Day One, Ante Sequestria, in what was once the capital city of a mighty empire. The Provisional Authority has set up Sequestervilles along the Mall, a labyrinth of clapboard and cardboard and canvas that will swallow you up if you aren***8217;t careful.
The smells.
At night, the sounds.
Some of us from the hinterlands were assigned to a cluster of hovels and lean-tos that has come to be called Ezra***8217;s Alley. Others of us are acres away, on a strip they call Boehner***8217;s Run. Still others are unaccounted for.
I saw men fighting to the death over an EBT card. Unemployed firemen loitered in front of their now shuttered fire house. A limousine rolled past, with Romney stickers on it. It stopped. A man got out and put his cigar out on a puppy.
But then the sun started to set, and the temperature dropped. A group of newly unemployed teachers came down from Arne's Acre, and took the stall for firewood. They were able to build a fire, providing a modicum of heat in the chilly night. A few rats and a scraggly squirrel, cooked on the fire, was all the food they had. The heat and food attracted attention from the refugees from Blair House. They swarmed down in the middle of the night. The encounter was violent, and for the teachers, fortunately brief. The next morning, a few Washington Post reporters stumbled upon the site. The sight of the carnage drove them mad.
Word has come that several Federal employees have barricaded themselves into the Executive Office Building and are vowing to fight to the death before they see the doors closed and locked forever. Cannibalism will be sure to follow. They can't live long on bottled spring water, coffee, and creamer.
Rumors spread of potable water and even some fuel on the other side of the river. But all of the crossings are controlled by the warlords of Alexandria and their confederates. From the tales told of their depravity, you***8217;d rather drown than be taken alive.
We may yet have to chance it. Another engineer ***8212; was I an engineer? Am I one now? ***8212; another engineer, he was hit in the leg during the disturbances in Foggy Bottom and the wound will not close.
I will not allow myself the luxury of hope. This is all that is real now. They tore a piece of the world off and we survivors are forsaken to wander the 98.5 percent of it that***8217;s left.
I pray you are safe and will send word when next I can.