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Chapter 27 August 12 Morning. I’m lying down in the tent. My vision is blurry and I’m disorientated. I’m unsure whether this suit is doing any good. I suppose it is, otherwise I may be dead by now. But it is weighing me down and I’m finding it difficult to walk. I feel my legs and arms getting weaker and weaker. Staying alive seems to be a struggle. I now have an idea of what it must be like to be old and frail, or to have a life threatening disease. My vision of death now is more vivid than ever. I hadn’t really thought of death much before, because I didn’t think I was close to it. Yesterday, I saw what part of my journey was about. The truck. I knew straight away which truck it was. It was the truck which left my driveway carrying my family, a few months ago. I fell to my knees. I didn’t know whether to feel happy and relieved or sad and tearful. I cried anyway. “ Mum! Dad!” I shouted, running towards the truck. I prayed to God to find my family alive. I was horrified with what I saw. Three dead bodies. I made out they were the ones of my mother, father and Joseph. David was missing. I searched the truck, and all around it. Where could David be? He could have ran off, or somehow disintegrated. I didn’t care what happened to him, I only wanted to know if he was alive or dead. I carried the bodies out and rested them on the ground, side by side. I wanted to show my respect and cover them up. I saw a large tarpaulin about 30 yards away. When I lifted it up, I put it straight down. More dead bodies. They were arranged, side by side, with arms crossed. I knew someone took much care to bury their loved ones. I went with my conscience and left it be. I wrote names in the dry, crumbly earth above the heads of my family. After a quiet 10 minute mourning session alone, I walked away and carried on with my journey. I would have driven the truck, but I couldn’t find the key, and there may not have been much petrol left in the tank. It’s been weeks. Maybe months, but nothing.
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