What kind of disaster was it if surviving a night in the city was considered an impossibly difficult feat?
Again, the eerie grocery store. Again, blood on the floor. Again, the bookstore.
Five days had passed since we left for °22-1-20-21-14. Five days ago, everything was so different. I couldn’t have imagined that I’d end up in such a predicament; that just two days earlier, sunlight had gently filtered through the colorful blinds into the trailer’s cabin as we drove past another checkpoint, celebrating our luck. I remember the euphoria we felt as we set out, the insane happiness of the initial departure – ahead lay a long road, but I was happy about it, thrilled that we had work ahead, looking forward to seeing new lands, and that I’d get a chance, even if briefly, to glimpse the mountain ranges.
I had a feeling this wouldn’t just be an investigation but something much more significant and important. No, it wasn’t just a feeling, I knew for certain – those in power knew the extent of the disaster and had hidden it from their loyal subjects. We were meant to bring light to this dark game, even if it meant we would have to ignite ourselves. They had trusted us. They had trusted me. And the bearer of the surname whose signature had authorized our travel documents had made us another tiny link in an enormous, significant chain.
But did any of it have meaning now?
A couple of days ago, I was contemplating how I would conduct the investigation, talk to doctors and patients; I analyzed the best way to present the material so that the reapers wouldn’t come for our souls right away… Andrew was singing along loudly with the radio, in a cheerful mood. Sam was constantly joking, brushing off work – it was more important for him to look out the window, noticing every change in the landscape, in the architecture, especially as we passed the border of the Frontiers area and a section of the Central Lands, entering the territory of the Isthmus Region, where tall pines reached up to the skies and juniper thickets intertwined with the roads.
Just a few days ago, the trailer was swiftly carrying us from home into the unknown. What were we warming in our hearts? Excitement? Yes, that was overflowing! We wanted to show who we were, what we were capable of. We wanted to bring back material that no one could obtain, material that no one dared to voice or publish. Did we think it was dangerous? Yes, absolutely. But in a different sense. And the fear was muted by the knowledge of the responsibility placed on us, of what was expected from our trip.