We're off. He was in the squat last night. No-one saw him, but we know he was there. He left a note on an old work-surface in the kitchen, addressed to Steve. Poor guy almost wet himself.
It's not safe here.
We had almost a week of stability, of staying in one place. Too much time. Unsafe, we should know that by now. I guess our domestic instincts are still trying to root us to one place.
Rachel's still new to this. She's not complaining - she's very conscious about not being a burden on any of us - but she's clearly missing the stability of staying in one place. She was trying to argue that we should stay. Says Roland could take whoever came at us. But we all know that, the longer we stay, the more likely it is that the big one will find his way to us. And no-one likes their chances against him.
Packing is a drag. Getting to the next place even more so. But we all got to visit a laundry, and eat hot meals - can't risk a fire attracting attention when you're on the road - and we visited the swimming pool every day just to shower. We must have looked a very odd lot. But we're clean and fed and we have clean clothes, and when you're a Runner, when you're a Refugee, you take what you can get. You enjoy the good stuff while it lasts, because there's always another nightfall coming, and none of us can guarantee that we'll see the next daybreak.
So we pick up our stuff and move on to the next place.
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