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Just got back. Tired. Good scrounging along the way. Ended up dragging back a cart of stuff.
Write tomorrow. Sleep.
Departed April 10th. Walk to SLC took 15 days. Would've been 7-9 back in the old days, but had to circle pockets of radiation and foraged along way.
Don't know what I was thinking. Imagined I'd find my house, dig through rubble, find - something. Your bones I hoped, and Little Nut's. Would've buried them. Here in Zion maybe.
SLC is mostly craters. Warped steel girders where highrises sat. Mounds of bricks.
Never found our house. Didn’t even find street. What wasn’t a crater was scorched clean.
Want to believe it was fast, a flash, both of you vaporized. Lies to make me feel better. I'll never know. Which part of city got hit first? Northeast and you both died in a blink. Farther away and you burned alive screaming or the blast broken glass and bits of brick and wood splinters shredding you like hamburger. Look at it coward and listen don't turn away face it. If you'd been brave lucky man you would've found a spot and blown your brains out.
But not you. You took your time walking back, made a shopping trip of it. Scrounger.
The truck was still there on the 77 north of Spanish Fork. The Chryslus too, but no sign of the old couple's bones.
Outside Nephi I caught a trail. Three men, tracks heading toward Fountain Green. Thought about following but didn't. Stupid fantasy of friends, more likely cannibals.
Took two days to build door and electrify it.
No soliciting, assholes. Home sweet fucking home.