The Journal

One • Eliza • April 23

That was the first entry in the journal I found. This Maeve girl sounds like an interesting person.

Too bad she's probably dead.

Our parents sound similar, except for the fact that I was told to write in my own journal so that what is happening now will be taught accurately for future generations.

My parents had more faith that there would actually be a future to teach. I was more of a realist. I guess that comes with the job description, though. What job is that? you might ask. Well, I'll tell you.

It's the job of surviving. If you haven't had this job, then I'll try to describe what it entails as best as I can. It takes first priority. Nothing else comes before it. I was raised in the family business of it, and I will pass it on if I have kids. Which is unlikely, as I have yet to find a boy who isn't a complete idiot. Or really, any boy my age, for that matter. I'm pretty sure they're all dead too. Anyways, back to the job description. If you miss one day, you're screwed. Fired. Dead. Which is why I can't afford to take even one day off, or else my three siblings and I will definitely kick the bucket sooner than we should.

So I'll be writing down what happens to us for those non-existent future children of mine to read.

I guess I'll start with finding the other journal I mentioned.

I woke up with a sore back, as per usual, and Madsen sniffling beside me. She had gotten sick almost a week ago, and her little weakened eight-year-old body was having trouble fighting it.

"Hey, Mads, you okay?" I sat up and started rubbing her back. I could feel her spine and shoulder blades through the thin T-shirt she wore to bed, and it scared me. She ate less and less everyday, throwing it all up before the food's nutrients had a chance of getting absorbed into her body.

"Mhm," she moaned, curling herself in to a tighter ball.

"Do you need another blanket?"

She nodded and I threw mine over her, tucking it under her small frame. The sounds of my other two younger siblings waking up had me standing and walking over to them. The youngest was Madsen by almost five years (my parents had a miscarriage between Paige and Madsen that almost killed my mom, but they tried again anyways) who was eight, then Paige at the age of twelve (thirteen in four days), Jackson at fifteen, and myself at seventeen. We had all grown up in this harsh world, been raised to do the hard thing. It's easy enough to do it yourself, but to watch the people you love suffer along with you is the most difficult part.

"What's for breakfast?" Paige asked suddenly, her voice groggy from just waking up.

"Well," I spun around, rummaging through the first nearly empty duffle bag of food. "There's canned peaches, canned string beans, or...a box of Saltines. Which are you going to choose?"

"But we had all those things yesterday," she whined, "and the day before that and same for the past few months!"

"Oh, quit your complaining," Jack piped in, "just pick something already."

Paige made a face at him and grabbed a can of peaches, along with a fork. She shovelled about half of the can into her mouth before handing it over to me to eat some. They were sweet and relatively squishy, but I followed it down with a few crackers and a swig from my water canteen.

"Ready to go, Jacky Boy?" I slugged my brother lightly in the shoulder. "Got to load up on more canned peaches and such."

"Yep, coming," he grabbed his jacket and we left the back room of the chiropractor's office we were camped in.

I locked the door behind us and we left the tiny strip mall, entering into the soggy environment that April weather always brought. Houses lined the street across from us, their second storeys and roofs visible over the toppling sound barricade wall. We stuck to the shadows the pre-dawn atmosphere provided on our run to the crumbling gas station about an hour's walk from the camp. Following the main roads would cut our travel time by at least half, but I couldn't risk it. Taking an extra hour to be fed and stay alive was better than dying before even getting there. Small trees and shrubs provided for an okay covering as we hiked up a steep hill littered with obscured gopher holes that would ensnare your foot at any given minute.