WALKER’S JOURNAL
NOVEMBER 2, 2026
A lot has happened since I last wrote.
First of all, I’ve reunited with my good friend Wally Kopple. About a month ago he broke off from Boone’s resistance cell in Montrose and started heading east in search of me, or so he says. Wally told me he believes in what I’m doing and wants to offer some assistance. He met up with another cell in the Denver area and helped them take down a Korean weapons storage facility. They captured a bunch of tanks and weapons, which is great for the Resistance. Anyway, they let Wally have one of the tanks and he took off east again. Then he worked with a Kansas City cell for a while and that’s how he got wind of where I was. This cell was making supply deliveries to the St. Peters outfit every three months, so Wally volunteered to bring the supplies in the tank this time. And here we are. Besides the much-needed food and water and gasoline, Wally brought a bunch of explosives. No guns, unfortunately, but maybe the C-4 will come in handy. The cell might use it to blow up some Korean checkpoints or supply centers. The stuff even comes with a couple of remote control devices to set off the firecrackers. Just push a button and kaboom! Wally told me Hopper Lee himself repaired the remotes and got them to work.
His cough is terrible. He’s lost a lot of weight and his skin is pale. The poor guy doesn’t have the strength he once had, and he can stay active only a few hours a day. The rest of the time he has to lie down. Wally’s dying. I don’t know how long he’s got, but it’s bad. If I had to make an honest guess—and I’m no doctor—then I fear he won’t make it to the New Year.
Still, it’s good to have him around. At least he hasn’t lost his sense of humor.
Kelsie’s another thing altogether. Something has happened and I’m damned if I know what it is. She’s changed. It started around the end of September or beginning of October. She became moody and quiet, which is totally unlike her. I asked her what was wrong and she kept putting me off. Said it was nothing. Then, finally, during one of my endless sessions of thinking out loud about how we were going to cross the Mississippi River, she came out with it. She didn’t want to do it. She has an aversion to getting near the river but won’t tell me why. She said if I’m going to cross the river, I have to do it without her. I don’t understand it. I know it’s dangerous and it’s a big risk, but haven’t we been doing dangerous stuff and taking big risks for months? She knows how much it means to me to see what’s on the other side. It’s important.
So things have been kind of weird between us. She still loves me—she says so, every day. And I still love her. But I think something else is bothering her and she won’t open up about it. Like a typical stupid male, I don’t know what I can do. At least she has Martha to keep her company. In the month we’ve been in St. Peters, Kelsie and Martha have become good friends. Martha’s funny. She was once married to a Hell’s Angels type of guy, but he died a year or so ago. Martha must be in her 50s. She owns a fucking beautiful motorcycle that I’d love to get my hands on. She acts tough but she’s really a softie with a lot of heart. So she’s taken Kelsie under her wing and I think it’s done some good. I wonder if I should ask Martha what I can do about Kelsie. Maybe Kelsie’s confided in her.
Nevertheless, I’m still determined to cross the river. Against Kelsie’s wishes, I’ve been discussing a plan of action with Wally, the professor, and Julian. I think we’ve come up with something that just might work.
All we need is a tank—which we have; a bicycle—there are plenty around here; and some of those protective suits. That’s the hard part.