Homestead.

Tonight was as most nights were. Quiet. The sound of crickets was only disturbed by that mournful sound of emptiness. I have night duty for the fourth night in a row.. The crackle of the fire, and the sound of my psaltery has kept me sane so far, but the cat's moodiness has began to rouse my concern. Within the past few days it has began to get quite ornery with me. It's unlike him. I'm down to my last pack of cigarettes. A new batch is due to arrive from Mississippi any day now, or so I've heard. We've set up a co-trade with a farming group in the lower part of Mississippi - around Magnolia. They were a part of this clan that looted local groceries. The man, Jacob, who oversees it was once a member of the local Red Cross, before things with it became haywire. Things here are somewhat placid, at most. No problems with these maniacs that the news are talking about. Just - strangers asking for things, really. We've kept to ourselves. Minus the barbed wire fences around, nothing much has changed. The power keeps flickering - but supplies are somewhat high. My nephew keeps me company. With the farming, and scouting - I'm constantly busy. I can't help but feel lonely.
The silouhettes of the pines only add to it. The story of the 18 will be next.