23. Shouting

12/11/08

We woke this morning as if we hadn't woken. Nothing felt real.

But even in a dream, you move, you act, so we did.

First we talked:
What had happened?
Everyone else had had their instructions. They'd found the radio station, they'd had TV. They knew when to leave and they'd left us behind.
Why a wall?
The infection is still here. In the soil or the animals or the buildings. No one can enter.
But the people who left?
Were treated. Or it doesn't work that way, doesn't pass from human to human.
We're going to die?
It seems that way.
Why did they leave us?
We didn't come.
But our families?
They thought we were dead.
Are we?
Not yet.

We have to get out.
We have to tell them.
We have to make them hear.

Then we acted:
We wrote 100 notes on A4 paper with thick red markers.

"We are alive. We are trapped. We are well. Please send help at once. R. and B. 12/11/08"

We sealed each note in plastic and headed for the wall.

We shouted and screamed and hit the wall and kicked the wall and through rocks at the wall. I chose a stone, wrapped a note around it, secured it with tape and handed it to B.. B. hurled the stone high into the air up, up and over. We stood still, silently counting 1, 2,..., 60.

Then on 200 yards? 500 yards? and repeat. Count, listen, move on, repeat.

Till all our notes were over.

Just a matter of time.