Dear Planet Earth,
Our escape from LA drags on.Â Lieutenant Halston tells me itâ€™s barren out there. The entire city seemed to just pick up and leave. Theyâ€™re going to continue searching for at least a couple days more. Our group came to the consensus that weâ€™d stay in places for no more than a week â€” any longer than that, and weâ€™ll get lazy and vulnerable.
Mrs. Bingâ€™s slowly improving, or so Maria tells me. They were in one of the suites for six hours together this afternoon. I sat outside the door with my laptop, trying to find any useful news online. Apparently, China tried to bomb one of mole peopleâ€™s drills in Beijing back when they still had bombs and a military. It didnâ€™t work.
The door opened suddenly and Maria emerged with her usual stoic face. She took a long, deep breath and didnâ€™t seem to notice me sitting on the floor nearby.
â€œShe needs rest.â€
â€œShe needs a straitjacket,â€ I said.
That got her to look at me. She gave me a hard stare, aÂ glare really, filled with an intensity that usually only comes from a mother, not a potential girlfriend (as Iâ€™ve been laboriously working on).
â€œMaybe youâ€™d need a straitjacket too, if your husband and twoÂ daughters had been killed in front of your very eyes. Maybe youâ€™d try to off yourself when you realized that everything youâ€™ve ever accomplished in your life was gone forever. Maybe youâ€™d develop a fucking heart and realize that youâ€™re not the only person in this crumbling mess of a world.â€
She let that sink in, and I guess I did too.
I whispered, â€œDid she really try to kill herself?â€
â€œShe needs rest,â€ she said again. And she walked away.
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