The World Outside the 2nd Mass
My nose is killing me.
A busted septum tends to do that. But when I’m not spitting up little bits of blood, I have to laugh. Turns out the Professor’s got a pretty good right hook.
That said, welcome to the world outside of the 2nd Mass. (Or, should I say… what’s left of it.)
Hard to describe really. I suppose we’ve all seen various ‘day after’ photos. San Francisco in 1906. Dresden in ‘45. But where these pictures fail, what the images can’t show is what your other four senses can’t escape.
The smell of a place.
The slip and slurp sound your boot makes as it trudges through blood and muck. The taste of your stomach lining coming up after an afternoon of dry heaves.
I’ve grown accustomed to the rubble. Kind of comes with the post apocalyptic territory I suppose. But six billion people = six billion bodies. And that’s something you never get used to. Granted, most of the population was vaporized within the first couple days, but the few of us ‘blessed’ enough to have made it past the initial invasion, either starved to death or died from bad water.
There are still far too many neighborhoods with corpses growing out of every crack. Stuck and stacked together like crayons half melted in the sun.
Anthony’s with me. And even though the man’s an ex cop, having an second set of eyes and ears out here isn’t a bad thing to have. We’ve kept mostly quiet for the first couple days. I know he’s keeping an eye on me in case I decide to double back and take a shot at Cambridge, but that’s alright. He doesn’t snore and has promised not to steal the covers. :-)
I suppose there’s more to say, but I still don’t quite understand why I’m even writing this. Certainly these pages would serve better as kindling for a fire, or in a pinch, to wipe my backside. (Pun intended.)
But, then again… why not? I am here, after all.
Well, I was. Once.
But that was a long time ago. In a galaxy far, far away.