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In the morning, he carved what was left of the meat and wrapped it inside a skin.

He ate the carcass in the small dank cave.

Eileen led the way.

It was Dave who found the cave originally, if you’re wondering.

The tunnels hold endless light and

At the end of the line, or I should say the front, there is, that is if they have not changed it, a bullet proof glass window criss-crossed with chain link and scratched to a dull fog, diffusing what little light is on the other side.

(If you do escape, that is if I do leave this note to you along with all my kingdom of riches, and even now I feel this note is far more mine than it is yours, wouldn’t you agree - if you do escape - though how could you without the map I have drawn in the margins and the passwords I have scraped from the butchers drunken hollering - if, however, you do - which I doubt, sincerely - please bring my spoon and magazine with you and I will reward you gladly with riches beyond your wildest dreams (granted that your dreams have not grown more wild than those drolling echoes you have recounted to me night after night these past few years, please do get a life while I am gone, it is for your own benefit as well as those in your community), though I doubt, in the end you will

That spoon and that magazine are (were) my two good things and the sum total of all my worldly possessions save for this ragged overcoat (which is not even mine alone, as I must share it with transient vermin and a persistent plague of lice) and my shoe.

I have left you my two good things.

The line winds twice around the corridors such that we are shoulder to shoulder facing opposite directions - a millipede of limbs and dark faces in the grey torchlight.

The troops ship out today.

I hope this note reaches you soon, Georg, but not before I have escaped this awful place.