I had not realised I
had lost track of time until I met a man with a watch. He was dead,
his digital watch was not. Assuming it is correct, it is January 6. I
guess I'm not the writer you are my friend as it's been long since
our last meeting. I can only try. What has happened has not been
worth noting until today. I met the man in red.
The optimist in me
wonders if this was your doing? Dressing an Infected up as Santa
Claus and chaining him to a lamppost. It certainly got my attention.
Without him, I might not have noticed the sign painted there, 'Gone
West'.
Why west? If you are
the man I think you are you've been going north. Why suddenly turn to
the West? Did you meet someone with news coming from the north? I
looked around, you left nothing else, just that sign and Santa Claus.
I even took his hat off in case you left a message. Don't worry, I
put your sign back as I found it. Maybe it's not you and maybe the
sign is not even for me.
West. Don't be going to
Skye. Although there's no surprises there now, just disappointment.
Be a village, a small hamlet or farmhouse.
I've been holed up for
weeks since I found a food cache, so you might be far ahead of me.
Then again, the cold weather will be hitting you as hard as it is me.
Burning everything I can find until there's nothing left then moving
on. Getting caught by the elements would be a clean way to die at
least. Going west means crossing the country. With no guarantee of
fuel, how are you doing it? Did you find enough to fill a van with
spare enough to make it all the way across to the coast?
Why now in this
climate? The infected still move through the snow and rain and
storms. The coldest winds heap slush and snow on them and turn them
to ice. Then they just break their icy bonds and move around with
tendrils of cold hanging from their heads. You can hear them now, the
ice in their hair like musical chimes. Nothing seems to stop them. So
why now?
West is wrong. I pray
this is not you. North my friend. Until reason turns me aside, we
keep north.
