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Two weeks have passed since the quake first hit. Our neighborhood of forty houses was brought down to ten in a matter of minutes. Then came the volcanic eruptions. Lava rocks raining from the sky torched another eight, leaving just two houses standing: The O’Connor’s house and ours. Both made of brick, it made it harder for the lava rocks to burn. Our neighbors were living on the streets, or in cars, fighting each other for food.  Mother told us to barricade the doors and not to let anyone in. I didn’t understand; if they were starving then why couldn’t we help them?

“We don’t know how long we are going to be in this situation.  If we share what we have, we might run out and then we’ll be the ones dying in the streets,” she explained.

Staring out of the crack in the blinds, I see Timmy; a friend of mine who lives a few houses up. He’s crying and looks hungry and alone. His parents are probably dead by now. It seems wrong to not help. I have to do something. Sneaking downstairs, I fill my bag with canned food and bottled water from the cabinet. It seems odd that we have so much still. We haven’t left the house in weeks, yet we’re feeding four mouths and never seem to run out.

Slipping out a nearby window, I crouch down behind one of the few trees in our yard still standing and whistle to get Timmy’s attention.  He looks around and finally spots me. Running in my direction as fast as his little legs can carry him, a smile crosses my face as I feel a sense of elation in knowing that I might be able to ease his suffering. Walking out from behind the tree I extend my arm to hand him the bag, when a shot blasts out of nowhere. Blood splatters on my shirt and face, Timmy’s eyes roll back into his head and his legs collapse beneath him.  A bellow of screams by my mother ring through the air as she bursts out of our house towards me with my father close behind.

Paralyzed with fear I stand staring at my parents running towards me when I hear two more shots ring out. My father falls instantly and I feel my chest cave with uneasy breath. Mother has also been hit and now I can see the shooter. It’s our postman, Mr. Conlin from up the street. Reloading his gun and walking at the same time, he quickly moves towards us. My mother manages to crawl to me. Throwing myself on top of her I start screaming in agony.

“Ssh! Listen, you need to protect Toby,” she squeezes me. “Take this,” she whispers, handing me a pistol.

Mr. Conlin’s gun is at his side. He reaches out his arm signaling for me to hand over the bag of food I had packed for Timmy. Mother closes her eyes and lays very still, but I can still feel her breath on my hands.

“Give me that food kid and show me to the shelter. I know your parents have one. I guess they weren’t crazy after all! Ha ha, the joke is on us!”

I don’t know what he is talking about, but I know what I have to do. I can’t let him inside. I have to protect my little brother Toby at all costs. Slowly I stand up, knees shaking, heart pounding and throw the bag of food in the air. Mr. Conlin raises his head to look as I fire my pistol. Ripping through his skull, he falls backwards, water bottles smashing on the ground around him. Looking down at my mother now, her eyes barely open, I see her arm slide out from underneath her body and she opens her hand. Inside her palm is a key.

“In the basement. There’s a door in the floor. Save yourself. Save…Toby,” she said, exhaling her last breath.

Panic sets in and I sprint inside the house in search of Toby. Luckily, he’s still sleeping and didn’t witness the recent neighborhood horror. He’s small for a seven year-old, so I just pick him up and carry him down into the basement. As I search frantically for a secret door in the floor of the basement, Toby begins to stir.

“Is the storm over? Can I go out and play yet?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.

Too overwhelmed to answer, I ignore him.

“Where are mom and dad?” he asks, tears forming.

“Mom and Dad…they went to help some of the other families. They gave us a mission to find a door in the floor. Can you help me look?” I said.

“Okay!” he says excited.

In the corner of the basement, I see part of the carpet rolled up and walk over to examine what might be underneath. Pulling it back, I see a steel door with a heavy chain through the handles and a lock. Twelve years I’ve lived in this house and played in this basement, how did I not know this was here? Opening the lock I release the chains, pull it open and descend a staircase with Toby behind me.  There’s a long hallway and then another steel door.  As I approach the second door, a light above me comes on, a sensor light I can only guess, and the door opens automatically. Unprepared for what is inside, I fall to my knees in pure awe.

Mr. Conlin was right. My parents did have a shelter. A very large, underground bomb shelter filled from ceiling to floor with enough food to feed hundreds of people for weeks. Or four people for a year. Or two people for even longer. My parents were preparing. They were like…doomsday preppers! There’s food, water, and clothing to the left; to the right shelves of toys, books and games. In the back there’s at least a dozen commercial generators. Instructions hang on the wall on how to use everything, when to use it, and when not to in order to survive as long as we can.

“We’re going to make it,” I breathe a sigh of relief.

Suddenly a surge of pain bursts through me. Grabbing my side, I fall to my knees.

“Why are you bleeding Jenna?” asks Toby.

Soaking through my sweatshirt is blood from the bullet that must have grazed my side after it went through Timmy. Quickly I pour water on it to wash out the wound, find a first aid kit and begin placing gauze and bandages on it. While choking down painkillers and antibiotics, I hear something above us.

“Stay here and don’t make a sound,” I warn Toby. I run up the stairs and peak around the wall in the hallway.

Out of the corner of my eye I see someone sneaking around the kitchen searching for food. Holding onto my side, I realize that I still have the gun in the front pouch of my sweatshirt. Slowly I watched as the shadowy figure opens cabinets, grabbing

food and water out of them. Stepping slowly behind him I pull out the gun and point it at his head.

“Don’t move or you’re dead,” I said.

“Jenna? Is that you?” said a shaky voice.

Backing up, I lower the gun and spin the boy around. It’s Brian O’Connor. He lives in the other brick house still standing in the neighborhood.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“They killed my parents. I’m alone. I have no food. Please don’t kill me!” he pleads.

Brian O’Connor, biggest bully in school pleading for his life. He and his friends would tease me about my weight because I was heavier than the other girls. His parents were the neighborhood snobs- so much better than us ‘cause they were doctors.

“Why should I help you?” I said, gun still pointing at his head.

“Because…we’re friends,” he said hesitantly.

“Friends! What a crock! You have never been my friend. I should kill you right now!”

“Then kill me! I’m going to starve to death anyway. If you don’t shoot me someone else will. There’s nowhere to go, we won’t survive this, none of us!” he cried.

“I will survive. Toby and I are going to be just fine. Can’t say the same for you,” I laughed.

Brian slid down onto the floor and began to cry. He rocked back and forth holding his belly, hungry, tired and fed up.

“I want my mom and dad,” he cried.

Then a little voice spoke out from behind me.

“Jenna, what’s wrong with Brian?” said Toby.

“Toby go back to the shelter now, I’m busy,” I yell.

“Why do you have a gun Jenna? Why are you being mean to Brian?” he said.

“Because he’s a bully!” I scream.

“You’re a bully!” Toby screams back.

He stars crying. He’s scared and confused, I thought.

But he was right.

Lowering the gun I look at my reflection in the microwave.

“What have I become?”

“That looks bad,” said Brian pointing to my bloodied side.

“My parents have books and tools at the house. They are…they were surgeons. I…I could stitch you up,” he offers.

“We have a bomb shelter,” I shout out suddenly. “You can stay with us, it will save us all, keep us alive for at least a year until the storms stop.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” I replied back.

“Go to your house and pack up any medical tools and books you can find then meet me back here in twenty minutes. Take this gun to protect yourself,” I said.

After handing him the gun, he holds it in his hands for a minute and instantly a horrible thought runs through my mind. Did I just seal my own fate? Can he be trusted? Will he kill me now and save himself? He puts the gun in the pocket of his coat and looks back up at me.

“See you in twenty,” he said.

Watching through the window I hold my breath as Brian sprints down the road towards his house, avoiding lava rocks, burning cars and hungry stray animals. Now feeling the effects of the painkillers, my legs give out from under me.

“We should get you in the shelter now,” said Toby.

“Not without Brian. Without him, I’ll bleed out and die,” I said.

“Mom and Dad will be home soon, they can take care of you,” said Toby.

Tears roll down my face as I realize for the first time that they are never coming back. They were dead, I had seen it, I just hadn’t accepted it yet, not until now.

“Mom and Dad are…dead,” I said.

Toby begins to cry as I rock him gently in my arms, drifting in and out of consciousness. The sound of music causes me to stir and when I open my eyes, I’m inside of the bomb shelter laying on a bed with a blanket over me. Too my right I see Brian and Toby playing a card game. Pulling up my shirt and pulling back the bandage I look at the stitches where my wound was once before. Running my fingers over the stitches I’m in awe at the precision that came out of a mere twelve year-old boy.

“You’ve been out for almost six hours. I figured you must be starving, so I made you some soup,” said Brian.

“Thank you,” I said.

To think I almost shot him. He saved my life even after I was ready to take his. This world we live in now, what had we become? We’re so violent. Maybe we deserve the wrath of the quake and the fires. Maybe we’re being sorted out, tested to see who’s worth saving.

“I’m really glad you are here,” I said to Brian.

“Me too.”

“Just for the record, I never thought you were fat. I always thought you were, um…are…beautiful.”