Final Days

Goodbye

Journal Entry – Day 13

Last night, I couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about the Commonwealth, about Mom, about everything I've ever known. It felt like a cage—one I hadn't noticed until now. The walls closing in, day after day, with no room to breathe.

So this morning, when I woke up, I made a decision. I'm not going back.

I've spent my whole life being told what to do, where to go, who to trust. The Commonwealth is safe, they said. It's the only place left where you can really live. But after finding Dad's grave, I realized something—what's the point of living if you're not really alive?

So, I told Marcellus. He didn't seem surprised. I think he's been living with that feeling for a while now.

We're heading east. I don't know exactly where we'll go, but we'll figure it out. There's a whole world out there, a world that's been broken and twisted, sure, but it's still there. And I want to see it. I want to know what's out there, beyond the walls, beyond the fences and guards.

We packed up what little we had and started walking. No more looking back.

Journal Entry – Day 14

The road's been rough. We're sticking to back roads and dirt paths, trying to avoid the main highways. Too many bandits, too many infected. We heard a group of them last night, shambling through the woods. Their groans echoed in the dark, and we had to hold our breath until they passed.

Marcellus doesn't talk much, but when he does, it's always worth listening. He told me about some of the places he's seen—small towns that were swallowed up by the apocalypse, cities overgrown with vines and trees, as if nature was taking it all back. He says he's never seen the ocean, though. I told him we'll find it, someday.

We're keeping our spirits up. Or trying to, at least. But it's hard when the world feels so empty.

Journal Entry – Day 15

Today, we found an old diner, half-buried in the woods. The sign was barely hanging on—"Joe's Eatery"—rusted and faded. Inside, it was mostly gutted. Whoever came through here last took almost everything, but we managed to find a few cans of food under the floorboards. Not much, but enough to keep us going.

We sat in one of the booths, eating cold beans and talking about where we'd go next. Marcellus said he heard there's a place in Colorado, up in the mountains, where people have been building a new town. It's a long shot, but maybe it's worth checking out. I told him we'll think about it. For now, we just need to keep moving.

As we left the diner, I looked back at the empty seats, the dust-covered counters. I wondered if this was what life used to be like—people sitting down for a meal, laughing, talking about their day. It feels like another world, something I can't even imagine.

Journal Entry – Day 16

We reached the outskirts of a small town today, somewhere in Nevada. The place was deserted, nothing but crumbling buildings and broken windows. We searched a few houses, hoping to find something useful, but most of it was picked clean.

As we walked through the town, I found myself thinking about the Commonwealth again. I wondered if they've noticed I'm gone, if Mom's worried. Part of me feels guilty, but the other part knows I made the right choice. I couldn't stay there, trapped in that routine, pretending everything was okay.

We found an old map in one of the houses, yellowed and torn but still readable. I spread it out on the floor, tracing our route with my finger. We're heading east, towards Utah, maybe further. The map shows rivers, mountains, forests—places I've only ever heard about. I want to see them with my own eyes.

As we left the town, Marcellus found a working radio in a broken car. It's mostly static, but sometimes we catch snippets of voices, music from another time. It's strange, hearing those ghostly sounds in the middle of all this silence. Makes the world feel a little less empty.

We're moving on, one step at a time. I don't know where we'll end up, but at least we're moving forward. At least we're free.

Journal Entry – Day 17

We crossed into Nevada today. The sign was half-buried in weeds, "Welcome to Nevada" barely legible through the rust and grime. I don't know what I expected—maybe some feeling of accomplishment, a sense that we'd actually made it somewhere. But it's just another stretch of broken road, another place where the world fell apart.

The air's colder here. We're getting closer to Lake Tahoe, I think. Dad wrote about it in his journal, said it was one of the last beautiful places left. I wonder if it still is.

Marcellus has been quiet. I think the weight of it all is starting to hit him, the reality of what we're doing. It's one thing to talk about leaving everything behind, but it's another to actually do it. There's no going back now, not that we ever could.

Journal Entry – Day 18

We made our way through the mountains today, the peaks looming over us like giants. The wind cut through our clothes, making it hard to think about anything other than keeping warm. But there's something peaceful about this place too, something ancient and untouched by all the chaos down below.

We found an old cabin near the edge of a cliff, half-buried in snow. It looked like it had been abandoned for years, but the door was still intact. We holed up there for the night, grateful for the shelter. There was a wood stove in the corner, and Marcellus managed to get a fire going. The warmth was a blessing.

As I sat by the fire, I pulled out Dad's journal again, flipping through the pages. He wrote about this place, about the radio station near Lake Tahoe where he found Sadie. I can almost picture him, trudging through the snow, alone but determined. I wonder if he ever thought about leaving, about starting over somewhere new. Or maybe he knew there was no escaping it, no matter where you went.

Journal Entry – Day 19

Today, we found the old radio station. It was just like Dad described—an old, dilapidated building nestled in the mountains, the antenna bent and twisted like a broken limb. It looked like no one had set foot here in years.

Inside, it was a mess. Papers scattered everywhere, the equipment long since gutted. But I could see traces of him, in the way things were left behind, as if he'd just stepped out for a moment. The place was eerily silent, the only sound the wind howling through the broken windows.

We stayed for a while, just taking it all in. Marcellus found an old map on the wall, faded but still readable. It showed the surrounding area, the paths leading down to the lake, the caves where Dad had camped out. I could almost feel him there with us, guiding us along the same path he took.

We left the station as the sun was setting, the sky a deep, bloody red. I don't know if we'll ever come back here, but I'm glad we found it. It feels like we're walking in his footsteps, following the same trail he blazed all those years ago.

Journal Entry – Day 20

We reached the caves today. The same ones Dad wrote about in his journal, back on Day 105 of March 2027. It was strange, standing there at the entrance, knowing he'd been here too. The caves were dark and cold, the air thick with the smell of damp earth.

Marcellus wasn't too keen on going in, but I convinced him. We didn't go far, just enough to get out of the wind. There was something comforting about being underground, the weight of the earth above us. It made me feel connected to him, to the past, to everything that's come before.

We found an old campfire, just a circle of blackened stones now. I sat there for a long time, staring at it, imagining him sitting in the same spot, maybe thinking the same thoughts. I wonder what he'd say if he could see me now, if he'd be proud of what I'm doing or tell me to turn back while I still can.

But there's no turning back. I've made my choice. We're moving forward, just like he did. I don't know where the road will take us, but we'll face it together, just like he did. I just hope we can make it, that we won't lose ourselves along the way.