Letters from
Mencken

The large yellow symbol I had followed for so long appeared in the distance:

But this was the logo, the origin, bolted high and prominent on the side of a Devol Workshop. Parts littered the grounds outside: metal feet, fingers, joints, tracks, gears, and indeterminate parts. Homebot heads were speared and stacked on two poles flanking the entrance.

Oslo told me they resembled totem poles and had sacred meaning. The feeling they gave me was not solemn.

The interior was also filled with parts, some piled indiscriminately and others strewn across the floor. The workshop has a good amount of space, and as the days and nights get colder, it will provide shelter.

There are three generators that can help supply both warmth and light and we got them all in working order quickly. Oslo was meant to guide Milo Trent through the process, but the moment Milo touched a wrench, something struck him. He was an engineer in the old world, and that skill has been coming back to him quickly. He has since fashioned himself a pair of eyeglasses using spare Homebot wiring and telescopic glass. He ties them tight and oddly, with a knot pressing on the back of his head.

There was a large office in the furthest corner of the delivery garage, with windows as tall as the office itself, so whoever was within could see the comings and goings.

And whoever was within was there till the end. The name on his Devol uniform was still legible.

REYES.

And Reyes had been busy. We will have to peruse the many, many articles, sketches, papers, blueprints pinned to every inch of wall space. But one caught my eye. It was frayed, yellowed, and hardened from age.

Click to enlarge

It could be the first piece of an answer. I’m leaving it in these letters for anyone who later finds this compilation.

“I’ve never been….”

“Incredib...”

“We made it.”

This is some of what I heard spoken by our survivors as we passed the white lettering decorating the gray stone pillar, along with other yips of excitement I couldn’t comprehend.

How does an invisible border mean anything? I don’t know, but it did. The terrain is less hilly here, sure… open, unremarkable, but there are more rising peaks far ahead of us. Over the bridge beyond the pillar, which was also like any other still stable bridge, we continued uninterrupted. It was good that many of them understood what the marker meant. Another sign that their consciousness was returning.

Oslo found what he called hukelberry bushes and the small purple berries dotting them. He said they grew in Idaho. When I asked if they grow anywhere else, he said yes. Regardless, they were delicious, bitter until boiled twice with old baking soda. Then sweet.

We are foraging for more in case they don’t grow everywhere.

When we are near communities, we clear the houses and businesses and use them for shelter. When we are not, we find vehicles and do the same. Eugen Raford guesses it is nearing the end of summer. The others agree. It’s the reason we left the Erthman home with haste. We had to get moving. Away from those that look for us and away from the impending weather change.

A lot of talk of where to go.
Many of us just want to go home, where they were before Site K.
I know their homes are scattered.
Yet, they are all alike.
They are devoid of life, like my home.
And full of death like everywhere outside of it.

I also know we need to stick together and look for others along the way. Yet, I do want to go someplace like no other place. I want to go to where Kevin Nehmark came from – Fort Wood or The Library of Congress in another Washington on the other side of the map. I want to know him. I want to know what he wants and why.

I want to find answers.
What was the point of all this?

We are on the run.

At Oslo’s urging, we returned to the Erthman home. We are keeping half the survivors here and half at Mill’s General Store.

Oslo is happy to be ‘home,’ and is content to stay here. He spends most of his time foraging and cooking to feed all of us. He has purpose. I know we have to keep moving. We are too close to Korslund to be safe and there are too many of us to stay hidden.

I also know that fleeing the whistleblower is not the only answer. There are more out there that need our help. We must find them before anyone else does. Most of us are recovered and we can all be of service to others.