What Comes After

August 20

I think we could all sense that there was something wrong.

Maybe it was the tenseness in the air around the ash-stained plaza, as families huddled together, dressed in thick scarves and faux fur jackets and bulky ski-jackets, in case the ash storms started again. No one was really talking to each other, everyone focused on themselves or the people closest to them, waiting for the food supply station to open once again.

"Why is it so quiet?" May asked, a little too loudly, and some people stared at us.

Mom quickly shushed her. "I don't know, but we have to stay quiet. I don't want to attract any unneeded attention."

"Now, I can't speak too," May grumbled under her breath. "Literally cannot do anything anymore."

Dad looked down at his wrist, but there was no watch there, and looked to the sky. "They must be waiting for deliveries. There's no other reason why we've been waiting for over an hour."

"Maybe we'll finally get better food," I whispered.

"Chocolate," May replied. "That's what I was dreaming about all night."

"Don't—" I paused and caught myself before I said that we had a couple bags of M&Ms. Who knew how other people would react?

"Never mind," I said and continued. "Maybe we might be getting fuel or something."

"Chocolate is way better," she said. 'What are we even going to do with a bucket of gasoline anyways? It's not even like our electric car runs on gas. Maybe some of my friends could come back here if they knew that the town was giving out chocolate."

She sighed. "Hopefully, life gets a little less lonely with chocolate."

Suddenly, there was a loud static sound coming from the megaphone at the front and everyone stopped what they were doing, eyes swiveling to the front of the plaza. "Sorry for the technical difficulties. The pantry is now officially open."

An echo of cheer rang out from everyone in the plaza, waiting in the line that curved around the cobblestone floors and fountains dotting the plaza like a meandering river. But all of a sudden, the loud cheers stopped as a rising wave of hushed whispers erupted, and everyone turned back. I looked back at the edge of the plaza, where the stone edges met the dead and dried grass.

There was a group of six men there, docked dark black masks and odd camouflage clothing. But they weren't government soldiers, their clothing too casual to be military, and they clutched the long guns dangling from around their necks tight. The two security guards at the entrance, carrying tiny handguns and a bottle of mace spray, looked scared and tense, their hands instinctively at their waists. They just stood at the edge of the plaza (guns were banned on the inside), staring at the undulating crowd.

Dad swore under his breath. Mom looked at Dad with panicked eyes and whisper-shouted. "We should go. Now!"

Dad held her wrist. "We have to stick together. And not just us, but all of us—"

"But if they start firing and the guards start firing, we're trapped between the bullets," Mom said. "We can't risk it—"

"I know," Dad said. "But if we leave, we'll be more vulnerable. Maybe they're looters, just looking to pick off stragglers. If we all stick together, we'll stay as safe as we can be."

While Mom and Dad whisper-argued over what to do, May poked me and Mira. "What?" Mira asked.

"I overheard the people next to us," she said. "Apparently there have been rumors about looters going from town to town, ransacking all the food pantries everywhere."

"You think they are one of them?" Mira asked.

"Maybe?" she said. "How would I know? If I die today, promise me that you'll burn me. I really don't want worms and maggots feasting on my brain."

"I'm joking by the way if you can't tell," May added, but it wasn't all that funny, and I don't think she even found it funny.

"If there are looters and raiders, then..." Mira said and her words trailed off. "What about Leon and his family and them—"

"Don't worry—" I began before getting cut off.

"I can't not worry," she said and began whispering something under her breath. "What if he's just lying in some ditch somewhere, a gunshot to his chest and his Mom's chest—"

Before Mira could finish her nightmare, Mom shook her shoulder. "If bullets start flying and me and your father don't make it, take care of Neal and May. Make sure you three get to safety. Ignore us"

Mira's eyes crystallized into something sharp, and Dad said, "If they start shooting—"

"Get down on the ground and lie flat," May replied. "Too many lockdown drills have taught me that."

"Good," Dad said and corrected himself quickly. "I mean that's not good, to have to do the lockdown drills, but good that you know."

"If people start leaving," Mom said to Dad. "We're leaving too. Just like you said, we're going to stick with the crowd."

"Fine by me," Dad said and shivered while rubbing his mittens, looking over his shoulder every few seconds. "We're going to be alright. They won't shoot, hopefully."

The group of men kept standing at the edge of the plaza, holding weapons in their hands that could kill everyone in the plaza many times over. It's weird how a hunk of metal can have the power of life and death, especially with the hospital probably in dismal condition. No one dared to say anything, and the announcer at the megaphone didn't speak, either out of fear of retribution or just because the men technically weren't violating these apocalypse laws, though they were in violation of state open carry laws.

"Why are they just standing there?" May asked.

"Scoping the situation," I replied. "Intimidation. Just because they can. Who knows?"

May squatted down.

"What are you doing?" Mira asked.

"Just in case they start shooting. So I can lie down quickly," she said. "I don't want to die, especially not like this."

"They can't risk shooting," Mira replied.

"Well, it's pretty obvious that everyone thinks that they will," she said and extended a hand. "You guys should join me. It's going to be lonely in this hellscape if I'm the only one that survives."

Despite the snark, there was something genuine underneath it all, a real fear or a will to live if you're a person that likes looking at a glass half-full. I squatted down with her. "Better safe than sorry," I said. "Best motto to live by."

Mira scoffed. "Not unless you want your life to be boring as hell. The best things come from mistakes."

May and I both cringed.

"For that, you've been demoted to squatting status," I said.

Mira squatted down and Mom and Dad looked at us a bit weirdly but quickly went back to anxiously glancing over their shoulders. "Well, how do I redeem myself?"

"You don't," May said. "It's an eternal punishment."

There was a little chuckle before a long awkward silence descended on us. Mira's eyes softened and she reached out a gloved palm to May.

"We're going to be alright," she said, somewhat half-heartedly because I knew her mind was occupied by other thoughts. "We have to."

But May brushed away her palm and gazed into the distance. Ash began snowing down and Mom wrapped her two scarves over May and I's masks, just for double protection in case one of the layers failed. The men seemed to disappear into a haze of gray, their figures just dark gray silhouettes under a shroud of ashy dust that clung to the air around us, like the sides of a coffin.

"Are they gone?" May asked.

"I can't tell," Mom said. "But I can't see their shadows anymore."

"I believe they've left," Dad said. "The visibility is probably too bad for them to use their guns efficiently or maybe they saw the guards in front and decided that it wasn't worth it."

"But do we know?" May asked.

"Unless someone goes over to the edge," Mom said. "We can only hope."

"But—"

"Don't be pessimistic," Mom replied and cut May off before she could say anything. "Cynicism doesn't take anyone anywhere."

"That wasn't deep, Mom," May rebutted.

"It wasn't supposed to be," Mom said and faced her back to the edge of the plaza with May and I in front of her.

The rest of the wait was just waiting for the echoes of the bullets, firing from the dust and ash. Dad was running his hand through his hair, kicking up small clouds of ash, as Mom held May in front of her with an iron grip. The soft murmurs of the early dawn were gone, and everyone was basically stone silent. My heart leaped a couple of times when someone kicked a stone, the clattering across the stone like a bullet ricocheting. No one should have this much power over everyone.

When we got the bags of food, we all rushed out as fast as we could, trying to escape the walls of gray closing into us. No one breathed a sigh of relief until we entered the house and Dad locked the door and we were finally safe. There was an awkward silence before Dad asked, "Does anyone want to shower first?"

Everyone looked at each other before bursting out laughing. "Why are we laughing?" May asked.

"I don't know," Mira said between wheezes. "I call dibs."

"Don't shower too long," Mom said. "We need to save the water."

After everyone but Mom and Dad and I showered (since they were worried about using up all the hot water), it was mid-afternoon, and the adrenaline wore off as my mind drifted to other places, like the magazine from yesterday and that guy's eyes and body, but before I could start overthinking, Mira said, "What are you thinking about? Or looking at? That plain, boring wall sure is interesting."

"Just stuff," I said. "It's nothing."

"Well it must be something," Mira said. "You looked like you were breaking out in sweat just thinking about it."

"It's complicated," I said.

"You want to tell me about it?" she asked. "Maybe I can help."

"It's not something you can help me with."

"Try me."

"It's just not."

"Well you just got to try."

I hesitated for a moment. Should I tell her about this, about the weirdness I feel when I look at guys in magazines or the odd fluttering of my heart when I was standing next to Leon making bread that was more than just social anxiety?

"It's about," I said. "School stuff."

"School stuff," she said slowly and skeptically. "What kind of school stuff?"

"You know, I think I have to go and study my textbook," I said and started walking away. "Maybe it'll help solve the world."

Mira looked disappointed in me. "It's okay to talk, you know, and get things off your chest. Remember what we said a while back: no secrets about important things."

"It's not important," I lied. "It's just thoughts."

Then I left and opened up the textbook to the first chapter, but I wasn't really paying attention as I skimmed through the pages. I know it was wrong to not tell her, and I know that opening up to others can help me figure out who I am. But this just feels too close to me, too hard for anyone to untangle except for me by myself.

Thinking about it, maybe I'm the one doing the tangling of something so simple. Honestly, who knows? I doubt even God, if he exists, would even know.