Final Days

Part 15

Journal Entry – Day 96

The snow hasn't stopped. We're running low on wood for the fire, but the cabin's holding up. Emmett says we can't stay here much longer, though. We've got food for a few more days, but we'll need to move before the real cold hits.

Marcellus and I spent the morning talking about the East. He's curious, asking me if I think there's really anything there, like Emmett says. I don't know what to tell him. Hope feels like a lie sometimes, but it's all we've got. I just keep thinking about Dad's words in his journal, how he kept going even when the world around him fell apart. Maybe we'll find something. Maybe we won't. But staying here and doing nothing feels worse.

Journal Entry – Day 97

The storm let up, so we're packing what we can. The roads are covered in snow, and it's going to be hell traveling through it, but staying here is a slow death. We're heading east towards the Badlands, hoping the storm's lighter there.

Emmett's quiet this morning. I think he knows something we don't. His hearing has saved us before, but today he seems on edge, like he's listening for something just out of reach. He says we'll know when the time is right to leave. For now, we wait.

Journal Entry – Day 98

We left the cabin. Snow was thick, and it slowed us down. Emmett led the way, his dog Duke close by. We kept moving, but it felt like something was following us. Maybe it's just paranoia, or maybe it's real. The silence out here is unsettling—too quiet.

We reached the edge of the Badlands by nightfall. There's an old ranger station here, nothing more than a wooden shack. Emmett scouted ahead, said it's safe enough for the night. We set up a fire inside, using the last of the wood we packed. Marcellus asked if we should keep going, but it's pitch dark now, and we don't want to risk stumbling into something.

Journal Entry – Day 99

Woke up to the sound of something outside the station. Emmett was already up, listening. He said he heard movement, but it was far off. We decided to move early, just in case. It's colder today, biting at our faces. I can feel the frost burning my skin, but we have to keep going.

We're getting closer to the Black Hills again, back to where Dad had been all those years ago. I wonder if I'll find more of his path, more of the places he traveled. It's strange, following his footsteps like this, trying to understand the man he was. It's all I have left of him.

Journal Entry – Day 100

A hundred days. It feels like I've been walking forever, but at the same time, I can't believe it's been that long since I left the Commonwealth. Emmett, Marcellus, and I are still pushing forward, though our supplies are getting thin again. We passed through a few more ghost towns, looted what we could, but there wasn't much left. People have picked these places clean.

We made camp in an abandoned farmhouse. The roof's caved in, but the walls are solid. Emmett's been teaching me how to listen better, to pick up on the sounds around me. He says it's the only reason he's survived this long—his ears are sharper than anyone's. I'm trying to learn. Out here, it's the small skills that keep you alive.

Journal Entry – Day 101

We saw smoke on the horizon today. Emmett says it could be a settlement, or it could be trouble. We're heading towards it anyway. We don't have much choice. If it's a settlement, maybe they have supplies. If it's trouble... well, we'll deal with it when we get there.

Marcellus asked me about Dad again. He's been reading the journal more, trying to understand who my father was. I tell him the stories I know, but it feels like I'm talking about a stranger sometimes. I don't know if I'll ever really understand the man he was. But his words guide me. That's enough for now.

Journal Entry – Day 102

We reached the source of the smoke. It was a small camp, but it was abandoned, long cold. There were signs of struggle—blood on the ground, bullet holes in the tents. Whatever happened here, it wasn't pretty. Emmett said we should leave before nightfall. Whoever did this might come back.

We're moving east again, sticking to the hills. The temperature's dropping, but the snow's lighter here. I keep thinking about the journal, about everything Dad went through. I wonder if I'll make it as far as he did. I wonder if I'll find the answers I'm looking for, or if this journey will end like his did, with a gravestone in the dirt.