Some hurried notes, too pooped to write much. Still scared but more hopeful. Making better progress after a couple of our guys unburied the truck from where it was hidden in piled snow, plus supporters lent us other vehicles, one a big farm truck with fifty men and women packed in the back. One encounter with a Bhashyistan army outpost, but they scattered like scared mice when we pulled in. Now we have three extra jeeps. Numbers swelling daily, men and women leaving their farms and villages to join our march to the Russian border. Stayed in a snow cave last night. Maxine, Ivy, and I now waiting out the night in a yurt, our comrades camped outside. Not too cold in here but spare, the only decoration a framed photo of Abzal Erzhan (he’s everywhere) who I found out had lost his parents to executioners. So sad. Little Hasran, only fifteen, says he is like a king to him, to all of Bhashyistan. Aisulu has ordered lights out. Bedtime. I keep thinking that tomorrow I’ll awake in my own bed, and this will all have been a nightmare.
