Friday, 15 May 2009 - 10:08 pm


It has been three days since we ran away from the Pride. After that day, we haven’t stopped moving – while it was light and rain-free, we were on the road, moving as fast as we could. Considering our burdens, it wasn’t very fast, and now I think we have to stop entirely.


As we huddled in that basement, waiting for the sounds of the Pride hounding us, we tried to assess the damage. I put cloth on the bleeding wounds where I could, and then went to shake the doctor.

Masterson was a mess. His knuckles were skinned from hitting a guy over and over, and he had a wild look in his eye when I said his name. He didn’t move, though, didn’t respond. He might have leapt on those Proud members in Sally’s defense, but he was ignoring her now that we were free of them. He was useless.

“God dammit, we need you!” Anger spurted and I grabbed his arms to shake him. He glared at me and pulled himself free.

Ben was wheezing awfully, shaking and seeing spots. Dillon had a head wound that had spilt blood all down his face, but it looked worse than it was. Matt had been shot: a bullet had punched through his lower leg, luckily missing the bone. Thorpe had torn something in his wrist. I had mostly scrapes and bruises. Sally lied when I asked her if she was all right. Nugget was the only one without any damage; she had the sense to hide when things went nuts.

The Pride hadn’t thought to ask for our first aid supplies, so I had antiseptic and dressings enough to patch everyone up. Still, Matt and Sally needed a doctor’s attention, and I was scared about how bad Ben was.


We didn’t dare go outside while the Pride might be chasing us, so we stay put and tried to make ourselves comfortable. I sent Dillon and Nugget to keep watch. It kept them out of the way and they’re capable enough.

The sticking point was still Masterson and his self-imposed catatonia. I had no choice but to go and bother him again. He needed to have his hands seen to anyway, so I used that as an excuse to get close to him. He tried to tell me not to bother, but I was far past letting him brush me off – he did as he was told when it was ‘sit down and shut up’.

While I had him there, I tried to talk to him. I told him that I understood how he felt, but he needed to get past it – Sally needed him. She might say that she’s okay, but she’s not. She’s far from okay. She needed a doctor, she needed a friend, and she needed someone to care for her.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at me. I knew he could hear me – the little muscle in his jaw kept jumping. But he didn’t want to come out and play my game.

I got desperate and I did something I shouldn’t. Frustration made me snap at him. “Goddammit, she’s pregnant!”

That got his attention. He looked at me, then grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “You knew this before?”

“I couldn’t stop her!”

He shouted something at me, and next thing I knew I was tumbling across the room and crashing into a chair. Then the boys were all over the place, in between me and Masterson – who was still shouting at me – and helping me up again. I’d hit my head and the room tilted alarmingly; my knees buckled in confusion when I tried to stand. Someone sat me down and told me to keep still. I remember the sound of fist hitting flesh, and then Masterson stopped shouting – from the look of his face afterwards, someone had punched him in the mouth.

By the time I could see straight again, things were quiet again. Masterson was sitting over by Sally, scowling and holding her hand awkwardly. She wasn’t looking at him and shook her head in tiny, sharp movements every now and then. He stopped trying after a few minutes, but he stayed there with her in silence anyway.


I’ve had a headache ever since that day. We’ve been taking turns carrying the weaker members of our group, moving steadily away from the Pride. Now, Ben is too sick to move, especially not on foot. We’re trying to find somewhere comfortable to hole up for a while. For his last days.