September 3

No water. No heat. No food.

We are so screwed.

In the early morning, after we had spent all night checking and sorting the pantry after the glass jars shattered all over the shelves and floors, I tried turning on the faucet to clean my hands of the jelly and jam juice coating my fingers while wetting some towels to wipe the sticky juice off the floor, but there was no water. I went to the bathroom to see if there was water, but nothing. Same thing with the sink in the laundry room. I even checked the garden faucet. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"We don't have any water," I told Dad.

"I know," he said. "All the pipes must have ruptured. Both the stove and the heater aren't working either."

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said before calling out for Mom to get the heater for the greenbox, which was slowly becoming cooler before turning back to me. "Can you go get some firewood from the garage along with some of the twigs and leaves?"

"Sure," I said before remembering. "What about the food drive today?"

Dad swore before standing on a dining table chair and announcing, "We've got to go to the food drive. Maybe they will have some information."

Mom said, "I'll grab everyone's masks and tell my parents to get ready. Kids, get your socks and wear your shoes. Hurry up! We don't want to miss any food, especially because of the earthquakes."

So we all sprung into action, the coldness that plagued us this week dissolving. It's the one good thing about chaos and destruction, where there just isn't enough free time to waste your breath arguing and fighting. Everyone is just all action, all movement, and getting things done. We managed to get dressed and out of the house in less than five minutes.

After some minutes, as we neared the food drive, we could hear the chants and questions of everyone clumped together in the plaza echoing throughout the streets. There was this uncontrollable anger and fear in the air, and Mom looked at all of us before saying, "Stick together. It's dangerous out there, but we need the information."

"Should I go out first?" Dad asked. "Scout out the situation to see if we should just head back."

"No," Mom said. "In these situations, being alone can make you a target. Some of those people out there are crazed, starved animals, and they are unpredictable."

"They're people, Mom," Mira interjected. "Not animals."

"And people are unpredictable," she replied. "Like animals."

Ambulance blares filled the air and when I looked up, I could see plumes of smoke drifting throughout the sky, like each house was a small volcano. There were people on the sidewalks, crying in front of their collapsed houses, faces bruised and bloodied. Mom and Dad ushered us away from them and told us not to look at them in their eyes, but I felt sorry for them. I wanted to help, but I couldn't.

As we neared the plaza, I could better make out what they were saying, the cries and chants mixed up in a swirl of sound. There was an underlying chant: "We need food. We need water. We need heat," punctuated by a smattering of questions: "When will the water return? Is firewood going to be provided? Can we get gasoline, please?" and cries of desperation and anger: "Fix the damn pipes! Please, I've got children and grandparents. We paid all these taxes for you; now deliver! May God save us all. To Hell with God!"

We stayed clumped together as people formed clumps that morphed into swirling stampedes, kicking up ash into the air as a manmade mist descended upon us. May's eyes were wildly darting around with panic, and Mom was holding her steady while Mira and Dad stood guard around Grandma and Grandpa. I mostly looked around, hoping to see a glimpse of Charles in the crowd, but it's hard to tell when visibility is blurry and everyone's wearing masks.

Suddenly, there was a crackling of static and the crowd quieted down for a moment before going back to their chants. The announcer then said, "Quiet everyone!"

But no one listened until the second crackling of static as his voice boomed throughout the plaza, "I have new information."

That's what got everyone. Even the most angry people and the most desperate all quieted down, waiting to hear what he had to say. I guess everyone was scared and helpless and just wanted to know what to expect next because at this point, no one had a clue about what's coming after the ruptures of the pipes and collapse of people's houses.

"But you all need to listen very carefully," the announcer said. "Last week, unfortunately, we were unable to complete the installation of the rockfall netting, and because of the lack of volunteers throughout the week, we were unable to complete the netting before this earthquake."

There were murmurs in the chat, but I think practically everyone knew what he was about to say, and when the announcer said it, it only crystallized everyone's fears. "The final mountain path got buried and the other two experienced more collapses. As of the moment, we do not have access to the food delivery trucks, but our members are working hard in Sacramento to give us access to the food."

There was a flurry of conversation.

"Are we going to have to cut down on more food?" May asked.

"I don't know," Mom replied. "I don't know."

"At this rate, I'm going to shrivel up and die," May said before giving me a look (like the type of look when she is planning something that'll likely involve me lying a bunch) before Mira hopped into the conversation, "We should've helped."

"There's nothing that could've been done," Mom replied. "One or two extra places partially secured wouldn't have made a difference."

"It could've," Mira said. "We all could've helped."

"What if the earthquake had happened last Saturday when you were out there?" Mom asked. "You could've died. It's better this way."

"I agree with your Mom here," Dad said, standing next to Mom. "So stop beating yourself over what you could've done and start doing something right now. We've got lots of work to do today at home."

"We should be helping people," Mira replied, as her argument fizzled in front of our united parents.

I turned towards her. "We've got to help ourselves first."

I think she knew what I meant about Charles and his family, where we've got to help our own family first before helping other people like his family, sort of like the mask on first in an airplane before helping another person. But when she turned away, I knew she wasn't satisfied with just doing that, but who knows what she is going to do more? With my secret out, I can only hope that she doesn't follow in my footsteps for other people because even though it's right and moral and good, I don't know if we can afford it.

"But, in the meantime, families with more food and supplies, please donate them to the less fortunate," the announcer said. "We need to survive together, as a whole community, or it's going to get bad, and we need things to stay good. So please, I am begging you, donate food for the less fortunate, in the anonymous bins that we have set up in front of city hall."

"But what if there is no food?" a skinny woman asked as we walked out from the crowd to face the announcer. "I've got sick kids at home."

"There will be food," the announcer said. "I know it."

But he didn't sound very convinced, and everyone knew it because he was bombarded by questions about power, about water, about ash, about masks, about virtually everything. The two security guards, armed with nothing but a handgun and some mace spray stood in front of him, as he answered the crowd's questions with hesitancy.

"We are working on fixing the water and natural gas pipelines. Expect them to return in a month or so," he said, but everyone knew it was a lie because that was too good to be true and felt like fake assurance. Before, it was a big deal to lose power for even a couple of hours, but now, losing water and natural gas for a month only feels like a fake bargain. "In the meantime, we are working on printing guides about the purification of water and how to create safe heat in homes that can be picked up this Wednesday at City Hall."

People began shouting all sorts of questions at him, mostly about water usage and about gasoline and about whether or not there was going to be a drive for heavy coats and batteries, but he mostly ignored them, heading back into the security of the building before him.

Just when he was in front of the door, he said, "There will be a town hall meeting next Saturday to answer all of your questions in a safe and controlled environment. In the meantime, for those who are unaware, make sure to check the postal office for letters from your loved ones. I know it's a bit unexpected, but we were getting letters shipped in with the food shipments. We haven't been able to deliver them to your homes due to gasoline shortages, so make sure to see if you've received one before the office closes next week. Stay safe, stay healthy, and keep your hopes up."

He then disappeared through the city hall doors with the two security guards following him closely as someone shouted, "Pig!"

"He looks like he has a feast every day," another person jeered, and there was a resounding applause in the front.

Someone shouted an expletive and people whooped along before people began joining a chant that resounded throughout the plaza: "Pig! Pig! Pig!" Mom and Dad looked around, panic glazing their eyes. There were people at the edges, stragglers trying to leave the roaring crowd to escape the anger and fear.

"We should go," Mom said.

"Wait," Dad said and put his hand on her shoulder, which was a good thing for what happened after.

There was an East Asian couple, like Mom, about twenty or so footsteps away from us, trying to get away from the crowd and peel themselves away from the angry mob. They didn't look like they were doing great, the woman had a clear limp, but they were wearing nicer clothes (the woman had one of those puffy jackets on), and a small group of guys noticed that they were trying to leave.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" One of the men in the group shouted.

"Home," the middle-aged man said with a strong accent as his wife stood by his side.

"Home," another man in that group sneered. "You've got a lot of food, don't you, if you're not staying here to protest these city council pigs."

"Let's go," the man said to his wife, but she wasn't moving very fast because of her limp and a third man grabbed her jacket.

"Mind if I borrow it?" he asked, though it was more like a threat, and the woman shoved him off. "Get your dirty paws off of me!"

The man shouted some expletives at her, and soon the shoving and tripping and jeering morphed into full on hitting and kicking them, saying things like: "Get out of our country" and "You don't deserve any food, you foreigners." There was blood everywhere, dripping across the floor and smearing their jeans and the couple was looking at us and the people around us for help, but no one did anything, and we all just stood there in fear of being attacked next, dumbfounded and wondering how everything got to this in just a couple of months. I know that there's always been a lot grumbling about rich East Asian, especially Chinese, families moving into the city in recent years, but I never expected in a million years that it'd explode into this ugliness, one that I was terrified was going to target Mom next.

Dad looked at us. "We've got to go. Now! While we still can."

We all hustled away, trying not to look into the couples' eyes, but Mira was stuck in place. I would be too, if it weren't the adrenaline rushing through my veins and the beating of my heart that threatened to blow my chest open. I grabbed Mira's hand and pulled her away even though she resisted a bit because we just had to go, and we couldn't risk helping and getting hurt, so we left them, bloodied and bruised and probably dead in the near future, just lying on the ground.

If there is some higher power, we're probably going to pay for not helping them since, like school taught me, being a bystander is about as bad as being the ones who did it. And in a way, I guess I did it by pulling Mira away instead of letting her maybe help or do something she wanted to do to stop this, and if they die, I wonder if it's my fault. But if Mira got hurt and died like they did when she tried breaking them apart, it would be my fault too. There was really no win-win situation here in the eyes of the world, wasn't there?

We had some spare tap water in a water pitcher, so we didn't need to go to the creek to gather water, but Dad said that we were doing that on Monday along with the tree cutting. Mom and Dad managed to get the fireplace working without burning down the house, and we began burning the wood that we had stored up, maybe one and a half month's worth since we have to run the fire every day, all day. Sometime in the afternoon, May said, "I need to use the bathroom."

"I'll go get a bucket," Dad said and left for the garage.

"A bucket," May said before sitting back down uncomfortably and fidgeting. "I think I'd rather wait for the water to come back."

"It's not coming back," Mom said. "And if you have an accident, I'm not cleaning it up."

Dad returned from the garage with a five-gallon bucket, and May looked at it. "How am I going to pee in this bucket?"

"You'll figure it out," Dad said.

"This is so disgusting."

"Well, that's life."

"Screw life."

"Screw life," Dad said, muttering under this breath. "Now go."

As May disappeared into the bathroom, complaining under her breath, I turned to Mom and Dad. "How are we, you know, going to get rid of it?"

"The garden?" Dad suggested. "For the pee."

"And for the other?"

"Maybe the old garbage can we still have rolled out there," Mom suggested. "If we put it in the garden, we'll probably contaminate the water supply, and we can't have that."

"What about the smell," Dad said. "It might be better to bury it."

"We can put the garbage can into the Hunters' yard," Mom replied. "I'm sure they won't mind. Burying it doesn't solve the water contamination problem and digging holes every time is too much work."

"I'm done," May said and exited the bathroom, holding the bucket gingerly in her hands. "That was dehumanizing."

"Without technology, we truly are animals," I wanted to say but didn't. In the afternoon, we ended up setting up the bathroom system, Mom pulling our garbage cans into the Hunters' house as Dad took out the rubber gloves and cleaning wipes, we had stored to clean the bucket every time a person used the bathroom. Also, to stave off bad habits, he taped the toilet shut with thin blue tape and a sign, so that we wouldn't inadvertently use it.

While Mom and Dad were working on setting up the greenbox to accommodate the fireplace and preparing seeds to be grown in the greenbox (we're germinating peas by the fireplace right now), I noticed that Mira was completely absent. And when I saw her, she was sitting in our room and staring at the wall.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"You know what's wrong," Mira replied. "I mean we just left them there."

"I know," I said. "But, you know, I guess we had to."

"We should've done something," she said. "I should've done something at least. I know Mom's only looking out for all of us, but I want more than that."

"I know but helping would've just got you hurt."

"Who cares about me?" she said loudly. "Care about the people who actually got hurt."

"I do, you know," I said. "It's really bad what happened to them, and I can't stop thinking about it, but there's nothing we can do."

"We could go to the hospital," she said. "Maybe they're there. And give them flowers, so that they know that someone is looking out for them."

"The only problem with your plan is what flowers?" I said. "With the whole ashfall."

"Oh," she said. "Maybe a card or something else to make them feel better."

"I guess, if you want to," I said. "It might be a little weird since they are complete strangers."

"Well, they might feel better knowing that a stranger actually cared about them."

"Maybe," I said. "The problem is Mom and Dad, you know."

"I'll just tell them that we are going to the hospital tomorrow just to scope out the situation. Maybe tell Mom that there might be dental work possible there since our teeth are probably cavity-filled."

"That sounds like a good plan," I said before almost saying that it reminded me of one of May's plans before remembering that Mira doesn't know about them, not yet anyways. "But, you know that you're lying to Mom and Dad?"

"I mean we are going to go and check out the hospital," she replied. "And it's not something serious. It's just handing a card."

I nodded and then she nodded and then we both stared at the bed sheets before I left the room. It's just weird to see Mira justify her lies like that because she's always preaching truth and openness. But I guess people change, and I guess she's changing even though she says that she's not.

During dinner, everyone talked a little over a couple of fireplace heated corn cans before Dad announced that we were finally moving into the living room to sleep tomorrow since the heaters are gone from the loss of natural gas, and that we should enjoy our last day of privacy.

To be honest, I had completely forgotten about the move to the living room. I don't know how I'm going to do it and get food to Charles with people living, breathing, and doing life all right next to the pantry. I thought I had more time to plan something out, but this earthquake killed everything, and without the food deliveries, Mom and Dad are probably going to be looking at the food situation super closely, so it's even more likely that I'm going to get caught.

My only chance could be with Mira. Maybe telling her my secret wasn't such a bad idea and she could cover me or keep watch for everyone else while I filled up my bag for Charles. I think that's what she'd want, to help someone in need. But there's something in me that's saying that this'll end in disaster because that's what happens when you trust someone with a secret.

Secrets are supposed to be for one, but they better make room for another person.

September 4

We created a card all morning. Mira's not a great artist just like May, and her attempts to draw flowers were spectacular failures, looking like cartoony blobs of things that vaguely resembled petals, so I took over. I drew giant sunflowers and little daisies and long stalks of lavender and petite tulips and the pearly puff heads of clover blossoms while she wrote a short message of hope in long, loopy cursive:

Stay strong. Our family is wishing for your recovery.

"Is that too Pinterest-like," Mira said. "I feel like they might think that I stole it from there."

"I mean, it's a little cheesy," I said, and Mira gave me a little push on the shoulder and chuckled. "But it's too late, and plus, one perk of having no internet is that no one will ever find out."

"Thanks for the encouragement," she said sarcastically.

"No problem," I said. "Always here to help."

"Some help," she said and rolled her eyes playfully. "I never understood how people draw so well."

I shrugged. "I can't draw humans though."

"Who cares?" she said. "You can draw flowers, and right now, that's all that we need."

And all of the talk about flowers reminded me of that dream that I had. I had tried making that dream happen again that next day, wishing that I could have a sequel because I need to figure myself out and what better way to do that than through a dream. There are no consequences, and everything's private if I change my mind, and there's no risk of anything going wrong. And plus, dreams are unrealistic and mystical, and maybe that's what I need in my life. Maybe I'll try willing it to happen again, so that I can finally sort myself out.

Sometime around noon, Mira asked Mom if she could go to the hospital.

"Maybe there will be some dental service," Mira said. "If things were normal, we'd probably be getting our teeth checked around this time, and this might be a good chance to make sure any cavities get fixed."

"That's a good idea," Mom replied. "But it's going to be dangerous, especially with flu season coming up. It might be too risky."

"We're going to be in a hospital," Mira replied. "There are doctors everywhere. We'll be fine."

"Okay," Mom said. "Straight to the hospital and back. No detours, no scenic paths, nothing"

"One detour," Mira said. "I'm going to go check the post office to see if maybe I got a letter."

Mom's face softened, and I think she knew who that letter might be from. "Okay. One detour only, but you both better be home in time or else—"

"We'll get grounded for life. We know, Mom. You've said it about a thousand times," Mira said and grabbed a mask and coat. I think even she was getting a bit tired about Mom's whole safety all the time schtick.

"If there are too many people," Mom said. "Don't go there. After what happened yesterday, I don't want you both to get hurt. Just keep your head down and back away, and don't get involved in any fight. We look out for each other first."

Mira nodded even though she probably believed in very little of what Mom was saying, and armed with little more than our lighter taser that was only at around sixty percent battery, we set off to the hospital. The skies were still clear, and there were wispy icy clouds rimmed with pale blue drifting across the sea above us. It's a good thing that this sea isn't trying to kill us.

The walk to the hospital took probably close to an hour or so. It used to be only a fifteen-minute drive, and it would've been maybe a twenty-five-minute bike trip, but Mira said no to that because like Mom said, we didn't want to stick out, and a part of her was probably worried about what she saw yesterday. Even when I close my eyes, I can still see them, lying on the ground and bloodied and bruised, and I could remember that man's hand going towards his wife's, trying to hold hers. I think I'm making that last part up. When you think of a memory too much, sometimes the details get mixed up.

When we were a couple of minutes away from the hospital, we caught a glimpse of the building, a shining steel and glass structure that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. When we reached there, there was something odd about it, the first two floors filled with light while the rest of the hospital was dark, though there were ambulances everywhere for some reason. I think even they were affected by the electricity and gasoline cuts.

When we entered (the normally automatically opening glass doors needing to be opened manually), an exhausted desk attendant greeted us along with two security guards, both seeming to be barely out of college age.

"Hello," the desk attendant said wearily. "What's your emergency?"

"Nothing," Mira said. "We're just here to deliver a card."

The attendant seemed relieved. "Thank God. I thought we had another landslide victim."

"Landslide victim?" Mira asked.

The attendant looked up, hesitant to answer, before pushing the top of her pen and saying, "Who's the letter for? Are you friends or family?"

"Neither," Mira said. "Our family just wants to make sure that they're alright."

"Description please?"

"Middle-aged. East Asian couple," Mira said. "They might have come in yesterday."

There was an awkward silence in the room. The desk attendant stopped writing with her pen and looked up. "Were they the attack victims?"

"Yes," Mira said. "Is— Is there something wrong."

The attendant looked from side to side. The buzzing of the fluorescent light intensified, and the bright white hospital walls seemed to grow larger as the silence strayed for too many moments too long. She took a deep breath. "They passed away yesterday."

"Oh..." Mira said, and the card seems to slip from her fingers. I was shocked too because I didn't expect this to happen, you know. Except for that time when there was a rampaging shooter a long time back in elementary school, no one has been killed in our city for a long time, and for some people to die in front of our eyes, it's like, just pretty insane. I don't know any other way to say that other than it's just so shocking and so weird and just so unreal. And it just reminds me of the time that I saw the corpse that washed up in the flooded neighborhood, and even in the hospital, so far away from the ocean, I could taste the bits of brine and rotting kelp and death, with a hint of iron.

"I can take the card though," she said. "They might have family or relatives nearby. It'll provide them some hope, that people have still got a shred of humanity left."

Mira handed her the card, and she looked a bit numb and in shock, much more than me. I think it might be because I've already had my run-in with death, but I think there's more to it that I don't know.

"Have they caught the people who did it?" Mira asked.

The attendant shook her head. "The police have long moved on. After their department had their power cut about a month back, pretty much all of them packed their bags and took whatever gasoline they had left and got the hell out of town."

"So they're just let go, scot-free."

"Sadly," the attendant said with a heavy sigh but added with a bit more edge and energy. "But someday, karma's going to get them, but right now, the only laws still enforced are from the people with guns."

"Yeah," Mira said, that word trailing off into the air. "Thank you."

"No, thanks to both of you," she said and picked up her clipboard as the doors behind us opened with a loud squeak, and we could hear the shuffling of heavy footsteps. "Stay safe out there, and make sure to wash your hands often."

After we waved goodbye, I looked back. The saggy eyes, the gaunt face, the thin voice and the way her hands trembled a little as she gripped the pen, I saw all of these with the attendant, the same symptoms that I saw with Charles before I started slipping him food. I wonder if this might be the last time that I see her, and I think Mira knows that too even if her mind is too preoccupied with the couple's death. She seemed like a nice person, and hopefully, if she believed in the afterlife, there would be a nice place for her to go because that's the best we can hope for right now.

As we walked back, I said, "We can go to the post office later, if you want to, you know, process everything."

She started walking a bit slower. "I thought they were going to be alright. At worst, a couple of broken ribs."

"I think we all thought that," I replied. "And you know, you shouldn't blame yourself for this because it's pointless."

"But I can't," she said and turned to me. "Sometimes, I wish that I could care less—"

"Don't say that," I said, cutting her off, but she cut me off right after.

"It's the truth," she said. "But I care a lot. Maybe it's because I can't stand to lose another person again, even if that person is a complete stranger or maybe it's because I can't keep surviving like this, just looking out for ourselves. Life just feels so pointless sometimes because I feel like we're living like machines and robots instead of the people we are."

I didn't know how to respond to what she just said, mostly because sometimes, I feel this way too, like there's just not a whole lot to life anymore. But, you know, she had a vision about where her life was going in her previous life, even if Mom and Dad didn't really agree with it, and life opening up once again seems like too much. It's like life feels so restrictive and so bare bones right now, but that feels better than before because when you have to make choices, it just always comes with regret, and I even know what I'm saying now. I guess it's just because the whole situation feels like it's coming from some dramatic movie or TV show instead of real life.

The rest of the walk was silent, as branches rustled against each other, and boot print stamped leaves drifted in the air with the breeze and tiny grains of ash slipped between the cracks in the road formed from the earthquake. When we arrived at the post office, there was a little more pep in her step, maybe because the thought of receiving a letter from Leon had crowded all the other thoughts in her mind.

There wasn't a big line there, maybe only a couple of people, but it was pretty clear that there was a huge line yesterday, judging by the orange cones lining the sidewalks and zig-zagging the now empty parking lot. It's weird how instead of preparing water or defending their homes, people were spending lots of time waiting for letters from people far away. Maybe that's what hope looks like.

When we entered the post shop, there were bins of letters and packages everywhere, splayed across the floor, as one lonely worker picked up the letters and moved them into the corners, and when Mira told them Leon's last name, the worker pointed us to a corner, and said that the letters should be somewhere there. Apparently, according to the worker, yesterday, a mob of people stormed the line, and everything devolved into chaos after a few minutes of peace, so that's why everything is scattered everywhere.

So we dug into the pile and began sifting through the postcards and letters. I flipped over postcards, some with Yosemite emblazoning them, others with the Rockies and shaggy bison, and some with bright splashes of orange trees and palm fronds. I flipped over one of the cards with a picture of Devil's Tower on it with the date of May 18th on it with a short message:

You open for fishing this weekend? It's been a while, and I miss you. - JT

I wonder if they ever got the chance to fish, but I doubt it since this letter was probably sent before everything happened and whomever it was sent to didn't pick it up. Maybe that's what I'll write my story about to try to give them a happy ending, even if it's just in my imagination. This might be the way that I help make sure people aren't forgotten. I don't know why but I started flipping over lots of postcards, reading the short messages written on them that were never received.

Your daughter and I are staying at your father's old cabin. I know that everything didn't end well last time, but don't do this to our daughter. Come home. - Annie, dated August 17th.

Will you marry me, Nick? I know we've only met online and on letters, but I want to do it even if it's across mail. I love you, and I promise, we'll have a better one when things get better - Kyle, dated July 23rd.

I'm so sorry. We tried to protect her, but we couldn't do it. She's laying under the cottonwood with the swing on it. She said it was her favorite place in the world. I'm so sorry - Jim, dated August 3rd.

Surprised the post still works. Typical government prioritizing letters over people. Stay strong sis, and like Daddy used to say, you ain't done 'til you're done - Lilith, dated August 6th.

Take off that stupid hat of yours - CJ, dated June 25th.

Add just a bit of egg whites and baking powder. That's the secret to my grandma's hardtack. It's forever food, but don't burn down the house. Love you Liam. - Mom, dated July 18th.

Just because the world's ending doesn't mean that I want you back. I never want to see your sorry face or read another whiny letter. - your not-girlfriend, dated August 11th.

I'm waiting for you, where we first met under the redwoods. If you truly meant forever, here's our chance. I'm sorry for everything, but I'm asking to give us another chance. I'll be there until October. - Taylor, dated July 30th.

There were hundreds of other letters lying sprawled across the floor, with inside jokes and messages of hope and recipes and micro-stories and cries of love and despair. I wanted to take some of these letters with me, so that maybe someone will at least know that someone got their message. But there still was a possibility that someone would pick up these postcards, so I organized them based on alphabetical order and left them there for another person to look through. Maybe they'll be able to find each other. I can only hope.

As I was organizing the letters and postcards, I noticed that Mira had gone quiet and that the shuffling of papers in her corner had stopped. She had opened a letter and was reading it with a bittersweet smile, her hand trembling a little, and that's when I knew that that was Leon's letter, so I moved a bit away from her and picked up the scattered postcards to give her a bit of privacy. And when she was done, she carefully put the letter back into its envelope, and when I asked her about it, she just nodded, and that was good enough for all of us. Sometimes, words can't express the way that we feel completely.

The walk home was quiet, but the good type of quiet, and I could see that Mira was a bit distracted, either thinking about the letter or maybe formulating some plan to help, but whatever it was, I don't think she was thinking about the couple that had died, at least at that moment. There was too much pep in her step, and I think the letter brought some optimism in her life because when I asked her what she was thinking about, she said that she's ready to change the world, whatever that means.

When we got home, the whole living room had changed. All the mattresses were laid around the fireplace, albeit far enough that we didn't catch on fire accidentally, and the greenbox moved next to the window close to the fireplace as everyone settled into place. I was going to go shower when I realized that we didn't have any showers anymore, and Dad said that we didn't have much tap water left, so everyone could go and shower tomorrow. Apparently, he and Mom are now working very well together because they even devised a system of heating the water using hot stones instead of boiling the water directly since it would take too long.

Dinner was soup again, though I noticed that Mom and Dad were eating only about three-fourths of a bowl instead of the full bowl that they gave out to the rest of us. It took a long time to boil the water and make the soup because Mom and Dad weren't really sure if the rock heating method was safe for water to be eaten, so we ended up letting it sit next to the fire for about half-an-hour or so until it started bubbling. They added some corn and powdered garlic for flavor before serving us.

I just remembered that I've got to sneak food out to Charles somehow. I think it might do it tomorrow while Mom and Dad are distracted by the wood-chopping and water gathering that we need to do. It's going to be a long and painful day, but at least we're not going to be starving. I can't even imagine how Charles and his family are going to be able to gather wood and water on empty stomachs.

September 5

I just realized that it was the one-month anniversary of Mira and Leon's wedding.

I know it's not as special as a year-long anniversary, but who knows how we're going to be in a year, so might as well enjoy it right now. I think that might have been in Mira's mind when she left May and I some time around two o'clock and returned later in the evening with a handgun in her holster and an announcement that she'll be out every night from midafternoon to sunset patrolling the streets.

Anyways, going back to the beginning of the day, instead of handing us canvas bags for gathering kindling, Dad handed Mira, May, and I plastic buckets.

"What are these for?" May asked and eyed the buckets suspiciously. I think she thought that we were doing something with poop.

I had to clean my own bucket this morning after I finally used the restroom after two days of keeping it in. I nearly vomited at the smell, and even with the rubber gloves on, it still was disgusting and uncomfortable. When I went to dump it into the allotted trash can, Mom told me to put a couple of scoops of ash on it. Apparently, it'll help with the smell, acting kinda like sawdust.

"Your mom and I decided that we're splitting up the work today," Dad said. "We've got enough kindling to last a lifetime, and we badly need wood and water, so you three are going to get water while your mom and I get wood."

"I want you guys to get at least fifteen buckets today in total. Five for each person," Dad said.

"Fifteen," May shouted. "Are you trying to kill us?"

"The walk to the creek is only ten minutes," Dad said, and with the three of you, you won't be out for more than two hours.

"Can we get the wagon at least," May said, practically begging.

Dad shook his head. "Your Mom and I are taking the wagon. We're going to be in the woods all day gathering timber for the winter. The weather's good right now. Sunny and not too hot and too cold, so we're planning on spending all of today and tomorrow with the wood."

"But what about the ash?"

"We'll be fine," Dad said. "You guys just make sure to get the water and take a shower. This living room stinks."

"Maybe go and scavenge a bottle of Febreze," May said, testing the waters with Mom and Dad to see how mad they'll get if they find out we've been taking stuff from the Hunters. "One of those downtown stores or abandoned houses might have them."

"I'll check our garage to see if we have a bottle," Dad said, completely ignoring May's probing statement, and left the room. But that was definitely a non-response to her inquiry since we've never bought a bottle of Febreze ever in our lifetime since Dad was very much into the organic lifestyle, and for a second, May looked a bit scared. Was Dad purposely avoiding the question because he knew that it was something that we'd need to be doing in the future or was he avoiding it because he didn't consider scavenging to be an option at all? These are the times when better communication would solve everything, but better communication will expose May's and my secrets, and we can't risk that.

Five minutes after Mom and Dad left for wood-gathering, Mira, May, and I had gathered our buckets and put on our thick jackets and masks. Mira had updated Grandma, who was practicing memorizing things like the Declaration of Independence and Bill of Rights for her citizenship test, and Grandpa, who was make little fishing baits out of bits of plastic in our drawers, about what's happening since she's the only one out of the three of us that spoke halfway decent Chinese.

And when we stepped out into the sunlight, I announced, "We're like the three musketeers."

"With buckets," May drily added. "We couldn't even get something a little bit cool like swords."

"Our buckets are our swords," I said. "We'll bucket people to oblivion."

"That's like spooning someone to death," she replied and began walking towards the creek. "C'mon. I just want to get this over with."

Five minutes later, she was already complaining about everything. "How much longer?"

"We'll get there faster if you spend more energy walking and less energy talking," I said.

She groaned and shuffled her feet, dragging the plastic bucket behind her with a loud scrape, as grit and ash eroded the hard plastic slowly. "You know, literally everyone in the neighborhood can hear you right. And who knows who will be watching?"

She huffed and then lifted the bucket and carried it as I turned to her with a follow up. "When'd you start caring so much?"

"About what?"

"You know what?" I asked. "Death and stuff. You used to be so sarcastic all the time."

She shrugged. "Why do you care?"

"I don't. I'm just saying," I said and kicked a stone down the street as we neared the banks of the creek.

"Did you guys ever figure out if we're ever going to the dentists again?" May asked, suddenly changing the subject. I didn't know if Mira and I were going to tell May about what happened at the hospital, and we both looked at each other before Mira said, "There's nothing much at the hospital."

"Is it quiet there?"

"Yeah," Mira said before looking down, probably in remembrance of the couple that lost their lives. "It's a bit too quiet there."

"Do you know what happened with that couple that we all saw on Saturday?" May asked. "I hope they didn't die."

But they did die, and for once in my life, I nearly told May the truth because I guess she deserved to know since I think she's old enough to handle it and because even though I hold too many secrets, I hate when secrets are kept away from me or when things are censored unnecessarily, like Mom and Dad's obsession with bleeping out swear words on the popular songs even though we've heard those swear words hundreds of times at school already. Hell, Mira and May have even used those swear words a bunch, though I haven't still broken out of that childhood vow.

But Mira beat me to the chase. "They're fine. I heard the nurses talking about them. A couple of broken ribs, but nothing that won't heal in a couple of months."

"Oh," May said. "At least we'll have less competition, gathering wood and water, for a couple months."

There was an odd bit of silence.

"You sound like Mom," Mira said. "We need to care about everyone, including them."

"I do care," May said, more annoyed now. "I'm just saying that there are upsides to people getting hurt, and it's not like I'm wishing for them to die."

"Getting hurt is like dying, especially given how run-down the hospital is right now," Mira snapped back.

"You just told me that the hospital was fine and now it's not," May retorted back.

"It's fine, but it's not running at full capacity, so if you're not lucky, then you won't get proper care and die."

"Well those people are still alive, so who cares?" May basically shouted back at Mira before muttering. "You don't need to be so preachy about it."

"I'm not being preachy."

"Yeah you are," May said. "Literally all of last week and this week, saying stuff like 'we should help everyone' or 'I'm so cool and perfect because I care.' The only reason that we're alive is because we took stuff from the canned food section that other people needed. We've probably already got blood on our hands, so don't act so high and mighty. If you want to help people, walk your talk."

"But actually act like you have morals, May," Mira said before she was cut off by May.

"I do have morals, and I'm living by them," she replied. "While you literally aren't doing anything. It's not like you're giving food out to the starving or protecting anyone."

"I will be," Mira said more quietly but firmly.

May rolled her eyes. "Totally. Whatever you say."

We had reached the creek and we reached and dipped our buckets into the deeper end. Because it's the end of summer and the creek is relatively shallow and muddy, we got a ton of algae and silt in our buckets, but that didn't matter since we had a vegetable strainer to deal with all of that, so we hauled our thirty-pound water buckets up the banks and headed back home, taking copious breaks on the way back.

We repeated this process four more times, each more long and excruciating than the one before. Every time we got home, we would dump water into old bins rummaged up from the garage that used to hold ski equipment, and then Grandma and Grandpa would filter the water and boil it. Across literally the whole trip, May and Mira were practically shooting daggers at each other as I dodged snarky one-liners and passive aggressive comments that occasionally punctuated the silence.

Even though Dad said that it would take only two hours, it ended up taking probably three hours or more, and by the time we had finished, it was noon, and we were all exhausted. My arms were on fire, and I wished that I had some ice or some cold water to dunk them in. Even right now, they still hurt a bunch, but a lot less than before, and even just holding the pencil to write this entry, I can feel my arm muscles tensing up in pain. God, tomorrow is going to be a nightmare.

Anyways, May and I spent the afternoon lounging on the couch while Mira disappeared somewhere into the house, presumably into her room. Mom and Dad said that we weren't allowed to go back into our rooms because they don't want much heat escaping the living room, but they weren't here. And sometime in the early afternoon, Mira left the house with a piece of paper scrunched in her hand.

"Where are you going?" May asked.

"To do something," Mira said. "Maybe you should try doing that instead of laying down and doing nothing."

"I can relax. I deserve it," May said before sarcastically adding. "Go on and save the world. You're a freaking superhero."

Mira ignored her and the door slammed close. And then, we resumed laying down on the couch for another five minutes before May sat up and suddenly said, "Thank god Mira's out of the house. She can be so nosy sometimes, and it's better not to risk it, given her whole savior thing going on."

"Risk what?"

"I'm scoping one of the houses," May said. "I already found one on the hike to the creek. It's one-hundred percent empty, and there's a low enough window that I can step into it pretty easily."

"Mom and Dad will be back soon," I replied. "It's too risky."

"Mom and Dad aren't going to be back for a long time. They're up in the woods chopping down trees all day, like they said, and plus, I'll only be gone for, like, ten or fifteen minutes, so if they come back, just say that I'm in the bathroom or something," she said before shrugging. "I don't know. You'll make up a good excuse."

As she stood up and went towards the kitchen, I asked, "Where are you going to store your finds?"

"Toy chest in our room. No one checks there, and no one's going into our room anyways," she said, emerging from the kitchen with a thick pair of gloves and a rubber band as she tied her hair up.

"You're actually doing this?"

"Yeah," she said, not in the sad or resentful way but curtly like in a "no duh" way. "Unlike Mira, I'm actually going to do something."

She put on a mask and laced up her boots as I stood up. "You better not get hurt or die. Mom will kill me"

"I've got perfect vision," she said. "I'll be fine, so stop making me paranoid."

"You better be home soon," I said.

"Geez. Stop being so paranoid."

"I can't help it."

"You know it's alright to get in trouble."

"Then why don't you tell Dad the truth about that axe that I just miraculously found," I said, standing in front of the doorway as she stepped out of the door.

"Not that kind of trouble," she said, calling back. "Truth trouble is always bad."

And then she disappeared down the street, I went back to sitting on the couch for a couple of moments before deciding to go to our room just because the living room felt so exposed and because Grandma and Grandpa were hanging out there, and I wanted some real privacy. Last night, I barely got any sleep, with Dad's snoring reverberating throughout the living room and the bright glow of the fireplace at the edge of my vision bothering me, as everyone's breaths went in and out in an uncomfortable symphony.

And on my old desk with a stick shaped lamp that doesn't work anymore, there was Leon's letter opened. I nearly went over there and picked up the letter and read it all before feeling guilty.

It felt like a violation of privacy, and me reading the letter would be like her reading my diary. I'd hate that, maybe even burn the diary if she found out everything that I'm thinking of and all the secrets lining its pages. But I wanted to know because I had no idea what she was doing, and she stormed out of the house so suddenly that I couldn't stop her or ask, and I had a feeling that the letter had answers.

So I picked up the letter and read it all, and then, I guess on impulse I copied down the whole letter on another sheet of paper. I don't know why I did that since that was a step beyond just violating privacy, but I think it was because at that moment, I was just so annoyed by Mira and May going around and doing secret activities that I wanted my own secret too, even as a bunch of them are literally threatening to bury me right now. I kinda regret copying the letter down, but I guess, if Mira ever loses her original letter, I'll have a copy.

But that'll involve revealing this secret. So maybe I'll keep it to myself forever and attach it at the end of this entry because this diary is the only place where no one looks, and even if someone took a peek, they'd be inundated with so many other things that I haven't told anyone, that this letter will fade into the distance.

After doing that, I prepared Charles' food bag in relative ease compared to what's coming up ahead. Grandpa and Grandma were distracted by the fireplace and the warmth and crackling, and I managed to slip a couple of extra cans into the bag because of the food drive stoppage. Now, their whole family is dependent on me, and I can't fail them now. A couple of pessimistic thoughts popped into my head at that exact moment, chief of them being whether he and his family are still alive, but I pushed them down because they just had to be alive. I know he lived in a bit of an old house, but there's no way that it collapsed. Things like that just can't happen, you know. They can't.

I managed to get Charles' bag stored in a nice, convenient location in a closet full of junk that no one looks in before clicking on the phones and having the time pop up, a bright 3:17. I didn't check the time before, but I'm pretty sure that May left a long time before three, and I had no clue where she was or if she was dying and needed help or if she had found a good bounty. I mentally gave myself until 4:30 before I would go and search for her myself, and until then, I hoped that Mom and Dad wouldn't come home.

In the meantime, I curled up in my bed, probably for the last time, and grabbed my book that I had stored in the back of the bathroom cabinet, now vaguely smelling like the tea and lavender soap we store there and opened it up and began to read. About sixty-pages in, I stopped and placed a bookmark there.

And I guess the reason that I stopped is because I guess it's just weird how the main character is so confident in his desires. Yeah, he's not really told his parents or his friends or even the guy he's crushing on, but he knows that he likes that guy, and he's sure that that's what he wants, even if he hasn't told anyone yet. And I don't know because for me, sometimes I'm confident and I know that I'm interested in other guys, but other times, I'm not really confident because I haven't ever been in a relationship yet, so I don't know if everything's true, or whether this is a phase that people go through. Maybe I'm the weird one because I'm not confident in what I want. Sometimes, I wish that I could just make mistakes that I might regret later without that constant hammering fear, but now's not the time for it.

But there never seems to be enough time.

But I ended up continuing it, and just as I was about to get to the part where they go on their first date and have their first kiss, there was a knock on the window, and I slammed my book shut. It was May, holding a bag of something and telling me to open the backdoor, and thank goodness Dad didn't decide to clean these ash-stained windows because I would've gotten exposed by May.

I unlocked the backdoor and she barged in before looking around quickly. "Mom and Dad aren't home, right?"

I shook my head. "What took you so long? You were gone forever."

"I wasn't gone that long," she said as we walked towards our room. "Maybe like thirty minutes or something."

"Definitely more than thirty minutes, and you still haven't answered my question: what took you so long?"

"Geez, be patient," May said and closed the door behind me and opened up her backpack. There was a pair of pants in there, a ball of yarn and collection of sharpies, a travel sized bottle of eucalyptus shampoo, some mason jars, flower patterned pillow covers, a metal water bottle, an earring that probably had a fake diamond on it, four blue and purple ski socks, five skinny batteries and one fat one, and a handful of dried beans. "What's up with those?"

She shrugged. "I just found it in the food pantry. The raiders must've torn the bag and missed some."

"And this is all you found?"

"Well, you know if I could actually break into one of those houses that haven't been broken into, instead of picking up the leftovers, I could go for the whole thing," May said. "But you get what you get, and the whole house was picked dry. These were the most valuable things that I could find. There were some other things, like tons of toothbrushes and underwear, but there's no way that we're going to be using those"

"That's a whole lot of risk for getting basically nothing."

"Well, it's a start," she said. "I wanted to go into the attic, but I couldn't reach the pulldown. If Mom and Dad actually did something and came there, I could've had a chance to see what's up there because tons of people hide random stuff there."

"Well Mom and Dad aren't going to come," I replied.

"Sucks for them. And us," she said, turning away before turning back. "And why are you complaining? What have you been doing?"

"Nothing," I said, but that sounded a bit too quick and too desperate, and May's eyes narrowed as she looked at me suspiciously, so I added, "Absolutely nothing. I've just seen so lazy and bad while you've been so cool and great."

"Thank you, thank you," she said, even though she knew I was being sarcastic. "I know I'm too cool for the world."

"Totally," I said, and then, she left the room, and I collapsed on the bed, my heart beating like crazy, as I fished underneath the bed for the book that I hastily shoved there when May was moving from the window to the backdoor, and I moved it back to the back of the bathroom cabinet to rest again.

May ended up taking a shower, and I took a shower after her. Well, it really wasn't a shower, but more like using a lukewarm wet towel to wipe myself off along with some soap. We weren't really sure if the shower drain worked without power or whether it'd get clogged, so May set up two buckets. One for the clean water and the other for the soapy water when we wrung out the washcloth. It was terrible and uncomfortable and now the only things that I miss more than electricity and the internet are hot showers.

Mom and Dad eventually came back around the same time that May and I were making dinner. May was sick and tired of eating soup, and we worked pretty hard today, so she decided to do an impromptu bean and chips night. She mostly did the work while I watched the beans slowly boil next to the fireplace and got stuff out of the cabinet for her: some canned diced tomatoes, three bags of Doritos, our last bottle of sour cream and onion pringles, and some dried cilantro.

"What are you making?" Dad asked.

"Nachos," May said.

"That's too much food," Dad said. "Too many calories in there."

"Everyone probably burned, like, three times as many calories compared to what's here," May replied defensively. "If you want soup today, be my guest."

Dad sighed, and Mom put her hand on his shoulder. "I think we might need to take over counting the pantry from you two. Both of you have done a great job, but now, we need to ration our food more carefully, and I noticed that you two haven't updated the inventory since early June. It might be better for your father and I to handle the food situation now."

"I did something nice for you guys, and this is what I get," May said. "Less and less food."

"We'll update the inventory," I said, and May looked at me weirdly. "Every day like you want. And you guys have so much on your plate."

And then Mom and Dad looked at me weirdly and pretty soon, everyone was looking at me weirdly. I probably shouldn't have panicked like that because that just made me look suspicious, but at the same time, if Mom and Dad took over the inventory, I'd actually be screwed. There's no way that I'll be able to sneak food past them ever again, especially if everything is documented in pen and I can't just erase and rewrite values.

"Okay," Mom said. "Tomorrow, both of you will be counting everything in the pantry to figure out exactly how much we have right now, and your father and I will help plan out the meals."

I nodded. It was a partial win for me, but who knows for how long? I can only hope that it's long enough. Mom then looked around. "Where's Mira?"

I shrugged, and May said, "Ran off to save the world."

"I'm serious," Mom said. "Did she go shower?"

"And I'm serious," May said. "She literally left. I have no clue where she went."

And then there was a knock on the door. Mom muttered underneath her breath, "I'm going to kill her for causing such a scare."

Mom peeped through the peephole before opening the door, with Mira standing there with that handgun and holster.

"Where'd you go?" Mom demanded. "Why didn't you tell anyone? And what is with the gun?"

"Mom, relax," Mira said. "I—"

Mom cut her off. "I don't care where you went, but you should at least tell someone before you go."

"Can I come in to explain? I don't know what's up with you," Mira said before Mom and Dad stopped her.

"The gun stays outside," Mom said, and Dad nodded before adding, "Someone is going to get hurt if it goes off."

"The safety's on," Mira said. "So no one will get hurt. And I went to the night patrol meeting today. Last week they briefed everyone on firearms safety, but I got filled in quickly, so that I could start taking shifts."

"We agreed that we weren't doing that," Mom said before Mira cut her off.

"You and Dad agreed to not do that," Mira said. "But I didn't."

"That thing doesn't come into our house," Mom said. "I don't want it under our roofs at all.

"If we leave it outside, it'll be more dangerous," Mira replied. "Animals might tamper with it, and it might accidentally shoot."

"I don't care. You deal with it," Mom said. "A gun? Seriously? We don't need that danger inside our house."

"You know I'm the only reason that they agreed to patrol our neighborhood," Mira replied, her voice clipped with annoyance. "They were just going to skip over us since our whole neighborhood is deserted, but because they said that they'd leave no member behind, I managed to secure us from protection. You can't deny it, Mom. Houses are being broken into, and what you saw on Saturday, people are getting hurt."

"We protect ourselves," Mom replied. "I don't like saying that, but carrying that gun puts you at risk, and it puts us all at risk."

"No, it doesn't," Mira said. "We're backed up by other people, and I'll be able to protect us and other people too. There's no police anymore, so we need to look out for ourselves and other people too."

"Well that gun isn't coming here," Mom said. "We could get arrested."

"There's no police anymore."

"Doesn't matter. The laws are the laws."

Dad then stepped in, and for once, instead of adding gasoline to this flaming argument, he managed to douse it. "I don't like it, but the gun stayed in the safe. If you take it out, you go straight out of the house, and when you return, you go and put it straight in."

"Sounds fine to me," Mira replied.

"For your sake, I hope you know what you're doing," Dad said with a sigh.

Mira brushed past Dad and more like pushed past Mom. Mom turned to Dad. "How could you let her do this?"

"I don't like this, and I don't like to admit it, but she's right. We do need protection."

"Not this kind of protection."

"I wish it didn't have to be this way," Dad replied, and they both exited the hall as May, and I stared on before I heard a crackle. The bubbling beans were overflowing, and I ran to the fireplace and took some tongs and oven mitts to pull it away as May poured diced tomatoes in a bowl with some vinegar.

"Well that's certainly a twist," she said and looked at Mira walking into the kitchen. "I never expected her to actually do it. I thought she was just bluffing."

"Mira doesn't do bluffing," I replied and poured the beans into a bowl.

Dinner was awkward. Mira said that she'll be out from four to six every day starting tomorrow, and Mom and Dad mostly didn't say much, and that was pretty much the atmosphere of dinner: a lot of people not saying a lot. We dipped our potato chips in bean dip and made awkward small talk and then, dinner, I guess, just ended, and everyone just ended up sitting on the mattresses in the living room, staring at the crackling fire.

I suppose that's appropriate for today, the real quiet ending to the day unlike last time that I predicted that the day would end quietly (but I hope that I don't jinx it now). Mom and Dad announced that they'll be going woodcutting again on Wednesday because the weather is good and because they're feeling great. But I know that last part was a lie, and so did everyone, but no one said anything. Mira talked with me afterwards.

"Mom and Dad are mad at me again," she said.

"Yeah," I replied, and my words trailed off.

"Am— Am I doing something wrong with joining the watch?"

"I don't know," I said and paused before saying. "I know you want to help, but I don't know if guns are the way to do it."

"So you agree with Mom and Dad?"

"Kinda," I said, but that was a lie. I really agreed with Mom and Dad, but I didn't want Mira to feel bad, and I felt bad about violating her privacy by copying down the letter. I added, "I guess I'm just worried, you know."

"About what?"

"About guns, like people getting hurt."

"No one's going to get hurt," she said. "That's why I'm doing this. To protect people and make sure they stay safe."

I didn't mention how she could hurt people with her gun because, in the end, that's what guns are for. You can dress it up with fancy words like "protection" or "safety," but that doesn't change the facts. But I didn't say much, and after some awkward silence, she said that she was going to sleep because she had a long evening of patrolling tomorrow. I'm going to sleep now, so I guess I'll attach the letter here, at the very end, for safekeeping:

Dear Mira,

How are you doing? I know it's rhetorical (and you'd definitely tell me that), but I hope that everything is going great for you there. Dad is excited to meet your family, and even though Mom is a bit peeved that we had a secret wedding without her, she hopes that you guys are enjoying her homemade strawberry jam (though make sure to add a bit of honey since it'll taste much, much better). Phillip laughs and teases me every time that he sees our picture, and now I agree with you: we should've burned it, preferably with my annoying older brother too.

After I left, I managed to meet up with my family, and it was relatively smooth sailing through Central Valley (since according to some reports, the coastal routes were too mountainous and dangerous). We had to backtrack a couple of times because of wreckage blockages in some of the streets, but the rural roads were dusty and safe, and we managed to avoid some of the violence that plagued the major cities that all the highways connected into. When we passed Fresno, there was a billowing of dark smoke, smelling like burnt rubber and plastic, that mixed with the volcanic ash and turned the sky a stormy gray.

There was plenty of food on the trip there. The orchards were empty, and even with the low sunlight, there were still fruits and nuts hanging on the trees, so we managed to harvest a lot on the way, and not waste anything we've got stored. Around Bakersfield, though, our car broke down, probably because of the bad dust and ash in the air since the land is parched there and also because we were running on fumes. We pushed the car into the grove of cottonwood a couple of miles out from the Motel 6 sign and near a big sign that says "Annie's Almonds." There are some wild berry jams and a bunch of nuts in there, so look out for it when your family travels South.

I've been meaning to write a letter to you, but all the post-offices that we passed by on our week-long walk to LA were shuttered. Entire towns were just empty, but Phillip's and Dad's constant ghost jokes helped lighten up the mood. Here's one, but you better not read ahead: Where do ghosts go for the holidays?

To Lake Eerie. You probably aren't laughing right now, and that was a cheesy joke. I'll be armed with a better one next time, trust me. When all of this is over, we'll have our proper honeymoon, preferably away from any volcanoes or beaches (unless you want to). I'm not sure exactly where we'll go, but we'll find something. Maybe somewhere warm, like New Mexico. We'll float in hot-air balloons all night and gaze at the constellations as the sun paints the mountains oranges and violets. But wherever you want to go, I'll want to go with you.

Right now we're in LA. There's a small caravan of survivors, about fifty strong, that we're planning on traveling with. Normally, we'd go alone, but they've got a horse-cart that can carry tons of water and supplies, and Mom managed to seduce one of the leaders with her famous pickled carrots (which taste better than they sound) and elderberry jelly, and even though Dad has some "mild" reservations, Mom bossed him into joining them. It was real funny, and I think you and Mom would make a great team (even I would be a little scared of you two).

I'm probably rambling, aren't I? It's just that I'm scared, not of this letter not reaching you, but because I don't want to mess up and forget something that I was meaning to say. I wish we could see each other, at least just for a minute, and I know you don't want me to say this, but sometimes, I wish that I had stayed behind. But you'd tell me to pick myself up and find a little grit, so that's what I'm trying to do. I don't know how you stay so tough and so positive, but when we meet, make sure to tell me your secret.

I'm running out of space now, and I probably shouldn't have written in pen, so I'll keep this quick since I'm not sure if any letters I'm going to write from this point on will ever reach you. We're first heading towards Riverside before beelining to Palm Springs and trekking through Joshua Tree national park to reach Blythe, where we'll restock our water supplies in the Colorado River before heading towards the Gila River next to Phoenix. We'll follow it for as long as we can up and down Arizona until we hit Duncan, where we'll depart and head straight down to Lordsburg, skip from pond to pond to Duncan before we make our way to Caballo and up all the way to Albuquerque and then Santa Fe. It's going to be long on foot, probably a three or four month long journey, and the reason I'm telling you is that I'll be wearing that bright neon yellow bandana that you hate on my arm in case anything happens to me.

I love you so much, and our time together has been the best in my life. You're amazing, sweet, funny, smart, and (dare I say this because I know you'll hate it) just awesome. Protect others, inspire hope, just do great things because that's the person that you are. I know this sounds like a cliche death note from the movies, but I plan on staying alive and well. I love you, and I'll be seeing you down the road.

(So much) Love,

(Your very handsome and cool hubby) Leon + the rest of my family

P.S. I still haven't changed my mind. Peanut butter cookies are way better than chocolate chip ones.