JOURNAL OF DEREK RAYNE8 Apr, Tues
My 3rd day of walking. I don’t know how far I’m going each day. Am exhausted - the mud is worse than quicksand - at each step it sucks my feet down and refuses to let go. Have lost my boot 3 times and have had to reach down into the bog to pull it out.
I might get on better without shoes. They have become like huge concrete blocks. My legs are coated up to my thighs with great globs of mud, because I fall on almost every other step. It has gotten so thick I can scarcely bend my knees - I feel like I’m wearing casts of the stuff. If it weren’t for the incessant rain that at least washes my upper body and hands, it would be a full body cast. In a way, I thank God for the rain. When it stops the bugs come out and guess who’s dinner.
I don’t know how the Land Rover made it through. I don’t recall it being this bad, but I was too angry to pay much attention. Father was drinking and swearing a lot. We did blow the water pump shortly after we left the main road and the next day the fan belt broke and we got stuck a lot, but Dad always worked us free.
I’ve tried to stay off the road, but then I have to hack through the vegetation, which isn’t exactly growing from dry ground itself. It’s so thick it’s practically like a wall on each side of the trail. My hands are becoming infected. I have to inspect myself every now and again for leeches. I never manage to sleep more than a few minutes at a time - the demon comes and my Father dies yet again, then he comes for me. I see it again and again, but I can never stop it. I don’t know that I’m going to make it. I wish I knew how much farther. I can recall no landmarks other than that ledge we stopped at for the night.
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