Entry 1656:

Date: August 10th, 2061

I glared at her, desperately trying to thrash out of her hold. The crumbling concrete wall that she trapped me against dug into my back, splitting the skin. Her forearm shoved into my chest and stole the air from my lungs. I was suffocating, gasping for every ounce of air I could to squeeze in. She was pissed. She stared into my eyes with so much contempt. I felt her desire for me to curl up and die, pool into my stomach. My flailing was futile; she was stronger than anyone I had ever encountered before. I’d heard the radiation that used to be in this area caused mutations in the locals. I’d assumed that meant three arms or ugly lumps, not pure muscle that looked like it had been called upon by the best of steroids. She didn’t look mutated. She looked good. If she wasn’t about to kill me, I might have had a different reaction to being shoved against the wall. 

Strands of long, tangled black hair fell over her face and brushed against my cheeks as she leaned into me. Stone-cold, murky brown eyes bore into my soul. My body trembled in response. Fear raked through every nerve in my body; I was going to die because I didn’t look where I was going. I ran straight into the woman at full speed. I was desperate to outrun the 10-foot amalgamation of legs chasing me. I ran so quickly to get away from that mutated spider that I didn’t even see the woman until I smacked face-first into her back. The spider seemed to be smarter than me ‘cause it turned tail the second it realized a stronger monster had its prey. 

Unlike the woman before me, I wasn’t mutated by the radiation. I, along with a small fraction of the population, hid away in bunkers during the fallout. When we were forced to emerge, we realized the world around us had changed beyond our understanding. Everything we once knew was gone. But not everyone found themselves underground. A select group of people we call The Exposed survived the fallout on the surface and came out changed. Similarly, due to our weakened bodies and underground lifestyle, they call us Moles. Since the day I came out of hiding, I have spent every waking hour running for my life. 

The woman spoke, but it wasn't a language I was familiar with. Perhaps speaking isn't the right way to describe it; she was yelling in a hushed tone, like she wanted to scold me. She was most likely describing the way she was going to kill me. At the very least, her hushed tone wouldn’t attract anything to feed on my remains.

As she yelled, I caught a glimpse of something flying toward me in the corner of my eye. I didn't have time to react; all I could do was close my eyes and wait. At least it'd be a quicker death than she would have given me. I didn’t want to die yet. I clenched my eyes shut, full of every ounce of hatred and will to live I could muster. My entire body flinched under the woman's hold as a gargling snap rang around me. The impact never came, and my eyes cracked open to see the hand that wasn’t pinning me to the wall stretched out, gripping the snapped neck of a buzzard. 

She kept speaking in her foreign language, but now her anger was turned on the corpse in her fist. Her anger made the forearm that pressed into my chest firmer, and another forced wheeze left my throat. This time, she let up a bit in reply. I immediately sucked in a breath of air to my oxygen-deprived brain. I don’t know why she saved me; she could just as easily let the bird do her handiwork. But something changed in those few seconds, and she went from planning my death to saving my life. Even then, I thought she must have done it out of reflex, and at any moment she would refocus her hate onto me. 

In one solid thrust, she slammed its head against the wall only a few inches away from my head. Its skull made a shriveled crunch before she let it fall lifelessly into the dirt. Crimson painted the concrete next to my head. It dripped down the wall and stained the tip of my boot.

Her hand should have broken on impact; the thud alone had made my entire body start to shake with adrenaline. I was terrified she'd punch me next. Yet, when her attention focused back on me, it was calmer and gentler than before. I felt her lean her weight off of me, watching to see if I'd make a run for it; I was smart enough to know that would be suicide. When I didn't move, she seemed content. For a split second, I thought maybe she was going to let me go. The hope that fluttered across my face sank the moment she grabbed my wrists. In a quick and rather forceful movement, she bound them with rope and began pulling me through the forest.