Date: 9.18.2224
Location: Between the Dust and the Delta – Borderline Wastes
Status: Relieved & Reflective
Somewhere between Texas grit and Louisiana, nature called and didn’t ask permission.
I found myself straddling a rust-choked bridge, mid-span over what used to be a proud river. Now it’s just a sullen vein of murk and bone, crawling slow under the weight of years. The wind was strong, but not strong enough to drown out the gut-turning reminder that Brahmin jerky don’t play fair after day three in the heat.
No shelter. No outhouse. Just sky, silence, and the occasional scream of a scavenger bird too lazy to hunt. I had to make do—boots planted wide, eyes scanning every shadow for radroaches or worse. There’s a unique kind of spiritual clarity that comes when you’re half-squatted over a bridge with your rifle leaned just within reach and your pride clinging by a thread.
This is the unspoken side of survival. Not every moment is glory and gunfire. Some are just gut checks... literally. And yet, even in this crude pause, I’m reminded: the body has its own truth. Even out here in the in-between, the flesh makes demands, and the land don’t wait.
Lesson learned:
Never ignore a chance to stop.
The wasteland rarely gives you a second one.
I’ll press on now. Lighter. Sharper. And far more aware of terrain features that double as cover.
—Big Chief
Still crossing. Still human.
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