Day 13b

Yeah, that was far less than pleasant. Little frightening, in fact. Max and I introduced ourselves, though he said that I was part of the town's security forces. Can't blame him. This guy called himself Brother Francis, a Missionary of the New Church. You could hear capital letters and emphasis on the names. He was kinda short, stocky, wearing a robe but with bulges of weapons under it. And he appeared to be alone, but something about him made me suspect he had some cohorts or guards or something hidden nearby. Max told me afterward that he had the same impression, and that's why he asked me to come out with him while the rest of the Guard watched from the walls.

Under my advice, Max refused him entry to the city. The guy just had this...look to him. Like, his face looked like his mouth was full of gopher meat that he refused to spit out and he was pissed about it. And the more he talked, the more intense he got, until it felt like electricity radiating off of him with every word. He read and quoted from a black binder he carried, which he said contained the Word. He made no mystery of the contents, occasionally holding it up to point and highlight some passage from pages torn and scrapped and glued into the binder. It made it obvious that these bits were selected piecemeal, mere parts of some larger whole. But this Brother Francis believed in it with the fervent fire of a zealot.

I didn't understand all of what he said, much of it seemed to be cloaked in parable, myth, and metaphor. But the parts that stood out to me most clearly left me shaken. His god was a forgiving god, but only if you gave yourself to him, body, mind and soul, utterly and completely. If your every waking action was not dedicated to worship, to the Church, this god would punish you in both this world and the next. There were ways to live which could not be forgiven, save through blood and death. Many undesirable types that had to be “cleansed” from the world. And any who refused this path, refused to join the Church, went against this will and would have to be killed by the faithful followers.

Neither of us really knew what to say to all that, when he finally wound down. He panted as he waited for our response, obviously expecting us to throw the gates open wide for him. Instead, we explained, calmly, that we'd have to speak to the rest of the town. Max asked if he had a spare copy of the Word, to show the others, but he only hugged his copy, his binder, tightly to his chest as he replied no. All we could do was to thank Brother Francis, and to then ask him to give us a few days, maybe even a week, to prepare for him properly.

Day 13

Spent last night playing checkers with Andrew. He even has his own board, a cloth one that he got in a trade, and pieces that are just random stones and bottle caps and such that he's dyed to the right colors. It was actually pretty nice. Like I said, he's actually a smart guy, especially for a Mutate. He knows a pretty good bit about plants, and he has traveled around some. We swapped some stories, compared our travels. Turns out his childhood was about as bad as mine, as he got picked on for his smarts and eventually just left his tribe and never looked back.

He also gave me a warning about Terminus, the great city to the north of here. Never been that far north, but I've heard that all the highways lead there. Turns out it's pretty dangerous there, as the perimeter around the place is covered in kudzu. Hopefully that shit's died off by the time you read this, because right now the typical response, completely justified, is to hit it with any and every kind of fire you can gather up. It's a plant, made of vines and leaves, but it moves. It's not really very quick, but there's a ton of it in any patch, enough to easily attack with four or five vines at a time. And it will wrap around a person or an animal, completely covering and trapping them, and then just hold them until they die and rot and feed it. Kudzu is an evil, deadly plant; I've seen a village get half wiped out before it was stopped.

Today, I am back on my feet. Still not feeling back to a hundred percent, but it's important that I exercise and work out the last of the infection. Personally, I'm hoping to be back to my old self tomorrow, so I can work again. The townsfolk here have been pretty understanding about me being out of it, but I know that they're feeding and housing me in exchange for my services and skills, and it makes me feel guilty that I haven't been able to provide.

(*Pause, barely-audible distant voice*)

I CAN'T TELL WHAT YOU'RE SAYING, MAX, COME HERE! OR BETTER YET, JUST WAIT THERE! Yeesh...!

(*Pause, footsteps, another male voice*)

“Jacob, we've got a visitor at the gates. He's not just wanting in, he's demanding it, in the name of The Church. And he says it just like that, so you can hear capital letters. You ever heard of them?”

Yeah, I have. And not much has been good. Just one guy? You're sure? Alright, c'mon, let's go get a look at him, I-...Oops, recorder's still on. To be continued.

Lost Journal 1

(*Gasping, heavy breathing*)

This is it. I'm...dying, I don't have any illusions. Leg's broken, and there's about two feet of intestine sticking out of this gaping wound in my stomach, and I can't shove it back in. I-I can't feel it anymore, it's completely numb now, that's a blessing at least. Cold, too. Managed to kill the fuckers attacking me, but damage was already done.

To whoever finds this: My name is Cal S-S-Stevens. Grew up in an underground shelter, born just after the world went to hell. Mom was a nurse, dad was a soldier, uncle was a professor. Learned plenty while growing up. Family died in the shelter, little things like heart problems in my uncle, dad got an infection. Came out a few years ago, armed and ready. Thirty-five years old now, and I am about to die because my “team” turned their backs on me.

Dad taught me how to fight, how to shoot, how to throw a grenade. Beyond that, didn't get much from him. Mom, at least, taught me a bunch of other things to survive, like dressing a wound and cooking. So, when I came out I thought I could take care of myself. After about six months on my own, I found a mercenary team. Decent bunch of guys, I thought. Took a little work to get them to let me join, but was safer that sticking out on my own. In retrospect...I probably should've just said fuck it, stayed in the shelter by myself.

See, I knew how to fight. C-Could take down someone coming at me with a knife, could shoot and hit what I aimed at. But I had no idea what was out there now, how to find work, where anything was. I joined the team thinking they'd help me with that, or I'd learn it on my own by watching. Instead, they just used me as an extra gun, told me where we were going but not how we got the job, told me to shoot the thing without telling me what it was. At the time, I thought it was just them saving me the additional work and headache, like they were taking care of me.

Earlier today, we came into this place, like a bunch of tunnels under some old buildings. I don't know why, I was just told to keep alert. Wasn't even told what to watch for. I just marched in the middle of the group, weapon out... And then something came out of the door to my right, like crashed through the door itself, slammed into me and we went through the opposite d-d-door together. Short flight of stairs, I think that's where I broke my leg. Lost my flashlight, just enough light to see the thing's silhouette and another one coming at me. Too dark, too fast. Big wound across my stomach, and I screamed at that one. Bunch of others, smaller, felt the blood flowing even before I killed them.

That was...I dunno, about an hour ago, maybe more. I haven't seen the team since. I even have a radio on me, they could've called. For two years, we fought together. They joked about me being the new guy, fresh meat. But I didn't realize that I was that disposable, like they were happy for the extra worker, the extra gun, when I was there, but couldn't be bothered with anything more. If you're listening to this, spread the word about them. They abandoned someone that was supposed to be one of them, as soon as my limited use was done.

Day 12b

Feeling better, but still recovering. Took a nap, had a little bit of stew along with some crackers that someone brought me as thanks for clearing out the Fallen nest so that they can scavenge. Andrew hasn't come back yet, but I'll be able to report that my strength's already returning some.

Now seems like a good to talk about the Mutates. First, bear in mind that there is a pretty wide range of variation, and to cover every single one would be almost impossible. It'd be about like trying to give a description of every regular human. The main difference is that, with humans, the differences are things like different hair and eye color, different heights. Mutates tend to vary more...let's say, sharply.

For the most part, in the great majority, Mutates are huge. Most of the ones I've seen are around eight feet tall, some reaching nine, and Andrew is the only Mutate I have ever seen with shoulders less than twice as wide as mine. And I have heard rumors of some growing even bigger, almost gargantuan. They're generally well-muscled, too, and strong; a Mutate blacksmith is a muscle mass with eyes. They tend to have very pale skin, pretty much a chalk white, but they don't get sunburned or tan. I haven't seen much variation in hair color, ranging from black through gray to white. And there's not a huge difference between male and female. 

They seem to be able to tell each other apart easily, but I can't. There was a magazine I found a while back, it gave tips on exercise and on nutrition, things like that. And there was a story with some pictures, about “female bodybuilders”. It was about like that, but even more so.

They also differ from normal humans mentally. Mutates usually are not very bright, though it can be dangerous to assume that about all of them. From the ones I've managed to speak to, I actually think it's a matter of focus or attention span. Most don't have it; in fact, Andrew's the only one I've seen it otherwise in. Learning about anything requires focusing on it, studying or practicing, and they just can't. On the other hand, they make pretty good blacksmiths or cooks, things where you can enjoy what you make as soon as you're done. And of course, they can be damned good fighters.

Now, a lot of people will also call them extremely violent. Personally, I don't think that they're all that much more violent than humans. They're just more direct about it.

I haven't seen or heard much study on them or anything. General guess is that Mutates came from radiation, maybe even disease, warping normal humans, and then the new traits being passed down to their children. This also explains variations and offshoots. Andrew, for example, is relatively rail-thin, only a little wider than me. But, he's about eleven feet tall, and a pretty smart guy. I've seen one with tentacles, and one disturbing whose skin was almost clear.

Like Dyers, though, they tend to make home for themselves, away from the others. The Mutates, though, arrange theirs closer to a mix of a tribe and a raider family. The one in charge at any given time is usually the one that hits hardest, argues loudest, or both. And that can change the next time they need to decide something.  

Day 12

I'm still in bed. Still really weak, too, and it's been a couple of days. Turns out that the “itchy” spot on my neck was apparently a scratch from the Fallen, and infection set in. It's not a light matter when all of the factories or whatever that used to make medicine have ceased any production, and calling someone “doctor” usually just means they've read a couple of old books. I did meet a Surgeon, once. He carried a hatchet, a saw, and a blowtorch.

So, given all of that...the fact that I'm still alive now is pretty damned notable, and I lucked out.

It turns out that there was a traveling herbalist visiting the town when I passed out. And an even bigger oddity, he was a Mutate. Huge guy, I think I mentioned that fact before I went out completely. I realize I haven't really gone into much detail on them yet, I'll describe them more later. I'm definitely staying in bed today, and possibly tomorrow as well.

But, he knew his plants, and he was willing to try to help me stay alive. From what Jennifer's told me, he spent a few hours brewing a tea, making a stew, and mixing a salve. It was tricky work getting the tea and the stew in me, as I was either unconscious or delirious through most of yesterday and the day before. I had a fever, and the sweats, and I even soiled myself a couple of times. Not a pleasant image. Kinda glad I don't remember any of it; even if I couldn't help it, I'm still embarrassed that I was that weak and helpless.

He spread the salve across the scratches on my neck a few times, saying it would help clean the wound and stop the infection from worsening. The tea was to help lower my fever and help my body fight it off from the inside. The stew was to do more of the same but in more concentration, in addition to getting nutrients and food into me.

He apologized this morning, saying that he just used my own food and meat from here to make everything, mixed with the medicinal herbs and plants that he carried with him. Meekest Mutate I have ever seen. I laughed, and I told him that not only did he not owe me an apology, I owe him a huge debt for his efforts. He smiled, and introduced himself as Andrew, and then he left to get himself a walk and then some rest. He should be back later to check on me, he said.