forked river
spirited through brkln in that peculiar mechanical conveyance of the mainland, the automobile, am informed that though the estab forces have lessened their focus on manhattanville - presume they have conceded its loss - it is still not safe for inhabs to travel through no.jersey. taken to a safe house in red hook where am introduced to patero and fellow escapees. do not exchange names.
the danger of insurgency which the inhabs presents is taken very seriously by the inheritors of authority over the industrial yards of north jersey. their bulls and mercs constantly scour the wetlands and oil yards for anyone walking without a license; the result is that many a poor, politically innocent vagabond has been jailed or put to work. conversely, the lanes along the coast are rarely patrolled as no nation on the atlantic ocean has the economic power to sustain a naval force. thusly, we are taken over water, skirting the coast in a small fiberglass skiff, the deficiency of draft of which forces us to endure numerous bone-bruising collisions with the deck and to creep into the weeds of the intracoastal waterway when the waves become to violent.
after 3 nights in the wet bottom of the open craft, we arrive at the port of forked river. upon landing, armed men and women informs us that we are to pay for passage through their territory with a stint of labour on their blueberry fields. Watching our former coxswain take payment from the farmers for delivering to them some stout new hands, i ponder the speed and ferocity that may be held inside these weary and puddle-eyed berriers. these rusty old scatterguns are not the first to be pointed at me. i have a task to perform, however - a service to manhattanville - here will be plenty of battles in the weeks to come; i must choose them wisely, and this will not be one of them.
loaded into the bed of a red ford f-150, fed hot beverages and melon. first melons seen in 4 years.
