What Comes After

July 9

The riots exploded around the city. I don't think they'll ever stop.

It happened later in the day after Dad took all of us to the food handouts. He and Mom had a big argument about it.

"We need to bring them along," Dad said. "The officials aren't going to be so lenient anymore. They'll want us to bring everyone along to make sure that we actually have six people in our family. Some people might be lying about the number of people in their family, so we have to bring everyone along to prove that we, in fact, do have six people in our household."

"No," Mom said. "It's too dangerous. Breathing in ash is like breathing in glass. It will shred our children's lungs. We'll kill them."

"That's why we have the masks," Dad said. "To protect them!"

"No," Mom said. "It's too dangerous."

"What's dangerous is letting our children starve if we don't get food—"

"But we've got food," Mom said. "Plenty of food to last us for a long time. What's the point of even getting food if we've got plenty and the food that we get won't even last us a long time? Why risk our children's health?"

"Because every can of food we get is another day Mira, May, and Neal avoid starvation!" Dad said. "Another day to survive if things never get back to normal."

"We can't keep them indoors forever," Dad continued. "Most of the ash has settled down or mixed with the dirt or is too high in the atmosphere to even threaten to harm us. We've got the air masks, we're safe."

Mom looked genuinely conflicted. She wanted to keep us safe, but Dad's arguments made sense. It was important to get food, just in case things don't go back to normal. What's the point of keeping us from breathing ash and harming our health a little bit if we die of starvation first. In the end, she chose to make us all go, including Grandma and Grandpa, and we all had to wear air masks. Grandpa didn't want to wear them, but Mom yelled at him and eventually even he put them on.

Mom made us walk slowly, careful not to make us breathe too hard. I wanted to ask her about the way back when we'd have to carry all those bags filled with food, but that was a problem for later.

The sky was bleak gray, and the streets were empty. We passed by some shops and stores, but nothing was open. All of them were dark on the inside and barren, except for a smattering of tables, chairs, counters lying around. The only signs of life were when I started approaching the town hall. There were people huddling together in a jumbled line.

It was shorter than the line during the start of summer. Most of the people probably moved on to better places. There were at least ten guards standing around the town hall. That's even more than there were during the beginning of summer when there were much more people. I guess the ash fall is scaring people and making them more desperate.

"It's cold," May said.

It was pretty cool outside, not quite cold but definitely cool. I'd say around the low sixties. It felt like fall even though it was summer. The temperature should go up a bit since we're approaching the peak of summer heat, but after that, who knows how low the temperature will drop. I wonder if people in Minnesota are already feeling the effects of winter already. It doesn't get too warm over there in the summer, so I bet that it's cold over there.

A gust of wind kicked up the ash. "Look at the snow," Mira said.

"Too bad we can't make snowballs out of them. That would be fun," I said.

"Don't touch it," Mom said.

"Live a little Mom," Mira said. "We had to touch all this ash when we had to clean up the garden."

"I was talking to Neal," Mom said. "You can never be too careful."

We were approaching the front of the line when small groups of people began forming off to the sides. Some people were wearing ski masks and others had signs. I couldn't read out what they said, but I'm sure that it had to do with the food giveaways. "Hopefully this line moves quicker," Dad said. "People are gathering all around us."

"Maybe we should leave," Mom said. "We can always pick it up another day."

"There is no other day," Dad said. "Today or never. We've just got to hope that everything doesn't go bad."

As we crawled towards the front of the line, more people began crowding the courtyard. The guards were carrying big guns and they moved to try to control the crowd, but I think it just made the people more unruly. Dad moved behind us and tried hustling us towards the front.

But the line moved slowly, and the crowd only started to grow. There were rowdy shouts and cries. Dad looked more nervous while Mom tried staying calm. She made Grandpa and Grandma stay near us, and we formed this tight bundle. "Why are all these people here?" May asked.

"Because some people were less prepared than we were, so they want more food," Mom said. "Don't stare at them, and let's just keep moving."

The crowd unfurled a large poster about the city council people. They called them pigs for hogging all the food from the people. I don't know how valid those statements are, but it does seem likely that the city council will be well fed. I feel guilty all of a sudden. I know that we need food in case things never return back to normal, but at the same time, our family is well off in terms of food. It makes me feel like I am stealing food from someone who needs it more than I do.

"Should we ever be here?" I asked Mom.

"We're almost at the front of the line," she said and craned her neck. "Another family and then we'll get our food."

"I'm not talking about that—"

"We'll be safe," Mom said. "Just a few minutes and then we're out."

"Can you let me finish Mom?" I asked. "We've got more food than—"

"Keep your voice down," Mom said. "Do you want everyone to know?"

"We've got a lot of food and some of these people don't. We're, like, stealing food from them."

"No we aren't," Mom said. "When everything gets worse, we're going to be the ones needing food more than them. Family comes first."

At that moment, we got to the front of the line. Dad pulled out our residential papers and told us to all come to the front of the line. The lady counted our family and gave us six bags. Mom passed me a bag, and I noticed something strange. The bag was extremely light.

Mom noticed it too, and we both looked into our bags. There was a box of cereal and a couple cans of fruit and mixed vegetables along with some air masks. I remember the first time that I got the bags. They were bursting with food. Now, they were barely half filled.

"That's not enough food for our family," Mom said.

"It's all that we have," the lady said.

"But how are we going to survive on this for a week."

"Look, ma'am. I'm sorry, but that's all that we have," she said. "There are other people waiting behind you."

Mom and Dad picked up their bags and told us to come with them. We passed by the mob. I could see why they were angry. The food we got could maybe last a person half a week. The people are starving and there's nothing that anyone can do about that.

There were more people gathered around the town hall. There was a person on the megaphone— not the same as the first time— telling people to disperse. Police cars sped into the plaza, sirens blaring, but I think that just made people angrier. People started yelling about why the police cars had gas and chants broke out. "We need food. We need food."

"Don't look," Mom said. "Let's go."

Mom and Dad hustled us away from the town hall and we began walking home. Grandma was having some leg issues, so we had to walk slower. I took my eyes off from the crowd for a second, but immediately looked back. I just couldn't not look.

People had signs with many things. Some drew the council as pigs, sitting on piles of food. Other people drew signs asking for food. Some just wrote anti-government signs. But all of them were united on the idea that they needed food.

We were crossing the road across from the town hall when the chants grew even louder, clashing with the person speaking on the megaphone. The whole plaza area was in chaos. There was smoke wafting around. I don't know if it was tear gas or people burning paper or something else, but it was clear that everyone was agitated. Mom had that look on her face like she was scared and feeling brave at the same time. "Mira," she said. "Take May and Neal home and go as fast as you can. Things are getting more dangerous. I need you guys to be safe."

"Your Dad and I will walk with Grandma and Grandpa. We'll be ten minutes behind you."

"What about the food bags?" Mira asked.

"That's a good idea. Here," Mom said. "Take ours. If you feel like you're walking too hard, go slower. I don't want you guys inhaling too much ash."

"Okay," Mira said. "You sure you guys will be okay?"

"Yes," Dad said. "Now go."

We walked as quickly as we could while Mom and Dad walked slowly with Grandma and Grandpa. It was only two minutes after we separated that I heard some popping, like firecrackers. "Are those gunshots?" I asked.

"Mom, Dad," Mira said. "We should head back to see if they're okay."

"But we've got to keep going," May said. "Mom literally told us to."

"But they could be close to what's happening. Don't we have to make sure that they're safe?"

"They're going to be alright," May said. "We're far away from the town hall. Going back is not going to help anyone. Mom said go and we should go."

I could hear faint sirens and car horns blaring in the background. Mira and May were still arguing about whether to go back or to trudge forwards.

"We've got to go," I said.

"What did you say?" Mira and May said at the same time.

"We should head home," I said.

"I told you so," May said.

"Why?" Mira said. "We need to go back to stick together. They're all alone by themselves—"

"Grandma and Grandpa are with them," I said.

"Two old people don't count. It's dangerous out there," Mira said. "Who knows what's going to happen to them?"

"Going back isn't going to help anyone," I said. "Adding two teens and a college person isn't going to help the group."

"But it could," Mira said. "We don't know—"

"We need to have hope," I said. "And just trust that Mom and Dad head back."

"It's what they would want us to do," I said.

Mira looked like she didn't want to go, but we just had to. We had all of the food. So we walked quickly to our house and started packing up the food into the pantry. There were more things in there. I noticed a small bottle of iodine and a guide about volcanic ash.

After we put the food away, we looked at the guide. Mira took some towels and put them near the windows and back door. She looked focused, like this was some math quiz, not just a menial task of wetting and placing towels. I think she was trying not to think about Mom.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Mira began looking scared. I was too. I think even May was a bit pale. But Mom and Dad made it back after half an hour. Mira went and hugged Mom. "What happened?" she asked.

"There was a little delay," Mom said. "But we're fine."

"What about the riots?" I asked.

"It's bad," Dad said. "The police didn't stop them—"

"Did they shoot them?" May asked.

"Rubber bullets only, I think," Dad replied. "They're only getting worse. Some of the stores back in town are getting smashed and looted."

"Are we going to get looted?" I asked.

"No," Dad said. "We're far away. I'll stay up tonight to make sure everything goes alright."

"For now," Mom added. "Let's eat dinner. Today's been an exhausting day. Everyone can get two cans of food. A special reward."

We ate around the dining table awkwardly. There wasn't much to talk about anyways. It's like there's so much happening, and at the same time nothing feels like it's happening. Mom and Dad made us go to sleep early. Dad is supposed to stay up to keep watch.

Will everything get better? We're going to lose gas. We're going to lose water. We're slowly going to run out of food. Everything feels hopeless.

But for some reason, I feel some hope. I mean Mom and Dad made it back home, so maybe the world can be better. That sounded a bit strange and now that I'm thinking about it, it doesn't really make sense, but I don't really know how to put it into words. I just have a strange feeling that maybe things could get not worse.