Chapter Twelve: Peter III:

Location: Hawkshaw, Scottish Borders

Diary Entry: Peter

Day Sixty-Three

The snow is starting to melt away at least. I just keep running into more people in my situation. Now, they all want to go to the sea. I can’t get it myself, but I’m about to head into Scotland. My grandfather would be rolling in his grave if he saw me now. However, now is not the time for that.

I gave up on looking for any of my mates at this point. If I do find them alive, great. If not, oh well. I still don’t know what I’m doing. Here I am, standing jump in front of Scotland. It still feels cold. The sand keeps playing tricks on my head. Like everyone else I have met, we wish the sand would go away. I closed my eyes and shook my head. I missed the sound of music. Hell, even “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls would be a welcome change than the howling winds overhead.

I tilted my head at the two semi-detached houses in front of me. They actually looked way better than most of the building that I have seen as I passed by. It amazed me that they managed to remain standing after all of this sand. Tweedsmuir is two kilometers from here. By car, that wouldn’t be so long. But given the circumstances… Yeah. Why did I come here? There isn’t much of anywhere else to go anymore, actually. Maybe I could find something or someone for anything. I took in a breath and began my walk.

I have gotten used to the whole horror ambience as I walk. I shoved my hands into my pocket as I shivered. Now where would be the first place to go in a time like this? I looked up at the sky as the obvious came to me. As clichéd as it sounded, I decided to go to the Parish Church. This is going to feel weird because I can’t remember the last time I have been in a church. I don’t think it will do much, but it’s better than nothing, I suppose.

As I walked down the road, something caught my attention. I noticed someone walking down the path that I was coming from. I squinted my eyes for a better look. It looked like an old lady leaning on a walking stick, coming towards me. Where was she going? I stuck my hand up in the air.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Hey! Where are you going?” The old lady stopped and appeared to be looking at me. I jogged over until I caught up to her. I about fell backwards when I saw her close-up. Her face had more wrinkles than a dried peach. She squinted her eyes as she cocked her head.

“What, dear?” she asked.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“What?”

“Where are you going?”

The old lady nodded. “Oh. To England.”

I tilted my head. “Why? There is nothing but sand in England.”

“I know that.”

“So why are you going there?”

“I’m going to the sea.”

“But why?” I asked. “Why does everyone want to go to the sea?”

“What?”

“Why does everyone want to go to the sea?”

“Yes.”

“We don’t know.” Her words were going to be the driving point for me to get to the bottom of why people were going to the sea and where this sand came from.