I sat in the high-rise at the edge of the village today. At least that’s what we call it. Mrs B says high-rises back in the Before stretched up into the clouds they were so big. This one only goes up six floors, but it is high enough to get a view of what’s happening below.
I watched the paper and plastic bags flying about on the street way below. The garbage from Before never seems to go away. Mrs B says that plastic will be around long after everybody is gone, even the already dead.
Not so many deaders walk about down there anymore. Any that do, we pick them off. We have plenty of guns and bullets. One of the Smithys has started making more bullets now, but I think we still use them faster than he can make them. But we won’t run out for some time after a few Scav runs to army depots stocked us up.
Somebody fashioned silencers for most of our rifles out of tin cans and stuff. I don’t know how they work, but you can get three or four shots out at very low volume before they give up and stop working.
I’ll camp out up here tonight. Bobby James is with me, and we both prefer to be out away from the noisy crowds. He lost his whole family to the deaders. Walked into town on his own about a year ago. Everybody thought he was a deader too he was so dirty and just stumbling along. Nearly got himself shot until he started crying.
Me and Bobby don’t really talk much, but we have an understanding and mostly go wherever the other one leads.
Dark is falling now and I can’t see what my pencil is writing.