What Remains Here

Chapter 3

October 11

We were supposed to be back in a day, all the backups in my backpack only for the worst emergencies.

But it's a good thing that Mom insisted on bringing all these supplies because we're trapped in an abandoned home, hiding in the darkest room so that the light from the lamps wouldn't seep out through the slits in the shades and turn this house into a lighthouse. Right now, Dad and I are sleeping in one corner while Caspian and Tim are in another one with Caspian giving me a weird look as I'm writing in my journal. We were both assigned to do night watch, not for threats outside but for those inside, and there's this odd, dark tension slicing between us that broke some rapport that we had earlier.

The morning of the journey started fairly disastrously. It turns out that Dad didn't check the bicycle wheels, so when we tried pedaling the bike, it moved unevenly, the tires partially deflated and lumpy. We had a bicycle pump, but the only issue is that it's electrical and we only had not much storage in the batteries left that we had originally planned to use to keep the bright lights in the greenbox running for as long as possible.

"We can cancel the trip," Dad said, looking at our somewhat sagging plants. The growth of the mustards had badly slowed down ever since the full-day lighting system collapsed with the return of the ash storms.

"You're going," Mom said. "We need to think long term. We've got many more peas and mustard seeds to replant in case this batch doesn't flower, but the solar panels, the possibility of expanding, are just much more valuable. Take whatever is remaining in the batteries and pump the bikes."

"Are you sure?" Dad said, as he slowly hooked up the clips to the lead acid batteries and put the plug of the bike pump in front of the socket, not plugged in out of fear of sucking out excess energy.

"Let's do this," Mom said. "I'll help."

Then Dad nodded and plugged in the bike pump, and immediately stuck it into one of the wheels, the machine making a loud sound that reverberated throughout the garage as it inflated the bike wheels. We were committed to go on this journey. There was no turning back after that point, no way to convert the electricity flowing through the pump back into the battery.

Because that would take a while, I decided to walk to my room to pick out a paperback in case the journey took longer than expected. Just as I entered the room, May ambushed me, fake attacking me with a piece of cardboard that she wielded as a sword.

"Bam!" she said. "You're dead now."

"It's a piece of cardboard," I said, turning around and giving her a weird look.

"Well you would be if it was a sword," May said. "You have to be prepared all the time when you're outside. The people outside are crazy."

"You're crazy," I said and she rolled her eyes.

"Where's your knife?" she said. "I know that Mom gave you one."

"My backpack," I said, pointing behind me. "Front pocket."

"You're the crazy one," she said. "Why aren't you carrying it around you? You should always have it in your pocket."

She went and rummaged through my backpack, pushing aside the socks and matches stored in the front pocket as she attempted finding the knife.

"Careful," I said. "I don't want to be stabbed or lit on fire."

"You're the one that needs to be careful," May said as she handed me the knife in a faux-leather sheath that was fashioned in the early morning by Grandma out of one of Dad's old jackets from his thirties when it was cool. "You know how to fight with a knife?"