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  Our captors took my journal from me, said it was to be examined for... what I can't recall, but considering they thought we were a military outfit I would presume. Once there we were examined by a local surgeon and apparently were judged to be in good health despite the beatings, no sleep, having been forced to march for the past two days, and other unpleasantness I don't want to record.

  When they made sure we were up to their standards of health they led us into a holding area where people would be taken from now and again, presumably for interrogation. This belief was bolstered by the fact whenever anyone returned they had, more often than not, fresh bruises.

  It was my turn. I was led away at gunpoint. My questions went unanswered. There was a heavy door that that closed once I was on the other side. The man that talked with me, Colonel somethingor-other, smiled at this matter of fact statement and leaned forward, switching off the recorder that sat between us and whispered in my ear that he regretted what he would have to do, and that he would try to arrange for everyone to 'escape' while in transit, complete with bullet riddled trucks and burnt and blackened corpses. No I will not ask or, if I can help about it, even think about where these would come from. I should ask. I should suspect a trap. On Reflection there were lots of things I should have done or asked, but that realization comes only with a clear head and rest.

  I possessed neither at that time, and am fortunate to have survived to write this. After this ray of hope was revealed he turned the recorder back on and flew into a rage directed at me. Had I not known different, I would have sworn on a stack of holy texts, his contempt that I would help 'subhuman gutter trash' escape the overflowing kindness of civilized society for a life of mis-gotten pleasure and perversions of human decency was sincere and as real as that of any slave-holder a century ago.

  I knew what I was required to sell to his officer that his way of 'dealing with us' was the only way possible. To that end I played the part of screaming innocent; emphatically denying any wrongdoing while at the same time begging for leniency. I even got on my knees and begged. Every word I said then was truth. We did what we could to warn others before the attacks came. We weren't collaborating with anyone.

  I saw him wink at me before his boot caught me in the stomach. It hurt a great deal, and as expected I reacted accordingly. After all, pain is pain, and getting beaten is going to hurt regardless on if its for a performance or if the person on the other end is genuinely trying to 'educate' you. Oh it goes without question that he had gone soft on me, softer than others had gotten anyway. It still hurt.

  I prayed that the man wasn't lying. I didn't want to die. I didn't want any of the other's to die. We did nothing wrong save only that we wanted shelter from the devil's toys that were killing anyone left behind.

  Roughly a half hour later Billy was thrown in a spare room with me. She looked about how I felt, run through the wringer. She sighed and leaned against me and fell asleep. I hoped that he wasn't lying when he said he would help spring us, but there was that worm of doubt that made me think that there was a chance he had just told me that so that I wouldn't resist, possibly so I would give up names or places, or maybe, just maybe, he and those that worked with him actually believed our story and wanted to help us get back to our native soil.

  I said at the onset of this document I dislike the general Confederate attitudes towards gholem. I like how the Eastern Republic has treated them even less.

  Date Unknown

  An interminable time later Billy and I found ourselves, along with several dozen others, lead to a small convoy of trucks. We were ordered (at gun point) to pile in the backs of. I was just grateful that the summer heat had finally loosened its grip.

  Billy was in a different truck, so I wasn't sure how she was held up. If everyone else were any indication she was tired, confused, and by my own bruises she was probably hurt. No, tried to push it out of my mind. What you needed was to remain calm. If things worked like I hoped we had a chance to escape. If not, then I hoped we would have been able to fight our way free. Stupid to think that we would have been a match for them, but I refused to give up.

  The trucks stopped. We were separated from the vehicles. From the truck the guards rode in two bodies had been carried out and tossed in the backs of the ones we rode with before men approached with giant tanks on their backs. These men pulled triggers that were attached to gunlike things connected to these tanks. Each vehicle was then bathed in flame till there had been little left save for the metal shells. After they felt they had done enough damage they got back into the waiting vehicles.

  I don't believe it. They left. Our belongings were piled by us. Few had the things geared towards survival, but collectively we should be able to make something work. Along with what they had decided to return to us was a map that was 'dropped' by one of the troops that escorted us out.

  While I would have liked nothing more than to lay here for the next week and rest, I knew we needed to get moving. People would have eventually shown up. We were all tired. We hurt, but we lived and we had a goal. Escape wasn't much, but it had been a direction to push for. Time passed. I didn't know how much, but eventually we caught sight of a settlement. Hoped they were friendly.

  Eventually we stumbled, half dead and mostly starved, into a town who's name escapes me, but keep hearing the word 'Lasagna' whenever I try. We agreed to work off our debt if we were fed and given a place to sleep. They could have turned us away, but instead took us in. Deus show them charity for having helped us.

  November 5

  Slices of Normalcy.

  We left 'lasagna' three days after we arrived. At the time we felt we risked too much by staying. There had been some argument over if we should have stuck together, or scatter and trust that we won't be followed. There had been no news here in Jefferson about the attacks on Ashton, nor were there more than whispers of a people that had dared God by opening things that He had made us forget.

  In this case I considered no news good news. While we didn't have papers appropriate for that part of the continent those of us that decided to stay for the winter had skills that kept us fed and sheltered. I was fortunate enough that Jefferson's several radio stations needed someone of my skills to keep their transmitters running. It was tedious and sometimes dangerous work, but it kept Billy and I fed. Eventually it would buy us a ticket out of here in the spring. Sadly Billy's luck hadn't been as good as mine, and for the time I supported both of us. It hadn't been as bad as it could have been. I just wished I had found out if any of the other groups had made it to safety.

  While I worked as a freelance repairman between stations I had the opportunity to listen to what was going on in the wider world. If my count was right all but four of the machines were destroyed, and even those four could have gone up with Signal Hill or Twin Peaks. Deus, Twin Peaks? They had been able to travel fast.

  Four left out of forty. The idea that any still around scared me, but only four. I could live with that. It was unfortunate my privileges don't extend to the frequencies these towers work on; else I could have done more than listen. At least what news I had gotten was good.

  Billy had breakfast ready for me when I got off work. She wasn't a home-body by nature, but she tried to help me keep from crumbling under the workload and stress of what's happened since we fled. I kept her what I've learned and while we eat we discuss what our next step should be.

  This is not the end for me or Billy, not by any stretch. This is just where I stop sharing the narrative of my life. I hope you had managed to take as much from reading about it as I had to in living through it.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Even though I was the only person to write these stories, excluding editors correcting my many and varied mistakes of course without what help I had gotten over the years I could not have finished this collection. If, somehow, by some chance I had managed to write all of this without those people mentioned here it would have likely been a far different thing. So whether they realize th
ey helped or not I feel that thanks must be given that goes beyond a mere dedication.

  THE CHINESE: Though it has a sorted history I wish to thank the Chinese for tea. Without that I likely would have had to rely on colas for my caffeine fix, and they say the stuff has some health benefits. Though on reflection I believe as much as I've had while writing this book would be called, by your average sane and reasonable person 'overdoing it'.

  BOBBY SINGLETON: Though my entire family supports me, I have to credit my father for continual encouragement going way back into when I had first started writing and threw things at him to look at. On reflection these early writings would make me both white with terror that I had shown anyone else these things, and red with embarrassment that he had actually read them. I would like to think that my writing has improved since then. Thanks for keeping faith Dad.

  MIKE: You're even more scatterbrained than I am, but some of the ideas you've offered up has been insightful and, dare I say it, inspirational.

  ANGELA: I thank you, both for your encouragement to keep me writing, and giving my ego much needed deflation when it threatened to overshadow what I'd actually wanted to do.

  STEAMPUNK TALES: This magazine gave me my first real break as a writer. For that reason alone it would be poor manners of me to not mention them here. http://www.steampunktales.com

  NANOWRIMO.ORG: This non-profit organization has, for the past eleven years, encouraged people to dive head first into the task of telling a story, and damn the excuses or nitpicky things like spelling or grammar. They helped me find a way to embrace my writing as it happens instead of self correct every other word. Without their tireless efforts many people, myself included, probably wouldn't have taken up pen (or in this case keyboard). http://www.nanowrimo.org

  ROBERT MURASAN: Thank you for providing me with the spark needed both to get a story off the ground, proving to me the cyberpunk genre isn’t as overused as I first thought, and for the support. http://www.exosyphen.com

  Lastly I have to thank anyone and everyone who's picked up or downloaded this collection. You are why I do this.

  I love you Mom.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Even though I was the only person to write these stories, excluding editors correcting my many and varied mistakes of course without what help I had gotten over the years I could not have finished this collection. If, somehow, by some chance I had managed to write all of this without those people mentioned here it would have likely been a far different thing. So whether they realize they helped or not I feel that thanks must be given that goes beyond a mere dedication.

  THE CHINESE: Though it has a sorted history I wish to thank the Chinese for tea. Without that I likely would have had to rely on colas for my caffeine fix, and they say the stuff has some health benefits. Though on reflection I believe as much as I've had while writing this book would be called, by your average sane and reasonable person 'overdoing it'.

  BOBBY SINGLETON: Though my entire family supports me, I have to credit my father for continual encouragement going way back into when I had first started writing and threw things at him to look at. On reflection these early writings would make me both white with terror that I had shown anyone else these things, and red with embarrassment that he had actually read them. I would like to think that my writing has improved since then. Thanks for keeping faith Dad.

  MIKE: You're even more scatterbrained than I am, but some of the ideas you've offered up has been insightful and, dare I say it, inspirational.

  ANGELA: I thank you, both for your encouragement to keep me writing, and giving my ego much needed deflation when it threatened to overshadow what I'd actually wanted to do.

  STEAMPUNK TALES: This magazine gave me my first real break as a writer. For that reason alone it would be poor manners of me to not mention them here. http://www.steampunktales.com

  NANOWRIMO.ORG: This non-profit organization has, for the past eleven years, encouraged people to dive head first into the task of telling a story, and damn the excuses or nitpicky things like spelling or grammar. They helped me find a way to embrace my writing as it happens instead of self correct every other word. Without their tireless efforts many people, myself included, probably wouldn't have taken up pen (or in this case keyboard). http://www.nanowrimo.org

  ROBERT MURASAN: Thank you for providing me with the spark needed both to get a story off the ground, proving to me the cyberpunk genre isn’t as overused as I first thought, and for the support. http://www.exosyphen.com

  Lastly I have to thank anyone and everyone who's picked up or downloaded this collection. You are why I do this.

  I love you Mom.