All my love,
Bill
New Mexport
Dear Zilclass="underline"
Where all the ships were there is nothing but sand. There are a few left. This morning we could see the Blackness in the east. There hasn’t been any sunrise yet. The sun is behind the thing.
I’ll give this to one of the guys in the barracks to take with him. He’ll give it to you personally.
I don’t know how to say all this, Zill. I don’t know how to say any part of it. The board that Crown set up has cleared the last of the crews for the remaining ships. I’m not on any of the crews. And I’m not a passenger.
I keep thinking that if I had maybe a year more experience in space I’d be worth taking along. As it stands, I’m just a punk who doesn’t know much about space and doesn’t know anything about anything else.
All the time, I thought I’d be going. Pretty silly, wasn’t it? When I realized what was going to happen I got sort of a stiff grin on my face, and I went in and sat on my bunk and bit on my thumb knuckle to keep from crying like a baby.
Misery loves company, I suppose, but I don’t get much comfort out of thinking of all the millions and millions of people who have disappeared into that Black Death.
Crown thinks he’s staying behind, too. There’s a plan to slug him and put him aboard the last ship. He’ll wake up in deep space. I guess that’s a good thing. He’s turned this escape into a pretty orderly thing.
Well, Zill, there isn’t much point in weeping on your pretty shoulder, and I’ve given up thinking that maybe they’ll change their mind about me. I even thought of killing one of the crew guys so that maybe I could take his place, but there are hundreds of guys in my shoes and the odds are against my being picked, even if I could do such a thing.
I keep thinking that things would have worked out very nicely for the two of us, but I guess it is just one of those things. You are very beautiful, Zill, and you will find a nice guy, I am sure. Better find a smarter guy than me, Zill.
Joey is around looking for this letter, so I must close now. I like to think that maybe you will keep these letters of mine. Sort of like a keepsake.
I know this writing is a little wobbly, but you ought to be able to read it okay. To tell the truth, I’m scared green!
Anyway, when you find a nice guy, which I am sure you will, you better hide these letters of mine so he won’t read them and get jealous. If he isn’t good to you, honey, I will transport myself over there and I’ll haunt the son of a gun. Ha, ha!
Your friend,
Bill Wheeland