Dear Planet Earth,
I was out of it for awhile here. I ended up puking and shitting all over the floor of my cell. Maybe man wasnâ€™t meant to live in an underground room the size of a closet. Maybe theyâ€™re starting to poison me.
Whatever the perpetrator is, my weakened body and mind reminded me of another recent situation when life and death were not so much choices, but random destinations stemming from heated conversations. It was right after we caught sight of theÂ drill south of LA (now this is what I call a segue).
Lieutenant Halston quickly stopped the car, turned it off, and got out. The rest of us exchanged some confused glances and then followed him.Â He kicked the front tire.
â€œFuck!â€ he yelled. â€œFuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!â€
Private Karter leaned over the hood, resting his head on his arms as though he was about to go to sleep. â€œSomething on your mind, man?â€
â€œTheyâ€™re dead!Â Weâ€™re dead. Weâ€™re all fucking dead.â€ He touched his temples and began to rub vigorously. â€œYou guys wanna charge in there with no weapons and absolutely no clue if those old farts are even there and alive?â€
I was about to mention thatÂ Rachel was just a little girl, but Maria protested first.
â€œAnd whatâ€™s our other option? Go back to the city?Â The library? That base thatâ€™s probably a pile of dust right now? Those â€˜old fartsâ€™ are ourfriends. Humans. We canâ€™t turn back without first seeing whatâ€™s there.â€
â€œIt canâ€™t hurt to scout it out,â€ Linares added.
The lieutenant whispered back, â€œYou donâ€™t know that.â€
â€œNo. I donâ€™t.â€
So, we voted. And it was unanimous. And now Iâ€™m starting to remember that it felt a lot like a suicide pact.
Read the rest at Beneath Average