Late Summer/Early Fall, Year 1/2010

Dear God, a lot of things happened today. I got what I wanted with the Bible and the Catechism, but I also got attached by some people… I don't really understand. And Merle won't explain it to me. But we're with this group now. I suppose we're safer from the Dead-Ones than we've been for a long time, but most of the men make me nervous.

Also, I killed a man. His name was Frank. He was attacking me, but I killed him. I don't know what to do about that. I don't know how to feel about that. Am I supposed to mourn him? I don't know.

The Catechism says that what I did was justified. If you're being attacked by someone, you can kill them in self-defense. But that doesn't help how I'm feeling about the whole thing.

I'll try to pray. For guidance, for the loss of the guilt hanging over me. I know that praying to supposed to be the solution to every problem, but it doesn't feel like that right now. What do I know when praying doesn't seem to be enough?

Amen.

Frank.

At least 5 Dead-Ones, but probably a lot more.

After walking for what feels like forever, we reach a clearing, and the leader of the group declares that this is where we'll be setting up camp for the night.

Merle and I set up near the edge of the clearing while some of the other men start lacing up little noise traps between the trees. I watch for a while, because it's something I've never thought of before, and it's pretty clever. A Dead-One can still get through in most places, but no matter where they come from you're going to get woken up by cans or wooden spoons or bits of metal clanging together.

Then Merle tells me to stop looking at them. I roll my eyes at him.

The teenage boy who was carrying me comes over an hour or so after we've made camp and hands over my bag. I smile and thank him, but he gets scared off pretty quickly by Merle's scary mean face.

I roll my eyes again.

"If you don't like him, why would you trust him to carry me?" I ask dully.

"He ain't like summa these guys," Merle replies "Don' mean ah wan' 'im near ya."

"He seems nice." I reply bitterly "You can't be mean to everyone."

He doesn't answer. I cross my arms and make a pointed 'harump' sound, but he doesn't even look up. I roll my eyes again, stand up, and start walking towards the woods.

"Where the hell're ya goin'?" Merle barks.

"I have to use the bathroom," I reply, turning back to look at him. I feel a bit smug that I actually got him to look up, if even for such a stupid reason.

"No ya don'," he says "Sit yer ass back down."

"No." I reply, crossing my arms and making a face.

Merle makes his own face, but his face is a bit angrier and looks fairly exasperated. "Now ain't the time fer bein' a brat."

"I'm not being a brat," I mutter "I have to use the bathroom."

Merle says some curse under his breath before getting to his feet with a groan. "I'm comin' with ya."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, but you're not watching."

The light fades pretty quickly. I get in a bit of a diary entry before I fall asleep. Most of it is about Frank, the man that I killed when I was being attacked.

I don't know what to do.

I shouldn't feel guilty over someone who was attacking me. I don't feel guilty about killing the Dead-Ones. Merle says that I should just let it go and move on, but the two of us are a lot different.

I can tell that Merle was a somewhat mean man before the world ended. But he's changed. So have I. Everybody's changed along with the world, which is a strange thought. It's a new world. The men here, these bad men that Merle's making sure I don't talk to, they don't really seem mad that I killed a member of their group.

No, mad isn't the right word. They're definitely mad, but it seems like the kind of anger that won't fester into a grudge. It's strange. Is that just another factor of them being bad men? I wish that somebody would explain anything to me. I wish that Merle would explain anything to me. He treats me like a child.

Am I a child? I don't know anymore.

Early Fall, Year 1

Life seems like it's just the same actions on repeat. I'm trudging through the woods, following a group of people whose names I don't even know. It's a bit like the days I spent in the woods with Merle, the aimless wandering, the not really having any sort of goal.

Merle keeps saying that we're going to leave. Eventually. But I don't know when eventually is. Knowing that would be helpful.

Would it? I don't know.

I guess I just want things to be different. I don't feel safe. Feeling safe is a lot to ask for these days, but I feel even less safe right now than I usually do.

And there's still that nagging guilt. I keep telling myself that feeling guilty is stupid, but it just sits there. I don't even know what to do with it. I killed someone. I don't feel like I can come back from that. I'm forever changed. Everything is different.

Did Sami feel like this when she killed Aunt Jenny? She never showed it.

I need help. Please. That's all I need. I need a sign or an answer or something to give life meaning right now because I don't know what to do with myself.

Please.

Amen.

7

It almost feels a bit weird, leaving the tree line and stepping onto a road. A real paved road with asphalt and a yellow line and everything.

"Oh look, civilization," I mutter.

"Hush."

I roll my eyes and shoot a look at the men in front of us. The nearest one is a good ten or twenty yards away. I look behind us, where two of the men are dawdling so far behind I can barely see them through the trees.

"So," I say quietly, turning to face Merle again "Are we leaving them now?"

Merle purses his lips and makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. "Dunno yet."

"When will you know?"

"Ya ever stop yappin'?"

"When people answer my questions."

"Yer a fuckin' hassle."

"And you don't answer questions," I mutter, crossing my arms. There's a faint snarl behind us and I turn to see a Dead-One emerging from the woods on the other side of the street. It's a woman in a nightgown, with stringy hair covering her most-likely deformed face. She's far enough away right now that none of us are giving her all that much thought, but someone will put her down before too long.

I turn back to Merle again "Really though," I say "We've been with these people for—what? A week? Two? I don't even know their names. I'm pretty sure they think I'm your daughter—"

"They do."

"Fantastic," I roll my eyes "Scavenging time away in the woods is one thing, but I don't want to do it with a bunch of people I don't know anything about. And don't tell me that they're dangerous again, because if they are, why are we still—"

"We're still with 'em 'cause it'd be more dangerous tryin' ta get away from 'em."

"Why?"

"They'd hun' us down."

"Why?" I ask exasperatedly.

"'Cause tha's who these guys are," Merle grumbles "S'what they do."

I take a deep breath and stay silent for a few minutes as we walk down the road. Eventually, I take another look at the Dead-One ambling along behind us. The two men back there are actually taunting the thing, laughing and wiggling their fingers at her. She swats and misses and they keep laughing.

But that thing used to be a woman. She used to be someone's daughter or sister or mother or friend. Seeing people do that, treat her like that, it makes me…

Mad. That's what it makes me.

I stop, turn on my heel, grab a knife from my belt, and before Merle can yell at me I throw. It doesn't get very close to either of the men's heads, but they both jump and cry out as it passes them and the Dead-One crumples.

I stalk over to retrieve the knife from the creature. "Eventually," I say "She would've caught up with you."

Really, it's an excuse. I know that they wouldn't take kindly to me ruining their fun because it's disrespectful. But I think I sound pretty confident in myself, and neither of them say anything to me.

I return to Merle, who's glaring angrily, and he doesn't say anything either. We walk in silence for several more minutes before I finally say "What?"

Merle shakes his head. "Yer gonna git yerself killed."

And God will be waiting for me, which is more than I can say for you.

I almost spit out the words, but I hold my tongue. Why am I so angry? That's not like me. Why would I even consider saying words like that?

I take a deep breath and count to ten in my head, but it doesn't help anything. Isn't it supposed to? That's what they always did in TV shows.

I keep my eyes closed for a while, walking based on the sound of Merle beside me. That works a bit better than counting to ten. But eventually, the leader yells that we've reached our camp for the night, and when I open my eyes I find that I'm still irrationally angry.

But at least there's a house for our camp tonight. It's an old farm house, the kind that's two or three stories with a wraparound porch and whitewashed siding. I look around to examine the surroundings that I missed with my eyes closed, and realize that we've actually walked down a fairly long driveway. I can still see the road from here, but we're mostly surrounded by fencing and trees.

"Claimed!"

I swivel my head around to one of the group members, a lanky man who's just picked up a wood-cutting axe from a stump. He throws aside the hoe he's been using for a weapon and twirls the axe in his hands, looking fairly pleased with himself.

"Fan out!" calls the leader of the group "Find what you want!"

What do I want? Books, probably. I doubt that any of these men will take something that I want before I get there.

Most of the men make for the front door of the house, shoving each other none too gently. I'd say good-naturedly, but it seems like they're just tolerating the presence of the others. Still, I can go in behind them, maybe find a book or a blanket or a pillow or something else that I want.

I glance at Merle, who seems like he's intent on going inside the house as well, so I just keep trailing along beside him. Before we reach the porch, I hear someone else yell "Claimed!" and then the call just keeps repeating in different voices, echoing out of the house. "Claimed!"

"What are they doing?" I ask Merle.

"S'how they 'cide who gits what."

"Seems a bit archaic."

Merle scoffs at the 'big word' as he usually does. "Works for 'em."

"I never noticed," I say, knitting my eyebrows together. We've been travelling with these guys for a while, how could I not notice something like this?

"In the fuckin' woods," Merle replies "What're they gonna claim? Dirt and deer shit? Nah. An' I did all yer huntin.'"

"Oh." I say quietly. We reach the porch and climb the steps, and I add "It seems weird."

"Like ah said, works for 'em."

"And for us, too?" I reply.

Merle gives me a look. "Fer now."

Someone inside yells an enthusiastic "Cuh-laimed!" and I sigh.

"Whatever."

Early Fall, 2010

Dear God,

It's become apparent to me now that the world has fallen into complete and utter disorder and barbarism. 'Claiming.' It makes sense in principle, but there are so many flaws in this system that I can't even begin to count them. What if two people claim something at the same time? What if you claim something and nobody hears you and they take it? Where does the line draw at what can be claimed? But whatever, I managed to claim myself a blanket and a pillow, and even though I knew that nobody would take them, I claimed some books, too.

Anyway, I hope that Merle and I can leave these people soon. I don't like it here. I just want things to go back to the way that they used to be. I want my family back.

I think I might be too angry. Is that what happens when you kill someone? You get angry? Maybe that's the next stage after the sadness and the guilt.

I need help, don't I? I guess I do. Can I have help? Please?

Amen.

8