cried. She said that she just sat there holding him,
rocking back and forth, and crying. Afterwards, something changed in her. She
made up her mind to keep on living and do whatever she could to help Gabriel
recover. She had purpose again.
Anna
crawled inside the lean-to at this point, as she continued to speak, and her
voice took on a sleepy quality.
She
went on to say that most people think that Gabriel and she are mother and son by
birth. “But of course it is not true; we are mother and son by choice.”
According to Anna, Gabriel only sometimes tells people the truth, and when he
does, he usually also says that she saved his life. “The real truth is that he
saved my life. I often think that if he had been put in another bed, or if my
recovery had been just a day or two slower, or for that matter faster, or if
Gabriel hadn’t recovered at all, I would have killed myself without ever having
the chance to love him.” She made this statement to me dry eyed and matter-of-
fact, without any dramatic effect, and I believed her from crown to sole. It
struck me then how much chance affects our lives. Me finding the journal while
looking for food, which caused me to help a boy I just happened upon, and all
the rest that you know leading up to this very moment in time.
In
a slurred voice, she said that eventually she was asked to be on Woburn’s
governing council, and the remainder of the story I pretty much already knew.
They got the town organized, some basic services in place, food production and
rationing going, and established a militia for defense. Everybody worked.
There were no bosses so to speak. That’s how she and Gabriel ended up on the
work party that was ambushed and how they were kidnapped. The last few
sent not by a long shot. ged and ences were hardly understandable and eventually she just stopped talking
entirely. She was asleep.
April
9, 2054 –
I
don’t know what to think about this day. Was good the winner? Or was evil the
one left standing? Then again, maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe there aren’t even
any teams on the field. Maybe it’s just a running clock presiding over a silent,
empty stadium. I know I’m going to have to explain that.
The
morning started gray, damp, and silent except for the breeze that rushed past
my ears and rubbed my face sore like a stiff bristle brush. All our gear was
covered with dew and our clothes were wet, but it wasn’t from rain. At least
it wasn’t from rain.
For
breakfast, we made a thick broth and ate more of the meat. We figured that as
long as it stayed cool, we might get another day out of the venison before it was
no longer edible, and we were determined to eat as much of it as we could. Calories
were precious things and not to be wasted. It was also a treat to start out
the day with a full stomach.
We
stepped off again and soon found our route skirting the edge of a high desert.
Within two hours we came upon a narrow paved road running north and south with
a river next to it. My maps showed that we were very close to Highway 97, and
if we turned south we’d soon make the connection. There was a risk here of
course. If they had gotten ahead of us, this would be a good place to set up
an ambush. So we went back a couple hundred yards into the trees and scrub,
and turned south, parallel to the road and river. I figured if they were in
fact waiting for us, maybe we could spot them first.
Another
hour of walking brought us to the junction of the road, river, and highway. We
watched it from a distance for about thirty minutes without seeing any movement
and decided to check things out.
The
highway was four lanes wide at this point and stretched north and south, out of
sight. A big rig, with its rear doors wide open and empty, resting on
flattened tires, was in the center lane. Not far from that, on the shoulder of
the road, was a minivan with a broken rear window, its hood
rocking back and forth, and crying. Afterwards, something changed in her. She
made up her mind to keep on living and do whatever she could to help Gabriel
recover. She had purpose again.
Anna
crawled inside the lean-to at this point, as she continued to speak, and her
voice took on a sleepy quality.
She
went on to say that most people think that Gabriel and she are mother and son by
birth. “But of course it is not true; we are mother and son by choice.”
According to Anna, Gabriel only sometimes tells people the truth, and when he
does, he usually also says that she saved his life. “The real truth is that he
saved my life. I often think that if he had been put in another bed, or if my
recovery had been just a day or two slower, or for that matter faster, or if
Gabriel hadn’t recovered at all, I would have killed myself without ever having
the chance to love him.” She made this statement to me dry eyed and matter-of-
fact, without any dramatic effect, and I believed her from crown to sole. It
struck me then how much chance affects our lives. Me finding the journal while
looking for food, which caused me to help a boy I just happened upon, and all
the rest that you know leading up to this very moment in time.
In
a slurred voice, she said that eventually she was asked to be on Woburn’s
governing council, and the remainder of the story I pretty much already knew.
They got the town organized, some basic services in place, food production and
rationing going, and established a militia for defense. Everybody worked.
There were no bosses so to speak. That’s how she and Gabriel ended up on the
work party that was ambushed and how they were kidnapped. The last few
sent not by a long shot. ged and ences were hardly understandable and eventually she just stopped talking
entirely. She was asleep.
April
9, 2054 –
I
don’t know what to think about this day. Was good the winner? Or was evil the
one left standing? Then again, maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe there aren’t even
any teams on the field. Maybe it’s just a running clock presiding over a silent,
empty stadium. I know I’m going to have to explain that.
The
morning started gray, damp, and silent except for the breeze that rushed past
my ears and rubbed my face sore like a stiff bristle brush. All our gear was
covered with dew and our clothes were wet, but it wasn’t from rain. At least
it wasn’t from rain.
For
breakfast, we made a thick broth and ate more of the meat. We figured that as
long as it stayed cool, we might get another day out of the venison before it was
no longer edible, and we were determined to eat as much of it as we could. Calories
were precious things and not to be wasted. It was also a treat to start out
the day with a full stomach.
We
stepped off again and soon found our route skirting the edge of a high desert.
Within two hours we came upon a narrow paved road running north and south with
a river next to it. My maps showed that we were very close to Highway 97, and
if we turned south we’d soon make the connection. There was a risk here of
course. If they had gotten ahead of us, this would be a good place to set up
an ambush. So we went back a couple hundred yards into the trees and scrub,
and turned south, parallel to the road and river. I figured if they were in
fact waiting for us, maybe we could spot them first.
Another
hour of walking brought us to the junction of the road, river, and highway. We
watched it from a distance for about thirty minutes without seeing any movement
and decided to check things out.
The
highway was four lanes wide at this point and stretched north and south, out of
sight. A big rig, with its rear doors wide open and empty, resting on
flattened tires, was in the center lane. Not far from that, on the shoulder of
the road, was a minivan with a broken rear window, its hood
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