ENTRY 1 Against my better judgement, I’m starting up a new journal. I normally wouldn’t think twice about something like this, but I’ve been told my old writing was actually found by the FFI. The notion of anyone digging through muddy roadsides to find evidence of where I’ve been is far from comforting. For that exact reason I’m planning on keeping this thing with me at all times. That or burning it or something if I have to. Sandra already chewed me out once she heard about the discovery, but at least when she was done with me, she came down on Heba just as hard. So, I’m guessing she won’t throw this one out a window if she finds it. That’s also more motivation for me to keep this little record a secret, because I’m pretty sure if Sandra catches wind she’ll kill me faster than any shady government organization could. Thinking about it, I’d prefer ending up dead rather than being dragged back to that place. It’s those kinds of thoughts that are driving me to write in this notebook Cass gave me. While I’m thankful she gave us some desperately needed supplies, I’m fairly certain interviewing with that alligator brought more attention on ourselves. Even though none of us have seen anything incredibly suspicious yet, I doubt some kind of secret government program would make themselves obvious. Even now, parked off the main road and listening to the patter of rain hitting the roof, I’m still paranoid. I understand it’s my turn on watch, so some level of paranoia is justified, but it’s just becoming too much. I doubt I could get any sleep even if I wanted to. The only thing keeping me from jumping at every shadowy branch is the effort to scrawl out my thoughts in this low light. I’ve settled for a barely functional pen light I fished out of one of the bags Cass threw in our trunk. It’s sweet she gave us so much, but in her hurry it seems like she packed half the junk she had in her closet. I can’t complain though, we’ve got a bit of gas money and something other than oranges and garbage to eat. Food’s a nice topic, I think I’ll focus on that rather than letting my mind interpret every drop of rain as a footstep. We’ve got a lot of Tupperware, courtesy of Cass, packed under the backseats now. Seeing as I’m sitting in the back, I can just bend over and check them from here. Okay maybe I’ll write about the mysterious southern cooking later. Bon has curled up in a way that I can’t really reach anything without waking her up. Oh, that’s something to write about, I gave Bonolo a little nickname earlier today. Really it was an accident. You can only say “Bonolo” so many times before it gets to be a mouthful. Surprisingly she seemed to enjoy it, so I’m trying to make a habit of it. In fact, she’s been nicer to me than I really deserve. Sometimes I can push the memories away, pretend I’m just on some bizarre road trip, but with her it’s more difficult. Initially her face kept hurling me back to that first night after the FFI took me. I think that guilt made me take her in, but it’s become more than that. Over the past week she’s seemed so grateful for everything I did… The way she would thank me for every scrap of food I had to hand-feed her, or apologize every time she stumbled when I helped her walk… I see her as more of a friend than an unwilling victim now. She’s been under my amateur care for not very long, but she can walk decently now. She just can’t keep on her feet for very long. I really wish I could convince her to lie down more, but she seems to feel like it’s her duty to repay me. As if she’s indebted to me. Lately that seems to have taken the form of her defending me from “The verbal attacks of the spotted one”. At this point, I’m convinced Heba only taunts me to get a reaction out of Bon. It certainly works without fail. I’m convinced she’ll sit upright in her seat and start flashing fangs over a “knock knock” joke at this point. They’ve been at each other’s throats practically since the moment I helped her into the van. Mercifully our temporary supply of protein heavy food has kept the carnivores happy enough they haven’t killed each other. Normally I’d be blaming Skylar for most of the fights that break out, but lately she’s been unusually quiet. Sandra was furious when she found out the FFI hadn’t lost any interest in us, but she’s calmed down a bit since then. She seems too preoccupied working with Elizabeth on our new plan to get to Canada to fret over that. Never thought about living so far north… but if it really might be safe up there, I’m sure it’ll be worth the cold winter nights. As far as we can figure it’s sometime around fall, which is fine this far south, but it’s going to get a whole lot more noticeable the further we go. We don’t have any maps, so the game plan is rough beyond taking backroads further North. With Sandra’s erratic choice of twists and turns to keep our trail obscured, and the occasional time we get absurdly lost, it’s looking like a hell of a long time before we get anywhere. Even if it takes months, I guess I don’t mind. It’s been surprisingly decent living on the road like this lately. I suppose I’m somewhat jaded to the oddity of all this by now, but acting as sentry for a van full of sleeping women wasn’t quite where I thought I’d end up a year ago. It’s still a noticeable improvement over where I was a month ago, so even if it’s difficult to come to grips with, I’m unexpectedly content. This van may be old, but leather seats beat laying on tarps over the ground. And anything beats that prison cell. Judging by the light fog on the glass it’s probably cold out, but it seems like the combined body heat of six people is keeping our little space comfortable. I guess writing like this really does help, because I’m actually starting to feel a little cozy rather than cornered. I’m starting t- Well shit, it looks like I let my guard down after all. Only it wasn’t some outside force that snatched me, it was the dozing lion next to me. It seems like in her sleep she’s wrapped her arms around my outstretched leg. I could probably wriggle free, but she’s got enough of a grip that I’d have to wake her up to shake free. In fact, I think she’s starting to drag my leg closer. I can still write, but it’s hard to ignore the fuzzy arms snaking around me. I’d probably find it cute if I wasn’t pushing against her stomach like this. Even through her borrowed clothes I can’t ignore the contrasting pregnancy with her lithe body. I’m guessing she’s somewhere later in the first trimester, but I’m far from a doctor. Jesus, the thought I could have a child in roughly six months… It only becomes more mind numbing when within a year I have to assume that number will be at least five. I really don’t want to start contemplating however many illegitimate children I had in that lab… so maybe five is a blessing. That still doesn’t factor in the possibility of twins. Hell, I’m pretty sure most anthros have litters. For fuck’s sake, what would a child between different species like us even look like? Would it even be healthy? I can’t imagine trying to take care of a child years from now, let alone under these conditions… What am I talking about? I’ll probably never see any of these children. I imagine taking a part in raising them, but I know these women would just be reminded of their disgust for what I did to them every time they saw the unwanted children. If we ever do hit Canada, I’m sure they’ll all split off. No longer needing to be stuck with me. Who the hell would even want me with them if our freedom isn’t at stake? Deep breaths. That’s all in the future, I can worry about all that later. At least the dozing cat binding me here seems far from worried. I think she’s even started purring, using my leg like a terrible body pillow despite the cold sweat I’ve broken into. I should probably stop writing and see if I can delicately work my leg out of this furred beartrap. I suppose I might not be completely alone if I ever get out of this… ------------------------------------------------------- ENTRY 2 It’s been a few days since I started writing in this, but nothing groundbreaking has happened… really I’m starting to think the lack of action has left me bored tonight instead of anxious. In a way it’s nice to feel bored again. It’s a cloudy night, so not even the stars are out. A lack of stimulation is nice, but I’m sure the hours will drag on if I just stare at the ceiling or ruminate on how things could go wrong. Might as well try to recall anything I can from the past couple of days to make time go by. Well for one, we have managed to get a hold of a map. It’s fairly detailed, but the focus is specifically on cheesy tourist traps around Tennessee. Picked it up inside a backwoods gas station. It’s certainly better than moving off worn road signs alone, but when you have to say, “We’ll turn ten miles after ‘The 21-foot-tall Muffler Man Statue,’” it’s difficult not to feel stupid. I actually found myself laughing with Heba for once when Sandra’s serious argument with Skylar whether to turn right or left at the landmark simply titled “Holocaust Box Car with 11 Million Paper Clips,” devolved into shouting about the “Holocaust Train.” Ah, even on the run like this, looking at that stupid map almost makes me want to visit some of these bizarre roadside attractions. They’re the kinds of things I would never see, or even know existed, using a GPS. It’s not all good though. This unorthodox method of travel may have blessed me with the sight of a couple corny statues, but I’d rather take a GPS any day. I can’t count the number of times Sandra has thrown the map back to get a second opinion midway through yet another winding dirt road. After enough arguing with Skylar in the front seat, Elizabeth eventually became the new dedicated navigator. Much to the ant’s dismay, she’s been demoted to sitting back here with the mammals. The hyena isn’t making it much better. She keeps purposefully dropping single strands of hair near Skylar and turning to me snickering until she notices. The insectoid appears absolutely appalled every time, her antennas straightening out like cartoonish exclamation points. She’s threatened to shave Heba at least three times now. Saying something along the lines of, “You’ll have less hair than Anon when I’m done with you!” Oddly enough, I imagine that’s be a compliment from her. The only real benefit of these fireant-works in front of me is the resulting temporary ceasefire with Heba. Without the fighting Bon’s been telling me more about where she comes from. Someplace in Africa as far as I can tell, but she just keeps referring to “The Savanna”. In turn I’ve had the time to help her with her English more. I’m hardly a teacher, but I’ve been able to expand her vocabulary a little just by talking. She’s been telling me little stories, like hunting with her family. “It ran fast, but I run swifter. I grabbed it in my claws and yanked with all my might!” She even did a little miming gesture alongside that bit, showing me her sharp claws before retracting them just as swiftly. If she wasn’t riding along with us, I might be scared to see her in her prime like that again. Far as I can tell she’s still recovering slowly but surely. She’s finally a few steps above being a skeleton draped in a fuzzy blanket, largely thanks to our new supply of southern cooking. Oh yeah, I guess I never got around to describing our most recent rations. The gator wasn’t lying about wanting to cook, because we’ve got pots, plastic containers, and even jugs of different stuff. It’s not bad, but I can’t identify half the meats she threw in. Not to mention it’s a total guess what any mysterious container holds. One day we might have a dry spicy jerky of some kind, the next a mess of mushy greens. While it may feel like a game of chance, I’d rather hear Sandra’s lament for more veggies than think about going hungry again. Numerous as they seem, we know our rations certainly won’t last forever, so we’ve been tossing in bits of what we can find to make it last. Turns out Bon and Skylar have a bit of a knack for finding edible plants. Bon can finally get moving well enough to look for food, and Skylar revealed she had learned a little bit way back as a girl scout. Probably one of the all bug troops knowing her. Too bad one is working with knowledge from another continent and the other hates the idea of working with her. For that reason, I’ve had to mediate the foraging trips despite my total lack of expertise with any of that stuff. It’s the kind of thing that sounds easy, but just never is. One moment Bon has found a mushroom she thinks we can eat, but Skylar insists her “superior senses” tell her it’s no good. Next time Skylar pokes her antennas out of a berry bush with a handful of little green spheres, but Bon tells her “my mother would never cook such a thing, makes you sick.” I’d like to think I act as an impartial judge, I’m more accurately the guinea pig of the party. Luckily I haven’t gotten sick yet, but there’s been a couple things that tasted so terrible it made it hard to keep my lunch down. Despite the risk, I’m starting to suspect getting food has become the last thing on either of these girl’s minds. Each seems to take it as a personal victory against the other if I support them, or as a personal offense if I refuse. Skylar for example will shift between insisting I’ve got “fur for brains” if I disagree, but do a 180 if I agree and declare “Ah, I knew you were better than most fuzzers!” She might even make a show of leaning upward to plant a carapaced hand on my shoulder for emphasis, spreading her mandibles wide in what I’ve taken as a particularly smug grin aimed at Bon. One time she jumped on a stump just to condescendingly ruffle my hair for an uncomfortably long time. I had to clear my throat to get her to stop. She paused for a moment before yanking her hand back like I had bit her. “Disgusting!” Speaking quickly she tried to reassure me, “I guess your show of good taste made me forget you were a gross mammal for a second…” It’s not much, but I guess that’s about as much warming up to me as I can expect from the borderline supremacist. On the subject of rocky relationships, I’ve been trying to get along better with Sandra. I can’t say I’ve accomplished much, really I’ve had to tip toe around her for the longest time. Sometimes the way she looks at me with those black eyes, I swear I could feel the contempt radiating off of her. It’s almost comedic, but if I didn’t have the little sheep vouching for me, I’d probably be back in Florida right now. Despite her fear Elizabeth does speak her mind when it counts, and I’m grateful for it. It’s been one of the few things keeping us together. Sandra does a decent job mediating as well in her unofficial leader position, but I get the feeling her ideal team wouldn’t include me. Can’t say I blame her. I suppose I’ve been piecing together enough random thoughts for tonight. I’ve been writing slowly, randomly, and the sun has already started sneaking up on me. I normally just try to collect my thoughts, but lately I’m sort of making busywork for myself to pass the time. Whatever, all the more reason to get rid of this thing eventually. For now I have to start waking everyone up, and the last thing I want is to be captured by a snoozing Bon again. ------------------------------------------------------- ENTRY 3 Today was certainly interesting. I’m left with some mixed feelings about it. It’s calm outside the van and I’ve got the whole night to mull over it, so I might as well start from the beginning. We had stopped outside one of the more forgotten spots on the map to stretch our legs. The attraction was some large statue of a human lumberjack, legs already overgrown with vines and chunks of plaster coming loose. I called it human, but the proportions were wonky enough I’d bet the maker had never seen a human before. That might even be the case in a backwoods area like that. The woodsman looked more like a crumbling golem getting swallowed by the wilderness. It was no wonder that the place seemed entirely abandoned. Sandra was doing minor maintenance around the van while everyone tried to get the blood flowing to their legs again. I thought about reading the crumbling plaque underneath the statue, but it was entirely illegible. Whatever the thing was built for, I wouldn’t find out anytime soon. The map didn’t include descriptions, it only had enough room for a little low resolution picture and the name. So “Lumberjack Statue,” it will remain. It didn’t take long for my meandering to turn towards absentmindedly kicking rocks around the edge of the woods. Didn’t really feel like talking, I’d been groggy from keeping watch the night before. Fortune seemed to have other plans however, as I spotted Elizabeth through the foliage. Her wool was far from pearly white then, more of a dirty grey, but appearances were the last thing on any of our minds. That puffy wool did do one thing for her though, seeing as her borrowed oversized clothes probably wouldn’t have fit without the stuffing underneath. As I found myself preoccupied thinking about exactly how sheep wear clothes when they aren’t on the run, I realized she must have been behind the trees grazing. I kind of think it’s great she can just eat grass like that, but clearly she doesn’t feel the same way. She really won’t do it unless no one is looking. I guess she feels it’s crude, but under our circumstances I’m hardly going to complain about making rationing easier. Once I figured out what she was doing I turned around to pretend I hadn’t seen anything, I’d probably only make her uncomfortable bringing it up. Only before I could leave, a faint voice stammered out, “Is t-that you Anon?” Fearing I might frighten her otherwise I quietly replied, “Sorry, I was just walking around… I’ll leave you be.” However, before I could finish my retreat she piped up, “N-no, I think… I think I’d like you to stay a minute.” I wouldn’t normally think twice but she sounded… I guess a bit sullen. “Is something wrong?” I asked her. She hesitated longer than I would have liked before answering, “I just wanted to t-talk.” As I approached her she bent up to look at me. Her face looked unusually pale, and she appeared to be shaking slightly. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again. She sighed before mumbling, “We-well…” I crouched down to get closer and in response she swiftly reached out to wrap my chest in her arms. Even through the clothes, her embrace was like a woolen blanket. It was so soft and warm it took me off-guard. Unaware of my reaction she continued, “I jus-just haven’t been feeling very well…” Still stunned by the sheep grabbing onto me I didn’t say anything before she started up again, “It’s nothing that scary… I’m only fee-feeling nauseous lately and I thought m-maybe holding something might help.” Unsure what to say I reached an arm around her plush. I wanted to say how much it meant to me that she, hell anyone, trusted me like this, but instead I opted for the normal response, “Any idea why this is happening, are you starting to get sick?” But she didn’t have to say anything, the added pressure of me squeezing back made the padding underneath her wool obvious. “I normally h-hate grazing, b-but I think it’s… uh ‘motherly instincts,’ making me queasy if I don’t” She tried to say the last bit gingerly, probably because she could see the way my face fell. My head seemed to churn out the only words I could think of, “I’m sorry.” It was my turn to be sullen as I loosened my grip. Instead she chose to tighten hers, “Ple-please, I know you didn’t want a-all this. None of u-us do.” Breathing in deeply I answered in a low voice, “Yeah… I keep telling myself that.” She smiled, well, sheepishly up at me and I managed a thin smile in return. “Is there something more I can do for you at least?” Letting her hug go she thought for a second before responding… “Well… You c-could help Sandra with the m-map, it’s making me c-carsick lately.” I hesitated before replying, “I don’t really think she’d be interested in having me up there.” In response she faltered for a second, looking unsure what to say, and it made my heart drop. Damnit, I could manage one thing for her. Putting on a more genuine smile I spoke up, “I’ll talk to her about it, okay?” That seemed to cheer her up as she regained her composure. “Thanks” She replied quietly, “It really is easy reading the map.” Feeling like she misunderstood the source of my apprehension I shrugged it off. Instead of extending the topic I ruffled the puff on her head before standing up again. “Don’t get carried away, we’ve only got so much grass,” I announced, gesturing to the tall grasses sprouting out around us. Earnestly she returned a, “I w-won’t!” before bending back down. Walking away I tried to put on a brave face. It wasn’t like this was a huge request, but I knew the shark wouldn’t take it lightly. It took all of thirty seconds to walk back to the van, boots crunching the loose gravel with each step, but under the circumstances it felt much longer. Ahead of me was the car mechanic herself, her fin bobbing behind the hood gave me as much anxiety as a floundering swimmer. I assumed she hadn’t even noticed me being bent over the engine, that’s why it surprised me when she called out, “Don’t go getting any ideas back there!” Not a great start. Collecting myself I spoke up, “It’s about Elizabeth.” She just gave me a curt, “Yeah?” I tried to elaborate, “Well, she’s not feeling that good.” To my surprise that got her to bend out from under the hood. The face I was met with was far more concerned than I anticipated. “What’s the problem?” “Oh, it just sounds like car sickness…” Resuming her usual stare reserved for me she asked again, “So what’s the problem then?” I tried to ignore the intimidating predator now looming over me and continued, “She says she doesn’t want to hold the map anymore.” With a sigh Sandra muttered under her breath, “Damn it, I can’t use a stupid tourist map and drive at the same time.” Trying my best to show virtually any charisma in this situation I kept talking, “Well, Elizabeth says even I could read the map for her…” Not quite looking at me, she brought a hand to her chin in thought. I could imagine her twirling a toothpick or something with the way she looked. Then again, it probably wouldn’t last long with her razor-sharp maw. Rousing me from my incredibly off-track train of thought she stepped a lot closer to me. She got eye-level with me before speaking in a hushed tone, “I’m not sure. Don’t act like I haven’t noticed the way you took care of that poor girl you found by the gas station. And Elizabeth seems to like you, but she likes everyone. I want to give you a chance…” My fear was fading until she put a considerably muscled hand on my shoulder. “But, don’t think I’ll ever forget what happened back there. Or the fact you’re the dumbass who practically handed the FFI more information about us.” Feeling the pressure increase on my shoulder, I tried not to show any reaction as she paused for a moment. With the tension growing I nervously swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. In an instant she lifted her arm away and turned away dismissively. “I don’t have any better options, so you get shotgun.” I still hadn’t registered what she said as she slammed the hood down before hopping in the front seat. “What are you waiting for?” Writing that conversation down, in another journal, I find myself glancing more at the slumbering shark right next to me in the front. I REALLY hope she doesn’t wake up early tonight. It took a few moments like usual, but the sound of the engine starting brought everyone back. The exception was the ewe coming out of the woods, who was moving noticeably slower. I made sure to help her out of the brambles when I saw her. “It’s f-fine, really!” she insisted, but that didn’t stop me from taking her hand and helping her forward. I had some practice helping Bon get around, so someone half my size wasn’t a problem. In fact, I probably could have lifted her up, but it seemed more than a little inappropriate to test that out. Her hand was still trembling as we walked, but when I tightened my grip a little more she seemed to calm down. The purely supportive handholding didn’t go unnoticed however, as Heba rolled down a window just to holler out, “Come on you love birds, everyone else is ready to go!” Opening the door for the seasick sheep I returned a, “Look, I’m just helping her out.” The hyena was undeterred however, as she responded, “Could you be a gentleman and put a ring on her finger before you ‘help her out’ again?” The tactless innuendo was lost on the lion behind her, pushing forward to defend my honor. “He has no need to give out jewelry, and he has ‘helped me out’ many times.” Judging from how hard Heba laughed my face must have gone red after Bon’s disappointing choice of words. Ignoring the one woman laughter riot behind me, I got into the front passenger seat. Laying on the dashboard was our single map, now dotted in pen scribblings with a variety of arrows and vague notes. The small compact text from Elizabeth clashed with the more vigorous lines and dashes Skylar made across it. Trying to make heads or tails of the conflicting information layered over “Fun Tennessee Facts.” I faintly heard Sandra speak up while deciphering some writing about road construction on top of “Tennessee has the largest freshwater aquarium!” Lowering the map I heard Sandra ask me, “Does this backroad cross the main highway?” Fortunately, seeing as we just came from one of the marked locations, it was easy to find where we were headed. “Uh, no, no it doesn’t hit any main roads. We’re heading north right?” Sandra’s only response was to tap on the tiny plastic compass built into the van. “Oh.” The cheap navigation tool confirmed my suspicions, and with a glance we were on course. It was relatively smooth sailing from there. Keeping us in the right direction was easy enough, the only real difficulty was plotting what was or wasn’t “off road” enough. Even if it was largely arguing, it was probably the closest thing to a real conversation I’ve had with her. Normally not something I strive for, but I considered it some level of success. “Are you sure this dirt road leads anywhere? It’s not on the map.” I said that several times within my one day holding the map, and every time she’d tell me, “Don’t be an idiot, I got a good feeling about this one.” One time she even remarked, “You doubt me? My great grandfather was a hammerhead, I’ve got the electro senses or whatever.” Honestly it was a bit concerning realizing how much of our entire journey had been guesswork on her part, but I can’t fault her, she was right more often than wrong. While it was pushing my luck, I eventually grew comfortable enough to speak up when her gut instinct wasn’t quite right. In a dead end with nowhere to go but the way we came I said, “Do your shark senses know about a hidden road around here?” In response she gave me a huff before calling back, “I never said I was a full hammerhead shark dummy. Do I look like I got a wide head to you?” She was giving me a death stare again, but for once it felt like the threat behind it wasn’t potentially life ending. From the back Heba gave her unwanted answer, “I don’t think you want him to answer that honey!” It didn’t matter that she was maneuvering the bulky van back around the tight corridor of tall trees, Sandra made the effort to reach a musclebound arm back just to shake at Heba, “Don’t make me come back there!” Heba laughed it off, but I was happy to have the attention pulled off me. It wasn’t much longer after that, with the sun dripping underneath the horizon and the shadows growing long, Skylar bobbed up to remind me of my neglected duty being up front. “I don’t want to listen to anymore of this bumpkin junk, change the station!” I wasn’t very confident what I could find out here, but I laid the map down to survey the air waves with a twist of a knob. A few static-filled stations later she reached an endoskeleton arm out to stop me from turning it anymore. “Now, this is real music anon, I’m sure your ears are clear enough of fuzz to appreciate it.” I wanted to be supportive seeing an obvious enthusiasm in her large yellow eyes, but I had trouble praising what I was hearing. The sound coming through the speakers was closer to a swarm of angry cicadas than any music I had ever heard. Undeterred she continued, “I never thought they would have refined music like this out here!” As I was already forming a nervous smile, Heba of all people came to my rescue by leaning past her to smack the dial. “If I wanted to listen to bugs, I’d roll down a window.” Offended, Skylar pushed against her for control of the radio, both barely reaching the device. “I don’t care if you can’t appreciate anthropoda rhythms, I’m sure Anon can, right?” Before I could even respond the hyena offered her elegant rebuttal, “Tell her to buzz off boy, we need something with a bit more KICK to it!” Adding to her point she began to childishly use her legs to push the ant away from her, only escalating their battle of wills for the music. Not wanting to repeat the competition that was my recent foraging trips, I simply tried to push both away from the dial. “Come on now it’s my job!” However with all three of us fighting for control, the stations were rapidly coming in and out. Too preoccupied on our extremely important struggle, we stopped when a firm hand almost clamped over all of ours. “Leave it here” Sandra said authoritatively, prompting all of us to pull back. To my surprise, the sound of a tinny saxophone was echoing out. Confused, I shot the gruff shark a quizzical look, same as Heba. Skylar didn’t even need mammalian features to give Sandra the same stare as the rest of us. After a moment of trombone filled silence, the aquatic predator hunkered into her seat more, trying to reduce the sheer amount of eye contact. It might have been the low light, but I could swear her face had gone slightly red. “What? Is it a crime to like Jazz?” Oh, she was furious, but everyone got a laugh out of her reaction. I’m not a psychic, but I foresee a lot more jazz related jokes coming from Heba in the future. I suppose that’s mostly it for what happened today. Soon enough we were looking for a place to hide for the night, and I offered to spend the night on watch. Now I can’t stop think how much more there is to learn about these people, even if I’ve been with them for weeks now. If I wasn’t afraid of losing what little progress I’ve made, I would have definitely asked the shark more about herself. There’s got to be a story there. It’s not just her though, same goes for everyone else. I have a rough idea about Elizabeth and Bon, but I really don’t know much about Skylar beyond the frequent vocalizations about mammals. Heba, while she talks the most, I think has managed to share the least about herself. I understand why none of us have been spilling our guts out about our past, before we ended up in that hellhole, but… I’m starting to really wish we would. It’s kind of funny… it wasn’t all that long ago I was convinced half the people in this van would split off if given the chance. Now, I’m starting to think Elizabeth’s wonderfully naïve view might be right. Maybe we are friends. Certainly not traditional ones, we’re way too fucking dysfunctional for that, but some kind. I said I had mixed feelings when I started writing this, and while that feels kind of melodramatic, it’s true. I think maybe a part of me wanted them to hate me more. I certainly understand why they would. But now that I think it over, I’m starting to think we might not be at risk of killing each other before we get caught. This terrifies a part of me even more. The part of me trying to suppress just how many damn children I’ve involuntarily spawned. Even if I hate the idea of ending up alone and unsure what to do next in another country, the idea of staying together to raise some bizarre makeshift family might terrify me more. Where would we live? You can’t just raise that many kids in this stupid van. We’ve hardly got enough room for ourselves. What would we do for food? What could I even do to support them out there? How many would “them” even be at that point? I doubt any of us are even qualified to raise one child. How would we educate them? Canada has like free college, right? As fun as it is writing out my deep-seated fears, I’m getting way too ahead of myself. College? I’m already acting like we’ve all just agreed to some ridiculously huge commitment, when I’m probably the only one thinking anything like this. Hell, we don’t even know if we’ll make it another state upward. Regardless of the odds, I think I’ll do my best to stay optimistic for once. It’s the least I can do. The birds are already waking up, and the thinnest slice of sunlight is rising. I think I’ll delay my oncoming personal crisis and start waking everyone up. Always better to get moving early. ------------------------------------------------------- ENTRY 4 I’m very, very tired as I write this. I’m currently half-asleep, only the underlying current of stale adrenaline and anxiety is keeping me upright. It hasn’t even been that long since I last wrote something in here, but I’m thinking the goal is to stay awake tonight. Seeing as I didn’t sleep the night before, none of us for that matter, keeping the eyelids open isn’t going to be easy. Ah, what’s a good place to start? It was shaping up to be like the last couple of days. Minor fighting, but the kind that was harmless enough. A welcome change of pace from the past. We had grown pretty comfortable driving along in the van, after all, nothing had happened yet. Me and Sandra were working out where to get gas next. The gauge is a little tricky on this clunker, so we were debating if waiting for a less popular gas station would be worth the risk. There was a newer looking one up ahead, covered in shiny plastic and signs for pizza rather than faded paint. The kind that probably had security cameras. “All I’m saying is, we might be able to make it twenty more miles.” Sandra continued. In response I tried to reassure her “You know we’re dead in the water if we end up with an empty tank in the middle of nowhere.” Sandra gave me a concerned look as I continued, “Look, if you’re so worried about cameras, I can put the hood on.” For emphasis I pulled the strings tight and brought the hood comically tight around my face. In response she shoved me before snorting, “You dumbass, this is serious!” I pulled my face out of the hoodie to show I wasn’t just screwing around, but I probably had a dumb grin from actually making the shark laugh. “It’s worth the risk okay?” With a huff she slowed down the van, “Okay, but make it as quick as possible.” I was definitely on better terms with Sandra after being in the front with her for the last couple of days. She still hadn’t told me much about herself, but she was actually willing to listen to me. Climbing out of the van, I commenced the same grab and go strategy I had developed over the weeks. Get the nozzle out of the pump, get the flow started, and run in and pay while it was still going to save more time. The things are set to shut-down when it fills, and if the place was so old they didn’t have that feature, it was usually safe enough to have someone stand by it. That wouldn’t be the case at a place like this. With a wad of $20 bills in my hand I pulled the hood over my face for obscurity. Pushing the button for “Regular” I noticed only a couple other cars parked here. Even if it was more modern, the place was still off the beaten path. However, I did spot the ominous dark bubble of a camera embedded in the ceiling. Nervously I tugged my hood forward a little further while getting the gas cap off. Inside the vehicle I could tell everyone was somewhat uneasy, but we wouldn’t be here long. Sitting in the back next to Bon, Elizabeth made a little wave. That was starting to become tradition at every gas station, and I returned it quickly before heading inside the little interior. Stepping through the sliding glass doors I kept a neutral expression firmly painted across my face. I was just some shmuck buying gas for my shitty van, nothing to see here. Without hesitating I approached the woefully bored looking cashier and spoke up, “Gas for uh, pump 3?” Slowly craning her head back up to look at me the bored bovine woman replied, “Normally people wait until they’ve finished pumping, yeah?” Restraining any annoyance, I said, “Just charge me when it’s done, okay?” Uninterested, she looked back down at a nearby magazine. At the very least, this woman wouldn’t be trouble, I could probably rob the place without her reacting. Standing somewhat awkwardly I almost flinched when a man in a dark suit emerged from the rows of colorful snacks and walked behind me. “If you’re just waiting can I cut in front of you?” A contrastingly friendly voice piped up. Suddenly feeling a lot more suspicious in my hoodie I mumbled, “Yeah… go on ahead.” The man looked young-ish, like someone fresh out of college, with a buzzcut, and an arm full of little snacks. Not exactly the person I expected to be filling the suit. Dropping his items into a little pile the woman behind the counter slowly started scanning through them. Surprisingly chipper the guy in front of me turned his head slightly towards me. “You heard what’s been happening on the news?” Completely isolated from current events I ventured a little, “No, what?” He seemed surprisingly eager despite my minor interest. “They say some psycho kidnapped a bunch of people, and he’s running around the state with the hostages.” Uninterested in another bizarre news story I just listened as he kept going. “It’s crazy, sound like the guy has a ton of women crammed into his creepy van.” It’s incredibly fucking obvious now, but at the time the connection just seemed too out-there to click. I was still mulling over what he just said as he continued, “It’s interesting because nothing ever happens out here. On the other station they said it might even be a cult thing, like he brainwashed them or something. I think his first name was ‘Anon’ or something.” That was enough to make it click. Feeling the world close in around me, I started seriously comparing his story with my own. Oh god, were they desperate or something? Would they really fake a story like this to capture us? How the hell does anyone even fabricate something like that? Why had they waited so long to pull something like this? I was suddenly acutely aware of my breathing. Holding as steady as I could manage, I croaked out, “When uh, when did you hear about this?” Nonchalantly he began to scoop up his stuff from the counter before remarking, “It was on just this morning… crazy world huh?” I didn’t respond as he walked out the doors with an electronic chime. Thoughts racing through my head, I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. It wasn’t impossible another guy with my name was driving across the country in a van full of women, but the chances were concerningly low. “Hey!” Shaken from my train of thought I tilted my head upward towards the woman behind the counter. “You can pay now…” Paying her little mind I handed her a couple twenties and took the change without even looking at her. How the hell was I going to explain this to everyone? Pocketing the mess of coins and dollar bills, I moved considerably faster than what would look casual. I fumbled with the nozzle and screwed the cap back on. Like usual I jumped into the front seat and Sandra didn’t waste a second to step on the gas. With the gas station shrinking in the distance I tried to formulate a plan on how I was going to relay what I just heard. Only the Hyena behind me broke the silence first, “I saw you checking out the girl behind the counter though all that glass… What’s the matter, don’t have enough women with you?” Already cackling like a witch, she faltered when I turned around to face her. It was no mystery how I was feeling. “Look, something happened back there…” Heba, ever persistent, followed up a bit less confident, “Did you try to bring this woman along with us like the lion in the back?” I didn’t have to look to know Bon was already upright in her seat, but I intervened before another squabble could break out. “Look, I’m being serious. I’ve got some bad news.” Without meaning to, I had everyone’s attention, even the driver was tilting her head towards me now. I probably shouldn’t have, but I panicked. I explained what the guy had told me, but I down-played just how much the news story seemed to focus on me specifically. Still, just mentioning a more public announcement of our names was more than enough to bring out the concern. Just like that, a little gossip was enough to bring us back to those first nights on the run. What followed was a short argument, mostly asking me for more details, almost none of which I could provide. Was it local news or national? Did they know what our van looked like now? Could he just be making it up? The last one I really wish I could support, but it was absurd to think this random guy would make up such a distressing rumor. When it became apparent how little I actually knew, the conversation died down. In the uneasy silence Sandra spoke up with her latest plan. “If this really is some fake news story, the police might even be on the look. But if we’re lucky, it’s just a local thing. So to be safe, we’re not going to stop for a minute tonight.” And that really hits all the important points. The rest of the night was spent in fearful silence. The only conversation restrained voices between me and Sandra, trying to plan our next moves. Despite the risk, we settled for more straightforward roads hoping to get out of the area as fast as possible. It was tense, but after enough hours of watching for red and blue lights, the senses tend to dull. The only thing we really heard was the guttural protests of the rusty engine, something that became more noticeable as the night dragged on. Sandra hopes she can check it out soon, but for now we’re not stopping anywhere for long. So that leaves me here, somewhere in Kentucky where our map is useless, parked behind a row of trees while everyone tries to take a strategic nap. I’m definitely slowing down now, my legs are already asleep on the seat. Trying to organize what happened has helped keep me awake, but it can only do so much. Really, my mind is starting to wander to less important things. I should be worrying about mysterious black vans or police cars surrounding our little hiding spot, but instead I’m thinking about more selfish things. Why was I singled out as the head criminal in the story? Should I have told them that? Really thinking about it, is my past life wholly dead? I have to imagine being marked a kidnapper/cultist burned any bridges left for me. Maybe not for them though… Should I just run out now while they’re sleeping? Would that save them if the police caught up? No, probably not. I might be sleep deprived, but even I know if the FFI or whatever grand conspiracy could pull strings like that, none of us would be safe. They’d probably be brought in for questioning and never be seen again. Would it really make a difference if I was found with them? Still, I don’t like keeping secrets like this from them. They all deserve better than this, better than me. We never really agreed on an official time to get up, but the sun was already starting to peak when we stopped here. I’ll make sure to get everyone on their feet soon enough, even if it hasn’t been very long. Maybe I can get Skylar to take my place and I can sleep in the back for a little. [END OF TRANSCRIPT] *ADDITIONAL INVESTIGATIVE NOTES - This document appears to be from the same suspect as the first recovered outside Wacissa, FL. - This document was found inside a nonoperational vehicle reported as suspicious by local police in Hindman, KY. - Preliminary investigations revealed the vehicle was stopped due to engine failure. - It is unclear how much time has elapsed between suspect flight and discovery. However it is likely the last entry was made within 24 hours of discovery. - Current operating hypothesis is that after the vehicle became nonoperational, suspects fled on foot into the neighboring woodland. - Considerations were made as to whether this document was genuine or falsified information, but the disarrayed state of the vehicle interior as well as the presence of identical notebooks stowed away lead us to believe it is real, and was either accidentally left in the rush, or an identical notebook was mistakenly taken instead. [FEDERAL FERTILITY INITIATIVE CONCLUSIONS] We will be immediately dispatching covert agents to the area. Orders will be given within the next 8 hours while undercover forensic specialists work to map potential areas for investigation. This is our best opportunity to regain the lost test subjects without arousing suspicion. They are likely without any means of transportation, in a low population area, and are unlikely to receive any support following the recent cover story. This is a high priority mission. Prepare for further instructions.