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alarmed us all to follow suit. We were separated, too distant from each other to whisper a plan, while a group of six rough-looking men scanned our site with automatics.
     
    Two men approached my location as I pressed my chest against the muddy terrain, hiding in the grass. The only thing I could think of was that my shotgun was by the tree, several feet away from me, and my 9mm was tossed when my bag was thrown. I breathed heavily and unevenly, moist soil and bacteria traversed through my nose. Mud soaked against my face, digging deeper into my pores. I feared for my life, thinking of things in a rush, while Grace screamed. I could hear her running through the thick woods. The men fired, all of them, aiming in the same direction, but I have no idea if it hit home.
     
    Jack, however, fired wildly with my handgun to get beaten down. He missed his targets completely, strange for someone with military experience, and his decision to head out into the open was premature at best. The men bashed him, beating him a few feet away, but I couldn’t do a damn thing. I was powerless, completely powerless.
     
    They didn’t kill him, though. They beat the living shit out of him and carried him away. I could spot James daring for an attack, but the fully automatics reminded him of the power they had over us. I could tell he thought about it. I could tell by the way he gripped the neck of his bass; the way he stared at them as if he was determined to give them hell.
     
    They left the clearing shouting things as an engine fired up.
     
    Grace was nowhere to be found, but an alarming splatter of blood gave me little hope as to her condition. If they took her with them, she only had a matter of time until they finished her off, or until she bled to death.
     
    James was furious, and though I can’t blame him, I also couldn’t full heartedly support his plan to go after them. He dismissed my advice and stormed away, stopping only to gather the remains of our supplies. Everything we had with the exception of what was in my bag was stolen: my shotgun, the case of bottled water, the beer, and junk food.
     
    I found my journal, obviously. James and I sat near a tree, sharing a beer I had stashed in my bag. James caved first, breaking the uncomfortable silence, spilling his ideas while trying to hide the fact that they were drafted because of his emotional ties with Grace. I thought it silly that he felt the need to rescue her so quickly, but I couldn’t justify undermining his intent, not then anyway. He constantly pushed for us to head after them, but we had little to go on.
     
    I tried to tell him why we left him when we did, but I dodged the subject. I simply suggested that we would track them down as we continue with the plan, but he refused to listen. James insisting became impossible to reason with. So, from here on out, we are officially going off course from the mission.
     
     
     
     
     
    Entry Twenty-four, 1/17/15
     
    Day one of James’ fantastic investigation and everything went according to plan. That is, if you consider being detected by pesky carnivorous, and bloodthirsty floating heads a part of the plan. They appeared severed from corpses, and instead of crawling along the ground by the strength of their teeth, they were given the gift of flight, at least the power to slightly hover and gravitate. Either way, the demonic entities were determined to hunt us down and finish the job their slower counterparts couldn’t.
     
    I don’t remember if there were any signs of their approach. I can’t recall any strange sounds or any change in stench. The only moment in time that comes to mind was when James and I followed the tracks out to a paved road. The local buildings and places of business were all abandoned, mimicking that of a ghost town in an old western. It struck me as odd that the army of walking corpses didn’t populate this particular spot. I still believe what I believed then, that the presence of the Marauders