My last entry into this journal was a bit…everywhere. I guess I was more getting the thoughts that have been on my mind since the start of all this off my chest than writing something down that makes…sense? I’ll try to write something that sound a bit more like a story this time, like how Gertrude’s books go.
Yesterday, the first of the southern horde made it into town.
It wasn’t many of them, really. Earlier today Gertrude was trying to convince me—and probably herself as well—that it wasn’t that bad. Or at least, that it could have been much, much worse. According to Kim (one of the town’s “scouts” who’s been out watching the horde’s movement on foot), a little less than half the horde split off from the main body and started bee-lining for town. Before it reached anywhere populated, though, Geoff (the other scout who’s been teaching Kim the ropes of how to hunt and stay hidden in the wilderness) revved up one of his four-wheelers and got most of the horde to start heading back down south. However, about a dozen or so infected were set in their path and got all the way to the old gas station at the edge of town.
Of course, Tyler McCormac and some of his “deputies” were there waiting for them, but killing the infected stragglers didn’t solve the larger problem of the horde itself. And though you’d think that McCormac and his crew would at least be happy they got to satisfy their “bloodlust” as Gertrude puts it, they weren’t. McCormac came back to Main Street all huffy, complaining that it’s “only gonna get worse,” “we’re short on supplies as it is,” and “it ain’t gettin’ any better.” He didn’t go so far as to say that Gertrude shouldn’t be leading the town, but he made sure to mention that Cormac “hasn’t had an election in years” and that “maybe it was about time for one, and a real one at that.” Whatever that meant.
Still, Gertrude said everything turned out well in the end. As soon as I heard her say that, though, I was pretty quick to point out that everything didn’t turn out well cause Daniel’s still missing. Then she said not to start with her, I called her a fucking dumbass, and it spiraled pretty quickly after that. So, here I am. Writing the second-ever entry of this journal while curled up under my bed in “time out.” Daniel would be proud of me, I’m certain. He was the rebellious one well before I was. He’d been so, so adamant about doing something in town other than busywork. Guard duty or scout duty or just about anything that didn’t involve organizing cans of food, helping Miss Betty weed her garden, or picking up trash off the road and people’s yards. As soon as the mission to “check on our neighbors” came up, he was one of the first to volunteer for the job. Gertrude was pretty quick to express her disapproval.
“Hell no!” She’d said, looking at Daniel as though he’d just slapped her in the face after kicking her dog, her baby, and her dog’s baby.
“Come on! I’m 19 now,” Daniel had argued, “That’s basically the same age as when Blaine started doing rounds with Tyler. They did that with live ammo!”
“And I was against that as well.”
"I can’t just do nothing!
“You have a sister to look after-”
“Brother.”
“Fine, you have a sibling to-”
“Brother, and he can look out for himself just fine.”
“Look,” Gertrude sighed, putting a hand on Daniel’s shoulder which he only glared at, “We don’t know what to expect up north or how long the trip will actually take. There could be nothing and the whole journey north could be a waste, or there could be looters and scavengers there or-“
Though Daniel tried to interject, Gertrude didn’t let him.
“I mean for Christ’s sake, there could be a whole horde up there and we wouldn’t know! I’m not about to send some 19-year-old wannabe action hero on a trip like that when we don’t even know what kind of danger is out there!”
“So, what, I’m just not capable? You think I’m incompetent? That all I’m good for is just picking up years-old trash off the street or counting the dwindling number of cans we have in the pantry just waiting passively for the day there aren’t any more left?”
Then, Gertrude said something that I don’t think either she, Daniel, or myself were expecting her to say.
“You know what? No. You’re aren’t. You think you are, but you’re not. You’ve never held a gun before in your life, the closest you’ve come to a fight is playing games on that console of yours, and I can’t trust that you won’t freeze the second an infected gets within even a foot of you! What you are—and what you would be out there—is a liability. So, I’m sorry if that upsets you, but I’ve got more important shit to deal with than a teenager throwing a tantrum because I won’t let him go out and get himself—and others—killed.”
I’m not certain how long of a silence followed what she said. All I can really remember of that moment was Daniel’s expression. He stared Gertrude directly in the eyes with a glare that could melt steel, yet at the edges of his eyes it was clear he was beginning to tear up. Finally, Gertrude broke the silence, asking, “Are we done here?” Hearing no response, she simply turned around and walked away.
At that time, I disagreed with her. I thought Daniel was right and that he should have been able to go with the others up north. In the end, Bill managed to talk Gertrude down and convinced her to let Daniel join the caravan. Told her he’d look after Daniel. Told her that Daniel would need to learn how to survive out of town someday, and it was better sooner than later. He talked about some of the people he remembered that lived up north and how resilient many of them were. How a few of them were even preppers, so they probably had an excess of non-perishables to trade. How they were most all friendly folk. He reasoned that the closest city north of the town was about twice the distance of Cormac and the city south of it. If a horde was gonna overwhelm anywhere, it’d more likely be Cormac than Millstone.
When Gertrude finally agreed to let Daniel go on the trip, I was excited for him. I had thought, “Finally, she made the right decision.”
But she was right. She had been right all along.
By dinnertime, Gertrude came upstairs to check on me. She knocked on the door gently before coming in. I guess she had heard from elsewhere in the house that I was crying. She came and sat next to me in Daniel’s bed, putting the same hand she’d put on Daniel’s shoulder back then on my back. If it were any other day, I’d probably try to save face and write that I sat there stoically, but not today. I cried—probably more than I had been already—and wrapped my arms around Gertrude mumbling, “Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry.”
I just want Daniel to be okay.
I just want him to come home.
It’s been a real shit two months.
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