What Comes After

And then there was a knock on the door. Mom muttered underneath her breath, "I'm going to kill her for causing such a scare."

Mom peeped through the peephole before opening the door, with Mira standing there with that handgun and holster.

"Where'd you go?" Mom demanded. "Why didn't you tell anyone? And what is with the gun?"

"Mom, relax," Mira said. "I—"

Mom cut her off. "I don't care where you went, but you should at least tell someone before you go."

"Can I come in to explain? I don't know what's up with you," Mira said before Mom and Dad stopped her.

"The gun stays outside," Mom said, and Dad nodded before adding, "Someone is going to get hurt if it goes off."

"The safety's on," Mira said. "So no one will get hurt. And I went to the night patrol meeting today. Last week they briefed everyone on firearms safety, but I got filled in quickly, so that I could start taking shifts."

"We agreed that we weren't doing that," Mom said before Mira cut her off.

"You and Dad agreed to not do that," Mira said. "But I didn't."

"That thing doesn't come into our house," Mom said. "I don't want it under our roofs at all.

"If we leave it outside, it'll be more dangerous," Mira replied. "Animals might tamper with it, and it might accidentally shoot."

"I don't care. You deal with it," Mom said. "A gun? Seriously? We don't need that danger inside our house."

"You know I'm the only reason that they agreed to patrol our neighborhood," Mira replied, her voice clipped with annoyance. "They were just going to skip over us since our whole neighborhood is deserted, but because they said that they'd leave no member behind, I managed to secure us from protection. You can't deny it, Mom. Houses are being broken into, and what you saw on Saturday, people are getting hurt."

"We protect ourselves," Mom replied. "I don't like saying that, but carrying that gun puts you at risk, and it puts us all at risk."

"No, it doesn't," Mira said. "We're backed up by other people, and I'll be able to protect us and other people too. There's no police anymore, so we need to look out for ourselves and other people too."

"Well that gun isn't coming here," Mom said. "We could get arrested."

"There's no police anymore."

"Doesn't matter. The laws are the laws."

Dad then stepped in, and for once, instead of adding gasoline to this flaming argument, he managed to douse it. "I don't like it, but the gun stayed in the safe. If you take it out, you go straight out of the house, and when you return, you go and put it straight in."

"Sounds fine to me," Mira replied.

"For your sake, I hope you know what you're doing," Dad said with a sigh.

Mira brushed past Dad and more like pushed past Mom. Mom turned to Dad. "How could you let her do this?"

"I don't like this, and I don't like to admit it, but she's right. We do need protection."

"Not this kind of protection."

"I wish it didn't have to be this way," Dad replied, and they both exited the hall as May, and I stared on before I heard a crackle. The bubbling beans were overflowing, and I ran to the fireplace and took some tongs and oven mitts to pull it away as May poured diced tomatoes in a bowl with some vinegar.

"Well that's certainly a twist," she said and looked at Mira walking into the kitchen. "I never expected her to actually do it. I thought she was just bluffing."

"Mira doesn't do bluffing," I replied and poured the beans into a bowl.

Dinner was awkward. Mira said that she'll be out from four to six every day starting tomorrow, and Mom and Dad mostly didn't say much, and that was pretty much the atmosphere of dinner: a lot of people not saying a lot. We dipped our potato chips in bean dip and made awkward small talk and then, dinner, I guess, just ended, and everyone just ended up sitting on the mattresses in the living room, staring at the crackling fire.

I suppose that's appropriate for today, the real quiet ending to the day unlike last time that I predicted that the day would end quietly (but I hope that I don't jinx it now). Mom and Dad announced that they'll be going woodcutting again on Wednesday because the weather is good and because they're feeling great. But I know that last part was a lie, and so did everyone, but no one said anything. Mira talked with me afterwards.

"Mom and Dad are mad at me again," she said.

"Yeah," I replied, and my words trailed off.

"Am— Am I doing something wrong with joining the watch?"

"I don't know," I said and paused before saying. "I know you want to help, but I don't know if guns are the way to do it."

"So you agree with Mom and Dad?"

"Kinda," I said, but that was a lie. I really agreed with Mom and Dad, but I didn't want Mira to feel bad, and I felt bad about violating her privacy by copying down the letter. I added, "I guess I'm just worried, you know."

"About what?"

"About guns, like people getting hurt."

"No one's going to get hurt," she said. "That's why I'm doing this. To protect people and make sure they stay safe."

I didn't mention how she could hurt people with her gun because, in the end, that's what guns are for. You can dress it up with fancy words like "protection" or "safety," but that doesn't change the facts. But I didn't say much, and after some awkward silence, she said that she was going to sleep because she had a long evening of patrolling tomorrow. I'm going to sleep now, so I guess I'll attach the letter here, at the very end, for safekeeping:

Dear Mira,

How are you doing? I know it's rhetorical (and you'd definitely tell me that), but I hope that everything is going great for you there. Dad is excited to meet your family, and even though Mom is a bit peeved that we had a secret wedding without her, she hopes that you guys are enjoying her homemade strawberry jam (though make sure to add a bit of honey since it'll taste much, much better). Phillip laughs and teases me every time that he sees our picture, and now I agree with you: we should've burned it, preferably with my annoying older brother too.

After I left, I managed to meet up with my family, and it was relatively smooth sailing through Central Valley (since according to some reports, the coastal routes were too mountainous and dangerous). We had to backtrack a couple of times because of wreckage blockages in some of the streets, but the rural roads were dusty and safe, and we managed to avoid some of the violence that plagued the major cities that all the highways connected into. When we passed Fresno, there was a billowing of dark smoke, smelling like burnt rubber and plastic, that mixed with the volcanic ash and turned the sky a stormy gray.

There was plenty of food on the trip there. The orchards were empty, and even with the low sunlight, there were still fruits and nuts hanging on the trees, so we managed to harvest a lot on the way, and not waste anything we've got stored. Around Bakersfield, though, our car broke down, probably because of the bad dust and ash in the air since the land is parched there and also because we were running on fumes. We pushed the car into the grove of cottonwood a couple of miles out from the Motel 6 sign and near a big sign that says "Annie's Almonds." There are some wild berry jams and a bunch of nuts in there, so look out for it when your family travels South.

I've been meaning to write a letter to you, but all the post-offices that we passed by on our week-long walk to LA were shuttered. Entire towns were just empty, but Phillip's and Dad's constant ghost jokes helped lighten up the mood. Here's one, but you better not read ahead: Where do ghosts go for the holidays?

To Lake Eerie. You probably aren't laughing right now, and that was a cheesy joke. I'll be armed with a better one next time, trust me. When all of this is over, we'll have our proper honeymoon, preferably away from any volcanoes or beaches (unless you want to). I'm not sure exactly where we'll go, but we'll find something. Maybe somewhere warm, like New Mexico. We'll float in hot-air balloons all night and gaze at the constellations as the sun paints the mountains oranges and violets. But wherever you want to go, I'll want to go with you.

Right now we're in LA. There's a small caravan of survivors, about fifty strong, that we're planning on traveling with. Normally, we'd go alone, but they've got a horse-cart that can carry tons of water and supplies, and Mom managed to seduce one of the leaders with her famous pickled carrots (which taste better than they sound) and elderberry jelly, and even though Dad has some "mild" reservations, Mom bossed him into joining them. It was real funny, and I think you and Mom would make a great team (even I would be a little scared of you two).

I'm probably rambling, aren't I? It's just that I'm scared, not of this letter not reaching you, but because I don't want to mess up and forget something that I was meaning to say. I wish we could see each other, at least just for a minute, and I know you don't want me to say this, but sometimes, I wish that I had stayed behind. But you'd tell me to pick myself up and find a little grit, so that's what I'm trying to do. I don't know how you stay so tough and so positive, but when we meet, make sure to tell me your secret.

I'm running out of space now, and I probably shouldn't have written in pen, so I'll keep this quick since I'm not sure if any letters I'm going to write from this point on will ever reach you. We're first heading towards Riverside before beelining to Palm Springs and trekking through Joshua Tree national park to reach Blythe, where we'll restock our water supplies in the Colorado River before heading towards the Gila River next to Phoenix. We'll follow it for as long as we can up and down Arizona until we hit Duncan, where we'll depart and head straight down to Lordsburg, skip from pond to pond to Duncan before we make our way to Caballo and up all the way to Albuquerque and then Santa Fe. It's going to be long on foot, probably a three or four month long journey, and the reason I'm telling you is that I'll be wearing that bright neon yellow bandana that you hate on my arm in case anything happens to me.

I love you so much, and our time together has been the best in my life. You're amazing, sweet, funny, smart, and (dare I say this because I know you'll hate it) just awesome. Protect others, inspire hope, just do great things because that's the person that you are. I know this sounds like a cliche death note from the movies, but I plan on staying alive and well. I love you, and I'll be seeing you down the road.

(So much) Love,

(Your very handsome and cool hubby) Leon + the rest of my family

P.S. I still haven't changed my mind. Peanut butter cookies are way better than chocolate chip ones.