One way or another, this is the last you will ever hear from us.
I’m not certain if this is a suicide letter, or just a farewell; either way, this business of blogging has become far too dangerous.
Everything we type is practically a beacon.
We have so much after us, now, that I’m not certain how it is we’ve survived this long.
Because we may be about to die, and because I know that there are some people, out there, who also cared about Blair (and maybe about Alyssa and me, by extension) I feel I owe it to everyone to write out what’s going on.
We stopped at a gas station with what little money we could scavenge, bags empty and needing as much long-lasting food as we could afford. It was the only place we could purchase food at all, so close to the border.
We went inside, and Alyssa began to grab as much as we could carry while I counted out our funds.
I rang the bell for the gas station attendant, and no one came.
It wasn’t until we’d been waiting for ten minutes that I noticed Windmill getting anxious, tethered outside, bucking and pawing at the ground.
“Something’s got to be coming, he doesn’t do that unless there’s danger. Just drop the money, we have to go!”
I slapped the money onto the counter, and a few coins slid right across, over the side.
They didn’t ‘clink’ when they hit the floor, as they should have. It was then that I pulled myself up and looked over the side.
The attendant was a hollowed-out shell, lying in a mess of his own gore.
Alyssa swore, and dropped the food; she started looking around for what might have done that, but the gas station was cramped. We knew full well that whatever had killed the attendant was outside, now, not in.
I went to pull Windmill inside, and Alyssa went around the counter, stepping in the man’s viscera – her nose had started to drip blood, but she didn’t seem to notice, checking the station’s computer.
“Limited Internet access,” she sounded angry about it.
“What are you trying to do?”
“Pull up a blog, find out which one probably did this – I can’t-… I can’t think, right now. Can’t think fast enough, it’ll be on us before-…”
I got her attention by lifting her locket and pressing a kiss to it; she let me pull her away, then.
“I don’t think it matters which one it is, at this point.”
At that point, we decided.
We stand and fight.
There’s nowhere to run, anymore.
As I’m typing this, Alyssa is finishing with our barricades. Our weapons are prepared.
The Archivists are outside – we can see them, on the security cameras.
If we die here, we die more courageously than we were, when running away. If we survive, you still won’t ever hear from us again.
If you care – keep your fingers crossed, for us, and maybe you’ll run into us someday.
I hope you fight, too.Good luck, and be brave.