August 11th, 2033
It’s hot. It’s in the upper nineties, pushing one hundred, and I’ve been on the move all day. I’m tired, worn and beat. I’m down to the last of my grub and finding fresh water out here is going to be tough. I might have to swing south to Lake Casitas one more time, but only as a last resort. There has to be some water out here, somewhere.
I tried pushing the latest vision to the back of my mind until I can make sense of it, but that hasn’t worked, not in the least. The loneliness of my situation, and the expansiveness of the miles laid out before me, affords my wandering mind far too much time to replay the vision over and over.
I still see the entombed.
I see them everywhere I go.
And, I know I always will.