31 December 10

Dear Elaine,

From the new hideout I can see the sign at the supply store. “24 HRS,” it says. That will be of particular importance in the next few hours, days, or weeks if we can last that long.

We still aren’t sure how our previous location was compromised, but the move had to be made quickly – almost overnight. All we left behind, besides a carpet and a shower rod, was a message for the superintendent: “You might need this,” attached to a weight. We left behind the room number too, a code. “If you betrayed us, know that it is too late to catch us now.”

We must take turns braving the outdoors for supplies. We were able to slip in the back with our bedding and most of our charge’s belongings, but we cannot hide with her forever. Once her cover is settled we must move on to another in need of our expertise – but until then, I remain in hiding. All I can do is watch the supply store and listen for the heavy footsteps that, should we be found, will soon chant of our deaths.

29 December 10

Dear Elaine,

Today I rode a train (unfortunately, not in the way that Sean Connery does in The Great Train Robbery). These were my thoughts as I wrote them down for you in a nice little notebook:

—

You are ugly and you are not wearing any pants.

A fine way to start a journal, that.

You smell bad and you breathe much too heavily.

I am clearly a wonderful person.

The countryside, on the other hand – literally; you are at my left while the window is on my right – is beautiful. Unfortunately, I slept through the sunrise, though I suppose I cannot guarantee that I would have seen much of it. I think that my window has been facing west for most of this trip, though I am somewhat disoriented. I blame the attackers.

The cars are faster at times, but at other times, such as now, one or two seem to attach themselves to the train like illicit hitchhikers. Or, like hunting dogs, they seem to flank us, never quite managing to catch up. We should be shot, I suppose. Then the dogs could get us.

I imagine hunters following silently behind, waiting for just the right moment to shoot my train as it is separated from the herd. The train would fall off the tracks and onto the highway. The barking cars would catch us, but we would put up a damn good fight and die proud of our little victories.

One of our herd, awarrior, speeds past us, heading toward our attackers. It will charge valiantly, and it may have to sacrifice its life. It is of no consequence. The hunters will go on hunting and, sooner or as late as the warriors can make it, we will go hurtling into the battlefield and make even our last breath count as we defend against the rabid cars.

It won’t be long now. I recognize that Amish fortress. It is next to an adult fun store, as always; I have seen it many times in the visions that have predicted this final confrontation.

This last stand is all that matters, and even though we cannot win, it is impossibly important that we fight with all we have. Losing is giving up. Our only victory will be in maintaining our faith and resolve to the end.

(Our only victory will be getting to Toronto.)

—

For clarity’s sake, I must add the following: I arrived safely in Toronto, and did a good deal of painting, moving, and cleaning for my sister (she just bought a loft). Now that the internet is working, I can finally begin my Letters to Elaine with love,

From,

Amy