Brother,

I know I said I would write to you as soon as I got to the next medical facility to pick up everything on the list, but this is too important to wait until then. I waited through the night last night by this river, and I awoke to the strangest groaning, but definitely human. At first, I thought it was one of them, since that is all I have ever seen. So I took climbed the tree and waited, only to find that, as dawn slowly broke the horizon, the sound did not move any closer or further away. And, more miraculously, much like my own, a carrier pigeon with a yellow string of yarn looped around its leg swooped by. Thinking it was mine, I tried calling it, but it did not come to me. Instead, it headed towards the sound of groaning. I waited until the sun came up, since we have scientifically determined that the creatures are weaker in daylight, and proceeded to go towards the source of the sound.

The poor bird, which I thought was mine, continued squawking as I got closer, only to find a boy, seemingly asleep, at the base of a tree trunk. At the time I found him, he appeared incredibly pale, and left arm appeared bitten. I could still see streaks of brown in his hair, though it has quickly given way to silver by the time I am writing this. At first, I contemplated putting him out of his misery, but as I inspected his wound closer, I found something rather peculiar that you need to hear about. I checked to see how far along it was, only to notice it stopped around the junction between his arm and shoulder. Even now, by high-noon, it has yet to change. Instead, the arm has completely reddened, and the bite mark itself is forming into an almost-crystallized cross, right in the center of the back of his hand.

I've never seen anything like it. It's like he is adapting to the disease somehow. Maybe this is the break we have been looking for? Although, it is some time past noon, and he hasn't quite woken up lately. I don't know how long he's been out for, but if he continues on like this, it means he's in a coma of some kind. But he is alive.

I just wish I could get a good look at his eyes. That's the biggest indicator, the sickly-yellow color. Then I would know if I really should put him down or not. I don't really want to—I've seen so much death lately, it makes my heart grow sick. Especially after what happened to Suman, I… don't wish to think of it much more.

Do you think Suman's daughter is still alive? I know she was sickly, too. Maybe she's safe. His memory has to live on, after everything he's done for us, right?

But God is cruel. So, so cruel. After all, look at the world now. Look at ourworld now. And with no hope for any sort of answers.

Well, maybe there are answers. I did find this boy here. He looks no younger than myself, around fifteen or sixteen years of age. Very pale, but the white hair does not help at all. Judging by the filth on his clothes, I'd say he's been traveling for quite some time, or he's poor. But the poor were amongst the ones first infected, so I highly doubt that. He must be one of the few survivors left, other than ourselves.

He isn't carrying very much, either. No provisions to keep him warm from the unexpectedly cold nights that still haunt the early spring weather. But he does have paper, a lot of it, and several different bottles of ink, along with several jars of pickled foods, though they aren't pickled quite long enough to eat. I'm surprised how much he can carry in such a small bag—and no weapon, either! Not in his pockets or anywhere. In this sort of situation, you would think it'd be mandatory to have one on your person at all times. Somehow, though, he's survived this long. If he makes it through today, that is.

Should he wake up, we may have some issues with our rations. He doesn't have enough for two to three days, and I only have enough to reach all the facilities and back. With two people, we would be somewhat strapped for food. Maybe somewhere would have more, if we have any luck. Part of me wonders if I should return with this boy first, but we have waited long enough for this mission, and we are running out of medical supplies as-is. So, I will continue, with or without him.

Excuse me as I eat some lunch and try to rouse him.

It has been a few hours since I wrote the previous line. It's mid-afternoon, probably around five in the evening, and he has yet to respond to my words, except with the slight fluttering of his eyelids. I think his consciousness is desperately trying to rise to the surface. But if he does not come out of it by tomorrow morning, I really don't know what to do. I can't kill him. We've lost so many. I can't just leave him here, either, as bait for those that eat flesh. Then again, I doubt I have the energy or strength to carry someone who is nearly my height, and undoubtedly weighs more. I may be strong, but not strong enough to lug around a deadweight.

What am I going to do, Komui? This is the worst. We need more people back at the church, but is it worth it? Is it worth saving this life? Is it worth waiting for? I can't decide. This pain is chewing at my stomach as I try to reach a decision, it's agonizing. If only you were here with me right now, you could make a diagnosis, and then I would know what to do, but as it stands, I am alone. I'm alone in these woods, with my only consultant being the silver fish in the stream, and the budding leaves of the trees nearby. If I send this letter now, I would be spending too much time in one spot, and run out of food before I return. If I leave him to die, I would be living on a guilty conscience for the rest of my life, which would kill me eventually. If I bring him with me, would we make it and not starve?

Unlikely.

Lord, give me an answer! I'm frozen in fear to take action, but if I don't take one, nothing will come of it. Before I left the church, I didn't think of what would happen if I found someone alive but dead at the same time. Bitten, yet still human. I didn't even think it was possible. No one did. And now here I am, writing to you the thoughts running through my head, because I don't know what to do.

One thing I do know, though, is that I am going to wait until morning. I know I can afford at least that much. I used to think I knew what I was capable of doing, but now I don't know.

The cross-shape is hard and cold to the touch, unlike the rest of his brittle skin. Flakes of red keep shedding off, revealing a darker shade underneath. His nails are completely black now, too. But it hasn't spread any further. Maybe if I knew his name, I could try calling it, and see if that would do anything. But I can't. I can't speak what I don't know.

I need to start a fire soon. I can feel chills already running down my spine.

Back again. The fire is lit, and the night is starting to take over the sky. Nothing has changed. My thoughts haven't changed, either. I am too jittery to sleep—what if he wakes and turns out to be one of them? I must stay up the whole night. Though, he no longer has a fever, like he did earlier. It has significantly subsided. I think that's good.

I almost fell asleep. Staring at the water does not keep me awake. I'm so used to sleeping at least seven hours a night, and to experience this is strange. How does Kanda manage? I don't understand.

Nothing has changed still. The moon is descending. I fear he will stay like this even when dawn comes. I need to get more firewood.

The first rays of the sun are here, and nothing has happened. He's still the same. Still in the same stupor.

The sky is now blue, and morning is in full-swing. Birds are chirping, though this alarm is not waking him at all. I must take heart with whatever action I decide to do. Since God has not awoken this boy since I've been with him, I don't think he will make it. Komui, please accept my action on both our behalves to kill him. Either I do it, or one of them do it, and I don't believe that's right, either. I'll write to you once again once I reach the second medical facility.

Forgive me, since I can't forgive myself for this.

With great love,

Lenalee