Dylan (47)

Two barrels of fairly clear water and a bag of unknown meat — hey, and two wafers! I was really lucky to find such a good camp. I thought it would have been looted already. Those looters are like lice you can't shake off, I don't want them to feed on me. I don't know what Dylan is doing now, but hopefully he hasn't turned into an ugly mutant yet. Everywhere I go, I think of him. Even though his appearance has become a blur in my memory, I still like to think of my friend. The endless escape almost wiped out all my memories, leaving only the instinct to survive. That's not good, not good at all. Dylan, my friend, a symbol that I once had a normal life, we used to tidy up the house together and then take out the trash.