Journal 29

Day 144

Raindrops collected on my waterproof jacket as I stood, perfectly still, awaiting Norman. He was arranging his weapons into his bag and counting his precious rounds. He'd never let me carry a gun, he thought I wasn't ready to kill someone.

He finally emerged from the shed with a double-barrel shotgun in his hands. We made our way to the path through the unforgiving mud, every footstep seemed to deepen my foot into the ground. The sky was grey and the air fogged, I could barely make out the signposts ten feet intront of me. We slowly progressed through the, although weathered, easily readable path. I turned back to offer the shed my farewells, it had been home for most of the epidemic (Well, that's what Norman calls it anyway) and I felt wasteful abandoning it, a rare sensation nowadays.

After seemingly hours of trecking we came across a mound of turned soil with a cross reaching out of it. I instantly recognise what it was and turned to my companion who had already made his way further up the path. 'Hurry up will ya' he said, in a soft voice, unusual for a man of his temper. I swiftly tailed him, occasionally glancing back at the grave. Although it was a common sight, it still worried me how little he cared about it. Perhaps he did have compassion but I couldn't see it, he was harder to read than a Chinese newspaper and had the charisma of one too. Although he bored the fuck out of me, he was smart, and that had value. He had made it out of kingfield, bringing me with him, no ordinary man could do that.