6.10.2015

New journal. My last is probably with the shit Jon jacked when the group fell apart. It’s amazing how the most threatening things in the last few months have come not from the crawlers, but from people.

We were so close. How many fucking miles? Damn near 500 by the map, putting Stanford behind us by – to be colloquial – blood, sweat and tears. And he had to go and flip a shit less than 20 miles from Arklay, screaming at us, that there was no fucking Arklay, “no magic fuckin’ island” and this was all a joke and that we were wasting our time. In the end, the group had fractured, some leaving with Jon to head east, others to go back to Stanford, craving the familiarity and…. well… maybe in the first determined act of my life, decided, ‘fuck it’, we were so damn close. Might as well head north a little bit more.

I’ve never walked so far in my entire life. I don’t consider myself an outdoors man. Or even athletic. Fuck, more of a table-gaming, climate-control loving, definitely indoors adapted nerd. But I guess I can consider myself a survivor. Weird. Never thought I’d be one of the few at the end of the world – always figured when the numbers were run, I’d be a casualty, not one of the remaining.

It’s weird what changes at the end of the world.

Arklay is in sight; just a mile or so more. Fuck, my feet are killing me. Wish me luck.

~Oliver