he had lost on the train, let’s not forget he now has his own town full of woman to abuse, so things such as ammo and food will be of more interest to him initially.

The plan struck me when I thought about leaving my train behind. I recalled back in the day when you travelled on a train or other public transport at your own risk. It was the days when idiots thought that religion was a reason worthy of blowing themselves and others up. When cowards strapped explosives onto their bodies and boarded public transport in order to kill as many innocents in the name of their fictional beliefs as possible. As the main instigators that had whipped them up into a religious fervour in the first place sat back in their cave, or internet cafe or beanbag and laughed at the stupidity of the idiots that believed that committing mass murder placed you in the favour of the deity of their choosing.

It was this idea, this final gasp, what American sports commentators used to refer to as the Hail Mary, that grabbed me by the short and curlies and made me think there was one final way to rid what remained of the sane-end of the planet of the insanities of that one last bastion of evil, the Boss.

So now, those of us willing to put our lives on the line for the children of the group, and for anybody in that village of Sanctuary that are being abused or hurt. For anybody that wants that town to live up to its name once more. We have built a number of improvised explosives for use should the opportunity present itself. The idea is pretty simple really. We have a bunch of small cardboard boxes which once contained bullets. Most of the bullets have since been used up, or what few remained we tipped out into other receptacles. Somebody along the way had discovered a box of fragmentation grenades and added these to the ammo store on the train – long before I had come along. Inside each box we taped a grenade to the bottom of the box and a string, tied to the pin, was threaded through a hole in the top and the box taped closed.

What, to a casual observer, will appear to be a simple cardboard box for bullets, will actually be a grenade with a simple pin-pulling mechanism. Before anybody is any-the-wiser, with any luck we’ll have popped the pin on one or two of those and dropped them in the laps of the Boss and anybody loyal to him.

For Christy and her team, all they have to do is act as if nothing is amiss, lead us into the jaws of the enemy, and stand clear of the blast radius. Leading us into the jaws of the enemy, I have no doubt they can and will do, but not ratting us out is a matter of faith and trust now.

So as I sign off now, I hand this tatty diary over to Adam. He’ll carry it now and, should by some divine act of any one of these superior beings occur and I walk away from yet another stunt, Adam will pass it back to me to write all about it. Should I not, well, here’s hoping this isn’t the last entry in this diary and that Adam takes up the mantle.

So this is to you Adam if you’re reading this: I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or the next day. I don’t know what’s in store for you and I in the next ten years for that matter. I can’t even guarantee that one or both of us will be around in the next few days. What I can tell you is that if this stupid plan goes pear shaped and I’m hurt at all, I want you to carry on telling this story. You must carry on with this. To make sure that one day, if any humans ever make it through this nightmare, that they can read about our struggles, you and I. They can see the sacrifices that all of humanity have made to survive. To continue the species and to ensure future generations are possible.

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