Things have been hell. And it seems to get worse as time goes on. I don't even remember how many days we've been out here, wandering and barely surviving. Nathan is dead. It's my fault. I know that everyone else thinks so, too. They'll avoid my eyes sometimes. But they never say anything. I think they might be afraid to. Goodwin was one of Them. And I didn't see it. I couldn't save the kids and I can barely lead the people that are left. But I have to, because no one else is going to do what they need to do to survive.
Not too long ago, while Bernard was messing with the radio, he heard a voice. It was a man, saying he was a survivor of flight 815. I shut it off immediately. I didn't tell them, but I'm scared. I don't want Them to find us again. I don't want to be hunted. I don't want Libby or Bernard or Cindy or even Eko to be killed in the middle of the night.
I went into the woods to cry after hearing the radio transmission. It was the stress finally getting to me. I don't know if I can handle all of this. Eko came out of the woods while I was crying.
For now? I guess we have to decide what we're going to do next. Staying in the hatch/bunk/whatever seems the best. I'll have a talk with everyone later.