The Collapse CXXXIII: Packing Up

 29 June 20XX +1

My Dear Lucilius:

This was the day of packing and transporting.

After another breakfast of bacon and coffee (will wonders never cease?), the order of the day was transporting the most valuable items from the previous day’s search back to town for inventorying and distribution. We now had The Looters’ truck; during breakfast the two trucks we had ridden over the mountain slowly rolled up (all of this accommodated, of course, by four 5 gallon cans of fuel from the Looters).

The Colonel set the goals: Load up quickly and head back. And by “load up quickly”, he apparently meant strength and speed.

So I would like to tell you the mechanics of loading and setting up the trucks for transport. But I – and the line that held the bridge – were not there. We were out on the fringes of the development, standing guard. The chances of attack decreased a bit every day, it was explained, but they were not absent until we were gone.

And so I found myself on the fringes of the housing development, looking out from a corner of the house down the long road the led to where The Looters had come from, my rifle and a whistle ready.

It was odd, Lucilius, these complete moment of silence after the events of the previous 48 hours. The silence was mysteriously deafening – and by silence I mean not the complete absence of sound, but the silence of being essentially away from any sort of civilization. A light wind blew, the native grasses rustled. While there was a sense of awareness – necessary for any guard of course – there was not the same sense that was over us as we stood at the bridge. The Looters, if they were still out there, were a threat – but not a “they are coming” threat, but a “they might be out there” threat.

I cannot tell you the amount of time we were out there – two hours, three hours, even four? The sun was well overhead by the time The Leftenant stopped by and called us back in. We met for a quick lunch, then headed back to town.

There was a high level of alert on our way back: men and women marching to either side of the vehicles and/or on the vehicles, an advance guard that went on well before us, a rearguard following behind. The pace was slow but steady, the sun hot but not unbearably so as we made our way back.  As we made our way across the bridge, the wooden cross lashed together  above Blazer Man's grave gave evidence that at least one other person had been there.

We came to the point of the initial ambush – disturbing the vultures that were glutting themselves on the carcasses. The bodies had been laid in rows to either side of road, a warning to those that would advance further.

Our entrance into the town was unremarkable as was our original departure. The trucks stopped and everyone unloaded, the trucks peeling off to some location where the items would be sorted and organized. We continued on, back to the gym where we had only departed a few days before.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in repacking the items that had brought with us and the items we had left. Blazer Man’s things were there; I pulled them together and brought them to The Leftenent – except for his Blazer, which I brought over and asked permission to take with me – which was, of course, granted. In the grand scheme of the modern world, who needs semi-formal wear?

I do, Lucilius. For memories, if for nothing else.

Your Obedient servant, Seneca