Wednesday, March 24, 2010

...But Not Forgotten

Little David is missing, and we are all getting really worried. We thought he was just out scouting the neighborhood, but he has not come back. We found the bicycle he was using to get around the area, left in the middle of the road. Pat found a little bit of blood spatter, which is good news, believe it or not.

Zombies never leave a little bit of blood behind.

So we have to assume that he has been taken by survivors, and probably alive. My fear is that the group of looters we killed may have only been part of a larger cell, and that they took David to get information on us. I sincerely hope I am wrong, but even if I am, it doesn't change the fact that one of my best friends is lost to us, and probably hurt.

What can we do? I doubt that whoever took him will make it easy for us to find him. We don't have the resources or time to do a house-to-house search, and even if we did, whoever has him will have seen us coming long before we could reach them.

Having Elizabeth, Al, and their friends (actually, Al brought her roommate and her boyfriend, Elizabeth brought three friends) around is speeding up our work tremendously, and given how much effort David was putting into making this place more of a compound than a subdivision, I can't feel bad for us keeping at the work. Mom is letting me do some light duty with my good arm...And I am spending a lot of time with David's dad, hoping to have a chance to console him, tell him how sorry I am.

Of course, my one attempt to do so didn't quite turn out how I expected it.

He told me that he could only worry for his son, but couldn't imagine that David was dead or even seriously injured, because of his incredible toughness. David has been my friend for several years, but I learned from his father what sort of character lay beneath the snarky, video game obsessed, generally cynical, and always joking exterior.

I can't (or won't) relay all of it here, but the important bits really stuck out to me. David has a son, only a few years old, who he never gets (, anyway. No word on that...) to see. The child's mother took him, moved far away. He never complained about it, never spoke ill of her, but spent his vacation time going to visit. He once took a beating from three boys in high school so bad that he had to be admitted to the hospital, and he never cried a tear. When he got back to school, he walked calmly to the boys in question (against whom he had declined to press charges) and spit in their faces.

Tough son of a bitch.

So while a part of me misses my friend, worries for him, and wishes for his safe return, another part feels a certain sort of pity for the people that have him. Because while he might appear docile, I think that any chance he has, the slightest sign of their guard being dropped, he will do what he has to do. Decisively, without pity, and with extreme prejudice.

One can hope, anyway.

Back to the salt mines. Elizabeth just walked in from outside, looking like she wants to talk. Jess is smiling at me like a cheshire cat. She's really enjoying how much this situation makes me uncomfortable. Last night, she says to me, after meeting Elizabeth, "Now I can see why you lost your virginity to her." In a totally deadpan voice. She's not jealous a bit, but she really does love messing with me.

God I love her.

Jess, I mean, not Elizabeth. Though seeing her does bring back some memories...

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