It has been almost 2 years since my dad wrote in this book.
It was Carla Bagshot who helped me to read and write better after my father died. She used to be a school teacher she told me. Knew lots more about the world in the Before. She taught me tons of things, and even helped me understand why my father had to die all that time ago.
He was a nice man, my father. I know he wasn’t my real father, but he was the man I grew up with. He taught me how to look after myself. How to shoot a gun. How to survive in the After.
They told me there was an accident. That a grenade went off and he was caught in the blast. His last moments as he stared up into the sky, his guts splayed out in a pink pool around him, as he gasped for air. They say his last word was Adam. Whether they say this for my sake or it’s true I don’t know. I like to believe them.
I know it was no accident. I was young at the time, but I knew what he was doing, and that it was for the good of all the survivors. He killed the head of the gang, and the rest soon followed as the villagers revolted against them and killed them all. He did what he had to for them, but mostly for me.
Mrs B taught me the word martyr. She says it comes from the Greek word for witness. She says it is somebody who dies for their beliefs.
I prefer the word saviour.