They were coming.
I wanted to believe we were ready, but truthfully, we never could be.
There are a lot of people with us now. The girls have been rescued, thanks to Morty, and I have nothing but gratitude for the return of my granddaughters, but losing my daughter is something I will never get over.
We drove out here this morning to take a last look at the prairie before heading into the forest. I watch my man as he walks across the field, and I weep, not just for myself, but for the father whose daughter is lost to him forever.
We didn’t expect it to happen so soon. We were all nearly ready for the last move. We though we’d have time.
She had everything packed; all Morty had to do was buckle the girls in and drive away; everything was loaded in the van.
Well, first they had to be rescued, but I simply can’t think about that part of it yet.
It makes me sick to think how close she was to escaping! Another day, and they all would have been with us! Another day, and there would have been no need for a rescue.
I want my baby back. She was too young to go. Her babies are too young to have seen what they saw.
People have arrived and are moving into the shelter. Everyone has staked out their little areas down there. We have, too. There’s plenty of room. We have food and fuel.
The groups are together, and we can stay hidden.
But now, they are coming. I feel it in my bones. I see it in the haunted eyes of the man I have loved for decades. They are coming, and nothing will ever be the same again.
He walks back to me and hugs me tightly. I can feel hot tears on my shoulder, and I hold him, pouring every ounce of love I can muster into my embrace.
We drive back to the compound and make our descent, praying we won’t have to stay underground for long.
We’re as ready as we can be, but really… we can never be ready. Not really.
They are coming.