May 9th, 2066 (Entry 2)

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Thankfully, the house really was empty. I filled a backpack with supplies, grabbed my old journals, and took a couple of kitchen knives with me. It's not much, but it's the best I've got. The search team managed to find the bunker--I may have left the hidden door open--so I really don't have a safe place, anymore.

I checked the mailbox (mostly out of habit, I think). There was a letter in it for me and it jogged my memory as to who it is I know in Melbourne.

It's terrible that I forgot, but I'm currently in a long distance relationship with a girl in Melbourne named Sara McKenzie. She has a disease similar to mine, though she's in Stage 1 and I'm in Stage 2. She's far too beautiful for someone as plain as I am, but I think our shared burden has kept us together.

This recent letter she's sent is dated before the Perfect America Bill was signed into law. She and I both knew it was coming. We'd talked at length about me coming to live with her before it happened, but it just hadn't worked out. In this new letter, she reiterates the fact that I should come live with her as soon as possible, as America won't be safe for people like us in a few days.

I know where I'm going now, but it won't be easy: I have to find a way to get to Sara. That's my safe place. I'll think of a plan, tomorrow.

I'm going to spend one last night in the playset tower. I'm eating cold soup, again; after not having anything to eat for two days, it's not so bad.

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