Jordan Does it Again

While I have been so moody that, had I still been at work, the WME would have shoved me full of every medication known to man for bi-polar disorder, Jordan has been incredibly focused, and has figured out a way to rig up enough power in this cabin to get an old laptop up and running, and now he is the one furiously typing away.

I asked him what he was doing, although I was a bit listless. We both fired up a cigarette from an old carton we found in the woods. They were not even stale. Jordan is convinced that Scott Grusin is leaving things for us to find - the carton of cigarettes was amazing, but we have found bottled water, beef jerky, all kinds of odds and ends, all pushing our survival rate up a few more days at a time.

I do not want to admit that it might be him, but there is no other explanation, and Jordan is usually right.

"I am getting into different areas of the Internet, writing about different topics, hoping that someone will find us before the government does," he answered, not looking up.

"Oh," I pondered this for a minute.

"But the government is already everywhere, Jordy. Won't this lead them straight to us?"

"Might. Could. Probably. But from what I am reading, if we can hang tough for another year, something might change. Maybe for the better. I am researching. Besides, I have rigged the place and we have a safe-house. We also have some help."

"What? Who?" I was stunned. Jordan and I did not keep secrets from each other.

"I'll tell you soon, Peter," he answered, leaning back in the chair.

For the first time since my funk, I noticed Jordan had dark, dark circles under his eyes.

"Soon," he repeated, rubbing his temples.

"Um," I looked at his links. "Who was that Tomas Hrádcky guy, that music that had you so upset when you went into the WME basement, I don't know, a year or so ago?"

Jordan stared into nothingness for a few minutes. He looked like he was about to cry, but was just out of water.

"Me." he answered, still staring.