We arrived at the coast, today, then drove along it until we found a large harbor. Or, to be specific, we found an enormous line of tightly packed cars. Seems we aren't the only ones who decided to evacuate by sea when bombs began to drop on the airports.
Everyone is just abandoning their cars, so we did the same. There's something very final about that. When you park you car, you make a mental note about its general location. If you're a decent person, you even make sure to park your car courteously within the lines. But when you abandon it on the street in the middle of dense traffic and continue on foot, you don't do either of those things. You just get out and walk. You forget about the vehicle. It doesn't matter anymore, because you aren't going back to it. You're moving forward and that's the only thing occupying your mind.
Several boats have already sailed off, filled with fleeing imperfects. We're not very close to the front of the line and the number of boats is dwindling. Trent, Jess, Morgan, and I are beginning to worry that there isn't going to be room for us. We've started talking about what we'll do if we can't get on a boat, and the only option we have is to press northward, hoping we find an occupied harbor.
These aren't big boats, by the way. We aren't talking about cruise ships, here. These are the sort of boats you take out on the lake with your friends. They're meant to hold between 6 and 20 people, not hundreds. Even if I manage to get on a boat, there's going to be someone who doesn't. What if that person dies because I took the spot they could have had?
Gah. I need to stop psyching myself out.
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The Imperfect's Journal: 1
General FictionThis is the journal of Darren Stratt, an "imperfect" who is being hunted in America due to a new law which has stripped disadvantaged individuals--now called "imperfects"--of their rights. In Darren's journal, he documents the horrors of a world run...
