September 7

Thank goodness our house didn't burn down. And thank goodness for that annoying fire alarm.

Apparently, during the middle of the night, someone must've accidentally kicked a towel or some fabric into the smoldering embers, and it must've caught on fire, which then caught a part of the greenbox on fire, which must've triggered the fire alarm because we all scrambled awake, and Dad grabbed the fire extinguisher and began spraying all around the fire until there wasn't much light.

The damage wasn't as bad as it could've been. Part of the plastic tarp draped over it unfortunately caught on fire, and the air smelled acrid, so Mom opened the windows, and Mira cut off the burnt plastic bits while May and I pushed the beds back. Dad scooped the ash into the bucket before looking back into the chimney, brushing his fingers on the sides before coughing at the rising soot.

Dad talked with Mom and turned to the rest of us and said, "We'll be doing fire-monitoring now. I'll be doing the two am to five am shift. Your mom will be doing the eleven pm to two am shift, and your grandparents will take the five am to eight am shift. Mira, May, Neal, you three will be responsible for the rest of the day. Split it up however you would like, but someone always needs to be watching the fire."

"I claim the afternoon," May said. "Two to seven."

"I'll be doing the morning one," Mira said. "Eight to two in the afternoon."

"I guess I'm doing the evening one," I said.

"We've got to make sure something like this never happens again," Dad said. "And I realized that we need to clean up the chimney today so that no accidents like this or worse happen again, so just for today, everyone can go back to their old rooms."

So that's what we did. After something as, I guess, stressful or exciting as the fire, the rest of the day felt fairly normal. Since none of the beds had any mattresses on them, we mostly sat on the ground. May was just staring at the walls and bouncing a rubber ball on it while Mira and I played a boring game of cards. When I went out to get a glass of water, I heard Mom and Dad arguing a bit.

"Wear the mask," Mom said with one of those fancy filter masks on her fingers.

"I'll be fine with this one," Dad said and pointed to the normal surgical masks that we wore. "We need to save that one for when we have to go outside for a long time, like if we were trying to leave."

"We're not leaving," Mom said. "Like you said when Leon left, it's too dangerous, too risky. We've got shelter, heat, and food here."

"I know what I said before," Dad said. "It's just... I didn't expect the water and natural gas and food to go out so fast at the same time, and with the weather being nice, maybe we could make it far—"

"We don't know what the road conditions are like," Mom replied. "We don't have gasoline—"

"We should've done the rockfall netting," Dad said, cutting her off. "It'd be so nice to have a backup plan."

"We don't. So you need to stop with this," Mom said. "Now just take the mask, and let's worry about the now because the future can wait for later."

Dad reluctantly put on the mask, and Mom made sure to see that it was tightened before putting on her own fancy filtered mask, and they went to work scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing, Dad with one of the toilet brushes and Mom with a damp sponge catch the soot flying dislodged by the brush. It wasn't until the afternoon that I remembered the information giveaway that the city council was handing out today.

"Mom," I said as I stood outside, watching them clean up the roof chip away at the ash caked on the shingles.

"Stay away," she said, and I stepped back as a blob of ash slid off the shingles and landed in front of me with a puff of dust, quickly blown away by the gusts of wind. She climbed down the ladder "What do you need?"

"Can I go with Mira to city hall?" I asked. "There's the water purification and heating flyer giveaway, and we might find something useful."

"That's good," Mom said. "Smart. But remember if you see any danger—"

"Run away," I said, following Mom's new mantra. "And don't look back."

"Even if someone's hurt," she said. "The hospital is still working, so we can let the proper people take care of this situation."

But the hospital wasn't working completely, and the emergency services didn't come in time to help that couple. I closed my eyes because I could still see the blood running down the sidewalk, and at that moment, for some reason, I wondered if there was still a bloodstain marking the spot where they passed or if they got a bit of dignity and someone had washed it away. "You remember the couple that, you know..."

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

"Yeah," Mom said. "I hope that they are alright. They should be fine—"

I cut Mom off. "They died. When Mira and I went to the hospital, we saw a whole vigil there with lots of people."

I don't know why I lied about the vigil. I guess part of it was to cover up the fact that we told Mom that we went to the hospital to check for dental availability, not checking to see if they were alright, and I guess another part of it was to drum up sympathy to see if Mom even cares because she's been acting so cold and so me focused that I wondered if she even cared about others.

Mom didn't say much before she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry you had to see that, and it's terrible that they passed away, but we made the right choice, and I don't know what I would do if one of you guys were in the hospital or on a vigil. We had to make a tough choice, you understand that?"

I turned away from Mom. "I'll go get Mira."

Did we make the right choice? Like Mom, I keep telling myself that we did the right thing, and even though it's wrong, I can't help feeling about what we did and what I did was wrong. At the moment, it seemed right, but now, it just seems wrong. I'm trying to forget them and leave them behind, but it's so hard to do something as simple as that.

Just as Mira and I were about to leave, Mom stopped us. "No gun."

I looked down and saw Mira's gun holstered to her hip. Mira replied, "It'll be safer—"

"It won't," Mom said. "You barely know how to use it, and I don't want it to accidentally go off and hurt Neal."

"The safety's on. It can't do any damage," Mira replied. "And it'll keep us safe from any people who'll—"

"And you'll be prepared to shoot them?" Mom asked before emphasizing. "Kill them?"

There was a pause of silence as Mira grasped for a response, but none came out, so Mom continued, "Because that's what guns are for in the end. For killing. And if you get attacked by someone and they get the gun, they may not have the same resistance to killing as you. There's so much death in the world right now. Why add more? Put the gun away and stay close to each other and away from other groups of people, and you'll be safe."

Mira untensed, and it didn't seem like she wanted a fight. "Fine."

"Good," Mom said, almost smugly. "Make sure to check the billboard to see if there's any news."

And then after Mira put the gun away (Mom checked to make sure), we set off to city hall. May didn't come because she couldn't stand to be around Mira, and because she had her fire watching duties, so we walked alone together down the rows of deserted neighborhoods to the information session, taking the long way around, rather than our normal shorter path, just to make sure our comings and goings were not so predictable.

The last two times I went out, I was so focused on the food drive and the hospital that I only paid attention to everything around me glancingly, but now, the whole situation of the earthquake really dug in. Semi-collapsed houses speckled the streets, and in some, especially in the older and more dilapidated parts of the neighborhood near the mid-center of the city, there were just rows of collapsed buildings. Concrete and painted wooden beams laid on ash-caked lawns and downed electric poles that we walked in wide circles around, making sure to stay away from the exposed wiring even if there wasn't any electricity. Adobe shingles dotted the ground and strong gusts in the air made the building around us dangerously creak, so we walked quickly to avoid the possible collapse.

When we reached the booth where they were handing out the information, I saw that there were tons of people sitting around there with signs like "Please. I have three kids" and "I just need one can." begging everyone who went up to grab the information for just a little bit of food. Some of them looked gaunt and hopeless while others just looked plain angry, glaring at us and city hall and holding up begging signs with pigs drawn on it.

Ever since I was young, Mom and Dad taught me and Mira and May to look down and not make eye contact with homeless people and people begging for food. They said that they wouldn't bother us and that we should just keep moving on. But I couldn't help looking around at people's thin faces and heads bandaged from the earthquake injuries. Some of them probably didn't have any homes.

I could see that Mira felt the same way, but she held me close as we walked up to the desk, and the volunteer sitting there, as tired as the rest of the people in the crowd, handed us handwritten instructions about water boiling and chimney and fireplace cleaning manuals. I took a little glance into the giant donation can. There was nothing there, not even a can of disgusting tuna or aggressively bland sugarless cereal.

"You want to make a donation?" the lady asked me, and I jumped, startled.

I didn't know what to say, so I stuck with something Mom and Dad would say. "No."

The lady sighed, and we left. I wanted to look back, but I felt like if I met their eyes, I'd feel guilty. I know that I wrote that I wished that Mira wouldn't give them food, but I think I'd take that back. But I can't because of Charles and his family, and I hate how survival is such a zero-sum game.

We didn't walk much on the way back, Mira glancing around and watching for any possible threats while I read the flyer. It wasn't very useful beyond one little tidbit about how to use bleach to sterilize water. The way back was still bad, half-burnt houses and charred remains of trees decorating the gray landscape, but it felt less so, like I was getting used to it.

The rest of the day was spent pretty silently at home. When we got back home, Mom and Dad were on top of the roof, taping together old bamboo sticks from martial arts lessons from elementary school to extend the brush down to scrub every last bit of the chimney. By the time that they had finished, it was time for Mira to leave for the Shepards' meeting location to meet her partner for her evening night watch shift.

We all ate dinner in silence, following Mom and Dad's food planning guide. The first time that nothing I'll eat is going to be available is in a month, and I'm not excited, at all. I just realized that today was our thankfulness day, but I guess once a habit is broken, it's almost impossible to regain it ever again.

I wonder if this is going to be us if things return back to normal, where the cycle of normalcy that defined our lives before won't be normal anymore and the apocalypse will be our normal for a long time. But more importantly, I wonder how far we're going to fall from everything we consider normal, not just phones and the internet but values and morals. I wonder if I'll look at myself in two years and be disgusted at who I turn out to be.

After I left them behind, I think old me would be disappointed in me right now.