I awoke the next morning to the sound of distant gunfire shattering the silence. Bolting upright, I ran to the front doors of the store and peered out the window. The small parking lot was empty and the foggy mist hung low in the conifers, their tops seeming to disappear into the clouds. The sky was dark with the thick clouds and I absently wondered what time it was. Glancing around the store, I found a small, analog clock hanging on the wall behind the register. It was just after 10 o'clock, I'd slept much later than I had meant to. Several more shots in quick succession rang out and my heart thundered in my ears. Where was the sound coming from?

Unable to open the store doors, I wound my way through the building to the rear of the house, where a regular, residential door separated me from the outdoors. I unlocked the deadbolt and twisted the brass doorknob in my hand. The door opened easily and I was greeted with the sweet smells of mountain air and rain as I stepped out on to the small, covered patio.

Tip toeing to the edge of the concrete pad, I peered around the side of the building, toward the parking lot. The narrow road disappeared into the mist and I strained my eyes to try and see into the shadows. More shots rang out in quick succession followed by deafening silence. It sounded like they were coming from the north.

I darted inside and back to the store, looking at the magazine rack for a paper map. I snatched one out of its slot and sank to the floor, opening it up. Quickly scanning the map, I found the chain of reservoirs I'd driven past, then followed the road to where it crossed over the river. The bridge was less than a mile down the road from the camp store. I placed my finger on my approximate location then retraced the road back the way I had driven just a few days prior. There was no town within twenty miles. Frustrated, I followed the road in the opposite direction, The closest town that direction was even further away. But the shots had been coming from the north, and the road that the camp store ran generally east-west.

Running my finger due north from my location, my finger ran across the town of Riverside. Of course! There was a scenic overlook not too far from here that looked out over the picturesque, old-timey town nestled into the wide, lush river valley. Following the main road that ran through town with my finger, I found that even though the town appeared to be close, possibly only two miles as the crow flies, the only road leading there was probably more than five miles from the camp store.

More gunshots rang out and my stomach clenched.

There are only nine meals between peace and anarchy. Dan's words echoed through my mind. I knew that my family only had about a week's worth of food in the house at any given time, and assuming most families were like my own, people would be starting to run low on supplies any day now. Were the people in Riverside fighting amongst themselves already?

Frustrated and worried, I stood in a huff, leaving the map on the floor and marched back to the room I had slept in. I dressed quickly and filled my pack with food from the store. Throwing the heavy bag over my shoulders, I marched to the back door and threw it open. Breathing deep, I grappled with the thought that I was going to walk all the way back home to Orchardville, but I knew the way by road like I knew the lines of my own face. I closed the door behind myself and started walking.

The gravel of the parking lot crunched under my feet sounding loud in my ears compared to the silent, dripping forest that surrounded me. When my feet hit the pavement of the road, I paused, suddenly feeling uneasy about my rash decision to leave the store, but I forced my feet forward. The air was deathly still and the sense of unease grew in the pit of my stomach as I looked back toward the camp store growing smaller behind me with each step.

Even in the rain, the forest normally sang; the birds, wind, rivers and trees all harmonizing to create the forest melody I loved so much, but as I marched down the road, the only thing I could hear was the steady squish of my shoes on the wet asphalt.

An unearthly shriek shattered the silence and I whirled. It had come from the forest behind me. Every hair on my head felt like it was standing on end as my eyes frantically scanned the bushes. A twig snapping pulled my attention to the leafless underbrush to my right and I froze in terror. My breath hissed too loudly in my ears and I willed my frantic heart to slow so that I could listen more closely. I turned in a slow circle, muscles tense, ready to flee. More crashing sounded to my right and I forced my feet to start moving back to the safety of the camp store.

At the sharp sound of another crash, a deer leapt from the forest fifty paces ahead of me, crossing the road in a single bound and I sagged in relief.

"Just a deer," I leaned forward, placing my hands on my knees and laughed shakily.

Never in my life had a deer scared me like that. I stood back up and rubbed my face as I started walking again. A deer crashing through the woods was not going to scare me off.

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More crashing sounded to my right and three more deer burst from the cover of the forest in a rush. Being closer to them than I was to the first deer, I could see their eyes when they crossed the road, wide with fear and ringed with white. Their ears pointed back, tails in the air. Something was hunting them.

That realization sent me scurrying backward toward the camp store again but the sound of a strangled cry cut the air, freezing my movement mid-step.

Another deer struggled at the edge of the road, only its head and front-end visible. It cried out again, its warm breath rising into the chill air. Once more, the strangled sound cut the air before something violently pulled it back into the shadows of the forest. That haunting sound was cut terrifyingly short, and a low rumbling hiss rose out of the forest in its wake.

I turned and bolted for the camp store.

Even though I knew running from whatever predator could have made that noise was probably the stupidest thing I could have done. I tore back through the gravel lot and around the back of the building to the patio. Huffing and puffing, I charged through the door, closing and locking it behind me. I sank to the floor and slowly, my huffing breaths morphed into sobs.

I let the tears fall, curling my knees to my chest. Gasping, snotty, drooling, I let myself go. I cried for Dan, cried for myself, cried for my mom and brother. I cried for the helplessness I felt, for being stranded, for not knowing what to do, for whatever terror was stalking the forests. I cried because I knew I was stuck and I truly didn't know how to take care of myself. I cried because, in that moment, I knew that nothing was ever going to be okay again.

***

Eventually, I stripped off my shoes and made my way back to the bed. I lay down and continued to let the tears fall, but I wasn't as hysterical as I had been sitting with my back to the door. Still, it felt like I was trapped in a nightmare that I couldn't wake from. How had I been so unlucky? To be going through this all alone. I wanted to be home. Safe. With my mom and brother. Or even sharing a drink with DJ like a normal, twenty-two-year-old...like I had said I would just a few days ago.

After what seemed like hours, I knew that I could not wallow in my own self-pity forever, so I pulled myself up off the bed and went in search of food, stopping in the bathroom on my way. The sink had been plugged and was filled with water, and there was a five-gallon bucket in the shower, also full of water. Canting my head to one side, I wondered why, but I turned to the toilet to relieve myself anyway. As I pressed the lever down, the toilet flushed but did not fill back up. Puzzled, I lifted the lid off the tank. It was empty. I jiggled the handle hoping that would help. When it didn't, realization dawned. I retrieved the bucket from the shower and filled the tank with it. I pressed the lever again to check my theory. It worked! But how had the bucket been filled? If the toilet wouldn't fill, then that meant there was no running water. I cranked the shower faucet to check. No water pressure.

Pursing my lips, I stood to look outside the small bathroom window. Not twenty feet from the back patio, there stood a cast iron hand pump. I humphed and crossed my arms across my chest. Not as easy as turning on a faucet, but at least I had easy access to fresh water. I would have to learn quickly to do without modern conveniences. I refilled the bucket and placed it back in the bathtub before finally going in search of food.

When I got to the kitchen, I paused. How was I supposed to cook? Walking to the stove, I sighed in relief. It was gas, not electric like the stove we had at home. I had run out of fuel for my jet boil the day before I left the Jeep and rather than waste space in my pack with equipment that I couldn't use, I had left it behind.

I rummaged through the pantry and found a can of chili. Dumping it into a small pot, I set it on the stove and cranked on the gas. Nothing happened.

"No," I sighed, cranking the knob back to the off position. My shoulders sagged and my head fell forward. "I just need a break," I said through gritted teeth.

The smell of propane filled my nostrils and I brightened. The gas was flowing, but the electric igniter didn't work.

Pulling drawers open, I searched for matches or a lighter. "Come on, I know you guys kept a junk drawer somewhere."

Finally, I pulled open a drawer filled with random nic-knacks. Shuffling the contents around, I found random bits of paper, a pad of sticky notes, loose batteries of all different sizes, a tiny box of birthday candles, screwdrivers, allen wrenches and a mini flashlight. Finally, I spotted a box of long handled stick matches and pulled them out. The stove lit easily and I warmed my meal.

As I stirred the chili, I began going over how I was going to be able to survive here. The store was filled with food, sure, but I couldn't live on what was in the building forever. Eventually, I was going to have to venture out. I couldn't stay there at the camp store forever. I needed to make a plan, see what resources I had here, gather supplies.

I ate the chili right out of the pot while standing at the stove, staring into nothingness, feeling overwhelmed. When I was finished, I set the pan in the sink and turned the faucet on out of habit. I groaned and took the pot to the back door. I slipped my shoes on and quietly shuffled toward the hand pump. It was getting dark outside and my stomach knotted remembering the deer. When I had refilled the bucket earlier, I hadn't felt anything was amiss, but now, as I placed my hand on the pump, I could have sworn that something was watching me. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and my eyes flicked to the shadows between the trees. I lifted the handle and pressed down again, the water flowed from the well and into the dirty pot. I shivered and turned quickly back to the house. I couldn't see anything, but my gut told me there was definitely something out there, crouched out beyond the treeline. I closed the door and locked it behind me.

After washing and drying the pot, I made my way to the bookshelf in the living room. The daylight was fading fast and it was getting hard to read the spines of the books. Heading back to the junk drawer, I found the mini flashlight and turned it on. Back at the shelf, I quickly scanned the titles, settling on a well-worn romance novel. I would have normally preferred sci-fi or fantasy, but with everything going on, I felt like something a bit less harrowing was in order.

I settled on the couch and shivered. A fire sure would have felt nice but there was no way I was going outside in the growing dark to bring in firewood. That would be a chore for tomorrow. Instead, I pulled the thick blanket draped over the back of the couch down over my legs and tried to settle in but, I couldn't focus. I got up and went to my room.

I wondered for a moment about why I had thought of the guest bedroom as my room but then brushed the thought away and picked up my journal and a pen.