I’m not really sure how I am supposed to start writing this. Daniel never really got that far into explaining it. He told me that it would help me stay sane. “Organize your thoughts,” he said. Now look at him.
I was up to one week, three days, five hours, and seven minutes since he left when I decided to stop counting by minutes. Two weeks, five days, and twelve hours when I stopped counting the hours. A month, and I stopped counting the days. We’re on month two, and I hope I don’t have to start counting by seasons, or even worse, years. It’s been lonely without him in town. Him and the others, I suppose. Gertrude tells me I’m just feeling sorry for myself—that I should just suck it up and move on. What would she know? She was the person that sent them on that idiotic "mission" in the first place.
She says that we were lucky to live on the plains when it happened. She said that we sat right in the eye of a perfect storm: We were surrounded by flat land, we lived in a small town, and we had one of the best water facilities in the county. Meanwhile, the world around us went straight to hell. She told me not to, but I saw the final news broadcast before the world around ended. It showed a world that had collapsed entirely. I realize now that not watching that broadcast may be one of the few commands of hers that I should have listened to.
For what it’s worth, she did guide us to the point we’re at now. However, that fact doesn’t save her from the truth that she made one of the most idiotic mistakes I’ve ever seen in my life only two months ago. Ask any leader, and they’ll tell you that morale is what makes or breaks a group. The books in Gertrude’s collection make that pretty clear. Keep morale high, and your people will work as a team. Let it get too low, however, and the leader may find themself no longer on top.
The act she committed that I find so heinous was that she lost all morale in one fell swoop. The "mission" was simple: Contact the town north of us, try and see if they have anything to trade, trade some water for whatever we could get, and return home with supplies. I had no problem with her plan—it was so basic that it rivaled the instructions some toys come with. On top of that, it was a smart move. Not only was the county in the midst of a drought, but we had so many plastic bottles and milk jugs around town that were littering the streets thay. So, she packed as many of our scarce vehicles with supplies, friendlt they were more common than tumbleweeds. After we filled them all, we all worried we would end up putting a large dent in our reserve. Instead, it looked as though we had more water than ever before. My problem with her decision wasn't the plan itself. My problem was she sent all of the wrong people. She thought that a trading convoy would work best if it looked friendly. So, she packed as many of our scarce vehicles with supplies, friendly faces, and our last few gallons of gas. Then, she sent them off north on the highway and poof, we never saw them again.
I suppose I’m bitter. It wasn’t just Daniel she sent, but people like Bill Kitsworth and John Yampolsky: Kind people who only wished the best for Cormac and the people living in it. They went willingly, and now who knows where they are. Lost, for all I know, though I’m not sure how you can get lost while going in one direction. Hell, they drove! They had maps and road signs; how could they get lost! But no, that’s Gertrude’s story: MIA. An entire convoy, all missing in action while following in her stupidity.
Worse still, hunger is starting to set in. The last canned food we had has gone and disease made the cattle in the stockyard not too far from town unviable. Currently, squirrel, raccoon, or pigeon stew has been our only sustenance. Miss Betty has tried to help by using her garden to add flavor, but for an entire town? It’s never enough. Believe me, people are getting sick of going to sleep hungry and starved for something tangible.
Now people are starting to question Gertrude. Normally, I would be happy that people are questioning her decisions—keeping her accountable—but they’re questioning her leadership for all the wrong reasons. They say that she has done nothing good for the township, that she has been the reason for all our suffering. Brother Tom has tried to help by stating how she practically saved us all through his sermons, but people aren’t listening. Tyler McCormac has stood out as the main opposition against her. His family has strong roots in the town. Not only is their blood old, but their money is too. The McCormac family is famous as one of the first to tap into the region’s oil, and they practically bled the land dry. Back in the day, the McCormacs were the closest thing to millionaires the town had ever seen. Eventually, the old money was all spent, but the roots they grew remained.
However, the human factor isn’t the only thing to worry about now. The (how do I put it?) "infected" have sprung up again. That’s what Gertrude calls them, at least. It’s just a cheap way of not calling them zombies, though. Gertrude says the term sounds too much like a Romero movie, and that this “isn’t some fictional story, but our new reality.” The sentiment didn’t really reach me then, as I was still trying to figure out what the reference was to, but I recognize what she was saying now. Regardless, we haven’t really needed to use the term since around the start of the infection. The town of Cormac didn’t have a particularly large population, so "hordes" of infected never really sprang up. Those who were infected went to the local clinic, and those who died were pretty swiftly killed (again). After the initial infection, it only took about a year to clear any remaining infected from the town. There are still a few instances where a scouting party stumbles upon an occasional infected, but it’s rare.
At least, that was true up until recently. A pack was spotted due south of town, and all reports say it’s massive. Gertrude’s guess is that they were people from the city or some other town that didn’t make it. They’re still several miles out, but they are only getting closer and there are far too many to risk sending a party to clear them out. The main fear is that once they reach town, they’ll disperse and effectively ruin the town’s efforts at making Cormac safe. Even worse, a large population of the township lives in their own individual houses outside of Main Street, so they won’t have the make-shift walls to protect them. Even if we did manage to move all of them onto Main Street, we would be clustered like sardines in a can.
Things are bad, and they only seem to be getting worse.
I wish Daniel was here.
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