The Imperfect's Journal: 1

June 5th, 2066

We didn't get on a boat. We didn't have time to sit and wait for one. Not when the harbor was being bombed. The first bomb landed in the water, but its explosion was enough to cause a massive wave that shoved several boats onto the bank, where they became stuck in the mud.

Most of the people who had been waiting for a chance to get on a boat started running toward the shore, screaming and shouting. They thought they could escape by sea before the next bomb came.

Morgan stopped us from following suit. I could barely hear his words over the sound of the plane flying over head, so I just deafly followed him and the others. We pushed against the crowd that was surging toward the sea, making our way uphill and into the forest.

A second bomb dropped behind us. No debris hit me, but I felt the heat on my back. I smelled the desolation and the charred corpses. I didn't look back. With my luck, that image would have been one of the few I'll remember for the rest of my life.

As we pushed farther into the forest, we heard--and felt--a third and final bomb lay waste to the harbor. The screams died and the water stilled.

We're pushing northward along the coast, but I don't think we'll find a harbor that's intact. To make things worse, we haven't found a car with the keys inside of it, even with this traffic. None of the cars are old enough to hotwire, either, so we're moving on foot.

Oh, I guess Trent and Jess are actually an item, now. Again, not jealous. At all. It's a bit weird, though. They don't really know each other. I guess the things they have in common are strong enough for a romantic entanglement to develop. Those things being that they're on the run and... that's it.

The two Canadians who were helping us before don't seem to have made it. I never wrote down their names. It's probably for the best; I have plenty of other dead people to remember.