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Chapter 13: Under Guard

Dear Mother and Father,

This may be the last chance I will have to write to you for some time, and possibly forever. I am being held prisoner in the project office. Over in the City of Amarillo, some kind of proceedings, possibly a trial of the staff of the project, is going on. They may intend for me to go on trial, too.

I want you to know that I think you did a superb job of raising me and I hope my life is looked on as the credit to you that you deserve. Whatever happens next, being a credit to you is my guideline.

All of the rest of the staff were rounded up by an armed mob from Amarillo. They were tied up and marched away to who knows what fate. My two guards have given me their opinion that some kind of trial is underway. I was the only one in the office and, probably because I couldn’t possibly have run away or been any kind of threat, they just left me here.

I can walk out to the front door and see all the ruins and devastation. The fires they set are pretty well died out. This country is so flat that I can see all over the entire project. Nothing was left standing. What they couldn’t burn, they knocked over with a bulldozer. The buildings were pretty cheaply made anyway, except for some special metal tanks that were set up by a doctor named Johns. I think they had something to do with an experiment. I’ll bet he’s angry, if he’s alive.

I’ve never been in a dire situation before, so I’m not sure how it’s supposed to feel. This one is strangely calm. I have two guards. They won’t give me their names, so I call them “Tom” and “Dick.” No “Harry” so far!

They are both easygoing young men, but one or the other of them watches me all the time. It would be a lot creepier than it is if they weren’t so personable about it. They’re pleasant about everything. If these were normal circumstances, I’d think they were a little bit flirty. Most of the time, both of them are here in the office.

I don’t make casual conversation, but I have told them several times that I need to be wherever the rest of the staff is. Actually, I should be recording whatever is going on. Even if it’s awful, it’s still part of the official record of this important project.

I wheedle them about it to the point that I can tell it’s getting on their nerves. About the best they’ve told me, though, is that letting me join the others would take more authority than they have. I tell them to get me somebody in authority, then, because I am the archivist for this whole project.

So, you can see, I’m trying to do my duty right up to and including the end, if this the end. I want to be a credit to you.

Love

July

 

--July Eason, Project Archivist

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