September 10

We were careful on our walk there, Mira in the front, Dad in the back, Mom right behind Mira, making sure that I didn't get close to the gun holstered on her waist. Without Grandma and Grandpa slowing us down, we moved pretty quickly, staying close together as we approached town hall.

Unfortunately, there was a ton of fog this morning, just blanketing the skies and air around us, though for a second, I thought it was one of those ash blizzards, and we could barely see more than ten or so feet in front of us, so we creeped forwards, one step at a time.

As we walked towards city hall, there were more blobs of dark figures, and Mom held me awkwardly close as we filed into city hall, sticking ourselves to the back wall as people filled out the front rows and clumped together in the middle. People were carrying signs, some professional looking and illustrated while others were just crude markings on cardboard, and the angriest people congregated around the front, near the two hapless security guards. They had their hands on their guns holstered alongside a bottle of mace spray on their hips.

It took me a while before I realized that everyone in the room was armed. There were no metal detectors, and I noticed that people were carrying crowbars and had knives strapped to their boots. But most of all, there were guns everywhere, from small handguns that almost every clustering of people had to the rifles of some of the older, white men that were sitting near the sides.

Where did all these guns come from? I've never seen any guns before in public, and everyone here hates guns. Or that's what I thought. Maybe they hated guns, but then changed, just like Dad with guns because he was talking with Mira about them.

"If the worst comes, give me the gun," Dad said. "And you make a run for it."

"No," Mira said. "I'm the only one trained to do it. I'll do it to keep us safe."

"We're going to do neither," Mom said, butting into the conversation. "We all run, unless we want to end up in a shootout."

So then I added something, "Mom has a good point. Being a hero is good and all, but it's not going to work, and we might only get hurt or targeted."

Mom nodded approvingly. "We need to keep ourselves safe, especially with the hospitals down."

I saw Mira open her mouth, so I interrupted before she could speak. "And to keep other people safe too. If you fire a gun into a crowd like this, you'll only get another innocent person killed, and we can't afford this, not with the vigil you saw in the hospital."

"It's for everyone's good," Mom said, understanding my message. "We're keeping everyone safe."

And then Mira stood down a bit, her eyes softening. "Okay. We'll get out into the open first. Then, it'll be better for me to make the shot to take them down."

"I'll make the shot," Dad said. "I'll do it."

"But Dad—"

"I'll do it," Dad said again, firmly. "I don't care, but I'm not going to let you do it. I've played enough video games to know how aiming works, and I'll make the shot if we need it. You just run."

"I can't run," Mira said. "And it's my life, and I get to choose whether—"

"Maybe you'll help someone else in the future," Dad said. "But not this type of help."

I don't know whether Mira was going to say something or not, but I was surprised by Dad. I guess I never knew he cared so much, but I guess that's not so surprising either because sometimes he cares too much, and I think this time, it might actually be for the good. All of a sudden, there was this unusual quiet that swept throughout the room as the mayor stepped in, flanked by the announcer guy.

He certainly looked gaunt, much like the rest of us, and a bit pale, though less skinny than the rest of us, and walked with a distinct limp. Even the people holding up the protest signs put them down for just a second because no one expected our mayor to look this bad.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Are we getting the food deliveries back?" someone shouted, breaking the silence.

The mayor sighed. "We tried our best in Sacramento, but there's just not enough gasoline and security forces to navigate through the cities and roads up north of us to reach our community. It's getting dangerous out there, and there's just not enough resources."

"Well you should've tried harder," someone shouted, and people agreed with "Yeah"s and one loud "Hell yeah!"

"We tried, but they've apportioned the gasoline so carefully that they cannot afford even a couple of miles of detour," the mayor said. "Resources are so spare right now, and as of the moment, only our northern neighbors have clear enough roadways to get these food deliveries. But don't lose hope. If we are able to clear the mountain roads, we may have the ability to receive these food deliveries again. We've got a bit of spare gasoline, and construction equipment to clear up the roads, and I'm sure someone here must've worked in construction."

As soon as he finished, I think he realized that he had made two big mistakes: revealing that the city still had gas and that the northern cities still had food deliveries. All of the sudden, there was this massive clamor.

"Give me the fuel," a lady shouted. "We all need it for the trip down South."

"City council hoarding food and now gas," a man holding one of the signs spitted out. "Maybe they're hoarding the food deliveries too."

One of the men with the rifles stood up on his seat, and announced, "I'm heading up north to get some food for me and my family. Anybody else joining me."

There was a chorus of "Hell yeahs" and "You can count me in" and "We're going to take down the corrupt government." And while a large group formed around him, ready to trample other cities, another larger group surrounded the mayor, the two security guards barely holding back the tide of people ready to engulf him, both with questions and physically.

"Please don't do this," the mayor said. "We need to take the high road. We are better than this."

A woman carrying a crowbar spat at him. "I've got children to take care of, so don't you go around moralizing me."

"But don't you want your children to grow up with safety and order," he said. "Don't you want them to look up to you as—"

"I want my children to grow up, and I'll do anything for that," she said and disappeared into the mob ready to plunder the cities above us, as the mob surrounding the mayor surged towards him. He tried escaping through the backdoors, and the security team began grabbing out the pepper spray, aiming it at eye level where it'd hurt the most.

All while that was happening, we all were pressed against the wall, trying to sneak out of the door. My heart was pounding, and my eyes flashed across the room, scanning to see whether we'd become the target for violence. There was a moment when my heart skipped a beat, as a person approached us, holding what looked like a knife and a bottle of mace, but they got distracted by something else, and we all escaped city hall as the sharp pepper smell filled the air and the cacophony of scream became louder.

We basically ran home, the collapsed houses and cracked glass and ash-stained sweetgum trees just blurring past us until we stepped into the house, panting deeply, as May asked, "Why are you guys running?"

"We're not ever going back to a meeting," Dad said. "Next Saturday, I'll be the only one going."

"I'm going too," Mom said. "Everyone needs to be partnered up."

"I'm going," Mira said before Mom shook her head and said, "You need to stay at home. Not even an army of guns will be able to save you from that crowd. And if, and only if, someone is trying to break into our house or threaten your brother and sister, your skills may come in handy."

There was an awkward pause because I was shocked that Mom changed her mind. First it was Dad and now it was her, and it's like everyone is adapting, getting more used to the idea of guns while I'm standing here unchanged. The more survivalist part of me would want me to be like the other guys in the movies: pick up a gun and learn enthusiastically because guns are "cool." But I just can't do that. There's just something wrong about guns, and I know it.

May broke the awkward silence. "Hello? No one has told me what's going on or what happened?"

"Angry people happened," Mom said. "And some people wanted to hurt—"

"Mom. I'm not a six-year-old. Just tell me what happened straight."

Mom sighed and apologized before telling the whole story, and May nodded along. When Mom finished, no one really said anything. There really wasn't much to say because we all knew what was happening up north, with the cities that are just half a day's walk away. Just before we broke apart, Mom said, "We aren't going to be like that. We're going to be better."

All of us were pretty confused, but I think that summed up about how everyone felt today: confused, angry, scared. I wonder how the cities up north feel now that our people have invaded them, and I wonder if it'll cause the famed butterfly effect, where their actions trigger the citizens of those communities to do something and so one until the avalanche of decisions collapses on us.

I don't know why, but I feel like something bad is going to happen. I'm probably being over-paranoid, but I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't think anyone in the world would know because we're all trapped here as the world crumbles all around us.