Blood-stained journal (Donald)
Background[edit | edit source]
A rough-paper, leather wrapped journal, soaked in the blood of the body you picked it off of.
Transcript[edit | edit source]
Most of the writing in this journal is illegible, the pages stuck together and the words obscured by dried blood.
I should take solace in the fact that my research paid off, and my supplies haven't been spoiled by the radiation, yet. Been moving from cave to cave trying to find a place to sleep and eat where the rads won't kill me as soon as I take off the hood.
At least the radiation out here is strong enough to kill pretty much anything that would want to hurt me. Glad I got the good suit, otherwise I'd have to go to the fucking Rangers to come up with a better plan.
Wish I'd never left in the first place. Fuck you, Juan. Fuck you.
Took me over a year of walking through the wilderness, but the Southwest Corridor [i]is[/i] real, it is just a fucking inhospitable nightmare. Haven't seen any water yet. Just means I got more west to walk towards.
What the fuck is this place? I walked into it two days ago, and it just [i]keeps going[/i], no end in fucking sight. How many people lived here before the bombs? Fuck, how many people live here now? All this plant life must be able to support...
Kathy, you'd love this place.
Fuck you, Juan.
I could see mountains over the buildings, so I went for them. Climbed as much as I could. Los Angeles sprawled out as far as I could see in every direction, except one; finally, the ocean. I saw the ocean, Kathy. Water, so much water, even the behemoth that is Los Angeles shrunk in comparison.
I kept going, cursing the advice from that shit Juan(""as far west as you can go, it'll help""), and when I get to the shore, I find a fucking submarine.
I'll open it up tomorrow. Maybe I can still keep going. Put some distance between me and the lunatics who live in these ruins.