“Yesterday we made it home because circumstances broke in our favor. That’s not a strategy; luck has a shelf life, and it doesn’t announce its expiration. It just runs out, and you find out after the fact. When that happens, a deadbolt and a back garden won’t hold against what’s coming.”
The kitchen fell silent. Fiona’s pen had stopped, and Lily stood in the doorway, bag on her shoulder, watching us.
“Staying here isn’t a plan,” Finn said, his voice dropping to a quiet intensity that was more impactful than anything he’d said before. He looked down at the map, then back up at me. “It’s a countdown. And we’re already into it.”
I met his gaze.
He held mine.
And I hated—with every stubborn, exhausted, still-aching part of me—that he wasn’t wrong. Not even slightly.
I looked down at the map, at the thin pencil line threading through back roads, bypassed towns, and long, empty stretches of nothing. It terminated at a coastline where a sailboat we hadn’t found yet would carry us to an island I’d never seen. Hundreds of miles of uncertainty, held together by one man’s conviction that the worst-case scenario was always worth preparing for.
It wasn’t a good plan.
But standing still wasn’t a plan at all. It was just a slower way of losing.
“Lily,” I said, without looking up from the map.
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Finish those bags. Nothing useless.” I paused.
“We’ll need a vehicle.” I straightened, an idea clicking into place. “The Hendersons, three doors down. They have a Suburban. Jim’s a retired cop, paranoid about everything but car theft. He always keeps a spare key in a magnetic box under the driver’s side wheel well. He left for California on Saturday; the car hasn’t moved.”
And just like that, across a worn paper map in a kitchen that smelled like yesterday’s coffee, we had a plan.
Twenty
Well, Mostly A Plan… -Finn
We had a plan.
I moved through the kitchen, pulling food, water, and batteries, packing everything into plastic bins, and stacking them by the door in the order we’d need them.
“The storm has to be our window,” I said, glancing at Libby across the counter. “When it picks up enough to give us cover, I’ll go for the Suburban. You and the girls wait until I pull up tight to the stoop.”
She gave a sharp nod.
“You load fast,” I continued. “No talking, no hesitation. I’ll cover the street.”
Fiona stepped closer. “How long do we wait if—”
“You don’t.” I held her eyes. “Five minutes, then you lock the door and stay inside.”
Her face tightened. She nodded anyway.
Lily said nothing. She stood a little apart from the rest of them, watching with careful eyes that caught more than most adults would have expected.
The plan settled into place. Libby excused herself quietly and headed upstairs to pack.
I watched her go.
I didn’t intend to.
My eyes followed her anyway.
I reached for another bin and stopped.
