"Dreams so often become nightmares. Family can so easily become foes. And people are always more stupid than you give them credit for."

- Mike A. Lancaster, Human.4

01:20 p.m

9 days earlier

A mile west off the main road and a football field away from the nearest building, the group left the black SUV behind a large rock formation, barely hidden from the line of sight of the town. Tim wished that they had stopped by an auto shop on the way and painted the exterior to a lighter colour for camouflage. He shared the idea with the group.

Unloading their backpacks from the trunk, Clay sounded out, “Don't be stupid. The nearest auto shop is in the town.”

They each had a set of torchlight, two water bottles, and matching hand-held radios. After assessing the situation in town, they also decided it'd be best if they each had a weapon with them. Clay returned Tim his air rifle while Stella equipped herself with the one they disarmed from Joshua two days before. Though the weapons were non-lethal at range, they served as a steadfast distraction and their wooden stocks could be used in close encounters. After some contemplation, Clay settled for a lug wrench they found in the car's tool box.

After having cold lunch from food they bought at the diner, they changed into clothes more fitting for the situation than a long drive. Clay put on a fresh grey shirt and a cargo shorts which pockets he stuffed with multi-tools from the garage, a lock-blade knife from his father, and a spare battery for his phone.

When asked why he decided to turn himself into Doraemon, Clay replied, “I like to be prepared,” while putting on a pair of waterproof hiking shoes.

Tim kept his hoodie-shirt but switched to cargo pants instead, but did not stuff his pockets with what he considered useless trinkets. He got kicked out of the car by Stella after putting on a pair of canvas shoes, followed shortly by Clay. They were directed behind the rock formation while she changed into a set of green blouse, blue jeans and brown leather boots.

When they returned from their exile, Tim asked, “Do you really need to dress so stylishly?”

“Excuse me,” she faked the tone of a stereotyped teenage girl in jest, waving a finger at him as she said so, “Be glad I didn't do my make-up, okay?”

Once ready, the group set out across the plains. Though it was relatively early in the afternoon, the smog from the small fires that had spread across the town had blocked out a good amount of sunlight, making the journey comparatively cooler than it otherwise would have. They walked diagonally westward towards the outer perimeter of Roagnark.

Stella chimed in as their vehicle disappeared from their view, “I hope we don't run into any coyotes.”

Tim explained, “It's still light out. The animals shouldn't be that active yet,” and he never admitted that he had worried about the coyotes for the rest of his life.

XXX

2:30 p.m

9 days earlier

Greeneries began sprouting into view as they neared the suburbs of the town. The riots were apparently concentrated in the town square and main roads, with the residential districts relatively unscathed. Clay took the lead of their motley crew of three and whenever he sighted any looters or potential threats, signalled for Tim and Stella to stop and waited for whatever situation that happened to pass.

“We don't get involve,” Clay kept reminding the two. “We're here for the diary.”

The trio progressed through the town slowly, clearing two blocks of building in slightly over half an hour. Looters escaping the town centre stampeded through the streets with their stolen goods. Stella held out her phone which mapped out they had twelve more blocks to go through before reaching the Commons' household.

As Clay leaned out slightly from the corner wall they hid behind, Stella asked, “Maybe we should just cut through the back alleys. Looks like most of the rioters are on the main road anyway.”

“Good idea,” her brother replied, watching a group of looters smashing through the display window of an electronics store. “If we continue at this rate, we would get to Vashmir's place by sundown.”

They circled back and around the apartment buildings, dodging into an alleyway that led straight through for half a dozen blocks.

Clay instructed Tim, “Watch our backs kid.”

The latter complied, carefully walking backwards as he kept an eye on the alley entrance. Shrieks of terror and sadistic screams bounced off the parallel buildings by their sides, echoing an eerie sound of nature. Compared to the barren alley, the town around them seemed to almost be at war with itself. Sirens continuously blared and whenever it seemed they had faded into the distance, a new set of sirens began its audio reign.

Then, a woman's gut wrenching scream sliced through the alley. It wasn't like the ones from the town square. The source for this one was right down their paths from one of the buildings before them.

Clay whispered out, “Shit.”

The back door of an apartment building to their left burst opened and a man in a denim jacket with a black hood, bloodstained white shirt and torn jeans bolted out of it. He turned toward the trio and started to run, but immediately noticed them and, nearly falling over as he did so, made a 180 turn for the other direction.

From the door the man came from, a woman dressed in teal shorts and a green singlet jumped out after him, blood flowing down a wound in her short red hair. She ran barefooted across the tarmac, cutting off the man with her arms opened wide, attempting to block him despite their size difference.

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“Please!” she shouted in a begging tone, “My son needs those meds!”

Tim scanned the hooded man and noticed the pill bottle he held in his left hand. “Somnidin,” Tim whispered under his breath, just loud enough for Clay and Stella to hear.

The man tried to walk past the woman, but she desperately reached out and clung onto his arms with both hands. He punched her in the cheek with his free hand, sending the woman crumpling to the ground in a groan of pain.

Tim took a step forward only to be stopped by Clay's outstretched arm. “Don't get involved,” the white-haired teen repeated.

Now freed, the man began walking away, only to be held back again as the woman reached out feebly, just barely managing to grab hold onto the hem edge of his jeans.

Weak from the powerful strike, she only managed a groan, “Please...my son...”

From his belt, the man pulled out a pistol which Tim recognized immediately as a Glock 22 from countless movies and television shows. “Clay...” he begged his friend to act.

“We don't get involved,” Clay replied coldly. He passed Tim his bottle of Somnidin from his pocket and, contrary to what he said, the former started walking towards the conflict.

The man raised the pistol towards the downed woman's head and growled, “Let go bitch. It's every man for himself now.”

From behind Tim, Stella shouted, “Hey!” she raised her air rifle to the man. “You want this?” holding the light gun in one hand, she took out her bottle of Somnidin from her back pocket and waved it at the man.

Realizing what the sibling pair was trying to do, Tim aimed down the sights of his rifle at the man, shaking his pill bottle as he did so, attracting the guys attention. “I've got some too!” he exclaimed.

The hooded man turned to the three teenagers, gun still pointed at the woman. When he first saw the guns, a look of panic stretched across his face. But the moment he took noticed of the drugs, his eyes widened and a toothy smile glued itself to his lips.

Breathing heavily, the man said in a low, croaked voice, “Give them to me...now...NOW!”

Tim started circling the man clockwise while Stella did the same in the other direction. He replied, “Give the lady her pills back first.”

The man redirected his gun to Tim. Unlike the air rifle, the pistol was real and Tim instinctively knew the man was not bluffing about its fire-power.

“Hey!” Stella called out, and the man turned his aim at her instead. She continued to circle him in a counter-clockwise direction. Giving him a playful smile, she shook her pill bottle again. “You want this, drop you gun.”

“I'm not stupid!” the man replied. “Why don't you drop your toy and I don't shoot your pretty face, girl?”

Tim, having crossed the 9 o'clock mark on his circling, replied, “You're not stupid you say?” the man turned, his crazed state of mind forgetting there was a second person behind him. “That's not what I see.”

“Shut up!” he turned frantically between Tim and Stella, the two now walking towards each other, having both passed by the man from where they started. “Stop moving you little shits!” he swiped his gun frantically between the two.

Stella smugly replied, “What are you going to do about it?”

He actioned the gun and settled on her as the target. From behind him, Clay brought the iron lug wrench down hard on the man's nape, the impact sending the gunman flying forward and off his feet before crashing face down on the ground.

“Woohoo!” Stella raised her hands in glee, her rifle over her head. “Teamwork!”

Clay squatted down beside the now unconscious man. Checking his wrist, he found a pulse that brought a breath of relief from him. After disarming the man and storing the gun in his back right pocket, covered by his oversized shirt, he retrieved the bottle of Somnidin and helped the woman to her feet.

He asked her, “How's your head ma'am?”

“It's just a scratch,” she replied, attempting to wipe away her tears only to smear the blood from her forehead across her cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Good,” Clay looked down at the bottle of drugs in his hand.

The woman reach out to take the pills back from him but he backed away, bringing the bottle up to his chest protectively. In a nervous mumble, he said, “No...”

When he noticed, Tim rushed up to his best friend. “Clay!”

Clay turned to Tim and Stella, who stood by with looks of worry etched into their otherwise fearless personalities. “Kid...” with shaking hands, he quickly passed the bottle back to the woman and turned away from her. “Lock your doors. Don't come out until this is over.”

Controlling the sudden shudders that had taken over his body, Clay walked to his friend and sister. A soft whisper of a second thanks came from behind him as he listened to the apartment door close with a rusty creak.

Stella walked up to her brother and placed a caring hand over his cheeks. “You okay?”

He cupped a hand over hers and leaned into the warmth of his beloved sister. “Yeah," they hugged.

Tim slung his rifle over his back as Clay unwillingly reminded him of the grim reality of the situation before them. “The world's gone crazy.”

The trio turned down the alley and watched a new stream of smoke rise from the town centre, snaking it's way into the sky to join the already dark clouds above.

Tim continued, “And we're just a bunch of kids. Are we really going to be able to stop this?”

Stella replied, “We're doing this because no one else has stepped up to the plate.”

“Plus,” Clay added, “We're trying to save our own skin. But whatever the reason, we're going to do it.”

“We're nuts,” Tim finished.

Clay let out a puff of derision. “Good. We'll fit right in.”