Fortuna Favors The Bold.

Ain’t been one for writin’ in these things. Hell, I know it won’t get me in touch with my feelings; I got torturers for that shit. But should someone stumble on this in a pile a’bones, ah wager it might do you some good. So if’n yer’ readin’ this, welcome aboard. Enjoy your stay and all that horseshit.

Ta’ be honest, I left Arklay. I had a good run with the folk at the Eights; settin’ their vegetables and corn so they’d have well enough to eat for a good long time. I figured ma’ work was done; they could figure out the rest on their own. It was quiet, peaceful; like them walls would always hold the terror out. An’ that scared me. So ah’ up an’ left: no note, no trail a’bread crumbs, nada. Was just ma’ time, I suppose.

Followed the 101 down a ways til I hit Worswick. Found a family with just the sweetest lil girl named Cassidy. Ya know, with a stripper name like Cassidy, luckily she wouldn’t be findin’ a stripper pole in this hell hole when she turned eighteen. They wanted ma’ help; safe passage to Fortuna, where they lived ‘fore all this. Ah’ couldn’t say no to Cassidy, nor her little stuffed rabbit she named Gunther. They were on their way home; seein’ what was left a’their house to salvage and rebuild and make it their own again. I’d at least have somethin’ to do for a few weeks ‘fore movin’ on.

Hadn’t seen a horde, neither, just stragglers. The parents mentioned we were outnumberin’ the walkers these days and they were becoming few and far between. The family even seemed relaxed; happy they were getting home. Like a third a’the Brady Bunch; all giddy to be gettin’ back to their house to start anew.

Yeah, it was a goddamned trap. I should’a known. I was welcomed by three guys with AK’s. Took all ma’ stuff. Thrown into a little shed with countless other bags of all the folks they swindled and bled. Met their leader. Harsh bitch named Jilaiya that liked barkin’ orders. ‘Specially when those orders was hittin’ that crowbar against ma’ ribs time and time ag’in. Or lettin’ her second-in-command Rodrigo slam his fist inta’ ma’ face ’til he heard a crack he liked in ma’ eye. I won’ git inta’ more details. Just be happy I got out, or ya’ wouldn’t be readin’ this fine here journal.

I hung close to the Eel River during my escape. Even swam out to Cock Robin Island in search of a whaler or somethin’ ah’ I could use to get back to the Island. Don’t go out on a lil’ skiff during a hurricane. Shit ain’t fun. I inhaled more sea water than a beluga as the skiff puttered along the coast in search of Arklay.

I wouldn’t dare cross the bridge with the raider traps. I got to the amusement park wall, dropped anchor and swam the rest in. By the time I reached shore, the skiff had flooded and sank. Ain’t no turnin’ back nah. I hurled ma’self over that wall, tearing this favorite jacket I wear now. Ta’ be honest, it’s ma’ only jacket, but I’ll survive. ‘Least til’ the pneumonia sets in. Found one of Dixon’s folks, Bruce; well he found me. Got me on his bike and raced me on over to the hospital. Doc must be makin’ house calls cause I ain’t seen anyone in a white jacket fer’ three days nah. Reckon I’ll jus’ wait. Had enough fun ta’ last a lifetime and them some.

Not too bad for a first journal entry. Ain’t no tears staining the page, curses jotted down, hexes kept at bay, jus’ a numb hand. Maybe ‘ah won’t tear it out….. maybe….