Excerpt of Joseph's Journal at the end of the chapter is from Far Cry New Dawn.

~11~

Day 1459

Tomorrow will be the fourth anniversary of the Collapse. We are more than two thirds of the way through our food supply, and now we only eat every third day. When I feed him, the deputy takes the food and scurries off, as though terrified I might take it back. I don't blame him. Some days I want to take it from him. It's the hunger. It is a savage, guileful beast, weaving sinful thoughts into my head. The demons that had once possessed Jacob now come for me. Surely God forgives me. Isaac already served his purpose, and because he can no longer talk he might as well be a dumb animal...

I had to break from writing, to regain control of myself. Though I am ashamed I am not so proud as to not continue to lay out everything on my mind. Besides, I know Isaac is having the same thoughts about me. How I would do him better by sustaining him, even for a few days. I've seen the way he looks at me. Just like Jacob's wolves, starved to the point of looking ready to gnaw off their own paws.

But we are not wolves. Well, I'm not. The deputy... When I tell him to leave, he leaves. When I tell him to fetch me something, he fetches it without a fuss. When I tell him to pray, he at least closes his eyes and holds still for a few minutes. It took years but he has finally come to understand who he is. Because of his actions, because of his inborn need to judge, countless people died. It was his fault.

Despite my guidance his soul is lacerated and his spirit is broken. He still screams at night, wordless and harrowing. A couple years ago I gave him permission to sleep on his own bed in the barracks, which he did, at first. But as the months passed, I began to find him at the foot of my bed every morning, bundled up on the floor. Even when I ordered him to stay in his own room, back he'd be again, although there were times when he woke up looking confused, as though he couldn't remember moving there.

I found another bundle of papers today, this time stashed behind the stack of angle iron lengths near the entrance to the bunker. Isaac's ramblings. Though sometimes disjointed, too messy to decipher or unsettling to read, they give me a good insight to the deputy's state of mind. He'd taken to writing of his own accord years ago, and I encourage it. Not only will it help him organize his thoughts, it will – God willing – help retain what little sanity remains. When I find his stashes, it is almost like having a conversation with him. It is almost Confession.

Still, it is with slight guilt that I read his words. A man's mind is his last sanctuary, after all. But I am a concerned parent, and if he really doesn't want me to find them, he would hide them better.

I shall take note here an excerpt of what he has written.

...Losing my mind. Forgetting hours of the day. I haven't been waking up where I go to sleep. The world is a diagonal. I am the balancing point. (He has crossed this out.) And I've been seeing things. Yesterday I was having a long conversation with Hurk Sr about gerrymandering until I realized, not only had I been staring at the hot water tank for over an hour, I had been making grunting sounds trying to talk to the hot water tank...

I have seen and heard him do this a few times but I always left him alone. What else could I do? It kept him calm and seemed to be a pass time he enjoyed. Now I see that it concerns him, yet he has never taken the issue to me, his Father. But no matter. I will help him the next time I see him trying to talk to inanimate objects.

Here is another page. It is filled with sketches of butterflies. They're beautiful. At the bottom of the page is a single word – 'Soon.'

I'll fold his pages back up and return them to their hiding place behind the steel rack. There is only so far I will delve and divulge in a day, and as long as he doesn't suspect me finding the pages, I can always go back for them again.

I have yet to find the page that will tell me why he cut out his tongue.

Easy...easy...

With hands that shook I gently leaned two cards against each other. Not daring to breathe, I pulled my hands away slowly so a draft wouldn't waft my house of cards down. There. A third tier complete.

I sat back, proud of myself. I've never had the patience for shit like this before. It had taken me weeks of practice to accomplish this much in a single afternoon. And even with hunger tugging at my hand muscles like marionette strings, I'd finally managed to beat my own record.

I enjoyed the sight for a while. Then I reached for two more cards to add to the bottom layer. Why not try to add a forth? Got nothing better to do. And it kept me focused on something other than—

My hands spasmed, and everything fell down.

—the Collapse.

I stared despondently at my flattened achievement. But I could fix it. Joseph said all I had to do was try. And so I would try.

There was a kink in my neck from being hunched over. I sat back, stretching, gazing around the barracks. It looked empty now that all the food once stored in here had been eaten or moved into the armoury, which remained locked at all times – me and Joseph both agreed it was for the best. The secondary deep freezer in here was also empty, the lid up even though the ice had melted long ago. The desk in front of me, draped with the stars 'n' stripes, was heaped with the books I'd taken to reading. Not much of a bookworm but one can only make so many card houses in one day. And sometimes, the story was good enough for me to escape my own head, where always, there was the constant, nagging feeling of—

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

I screwed my eyes closed and pressed my hands into my temples.

Think of something else. Think, think, think, think...

I bit down on what remained of my tongue and the pain was enough to draw me out of the whirlpool. I then seized up two cards and began to rebuild.

Rebuild.

I had managed to lean six cards together when there was a click, a clunk, and then sudden darkness. I froze like a bird, heart clenching with the sound of the air supply shutting down.

"Isaac!"

I ducked my head. I didn't do anything!

Joseph's voice had come from somewhere down the hall. I felt my way to the wall and stood up. There was a flashlight on the armchair. The door opened as I retrieved it, and Joseph came in with an electric lantern in one hand and a toolbox in the other.

"You alright?"

Once, I would have I scowled at him. It seemed impudent now. I nodded, docile.

"The generator failed. Come, I need your help."

I clicked the flashlight on and followed without a fuss. There would be enough air for days down here but I'd rather not build houses of cards in the dark and I like not freezing my ass off.

The generator was in the second passage from the bunker's main entrance. Joseph set the lantern down and opened the toolbox, pulling out a screwdriver which he used to remove a service panel. He stared at the mess of switches and wires inside, then looked to me. I knew what to do.

He stayed with me, either for support or to babysit, I wasn't sure. I didn't mind. It took me a while – not quite the same as tinkering with cars – but I finally got the generator running again. Joseph said we needed to be more careful on our power consumption, for our fuel supply was now very low. I just nodded. I already knew that. Since last year we'd been relying more on candles and flashlights, piling on extra clothing instead of turning up the heat, and enduring cold showers. I didn't complain. Had nothing to complain about. I was, after all, the cause for all this. Because I—

No! Shut up, shut up, shut UP!

The rattle of tools jostled me from my head. Joseph was closing the toolbox. He stood and I took it – he would want me to put it away.

"Thank you, Isaac."

I made a grunting sound, bobbing my head before shuffling off. I liked pleasing Joseph. It just seemed right, after all that had happened.

I think I'll write this day down. I pleased Joseph. It's been a good day.

Day 1584

I had to help Isaac out of the shower again. I heard him fall, too weak to catch himself when the floor of the stall got slippery with soap. I've told him to sit when he showers but he doesn't listen. The ghost of his Pride. He didn't appear hurt, this time.

I try not to blame myself, or God, for our situation. Even the knowledge that God's love sustains us cannot crush the bitterness I feel whenever I see Isaac, a husk of the healthy soldier he once was. Why? This is what I wanted. What He wanted. The Soldier, the purveyor of violence, he-who-clenches-his-fist finally brought low, smote from his high horse. Not just Isaac himself, but men like him, cowed all over the world, finally made to see...

Suddenly I recall some of the last words Isaac ever spoke. "You made me." I thought it was a foreshadowing of his self-amputation, that I was making him cut out his own tongue. But now I believe he meant something else. Me, a man of God, making Isaac. Making him a man of violence. My actions begot his. His war stories, of which there were plenty, come back to me now. He fought religious terrorism on the other side of the world. Would he have ever been there if not for the extremist leaders who'd dared to call themselves God's devoted?

Yes. Humans make war. That's what they do. If not those leaders, then something else would have called Isaac to take up arms...

Such was the heretical thought that entered my head upon writing that. It makes my faith seem hollow. A frail shell. Isaac told me he saw religion as an excuse, a scapegoat, and a façade. A means to an end.

I pity him.

I put Isaac's words and stories from my mind. I must focus on the future. What is God's plan now? It isn't unusual for years to go by without me hearing His Voice. But surely, surely He would have granted me guidance by now. In a thousand days, Isaac and I will be at last free to leave this bunker and witness the rebirth of our home. Why has God not shown me what else is to come?

I must pray. I will fast and I will ask for guidance. It was always through periods of suffering that I heard the Voice, and though I suffer now, I can suffer more. And the food I don't eat will only benefit Isaac.

A past version of me would be shocked: I was deeply concerned for Joseph.

I was thrilled to get more food, and took it without question. Because I ate alone, I did not notice, at first, that the extra portion came from Joseph's plate.

It was the third meal like this. After squirrelling it in the barracks, I went back into the kitchen to get water, and saw that Joseph hadn't served himself anything. He looked surprised and even guilty at my unexpected reappearance, and he understood the question I could not ask. He just smiled at me and said, "Do not worry, Isaac. Everything is going to be fine."

I retrieved the food and tried to give it to him. Stood there holding it under his nose. I wasn't hungry anymore.

"If you are not going to eat it, put it back," he said.

I continued to stand there, stubborn. It was my first time defying him in a long while. Not sure how I felt about it. He started to look angry.

"Isaac—"

I grunted and pushed it at him. He pushed it back. I pushed it again. He stood, towering over me. I held my ground, a diminished yet familiar fire burning in my guts. I was alright taking orders from him. But this was food. He needed to eat.

His fists were clenched, shaking, from hunger or anger I didn't know. I was afraid – I guess I didn't like defying the Father – but I would not back down without an explanation. Surely Joseph wasn't giving up?

Save the Father, Faith had told me. Save the Father.

Joseph closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. When he exhaled, he looked at me with kinder eyes.

"I know you do not understand. But it has to be this way for just a little longer. Do not worry, I am not leaving you. Please. Just trust me."

I gazed at him for a few more seconds, then backed down, looking away. He put his hands on my shoulders, and the last of the dread seemed to leach from my body.

"Pray with me."

I closed my eyes. I never really understood this part. Couldn't wrap my head around any usefulness about it. But I hoped my pleading thoughts that the Father be okay would be enough.

Day 1596

After days of fasting and prayer I have heard the Voice again. And I have seen what is to come, and the face of the one who will shepherd Eden when I am gone. It was not a face I recognize. It did not look like me, so it is not my child of blood, but this soul will be my child just as all are my children.

I will leave my Word here when I go, and when it is returned to Eden, that is when we will manifest our destiny.

God has not shown me what that will be, but I have faith it will be what is right.

"'Fools,' said I, 'You do not know silence, like a cancer, grows. Hear my words that I might teach you. Take my arms that I might reach you.' But my words, like silent raindrops fell, and echoed in the wells of silence."

The Sound of Silence, Simon and Garfunkel