There is a man with the boy. I’ve seen them twice now from the deck. I’m not sure what’s wrong with the man but he’s always making big gestures with his arms when he speaks to the boy. He’s probably crazy. I think we’re all crazy, those of us that are left. Even the made up ones like me.
They’ve disappeared into the woods several times only to reappear with armloads of body parts. I watch them carry them until I lose sight of them under the cover of the huge pine trees. I don’t know what they were doing with the body parts, but if I had to guess, I ‘d say they were destroying them in some way.
I am afraid they will make their way to my area eventually and find my pile of body parts. My sweet, innocent pile of body parts. They’d want to hurt it. I couldn’t let them do that. I won’t let them do that. I’ll kill them both if they try.
Maybe I should kill them anyway. Just to be safe. Maybe that’s what my pile of body parts wants. I must find out its name. I haven’t seen it in days, so I haven’t been able to see its hands. I suppose I don’t have to follow Floyd’s naming method I could come up with my own.
I found a map when I was cleaning up after Rage and Fury wrecked the place. The fire tower is on the Appalachian Trail in New Jersey. I suppose that’s as good a name as any. Jersey. That’s my pile body parts name, Jersey. I can’t wait to tell it.
I am a little worried that I won’t see Jersey again. The incident with Rage and Fury may have scared it off. They were such awful people. Jersey may think that I’m like them. I’m not. I’m not like anyone. I’m not anyone.
I wish I was Jersey. Jersey is made up off all these different things. Jersey is precious and important. I am just a made up girl who doesn’t matter, but Jersey isn’t just real. Jersey is everything that’s real.
And the boy and the man want to take that away. They want to kill Jersey. I won’t let them. I’ll kill them. That’s what I’ll do. I will kill them to keep everything safe.
Jersey is everything.
I saw a boy. I stood on the deck and watched him cross a clearing on the North side of the fire tower. He must have been 300 yards away, but it was definitely a boy, a live boy. I hurried down the tower and moved as quickly as I could to catch up with him. The woods between the tower and the clearing were thick and covered in an icy-hard frost. Running wasn’t possible without falling every other step, so I grabbed the first stick I could find and used it to help me move through the slippery terrain without losing my footing.
It worked but it was slow going. Once I hit the edge of the clearing, I saw a lodge. It’s made of stones. I looked back towards the fire tower and tried to figure out why I hadn’t seen it until now. A row of tall pine trees bent and swayed in the cold wind. They must block my view of the lodge from the deck.
I yelled for the boy, but he didn’t respond. He just kept walking towards the woods on the other side of the clearing. I couldn’t make out any details. He was wearing a heavy coat and his back was too me. I know it was a boy. It had to be a boy.
The open area was covered in a deep layer of powdery snow. I tried to chase after him, but eventually I was hip deep in the snow and could barely work myself free. When I made it back to sturdier ground, I nearly passed out from the exhaustion and the cold.
I inched my way around to the front of the lodge and stopped dead in my tracks. There were three piles of body parts near the front door, only they were different than the others. These were all human body parts and each pile contained the same body part. There was a pile of feet, a pile of hands and a pile of heads.
I stood. Frozen. Afraid. I didn’t know what to do.
Suddenly, a low rumbling sound came from the pile of heads. It grew louder and louder. When I moved closer to investigate, every head in the pile released an ear piercing scream.
I scrambled for the woods and zipped across the icy ground until I fell, crashing into some dead snow covered brush. The screaming started to die down. I pushed myself back until I reached a tree. I sat there until all I could hear was the whistling of the wind through the tree tops.
When I made it back to the tower, I could see the boy again. He was coming out of the woods on the other side of the clearing and it looked like he was carrying a head.
I woke up this morning and walked out on the deck of the fire tower. You can’t believe how happy I was to see three piles of body parts in a row on the ground below. They have found me. I’m sure of it. There will be more, and I can’t wait.
My pile has asked them for help. It wants my hands. And it doesn’t know how to get them. Its hands must be so useless that it can’t even use them to remove mine. It needs the help of every Gore to take my hands.
This makes me so sad because I would gladly give my pile my hands. I can get by without them. What do I really need them for anyway? Stevie Dayton created me. He made me so I can’t die. Even without hands to fight or feed myself, I can’t die. My hands are of no use to me if you think about it.
I have to find a way to tell the Gore. There’s no need to gather and ambush me. They can gather. I want them to come, but I won’t refuse them my hands. I won’t struggle. They must know this. I have to let them know.
I searched Floyd’s diary to see if he ever talked to them and I found this.
Not all the Gore speak. It’s only the ones with the human heads that can talk. And, if the head is an infant or toddler, it speaks like a child, with the mind of a child. None of them really say anything that’s relevant to the situation. It’s as if they are repeating memories in their dead brains. As far as I know, there is only one Gore in the group that can hear anything other than other Gore. It has a man’s head: an older man, distinguished with streaks of gray in its hair, a chiseled jaw, perfect teeth. I call him Mr. President because he appears to be the leader. Mr. President likes me. He smiles at me and assures me that I have beautiful strong hands. They would be such a lovely addition to the Gore if I gave them willingly. Happy hands come from volunteers, he said. He’s been so wonderfully nice. I am happy to volunteer my hands. He’s told the others and now we wait. Gore law says the hands go to the Gore with the greatest need. He will decide which Gore that is. They are gathering so he can decide.
I must find this Mr. President and let him know that my hands are happy hands. And I will plead for my pile to receive them. It wants my hands so badly it must be the one. It has to be the one.