What Remains Here

Chapter 10

November 14

It has been a long day, but I think we managed to outsmart the Shepards, assuming that they've got not-so-pure intentions, at least for today.

Mom and Dad woke all of us up early in the morning, so early that it was pitch black outside with the dull light from the Moon, filtered through the thick haze of ash, as our only light source. All of us were exhausted, but I guess the adrenaline of the situation snapped us out of grogginess as Mom explained the admittedly complicated plan that she had concocted overnight.

The first step was hiding around half of our food supply since we've got to contribute something to the food pantry otherwise we'd look far too suspicious. Obviously, if we get caught, then we're absolutely screwed because everyone would lose respect for our family, and if the community doesn't work out, and we've got to sacrifice someone's family, ours will be the first on the chopping block. But we just can't donate all the food away, not without exactly what the night watch group wants.

The real issue would be where to hide the food. With the night patrol, we're trapped inside our community, so hiding it outside is impossible. If we put it in the house, we're almost guaranteed to get caught. The safe is an option, but it's far too small. We also don't have any pryable floor boards, and common hiding spots, like air vents or the attic that we've never used, will almost certainly be searched, and there's a high risk that someone could accidentally stumble upon them. One of Mom's initial ideas was hiding the cans in our mattresses, but I doubt that anyone would want to sleep on a very hard mattress and gutting it would be a massive hassle.

She ended up stumbled upon a plan that was a bit simple, a bit ingenious, and very much dependent on luck. We were going to hide the food in our backyard, specifically underneath the soil and ash piles that had formed in the corners of our yard, around two feet tall. It made a lot of sense to go with this plan. For one, the only people that visit the backyard are our family and the Coopers, and that's only to clean the solar panels or the greenhouse walls. Another is that it's like camouflage and doesn't stand out a bunch. Plus, with limited time, it's not like we could bury the cans.

There are of course big risks. If they go into the backyard, well, we're dead since there's no plausible deniability. Another risk is the wind because if it were to be a gusty day, the ash covering the cans would get blown away, exposing the bags of cans underneath, again dooming us. Obviously, our plan required a ton of luck and for everything to go right, but that uncertainty is a consequence of embarking on such a high-risk, high-reward plan.

So that's what we did in the morning, huddling in the corners of the backyard, shoveling out ash and filling the empty space with canvas bags filled with cans before covering the food up in a thick layer of ash. We didn't talk much because we didn't want to attract unwanted attention from the night patrol, and the only light we had was a tiny, very dim Hello Kitty flashlight. Shoveling the ash, barely half-awake and starving, was exhausting, but we had to get as much food hidden as possible. Every can that we hid underneath the piles of ash meant another day that we'd be able to survive, and I guess that thought, a sort-of primal fear of starvation, powered me through the task as the sun began to rise.

By the time that the sky was bright enough to see properly without the flashlight, we had buried our food underneath the piles of ash in the corning. It looked a bit suspicious since the ash cover near our house was oddly thin while the ash piles in the corners grew substantially, but I think it was pretty easy to brush off as yard maintenance, especially since we're planning on building a second greenhouse.

"Should we spray the ash down?" Mom asked. "To make sure the wind doesn't carry it away and expose the cans underneath."

"No," Dad replied. "It's too risky since it might cake the bags shut, and we can't afford to lose more food."