June 24, 2023
Dear Journal,
It's strange how quickly things can shift in this world—one moment, you're mourning, and the next, you're planning your next move like nothing happened. Survival has no time for grief.
We spent most of the day debating the smoke I saw yesterday. Marcus wants to check it out. Naomi, of course, doesn't. She's cautious to a fault, but I can't blame her. The last time we tried to find "other survivors," we nearly walked straight into an ambush. We still don't know who they were—bandits, deserters, maybe just people as scared as we are—but they had guns, and they weren't interested in talking.
Still, the idea of someone else out there—someone who might have food, shelter, maybe even news of a real safe zone—it's hard to ignore. We're running out of time, and options.
While the debate dragged on, I took inventory of what we have left.
Supplies (as of today):
9 cans of food
2 bottles of clean water
1 full med kit
3 makeshift weapons
1 pistol (still 4 bullets)
A map with too many red Xs
Not enough for long. If that smoke belongs to good people, we might find help. If not… well, at least we'll know what direction not to go next time.
Naomi eventually compromised. We'll scout it—just Marcus and me. Quick in, quick out. No contact unless absolutely necessary. If we're not back by nightfall, they'll assume the worst and move to Plan B: take what they can and head west to the forest line. We don't like splitting up, but none of us are naïve enough to believe this place is permanent.
We'll leave first light tomorrow.
Tonight, though… the house feels quieter than usual. Nora's humming to the baby again. A soft, tuneless sound. It's comforting in a way. Maybe it reminds her of the life she had before. I try not to think about mine too much. The memories cut sharper than I expect.
I used to laugh more. I used to be someone who planned weekends, not escape routes.
I don't know what we'll find out there. Maybe it's just a dying fire, leftover from another group long gone. Or maybe it's something worse.
But we have to know. Hope is dangerous, but so is staying still.
Until tomorrow,
J.K.