The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

We are an even number again. There’s a part of me that wants to fight that one little fact, as if Dillon’s place with us could ever be filled. It can’t. It’s just our number that’s even, not our hearts.

Still, I can’t begrudge the one who has joined us. In fact, I was pleased; after the past few days, we needed something to pick us up again.

We were trying to fix the vehicles. Plastic sheeting over the rear windows and pock-marked panels, secured with the fabulous wrap of ductape. We switched to our last spare set of tyres, too; with all the acid on the roads, in ice or puddles, the treads have been wearing down far too quickly. It might be pointless unless we find more fuel to keep them running, but at least they’ll last a little while longer.

The sound of an engine approaching set us all on edge. We downed tools and ducked out of sight, taut as harpstrings. It wasn’t a big engine – in fact, it sounded thin and rattly – but you never know. These days, you just never know.

It almost went past us without comment. A single person on a motorcycle, anonymously helmeted, drifting slowly down the street. My first thought was that the guards were sending out scouts. Then Terry scowled and Dale leaned forward, staring at the back of the rider’s jacket. A design had been roughly painted on, one I found familiar but couldn’t make out.

Dale had no such problem. He ran out into the street, ignoring hissing and grabbing from the rest of us. With two fingers in his mouth, he whistled, brazen and piercing. We winced at the recklessness of it, while the rider heard and turned back. The rest of us quickly hurried out onto the road, forming up around Dale in case he needed our support.

As it turned out, he didn’t need us or any kind of protection. The rider stopped and shut off the engine, unworried by the mob of us standing there. When the helmet came off, we saw why. One of us, come back to the group, come back to the road.

The first thing I thought was that her hair’s grown and she looks more like a girl now.

Jersey. Most of us were pleased to see her. Dale was grinning and went to slap her on the shoulder; he has apparently forgiven her for the months of lying while they were running as the Wolverines. There were no hugs – she’s not really into that – but plenty of friendly buffets and what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here.

“Got sick of sitting on my ass at the university,” she told us, wheeling the bike towards where our vehicles were stashed. “So I thought I’d come see if you guys needed a hand out here. Heard where you were over the radio.” I know Dale and Dan have been talking to the ones we left behind fairly often, when we can get a signal.

There’s obviously more to it than that but none of us pressed her on it. She has her secrets; the difference now is that we all know they’re there, and that makes it okay. Almost. But a few cans of soup and beans soothe a lot of ruffled feathers. We ate well tonight because of her.

The only one who hung back from the greetings was Terry. He’s still bruised over believing that she was a guy and has been brooding since she turned up. It’s not like him and even Tia is worried. It’s putting bluster into Jersey’s attitude – no-one wants a fight right now, least of all her, so she’s trying to breeze right on past the unpleasantness. I can’t blame her for that.

Eight’s lucky, according to the Chinese. I don’t know if it’s lucky for us. My mind keeps wandering back to the eighth we lost; he’s never far away these days.

I miss the ones we left at the university. I miss the clutter and chatter of them, their faces around the fire. Their stories and the sussurrus of their voices. It’s good to see even just one of them again.

But eight will do. Eight feels right. Welcome back, Jersey.

We’re stumbling a bit today. Last night, we came across a crate of vodka bottles hidden in the back of the old bar we were bedding down in.

There was silliness and stories, and Jersey gave us news about what has been happening back at the university. We had heard from them over the radio, but only shards, and we were all eager to catch up with them. I think we’re all glad to know that our friends are still there, that they didn’t disappear as soon as they were out of sight. That the shamblers haven’t risen up and swallowed them.

Sally is huge now. From everything the two doctors can tell, she’s doing fine and so is the baby. They think she’s due in about ten weeks, and Masterson is getting snappier each time that number goes down.

Dr Kostoya has adopted everyone who will listen to his chemical babblings. Conroy is straining his braincells trying to keep up – though completely in his element – and even the kids are playing with the ridiculously long words. The little ones don’t get it, but the chemist only requires that an audience entertain him, not understand. That will come with time, he says.

Kostoya’s work is coming along well, they think. They’ve set up a water filtration system and he’s still tracking down the exact nature of the poison. From the little shudder that Jersey gave when she mentioned the acid, I think part of that ‘tracking down’ involved her and her recently-tainted bloodstream. Another reason why she wound up here with us.

Bree and her little friends are still there, becoming a more integral part of the group now that we’ve gone. Now I’ve gone.

Food is becoming an issue for them, too. They have the water situation sorted out, but all the filtering in the world won’t turn it into something to sustain the human body on its own. Their scavenging parties are ranging further and further afield, stretching themselves thin over the threat of shamblers and other survivors. They’ve been attacked a few times by both the living and the broken.

She didn’t say much about Janice and Tom. Someone did ask – Tia, I think. They were good to her, especially when she wasn’t well. Tom’s not well now, but not from injury or starvation. Jersey said something about testing, and I think that’s why she’s here. If Tom has the Sickness, she doesn’t want to watch what’s happening to him. She doesn’t want to see her own future.

She won’t talk about it, breezes right past it all, but it’s there in between her words. It hangs over her like her lie and her secret. Instead she came to us, spent days searching for us in a way that might have got her killed in so many ways. All on her own. I don’t know if I could have done that.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel isolated. I’m never alone – there’s always the others here with me, crammed in close – but outside of our circle is the gulf of our empty world. Even with the radio, voices carrying over the distance, it’s not the same. Gossiping with Jersey felt like a family reunion, with word of cousins and aunts and a crazy old uncle.

It was good. There’s not enough to eat: my stomach is rumbling and we just got done with dinner. We’re all hungover after last night, headsore and drawn. But it was nice, talking about distant friends. Talking about the world out of our reach as if it’s still there. At some point, I fell asleep with my head in Matt’s lap.

A little news goes a long way.

It seems that spring is coming in very slow steps. There’s less ice around now. What little forms overnight is usually gone by the time we’re all up and ready to go. It’s not warm enough to dry up all of the water, though, so we still have to be careful with our footing – no-one wants to put a boot in a puddle, let alone fall down in one.

Jersey is still with us – we’ve strapped her bike to the back of the campervan. Terry isn’t talking to her, but everyone else is getting along with her just fine. Even Tia – I think she’s spending time with the ex-Wolverine just to spite her brother.

I catch Jersey looking at Terry sometimes and the look on her face is familiar. It’s how she used to look when she talked about Rico, the fella who ran the Wolverines until he got Sick. Pained and slightly sad. I wonder if she ever told Rico how she felt. Probably not – how could it have ever worked, while she was pretending to be a boy? And now Terry knows the truth but is so angry over the deception that he’s ignoring her. That’s probably her worst fear when it comes to him.

Much as I might like to, I can’t tell her that I sympathise; she hates pity. That’s part of why she created the lie in the first place: she wanted to protect herself, on her own terms. I can’t believe she kept up the pretence for so long – months, it had to be. I know I couldn’t do it.

The tangled nature of it all is giving me a headache. This is why I prefer not to lie – it’s too complicated and fraught with hurt when it all comes down. At least it’s taking my mind off how hungry I am.

Greenberry is directly west of us now; if we head any further north, we’re going to just make this whole trip longer. We’ve decided to strike out for it, just run there as fast as we can.

Our progress hasn’t been great. We’ve been limping along, stopping periodically to check for supplies – food and fuel mostly. We’ve managed to scrape enough fuel together to last us for a while, but every source we’ve come across had already been broken into and sucked almost dry. Even the vehicles abandoned on the road.

I keep thinking about that truck and how much it must guzzle in order to keep moving. I think we all know who has been through here ahead of us, scouring the landscape like locusts. Thinking about it makes me nervous – they might come back at any time, they might pass through here again. I catch myself listening for distant engines and gunfire when it grows quiet.

The shortage is pressing on all of us. It’s not just that we’re hungry and cold; those are just symptoms of a bigger problem. As much as we’ve all tried to pretend it doesn’t exist, the problem is becoming the elephant in our room.

There’s nothing new coming into the world. Everything we find, everything we scavenge, is all that’s left. There are no farms growing fresh food, no factories making new products, no refineries producing diesel. We’ve known this since the bomb went off, but now we’re running out. We’re burning through what little we’ve got and, one day soon, we won’t find anything to live on.

The world’s not done breaking yet: it won’t be over until we’re all dead. It’s doing its best to make that happen. And it might not take that long.

We stand on a threshold now. The rain is battering outside and night has fallen, but we know it’s there, just outside the walls of this little salon.

Once again, we have run up against the edge of what used to be civilisation. I don’t really know what to call it now. Shelter, perhaps. All that’s left of what people built in the world. And beyond it is the bare open ground.

With two vehicles held together by ductape, plastic, and oil, we can only hope that they’ll last long enough to carry us across the gulf. The rain still comes every day, even though the earth is so thoroughly soaked that it doesn’t seem to be able to take any more of it. The earlier the ice melts, the bigger and more persistent the puddles seem to be.

Somewhere out there in the open space is Greenberry. The source of the radio signal, that one that still loops over and over. There’s a chance that it’s just a machine out there, mindlessly talking to the empty air. We’ve tried, but there hasn’t been any answer from whoever set up that signal. We don’t know if there’s anyone left watching over it.

It could be nothing. But it’s the last place we’ve got left to go. We’re Seekers, and this is the only thing left to seek.

After this, I don’t know what we’ll do. I don’t want to think about it but it’s hanging over us as huge and dark as the gaping bare earth outside.

We’re all quiet tonight, all thinking the same thing. The map shows a small cluster of buildings at Greenberry, just inside a wide sprawl of what was once green, rolling hills. Barring obstacles, we should be able to get there tomorrow. One quick jump across the gulf and there’s shelter waiting for us on the other side.

I wonder how many other people have sat here like this, looking at the last step and churning over what they’ll find. I wonder what they found, and if it’ll be the same as what we’ll find tomorrow.

I can’t stand this. The quiet, the waiting. None of us will sleep tonight. Even Jersey has lost the shine of her determined bounce.

There must be something else to do in this place. Something else to find. I’m going to find it. If nothing else, the search is something to do.

I guess that’s why they call us Seekers.

It took us less than half a day to get here. The roads were clear – conspicuously so – and the worst obstacles were the puddles that had gathered on the tarmac. We went around them when we could, and restrained the urge to lift our feet up inside the vehicles when we couldn’t. Faithful things, they didn’t leak.

What we found was a mix of good and bad signs. There was a sign that told us we’d found the right place – as if there might be another sagging cluster of buildings out here somewhere. It said ‘Greenberry’ in such clear letters that it might have been recently cleaned. Touched up, even. It was hung on a pair of wire gates that weren’t locked; the chain dangled free. They barely squeaked.

The buildings themselves are suffering from the rain just as much as everything else. Dulled to a dirty brown, they clump together as if grumpy at the isolation. The roofs all seem intact, though; there’s no sign of acid inside just yet. All that they protect are empty offices and garages, bare tables, abandoned chairs, a radio that ticks over and over, and a generator growling patiently in a basement.

There isn’t a soul here. That was the part that hit hardest, when we least expected it. The realisation sank in slowly as we crept around; then we looked at each other and knew, and it winded us. No-one was waiting for us. Our hopes were hung on unravelling threads.

We weren’t ready to be crushed just then. We checked out every building, looked into every cranny, thought about poking at the radio, and stood staring at the generator for a while.

“Someone has to have fuelled it up,” Jersey pointed out.

Dan was crouching next to it, peering intently. “No more than a week or two ago.”

A week. That was something. That was not nothing.

From the look of it, the generator was charging a series of batteries, switching itself off and on again in cycles. The radio was running off the batteries. Whoever set it up did a good job, must have known what they were doing. I borrowed one of the batteries to charge up the laptop.

After we had checked everything, we retired to one of the larger buildings to ponder our options. I think the fact that we didn’t go straight back to the vehicles showed that our minds were already made up. If someone filled up the generators so recently, then they might come back to do it again. The only problem was whether or not we had the supplies to wait long enough.

We barely have enough for tonight, never mind tomorrow. We can stretch it out for a couple of days, but beyond that we’re in trouble.

Oddly enough, we’re not as solemn and down as I thought we’d be. It’s not all bad news. There’s that tiny thread of hope, taut and straining but holding itself together by its own raggedy edges. It was enough to prompt a couple of the others to start singing, and then Dan joined in, humming the guitar part. I took up the drums and we all belted our way through the choruses.

It kept us together. It stopped us thinking about the oncoming rain and the blankness outside. It made us ignore the gnawing inside. And it put a smile on our faces.

There might be something here, among all this empty dirt. There just might.

Guns woke us up today.

Not distant, not barking at the low sky. Not firing at all. Not even outside.

They were inside, pointing at us like hollow fingers. Luckily silent, but they were still enough to stop our hearts when we saw them.

It’s not a pleasant way to wake up. In the dim of dawn, those on guard never saw them coming. They were just suddenly here, swarming in and around us, and pointing.

From the uniforms, they’re professionals. Army, unless I miss my guess. We found the base that the ECC talked about. We found the place so many were sent for help. I wish that it felt like a good thing.

There were questions, so many questions. Who we were, what we thought we’d find here. We’re Seekers, we told them. We’re trying to find out what’s left. What’s next. How we’re going to survive to tomorrow, to next week, to next month. We’re just… looking for answers, even if we’re not sure of all of the questions yet.

We can’t blame them for caution – you never know who’s carry weapons now, or what they might do for a bite to eat and the chance to live just a little longer. But I lost it when I heard them going through the vehicles. They had no right. No right at all. We had worked for months to get that stuff together and they took it all. Tools, clothing, equipment.

I have to be honest: that wasn’t why I was so upset. All I could think about was Dillon’s stuff. Those last little bits I have of him, still crammed in his pack. They took it – they took all of it. Even his soccer ball. So I went off at them, told them exactly what I thought of them, ignoring the hands that were trying to hold me back. There were a lot of voices shouting but mine was the loudest, right until I got the butt of a gun to the face.

I’m not sure what happened next – I saw stars and my knees buckled. Someone caught me. By the time I could see again, everything was blurry and Thorpe was standing over me like he was ready to pop the guy’s head off. Someone kept saying my name, wouldn’t stop until I answered. I still have a headache from it, and a nasty bruise according to winces my friends give when they look at me.

They went through everything, even our packs. They missed the laptop – they saw a skinny case with paper in it and didn’t look any further. Thank goodness I kept those notes and maps in there. I don’t dare let them know I’ve got it and it still works – they’d take it, I’m sure. They’d take the hearts right out of us.

When they were done pillaging our stuff for everything of use, they escorted us into our vehicles. A couple of them rode with us – though there was barely room – and the rest braced our pair in their military trucks. I’ll never know how we didn’t hear them coming.

I think it’s the only time I’ve wished one of the cars would break down, just to spite them.

We drove for a couple of hours, heading into the open space. After a while, I couldn’t even see the bump of Greenberry against the horizon and we were still going. The road seemed unending, carrying us off and away, but it wasn’t even noon when roofs prickled the skyline before us. Rising up out of the rolling earth, from what used to be grass and trees and training grounds, were barracks and buildings. Hard edges, fenced off and frowning at the skin of orange clouds overhead.

They didn’t talk to us, didn’t tell us what was going on. We tried to ask, even demand, but they just shepherded us into a circle while they carted our stuff off. They left our packs with our clothes in, but everything else grew booted feet and stomped off. I hid the laptop bag under my coat; Matt helped, while he held me up. Standing felt like such an effort. Thorpe tried to stand up to them and got winded for his trouble. We were unarmed and felt more naked than we have in a long time. Not since the Pride.

Once they were done stripping us, they marched us into a shed. The door closed and locked, and we’ve been here ever since. Even after the rain came. We all watched the door and walls to see if it was going to seep in, huddling together. It didn’t, but we stayed huddled together anyway. Feels safer that way.

It’s cold tonight. They left us blankets, but this shed rattles and so do we. I don’t know what they’re planning. I’m afraid to go to sleep because I don’t know what I’ll see when I wake. Matt doesn’t want to let me sleep anyway – he keeps nudging me when I doze. My head aches and all I can think of is holding onto my friends as tight as I can.

I’d better go before they see my light. Morning seems so far away.

After a night in a shed with no windows, we were blinded by the square of ruddy light made by the door in the morning.

I don’t think I slept. I dozed a while, but even after Matt fell asleep on me, I tried to stay awake. I’ll keep watch, I told them. I’ll stay up.

By morning, my eyes felt like someone had pokered them out, leaving burnt light behind. The orange sun only added to the impression. My throat barely worked as I tried to rouse the others – I wound up shaking the nearest shoulder. Then all the bodies around me were moving and I had no idea which way was up.

They brought us breakfast. Nothing fancy – just cold cans of something indescribable and jug of water – but we gobbled it all down anyway. I don’t remember when we last ate before that – a day, maybe two. Eat slowly, we told each other while our own hands shook at the need inside us. Eat slowly or you’ll only throw it up again. No-one threw up. I didn’t tell the others how much I felt like vomiting every time I moved, but that had nothing to do with the food.

I’m aware that I had a concussion. I know the symptoms. It’s not fun, and it made me feel bad about all those shamblers I’ve bashed in the head. But only a little bit. At least it was over fairly quickly for them.

Once we were done with the food, the army guys took us outside again. The General had come to meet us, they said. He was on his way and we were to wait. I wobbled a bit on my feet, but I felt steadier than yesterday. To stop myself thinking about how much I wanted to puke on their boots, I made myself look at these men with guns.

They’re a strange shard of the time Before. Neat uniforms, but unwashed and mended if you look closely. All men in a mix of ages, some of them too young to have been soldiers before the bombs went off. Some too old to still be doing active duty. They all held their weapons with a note of competence, though; there was no doubt that they knew how to use them. They were quite serious about their discipline, too, with their sirs and salutes, though they only did that when the General walked through the ranks to us.

I used to miss the sight of green. I used to wish for it. But then we were surrounded in a sea of it, fatigues and over-pressed shirts, as if that might make up for the grime ground into them. All that unhealthy green, shifting around us, pressed on my senses and made my head throb.

I wasn’t in the best of moods when the General stopped and smiled at us. The first thing he did was apologise. That confused us, and with startling clarity, I knew that that was exactly what he intended. Good cop bad cop on crack. I could feel my sympathy hardening against him as he looked us over and spread his hands.

“I’m sorry for the manner in which you’ve been brought here,” he said. “We have to be careful, you understand. There’s those who’ll slit our throats while we sleep. But we can see you’re not that kind of people.”

He couldn’t see anything except a group of cold, half-starved people who had spent a night shut in the dark.

“You came looking for somewhere you can survive, make a life, even,” he went on. “You’ve come to the right place. We’ve built somewhere we can all survive – we call it Haven. Would you like to see it?”

We were silent, all of us. The glares coming off us varied in intensity; I think only Tia looked like she was buying his words on face value. She’s still hopeful. I used to be like that. I used to want to be like that.

Of course, I was the first Seeker to step into the conversation. “Do we have a choice?”

“Of course you do. You can walk away if you want, go your own way.”

“And our gear – you’re going to give that back, are you?” Jersey’s tone was derisive and for once I completely agreed with her.

“All of it?” I added.

The General’s face took on a perfect surprise. “Your things were taken from you?”

I wanted to punch him in the face. As if he didn’t know. As if he could not know.

I was about to spit that at him when I saw something behind him. Someone. Familiar, recognisable, moving away, stepping out of sight. I didn’t think – I just stepped forward and called out. I’m not sure what – just ‘hey’, I think. Then someone shoved me back and I stumbled. A hand grabbed and turned me, and I was spinning and slipping and spinning, right down into the black.

I just woke up. It’s dark now – I lost hours. I’m not sure where I am, but Matt is asleep in a chair next to the bed, so it must be safe enough. I’m in a bed and it looks… like a used hospital. I think I’d be scared if I could get my head around it all properly.

I found the laptop under my pillow. He must have put it there for me. Trust Matt to know to keep it safe.

He looks so tired, pallid in the blue screen glow. He looks as healthy as I feel right now.

I wish I could remember who I saw. It niggles, that face I almost glimpsed before I passed out.

I don’t know where the others are. I’m worried about them. I also have no idea what happened to my shoes. I’d get up and look, but it’s so dark and I’m not sure I should. Maybe I’ll wait for morning and light, and for my friend to wake.

Or maybe I’ll wake him now and make him huddle up here with me. It’s cold and I don’t like sleeping alone these days.

Hi, Matt again. Faith’s sleeping right now – she’s been asleep for most of the day. That knock on the head really laid her out, but she’s a better colour tonight.

I was naughty – while she was asleep, I read over the last lot of posts. It felt wrong – it’s like reading her diary, though she has always said that this is our story she’s recording. She puts so much of herself into this blog.

I always wondered where she got her strength from. I think I get it now – she doesn’t, not really. She’s as scared as the rest of us. She hides her fears in here and then runs full-tilt into whatever it is anyway.

Look at me, doing the same thing, trying to tuck everything in here like it’s a magic back pocket. She’s contagious, the silly brain-bruised girl.

She missed most of what happened yesterday. All heroic and trying to do the right thing, and down she went, boom. Should’ve seen Thorpe go off when she passed out – the big lump went all protective of her, and he almost got himself whalloped again for his trouble. Some of the others stepped up to support him too – Jersey and Terry, mostly. I was sure they’d get us all in trouble while our Faithful leader needed help. (Never call her that where she can hear you – she hits.)

I was too busy trying to get her to wake up. I’ve never seen her unconscious like that before and I’m not eager to do it again. I was so afraid she wouldn’t wake up again. She just has to be all dramatic, doesn’t she?

The General called for a stretcher and said they had medical facilities that could help her. The green plastic men would have carried her away from all of us if we’d let them, but while Thorpe harangued them thoroughly, I managed to sneak in and pick up one end of the stretcher. I’m not leaving her, I told them. Wherever she goes, I go.

They let me. Just me. It wasn’t great – the others were not pleased about being left behind – but I guess with this lot you gotta take what you can get. They’re not big on the giving.

This base of theirs is way bigger than it looked when we arrived. I was barely able to keep track of where we were going, too concerned with keeping up and not dropping Faith (I need to tease her about losing weight – my arms were fit to fall off by the time we got to the infirmary). So many buildings, and people! More people than I’ve seen in months outside of a shambler horde.

They’re pretty well set up here. They’ve got a doctor (so new his paint’s still wet, but he’s cute if you don’t mind the fatigues) and some supplies. Said our girl might have a cracked skull, but she’s doing better today.

Once I was sure she was okay, I asked to see the other Seekers. The green plastic men offered to take me to them, but I didn’t dare leave. I have this feeling that I’d never be able to find my way back again if I did. Or if I made it back here, she’d be gone.

It sounds so ridiculous when I put it like that. Paranoia much? But that’s the feeling I get when they ask if I want to go see my friends. Today, I asked them to get Tia to bring Faith’s pack, so she’d have a change of clothes, and they brought Faith’s pack. No Tia. Said she was busy. They brought mine too – so I wouldn’t ask again, I guess. None of it rings right with me.

Why haven’t the others come to visit her? I know they’d want to. I keep expecting Thorpe to tear the door off the hinges like a bear in a beehive. So what’s keeping them away?

I shouldn’t ask these questions. Especially not when I’m sitting in a dark room, all on my own (except for Faith, but she’s asleep so it doesn’t count), knowing the building is full of green plastic men.

Oh, I really creeped myself out with that one. This is the sort of thing they used to make horror movies out of. Used to make. Jeez.

At least they’re feeding us. Regularly, too. It’s not great – it’s not even warm – but it’s food. I suspect it’s dog food, but it’s not like we haven’t eaten that before.

You know what I really want? Clean underwear. It’s funny the things you miss. Me, it’s showers and clean underwear. I’m disgusted by my own clothes. If I think about it too much, my skin starts crawling, and trust me, there’s nowhere for it to go.

Look at me. The world ended and I’m bitching about underpants.

Better go before I use up all her battery. She really would kill me then.

It’s so tricky, trying to get time to post. I have to be quick – I think they’re keeping an eye on us. How did Matt have time to write all that last night? Maybe the concussion is making me type slow.

This morning, I woke up to hear my friend chatting with the medic – or chatting him up, it’s hard to tell. The medic said that he was still in training when the bomb went off, and they’ve lost the ‘real’ doctors since then, so he’s all that’s left. No wonder he has a perpetually lost look about him.

I insisted on getting up today. I didn’t like that I hadn’t seen any of the others – more worrying, not even Matt had seen them. I kept telling them yesterday that I was okay, but the medic said I should rest and Matt looked so worried that I agreed. Today was the same, though I haven’t slept as much.

If I’m honest, I do feel better for it. I don’t think I’ve slept as much in the past month as I have over the last couple of days.

So I got out of bed today and managed to wander around the room only occasionally wanting to throw up or fall over. Then I sat at the window for a while and watched the courtyard below. That was enough to keep me quiet for a while.

Matt’s right – it is bigger than we thought. So many people moving back and forth, all busy with something or other. Not all of them army – I saw a few civilians in the mix, if the clothing is anything to go by. Some structures have canvas extensions on them, stretched out over vehicles and equipment that they don’t want the rain falling on. It was all… very organised, which I guess is to be expected.

I thought it would be comforting. Organisation, a piece of the old establishment. It should be sweet, but it tastes wrong, like it’s been left out too long.

I’m frustrated with being stuck in here. I’m worried about my friends and where they are. They’re busy, we were told. We’ll see them soon, when I get out of here. Tomorrow, I hope. I’m fine. I kept telling them, I’m okay, let me go find them.

Soon. The stressed little medic says soon. It better be.

I hear footsteps. Time to pretend I’m sleeping again.

Finally, I made it out of the infirmary today. The medic gave me the all-clear from under the cloud he carries around, and handed Matt and I over to a pair of army cutouts.

After reading Matt’s description of the army fellas, I keep picturing them as little frozen toys when no-one’s looking. Trust him to make guys with guns faintly ridiculous.

They escorted us out of the infirmary and into the middle of a courtyard between the wide arms of buildings. Then they told us that we had to split up. The girls’ dorm was on one side, the boys’ on the other.

My stomach went cold. I took Matt’s hand without thinking; he immediately linked his fingers through mine. No way we were going to let them separate us. The worst part was that it meant the other Seekers had already been split up. There was nothing I liked about that.

“I want to see my friends,” I told them. I planted myself where I stood so they couldn’t pull me up.

They tried a few things. Refusing my demand didn’t work, so they offered to take Matt to go fetch them. That didn’t work either. They explained that they’re keeping the sexes apart for safety – not all the time, just most of it.

I guess I understand that – sex is a tricky beast. We’ve seen what it did in the Pride, and the Sharks. That’s why Jersey hid who she was. That’s why, so long ago it seems, I pretended to be with my best friend so that no-one else would bother me. But that didn’t mean that I was happy with not being able to see my friends.

In the end, one of them went to fetch the guys and brought them to us. Matt and I stood in the middle of the courtyard, feeling foolish and nervous, though it’s hard to put my finger on why. It seemed like we were left there forever, watching for the sight of friends’ faces appearing in the midst of the bustle of the place. No-one else bothered us or even breezed close by.

I’ve never been so relieved to see familiar shapes in my life, stomping hurriedly across the acid-scarred concrete. I almost ran to meet them. They all got hugs, even Dan and Thorpe, and Matt wasn’t shy about it either. They looked all right and were more worried about me than anything else. We’re fine, they said. A place to sleep, regular meals – does wonders, I think.

They’d been told that I was resting and it was best to leave me to heal. They hadn’t liked it but they knew Matt was with me; I wasn’t on my own. That’s the only reason they didn’t push until they got to me. Thorpe had a face like thunder anyway; I think he’s been wearing it since we got here and he’s not inclined to let it go yet, even though he knows I’m all right.

They haven’t seen Jersey, but Terry has caught up with his sister and says that the girls are doing okay. I promised I’d make sure of that when I got to the girls’ dorms. Now that I think about it, I realise that, in saying that, I accepted being separated from my friends. It’s funny how these things seep in while you’re not looking.

We were so busy catching up that no-one noticed the General approach, not until he cleared his throat. I would have looked at him, but Thorpe’s unwavering bulk was in the way. I had to move around him so that I could see what was going on.

“I see you’ve all found each other,” he said. I wanted to trust his smile but couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. Maybe it’s because one of his men put me in the infirmary.

“We’re Seekers,” I told him. “That’s what we do.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dale nodding.

“And now you have, might I have a word?” He meant me, pinning me with a very direct gaze.

I hesitated and a hand fell on my shoulder, from behind. I looked up at Thorpe and then around at Matt. Their expressions said no. “I’ll be all right,” I told them.

I wanted to hear what this man had to say. I wanted to know what we’d found here, now that my headache was easing and I might make sense of it. I wanted to know if the squirl in my belly was justified or just caution holding me back from realising that it was all okay now.

I stepped towards the General, then turned to face my best friend. He was so unhappy, and he’s done so much for me over the past few days. Stayed with me while I was hurt, despite how many times they must have tried to get him to leave. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, whispering my thanks into his ear, suddenly thick-throated. He means so much to me. But I’d see him again; it wasn’t like it was forever. It would be okay.

Stepping back from him was like tearing a part of myself off. Even telling myself that they’re right here in the compound, it felt like I was losing all of them. I had to paint on a brave smile and hope that the bruise on my face didn’t give me away. I’d see them all soon, I said. Can’t keep me away, even if they try.

Then I looked up at the General and nodded, and we moved away to talk. When I looked back, the pair of cutouts were shepherding my friends back towards the western side of the courtyard, Matt along with them now. It was done; it was too late to turn back. Always stepping forward when everyone else is holding back, that’s me.

Dammit. Someone’s looking around in here – I had to hide in the toilets no-one uses to write this. Better go.