April 12, 10 NE

Dear Mitch,

It was frustrating to be told to turn around again. I bargained for a spot in the speedboat, hoping I'd be allowed to see you this time, and when they let us through the river gates to the dock, I was optimistic. But then we were told by Captain McBride not to get off the boat and to hand over our mail only. I guess we won't be able to hold one another until May 15.

But I'm grateful to learn you survived this thing and to read your letter that was in the mailbag the captain gave us. We all sat in the boat, dockside, long enough to write back –Cyndie, Melissa, Michonne, Tara, Henry, and I. Henry left his newborn at home to come to see his mother, he was so worried about her. Carol was near the docks at the time we arrived, on patrol, so they at least got to wave at one another and holler a brief conversation from three yards apart.

It seems like an abundance of caution to stop foreign travel for another month, if you've all been symptom free for so many days now, but I admit it's the same sort of caution I would vote for in Alexandria. Jamestown is protecting its allies. If this thing is lingering on undetected somewhere in Jamestown, and I brought it back to Alexandria, to my neighbors, to my daughter, I would never forgive myself.

I just wish I could see you sooner.

I'm sorry for Jamestown's losses. I don't know if you were particularly close to any of the people who died. I've never heard you mention them, but I suppose sometimes we're more preoccupied with pastimes other than talking. But whether you were close or not, in a small town, every loss is felt, I'm sure. I'm reminded of one of my 12th grade English class, when I had to read John Donne. I don't know if I remember the quote quite right, but it goes something like this: "No man is an island. Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee."

So I'm sorry for your losses, and I'm so glad Evangeline pulled through in that quarantine room. I suppose she'll be aging out of the orphan sponsorship program in three years? Has she begun to think which apprenticeships she'll apply for? Gracie still has a long way to go before that, but she talks of wanting to be a recruiter like I once was for Alexandria. I told her that although we still welcome strangers after a careful vetting process, if we happen to stumble upon them, we don't go out actively looking for them anymore. She's determined to change that. I think if she really wants to do that, she's going to have to learn to get a lot better with weapons first, and a lot less squeamish around…well, just about everything. She doesn't even like killing spiders. But she can ride a horse very well for an eight-year-old.

I'd love for you to see her again. You met her at the fair, but it would be nice to have you to the house in Alexandria. Would you consider it? Consider catching the mid-May mailboat back to Oceanside? I could meet you there on horseback, and we could ride back to Alexandria together. I'd have you back to Oceanside in time for the June 1 return boat. You could see where I live. See me in my element. Have a chance to see Alexandria. It's a beautiful community. I think you'll like it.

Anyway, think about it, would you? Let me know in the next letter you send on the April 30 mailboat whether I should be at Oceanside to greet you in May. If you say no, I'll come to you, but then we'll only have two nights together.

I won't be coming on the boat April 30. There's little sense in leaving Gracie for the four days it takes to get to Oceanside and Jamestown and back if I can only wave to you from the dock. But I wish I could have waved to you from the dock today. You were probably out hunting when we arrived. I suppose you have a lot of hunting to catch up on, but I hope you'll consider leaving it to Daryl those two weeks in May.

- Aaron

[*]

April 12, 10 NE

Dear Mom –

When Cyndie told us you jumped off that boat, Rachel couldn't believe it.

I said I couldn't believe you'd do anything else.

I was worried you'd catch it, I'm not going to lie, but after everything you've been through, I just didn't see how some dumb bug could kill you, you know? It just wouldn't be right. But I guess I was worried enough to come on the boat. Glad I got to talk to you for a minute, anyway.

I folded in this letter is a sketch of the baby. We have an illustrator at Oceanside, too. Maybe not as good as Deputy Andrew, but I thought you might like having it. Zeke has started smiling. I can't wait for you to visit again and see it. It's so damn cute. Sorry for the damn. But it IS damn cute. He also holds his head up a little when he's doing tummy time. Tummy time is this thing Rachel insists on doing to torture him where she lies him on his tummy to get him to – I don't even know. He hates it.

I guess we're really lucky the first case happened AFTER you left Jamestown for Oceanside and you didn't bring it here, thinking it was allergies or something. Everyone's fine at Oceanside. Well not everyone. The doctor thinks Grandma Jones had a mini heart attack. But I mean no one's sick with any of this respiratory stuff. I guess Jamestown kept it from spreading.

Is this how we're all going to die from now on? Of natural stuff?

Anyway, I love you. Stay safe. Come on the May speedboat maybe? If you can't get on that, can you knit me one of those sleep sacks you were talking about? We can't keep the bundling on Zeke. He's always busting out. Rachel says he might sleep better in the sleep sack.

Love,

Henry

[*]

April 10, 10 NE

Dear Gunther,

I'm sending this letter to Oceanside so it can go on the speedboat that's going to check on all y'all. You damn well better be alive, mister!

Write back and tell me you are. And tell me Linda's okay, too, please? She's kind of old. If she got it, it would kill her, wouldn't it? And tell me Little John is just fine, and Trisha too. Andrew can go take a hike for all I care.

Thanks for all the gossip in your last letter. I can't even be excited about it, though, with what's going on there. Remember all those people who died in the Super flu three or four years ago? I got it and it was awful. I FELT like I was going to die.

Anyway, Gunny's out of his second cast now and the Dr. Sid says his foot should be fine for walking when the time comes, but he might always turn it in a little and it might look kind of funny, but he'll do fine, even be able to run and everything. He's pushed up on his elbows while lying on his stomach 14 times now. I know because Eugene records every one. Well, everyone he sees. He almost rolled over yesterday. I think he'll do it soon.

I'm sending you some Candy shine. In case this thing hasn't blown through yet, I figure you or Dianne are going to need it. It works great in cough syrup.

Lots of love,

Candy

[*]

April 12, 10 NE

Dear Garland,

Thank you for your decisive action in quarantining Jamestown and preventing the spread of the swine flu to Oceanside. It's good to know there are competent men in this world, men of action.

I'm sorry I couldn't disembark to see you in person, but I understand the precautions you're taking. Maybe when I bring the boat back on May 15, when the restrictions are lifted, we could grab a drink in the tavern to celebrate the passing of this plague?

I'm sure you're running short on some medical supplies after all this. I'm enclosing a list of supplies we have to trade after a team from Oceanside looted a high school nurse's office in southern Maryland. They can fit on the speedboat. I've also indicated what Oceanside is willing to accept for them. I think you'll find our offer generous, and we can make the exchange when I return in May if your council agrees.

I'm glad to know you're in good health. It would have been a great lost to Jamestown, and to the Alliance, if you hadn't survived this.

Sincerely,

Cyndie