Journal Entry

It turns out the apocalypse is a lot easier when there are fewer people.

Back when it was just our family, everybody had a job, everybody had a place to sleep, and everybody mostly stayed out of each other's way.

Eight people sounded manageable.

Eight people were not manageable.

Eight people meant one bathroom, not enough privacy, and an endless series of arguments about things nobody would have cared about before the world ended.

The cabin officially had too many children.

Possibly too many adults too.

The first sign that winter had finally broken everyone's brains came on a Tuesday morning when James woke up to shouting.

Not panicked shouting.

Not zombie shouting.

Just normal, everyday, cabin-life shouting.

The worst kind.

He rolled over and looked at the clock.

6:47 AM.

Too early for whatever disaster was currently unfolding.

Pulling on a sweatshirt, he stumbled into the hallway where Maggie was already standing outside the bathroom with her arms crossed.

"You hear this too?" James asked.

Maggie stared at the bathroom door.

"I've been hearing it for twenty minutes."

From behind the door came Jonas's voice.

"I'm almost done."

"No, you're not," Maggie yelled.

"I am."

"You said that ten minutes ago."

James rubbed his eyes.

"How long has he been in there?"

Maggie looked offended.

"I timed him."

"You timed his shower?"

"I had nothing else to do while waiting for mine."

Inside the bathroom, Jonas groaned dramatically.

"This is harassment."

"This is justice," Maggie called back.

The bathroom door finally opened and Jonas emerged in a cloud of steam looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"I don't know why everyone's upset."

Maggie immediately brushed past him.

"Because some of us enjoy hot water."

Jonas pointed after her.

"See? Hostile work environment."

James was about to answer when singing drifted down the hallway.

Loud singing.

Very loud singing.

The kind of singing that suggested Elliott had been awake for entirely too long already.

James closed his eyes.

"No."

Jonas grinned.

"She's been going for fifteen minutes."

From the kitchen came another burst of enthusiastic singing followed by Harry yelling for her to stop.

Maggie poked her head back out of the bathroom.

"Does she ever stop talking?"

"No," James answered.

"Ever?"

"No."

"What happens when she sleeps?"

James considered it.

"Sometimes she talks then too."

Maggie slowly closed the bathroom door.

"I want my own cabin."

By the time breakfast ended, everyone was irritated.

Harry wanted space for his books.

Jonas wanted space to work on things.

Elliott wanted space to read.

Maggie wanted silence.

James wanted all of them to disappear for approximately three hours.

Unfortunately none of those things seemed likely.

The cabin had started feeling smaller every day.

The weather had trapped everyone inside for weeks, snow covered most of the property, and every room felt crowded no matter how many times people moved around.

Even the bunker had become crowded now that Dr. Anderson spent nearly every waking hour there with Karen and John.

The three adults practically lived underground.

The kids practically lived on top of each other.

By lunch, Harry and Jonas were arguing over desk space.

By dinner, Elliott was angry because somebody had moved her books.

By evening, Maggie looked ready to commit a felony.

James found her sitting at the dining room table staring into space.

"You look healthy."

Maggie didn't even glance up.

"I'm moving outside."

James pulled out a chair.

"Can I come?"

She pointed toward the living room where Elliott and Jonas were arguing over a deck of cards.

"No. Just me."

"Fair."

Harry immediately appeared from nowhere.

"We could build a fort."

"No," Maggie said.

"A snow fort."

"No."

"A giant snow fort."

"No."

"With tunnels."

"No."

"With bedrooms."

Maggie finally looked at him.

"Why are you like this?"

Harry grinned.

Five minutes later all three younger kids were sketching plans for what appeared to be an elaborate underground snow kingdom.

James wasn't entirely sure how Maggie had lost that argument.

The next morning started even worse.

James headed downstairs to update the inventory notebook before breakfast.

It was one of the jobs he had slowly inherited over the last several months, not because anyone assigned it to him, but because if he didn't do it nobody else seemed to.

He flipped through the pages.

Then frowned.

The last complete inventory update had been almost three weeks ago.

That wasn't right.

James turned back several pages.

Then forward again.

Nothing.

Just partial notes.

Half-finished counts.

Missing entries.

He stared at the notebook.

Slowly a knot formed in his stomach.

Maybe somebody had moved the updated copy.

Maybe there was another notebook.

Maybe—

No.

There wasn't.

He knew there wasn't.

Because he was the one usually updating it.

The realization hit harder than it should have.

James stood and started checking shelves.

Then cabinets.

Then storage bins.

Then the pantry.

Flour was lower than he remembered.

Canned vegetables were lower.

Batteries were definitely lower.

He checked again.

Still lower.

Nobody had recorded any of it.

Nobody had tracked usage.

Nobody had updated counts.

Nobody had noticed.

By the time he reached the firewood notes, his pulse was pounding.

The stack outside was smaller too.

Not dangerously small.

Not yet.

But smaller than it should have been.

Nobody had mentioned that either.

James stood in the middle of the kitchen looking around at the cabin.

Laundry sat folded on the couch waiting to be put away.

A broken cabinet hinge still hadn't been fixed.

The inventory was behind.

The firewood count was behind.

School lessons had become inconsistent.

The cameras needed maintenance.

The generator needed attention.

The younger kids needed supervision.

Meals needed planning.

Everything needed something.

And somehow all of it seemed to land on the same two people.

James and Maggie.

The realization settled over him like a weight.

Not because any one thing was impossible.

Because all of it together was.

That evening everyone gathered for dinner.

Karen, John, and Dr. Anderson had emerged from the bunker looking exhausted as usual.

They were already discussing research notes when James finally snapped.

Not angrily.

Not intentionally.

The words simply escaped before he could stop them.

"What exactly have you three been doing?"

The table went quiet.

Karen looked up first.

"What?"

James immediately wished he hadn't started.

Unfortunately it was too late now.

"What have you been doing?" he repeated.

John frowned.

"James—"

"No. Seriously."

Everyone was staring now.

Even Elliott had stopped eating.

James could feel his heart pounding.

"We're running out of food and nobody noticed."

Karen's expression shifted.

"We aren't running out."

"We're getting lower."

Nobody answered.

"The inventory hasn't been updated in weeks."

John glanced toward the notebook.

Not a great sign.

James saw it immediately.

"You didn't know that."

"James—"

"We're behind on firewood."

Silence.

"The cameras haven't been checked in days."

More silence.

"The kids barely have school anymore because we're too busy doing everything else."

Maggie shifted beside him.

He knew she wanted him to stop.

The problem was he couldn't.

Once the words started coming, they wouldn't stop.

"You spend eighteen hours a day in that bunker."

Karen sat back slowly.

"We're trying to save people."

"I know."

His voice cracked.

The anger vanished instantly.

Leaving only exhaustion.

"I know."

Nobody spoke.

James looked down at his hands.

They were shaking.

"I know you're trying."

The room remained silent.

"I'm trying too."

His throat tightened.

Suddenly he hated that everyone was looking at him.

"I can't do everything."

Karen's face softened.

James wished that made him feel better.

It didn't.

"Things are falling apart at the seams, Mom."

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

The cabin felt impossibly quiet.

James swallowed.

Then finally said the thing he had been carrying around for weeks.

"I can't keep it together anymore."

The words hung in the air.

Heavy.

Embarrassing.

True.

For several seconds nobody spoke.

Then Karen slowly closed her notebook.

"Okay."

That was all she said.

Just one word.

Okay.

And somehow that was worse than an argument.

Because James knew his mother.

And when Karen Anderson-Downs got quiet, it meant she was thinking.

Which meant somebody was probably about to regret something.

Possibly everyone.

Including him.

The Great Cabin Wars had officially begun.