We indeed began moving today. We hiked across rugged terrain and it is so cold. We set up our camp as soon as the night was even suggested. All we want to do is rest this foul day.

  "It is awful around here," Lawrence muttered to me, "I just want to go back to the factories now. I never thought I'd say that."

  I shook my head, "Me neither."

  "I want to go back to the village," Angelo told me, "To get some warmth, I'd admit that I want to see Alena again. I just want to go back. I know you want to see Maria again."

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  "I do," I admitted, "I want to be warm again and far away from all this death. We can't keep going like this. We need to go south. If something happens in the next few days, I'm afraid I can't take it."

  "You're always afraid you can't take it, yet you're here," Lawrence muttered.

  "Okay," I told him and got back up.

  I'm truly afraid I would not be able to take it again. It seems that I cannot save anyone who seeks out my help. Everything good that has happened to them because of what I've been doing is just luck. There's nothing special to it. There are so many bodies of my friends dropping dead that I can't save. It takes its toll eventually.