What Comes After | ✔️

Chapter 19

September 3

No water. No heat. No food.

We are so screwed.

In the early morning, after we had spent all night checking and sorting the pantry after the glass jars shattered all over the shelves and floors, I tried turning on the faucet to clean my hands of the jelly and jam juice coating my fingers while wetting some towels to wipe the sticky juice off the floor, but there was no water. I went to the bathroom to see if there was water, but nothing. Same thing with the sink in the laundry room. I even checked the garden faucet. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"We don't have any water," I told Dad.

"I know," he said. "All the pipes must have ruptured. Both the stove and the heater aren't working either."

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said before calling out for Mom to get the heater for the greenbox, which was slowly becoming cooler before turning back to me. "Can you go get some firewood from the garage along with some of the twigs and leaves?"

"Sure," I said before remembering. "What about the food drive today?"

Dad swore before standing on a dining table chair and announcing, "We've got to go to the food drive. Maybe they will have some information."

Mom said, "I'll grab everyone's masks and tell my parents to get ready. Kids, get your socks and wear your shoes. Hurry up! We don't want to miss any food, especially because of the earthquakes."

So we all sprung into action, the coldness that plagued us this week dissolving. It's the one good thing about chaos and destruction, where there just isn't enough free time to waste your breath arguing and fighting. Everyone is just all action, all movement, and getting things done. We managed to get dressed and out of the house in less than five minutes.

After some minutes, as we neared the food drive, we could hear the chants and questions of everyone clumped together in the plaza echoing throughout the streets. There was this uncontrollable anger and fear in the air, and Mom looked at all of us before saying, "Stick together. It's dangerous out there, but we need the information."

"Should I go out first?" Dad asked. "Scout out the situation to see if we should just head back."

"No," Mom said. "In these situations, being alone can make you a target. Some of those people out there are crazed, starved animals, and they are unpredictable."

"They're people, Mom," Mira interjected. "Not animals."

"And people are unpredictable," she replied. "Like animals."

Ambulance blares filled the air and when I looked up, I could see plumes of smoke drifting throughout the sky, like each house was a small volcano. There were people on the sidewalks, crying in front of their collapsed houses, faces bruised and bloodied. Mom and Dad ushered us away from them and told us not to look at them in their eyes, but I felt sorry for them. I wanted to help, but I couldn't.

As we neared the plaza, I could better make out what they were saying, the cries and chants mixed up in a swirl of sound. There was an underlying chant: "We need food. We need water. We need heat," punctuated by a smattering of questions: "When will the water return? Is firewood going to be provided? Can we get gasoline, please?" and cries of desperation and anger: "Fix the damn pipes! Please, I've got children and grandparents. We paid all these taxes for you; now deliver! May God save us all. To Hell with God!"

We stayed clumped together as people formed clumps that morphed into swirling stampedes, kicking up ash into the air as a manmade mist descended upon us. May's eyes were wildly darting around with panic, and Mom was holding her steady while Mira and Dad stood guard around Grandma and Grandpa. I mostly looked around, hoping to see a glimpse of Charles in the crowd, but it's hard to tell when visibility is blurry and everyone's wearing masks.