Plan C

Chapter 4

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple as I huddled beside my daughters, Zara, Mia, and Lily. Our RV was parked in the shadow of an abandoned gas station, a silent witness to a world unraveled. We had been on the road for days now, each mile weighing heavier with uncertainty about our future. Rumors whispered of the North remaining untouched by the chaos that had engulfed everything we once knew; those rumors drew us forward like moths to a flame. Yet every encounter felt like walking a narrow tightrope stretched between hope and despair.

I stepped out with the girls, guiding them gently around to the front of the gas station. The scene before us was grim—already looted, broken glass crunched underfoot, remnants of what once sustained life now littered across the ground. Despite it all, I held tight to the pistol in my hand as if it were a talisman against all that threatened us. We gathered what little supplies we could find—canned goods and scattered items—and started making our way back to the RV. My heart raced with every sound echoing through the empty street.

"Mom," Mia whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she walked close beside me. "Do you think we'll really be okay at the Lake?"

I forced a smile despite my own fears, brushing her hair back with a tender touch. "We will be fine. We have to keep moving."

Just then, Nate appeared from behind one of the crumbling pumps his presence both grounding and unsettling in its familiarity. "I scouted ahead; there are some survivors nearby." He hesitated for just a moment before continuing cautiously, "They seem friendly—but you know how it is these days."

The mere mention of other survivors sent my stomach churning; memories flooded back of how quickly trust could morph into violence when resources dwindled down to nothing. Yet desperate for direction—and perhaps companionship—I nodded reluctantly.

I loaded the girls and our meager haul from the grocery store into the back of the RV, stealing kisses on each of their heads as I insisted I would be right back. Rechecking my gun's clip for rounds—my lifeline—I nestled it into my belt at my back and flipped my shirt over it in an attempt at nonchalance. Locking eyes with Nate sealed our unspoken agreement as we both nodded and headed off toward where he'd found those survivors.

As we neared a small group gathered around a flickering fire pit, I could feel an electric tension hanging thickly in the air; uncertainty crackled like static between us all. A burly man stepped forward from among them—dirt-streaked skin glistening under dim light and wary eyes narrowing at our approach.

"What do you want?" he demanded sharply, his voice rough like gravel scraping against steel.

"We're looking for shelter," I replied cautiously but firmly. "We don't want any trouble."

"Trouble has a way of finding people when they're vulnerable," he said flatly while eyeing Nate suspiciously up and down before landing his gaze on me again. "You've got two mouths to feed? What do you have to trade?"

After tense negotiations that felt painfully drawn out—a dance of desperation—we managed only limited supplies in return: mostly tradeable items like canned beans and stale bread salvaged from someone else's loss—their lifeline now ours by sheer luck amidst this broken world.

. My senses remained heightened; every rustle made me flinch, and I found my hand instinctively reaching for my gun. Suddenly, chaos erupted. Shadows lunged from behind haphazardly stacked pallets—another group, desperate and aggressive, ambushed us. Shouts demanding food and water filled the air as fists flew in panic. Nate's calm voice pierced through the mayhem.

"Stay behind me!" Nate ordered fiercely as he shoved me behind his back. Adrenaline flooded through my veins as I faced down one attacker while Nate was cornered by three more, his posture radiating tension and determination.