Went back to the chopper today with Eight. She still sounds like she's going to hack up a lung and her jokes always sound like veiled threats. She told me a bit of her story. Sad, like everyone's. But I'm avoiding the topic now. Today was hard. Awful, really. My chopper pilot was reanimating when we got there. I left her there, injured, strapped in, defenseless. I did that. Maybe if I hadn't been so scared - if I hadn't just run without checking on her - maybe I could have saved her. We have all of this talk of heroics when it comes to scavenging underwear and flash drives, but when circumstances call for real heroics, none of us are really up to the task, least of all me.
At one point, our com link was down and Eight talked me into getting the pilot to chase me so she could see what supplies she could get from the chopper. "Trust me," she said. I don't, but I figured my chances were better with a zom than with a psychotic norm.
Turns out Eight used to be stationed out at Mullins or something. She brought up Greenchute, like I'm supposed to know what it is. She might get off my case now that she's seen my ID, but I still think she's a bit mad. But then, who isn't these days, eh? We have an entire society predicated on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Who was that philosopher who said that if the entire world goes crazy, then sanity becomes the new mad? Turns out sanity is a matter of statistics. Anyone who can stay "sane" these days is a definite outlier.
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