Hitting the Wall

I hit the wall today. About mid morning, after gleaning through the rubble of several corner markets, I suddenly dropped to my knees. I would have fallen forward on my face, but Ellen snatched the back of my collar and yanked me back with extraordinary strength. While I seem to be fading, she is becoming more robust.

I know a big part of my exhaustion is due to lack of sleep and food. My eyes feel dry and tired. My muscles are sore. My stomach is growling all the time. A part of it, though, is the mental strain. It wears me down to be on the alert at all times, ready for a rush of zombies at any moment. We have only seen the one and heard another since we left the apartment three days ago, but I am always hypervigilant, even while I sleep. Every sound in the night rouses me from slumber.

I haven't even begun to deal with the loss. Janine and Frances are dead, and I can't begin to think about that. Life as we know it is gone forever. Even if we discover other survivors and safety, how can I go on? I don't know if I can.

Ellen helped me to my feet and gave me some water. Knowing that she is there and is walking the same path--she has faced loss, too-- gave me some strength. She hasn't said a word to me since she went back to see her husband's body, but there is an important connection among Ellen and Carl and me. Carl is my brother, but Ellen is now family, too.

After a break for lunch, we continued moving toward the north. It is nothing more than a gut instinct to go north. We have no reason to believe we'll find salvation in that direction. Just before we decided to bed down for the night, we saw another sign hastily painted on a wall. It said "safe house--123rd and Dalton." We decided to travel in that direction in the morning.

Carl found a sturdy room in a first-story office. It looks safe enough, but I'm not sure I want to spend the night here. Someone has written a note on the wall in permanent marker. "We're going to the lake. Bob Ellis and Danny DelaTorre." Then, just below, either Bob or Danny wrote "I love you, Mary." We don't know what lake they meant, but maybe Mary does. I keep thinking about that Mary and whether or not she'll ever see Bob or Danny again. It kills me to know that I won't see Janine again. It kills me to know how she died.