What Remains Here

Chapter 6

October 26

"I'm sorry," I said to Mira. "It's not like I didn't think you couldn't control your emotions or anything. It's just–"

"It's fine," she said. "I'm just wondering whether the story about the lights you saw on the hill–"

"That story's real," I replied. "I really saw it. I guess that's why I left out the part about the looters. It's just that I didn't want that to overshadow what I was telling you, about the hope that everyone was coming back together. I guess I just didn't want you to lose any hope–"

"I'm not like Dad," Mira said. "It's not like one bad incident is going to scare me off because I know that there are raiders out there, and I know that everyone out there's not as friendly as Caspian and his family. But it's that I know that there are more than enough good people out there."

"I was just worried that if I said that the looters were real, that they'd actually be real, not just some imaginary threat, you know."

"I know that you have good intentions, but you can't keep these things from us," Mira replied. "I know you want to maintain this facade that everything is alright, but I think that knowing the truth about what's happening around us is more important."

"I'm sorry," I said because I don't think there was anything else that I could add other than this reaffirmation of my apology.

"I'm not mad at you," Mira replied, her voice softer. "I just wish you weren't afraid to open up. It's alright to tell the truth, even if it could hurt someone's feelings."

Even though I had sorted out everything with Mira, things were still tense between everyone, as we cleaned the inside of the greenhouse and began lining the bottoms of the wall, where the tarp met the ground, with styrofoam boards to make sure that heat wouldn't escape. Same thing with where the roof tarping met with the top edge of the walls, where we lined it with foam pool tubes. To be honest, it was so tedious, but I think it was working. The greenhouse certainly felt a bit warm with all of us working in it, though it was still too cold to comfortably wear a t-shirt.

Still, by the end of the day, we had finished the structure and interior of the greenhouse, and even though it was much smaller than giant ones outside of nurseries, it was something. We could probably fit close to five hundred cans inside on the shelves, less if we need to space them out.

That seems like a lot, but it's just the bare minimum that we'd need in order to avoid starvation in the short-term. If we're looking at the long term, we're going to have to produce more food than we need just for sustenance. Thinking about it like this makes it just so overwhelming, and it feels kinda impossible. But I know that we have no other options. We just got to make sure everything works.

During dinner, Mom, who was still barely talking with Dad since she was still mad at him for blowing up her plans, said, "I have a plan with the net. But, Mira, it involves you taking a bit of a risk."

"Whatever to make it work," she replied.

"Because it seems like we're worried about the night watch finding the net but at the same time, don't want the raiders to find it, what I was thinking is that we alter the night watch path so that instead of tracing the edge of the tidal boundary, we could move it a block back. With this, we would solve both problems."

"It's going to be tough," Mira said. "I want this to work, but Dean might get suspicious. If he sees what we're doing, he's going to go to the Shepards, and if they know that I've been trying to hide something from them, it might ruin our good relationship with them."

"I don't have any other ideas," Mom said.

"We can just put it up. It's better to come clean than looking like we're holding a secret," Mira said. "I just don't want to put ourselves in a position that'll make it difficult to expand."

"I agree, but it's the only way to make sure that we're all united on the same choice," Mom said before looking at Dad. "Right?"

"I think it's a fine plan," he replied. "I just don't think that we should be spending so much time around the area–"

"So your issue is the ocean?"

"It's a dangerous place," Dad said. "We haven't even got a plan to quickly set up the net and make sure that it gets taken down quickly before the rides roll in."

"It's the only way to get food so that we don't have to cut into our can supplies," Mom replied. "We're not having this conversation again. I found a solution that works for everyone, and we are going to be putting the net up. There is too much at stake to be held back by fear."

"It's not an irrational fear," Dad said.

"We can track the tides, Dad," Mira replied. "It's not like the first day. We know things–"

"But we'll never fully know," he said. "Every time that we go out and take a major risk, it could backfire, and even when they work, we could get addicted to the point where we risk losing everything–"

"We'll lose everything if we don't do more," Mira said. "I want a life for all of us. Not one where we're just barely scraping by or one where we're just slow-walking to death. A real, actual one."

"I'll see what I can do," she added. "In the meantime, Mom, Dad, I'm the one that's supposed to be arguing with you guys, not you guys arguing with each other. I just want everything to work, so please just stop arguing."

At that point, Mira was practically begging Mom and Dad, though more specifically Dad, to just let go of his resistance and embrace the plan. But I don't think her pleas really had much of an effect, especially since Mom looked smug, and Dad was defiantly staring her down. I thought that this was just another case of Dad performatively resisting change, but it seems like, with investing and merging our future with the ocean, there's something more that's bothering him.

"Dad, can you just get therapy or something?" May added.

"We have bigger problems to worry about," he replied, and that was the end of that conversation.

The rest of dinner was tense, and Dad was the first one to go to sleep while the rest of us just lounged around until Mira and Mom fell asleep, leaving May and I as the last people awake. She had flopped down on the couch while I was gazing at the fire, making sure that no sparks were flying out and catching us on fire.

"Neal," she whispered with Mom and Dad not stirring from their sleep as she tip-toed over.

"What?"

"If you can cover for me more, I can find more food," May said. "I'm not stupid, and I know you calculated how long we have until we begin starving–"

"We've still got to the end of the year," I replied. "There's still time to make the greenhouse work."

"Let's be honest, if the greenhouse fails or if we keep getting more and more people, we won't even have enough to last until the end of November," she said.

"There's no more food in these abandoned houses."

"Someone must've been one of those doomsday freaks," she responded. "And they'll have stored up a ton of food only to die when they accidentally shot themselves in the foot or something."

"That's oddly specific."

"It's just a situation that could happen. I wasn't being literal," May replied. "We need every package–"

She then stopped talking as Dad rolled over before snuggling back into his pillow. We then waited in silence for a few minutes to let his snoring resume before I spoke up, saying, "If you find this stash, how are you going to bring it here? You're going to need to tell Mom and Dad."

"I'll tell them later," she said.

"You should just tell the truth now," I said. "It's–"

"Well maybe you should take your own advice," she replied. "I know that you apologized to Mira about not seeing the raiders. The walls here are literally like paper. There's no room for secrets or privacy or whatever."

"Then you know that what you're doing will eventually come out," I said, and there was a pause before she responded.

"I'm tired," she said, suddenly switching topics and yawning over exaggeratedly before plopping right into bed and falling asleep within minutes, leaving me all alone as the last person awake, gazing at the flickering fireplace lights.

I do get why she swapped topics so quickly because sometimes, it's just better to act first and not worry about telling the truth and all of the other trivial things that we're worrying about. Plus, I'm the world's biggest hypocrite for asking her to tell Mom and Dad the truth about what she's doing when I'm just constantly lying all of the time. I thought that I could turn a new leaf when I committed to total honesty with Charles, but I just can't do it, no matter how much I want to.

When I went to check out the greenhouse, a little bit after May had gone to bed, the air was chilly, which meant that we had either not fully plugged in some holes in the sheeting or that this is the best that our insulation could do and that we will have to get the rest of the heat from the water. Maybe with the additional humidity from the water, the air will hold a bit more warmth, but I have no clue how we're going to be able to do it. I'm probably overthinking this, like I always do, but it just feels so hopeless.

I wish that our house was on the hillside, so that I could see all the little clusters of houses twinkling in the middle of the night with their soft, yellow glows. Actually, they'd probably not have any of the lights on in the middle of the night considering that it's a waste of energy and will only attract raiders. But still, with everything looking bleak, the greenhouse that we haphazardly constructed being our last line of defense against the collapse of our food supply, it'd just be a nice bit of hope.

At the same time though, I don't know whether I'd be able to handle the lights as they get smothered out, some by the cold, some by starvation, and some by other people, maybe even the other lights. It's like what I had talked about yesterday, about the process of forgetting. It's so painful to have something good, only for it to fall apart with nothing you could do to stop it.

Maybe it's better to not even have this hope if it's just going to be snatched away so easily.

October 27

Caspian stopped by this morning along with Tim, who was supposedly nearly done with setting up and cleaning the rooftop panels along with the new ones that we had brought, and our interactions were awkward to say the least.

"Hey," he said. "Sorry I wasn't able to stop by yesterday. I had a killer hangover, and it didn't help that my mom was just about to murder me."

"It's fine," I said before pausing and then saying, "Do you remember–"

"Not really," he said. "Honestly, it's just all a blur. I can't really remember much."

May was right because he is a terrible liar even when he's trying his best. He was overcompensating and was pretty visibly nervous and uncomfortable, as if he just wanted to move on with the conversation and not dwell on everything that he spilled to me that day. I guess there was just a big elephant in the room, but I didn't want to address it at that moment. I didn't really want him to spiral or ruin our warmer than neutral relationship.

It's a good thing that he made the first move to change subjects.

"You're giving me a weird look," he said. "I feel like I was a complete mess."

"Yeah," I said. "You kinda were."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to be doing any more hard drinking anymore," he said before adding, "Only just a light buzz."

I gave him a weird look because he definitely was talking like an alcoholic before realizing that it was a joke, which he confirmed with a nonchalant "I'm just messing with you" that was not particularly convincing to me.

"Whatcha working on today?" he asked. "Now that the greenhouse is done."

"Probably just some seed germination," I said. "We've got to prepare the seeds for planting, you know."

"Do you need any help?" he asked.

"I think our families said that we should keep things separate, you know," I said. "Like you guys are responsible for the electricity and medicine, and our family is responsible for the food and wood."

"Maybe we should defy our families," he replied. "You teach me a bit about farming, and I'll teach you about medicine."

I paused for a long moment because I wondered if it was all a ploy to have me reveal our farming methods so that their family wouldn't need mine anymore and can hatch a plan to overthrow us. I know that writing that makes it seem pretty insane, and that I should just calm down and stop being overly paranoid. Honestly, I feel like a hypocrite for even thinking about this since I'm on Mira's side when it comes to trusting people, not like Dad. But going with his plan might make building trust between our families easier, so I decided to push down my insecurities.

"Uh, sure?" I said. "To be honest, I don't know a ton about farming."

"And I don't know much about medicine," he said. "So it's not like we're spilling any top secrets."

"Well, I'll go get the supplies," I replied. "In the meantime, what's your first medical secret?"

"Okay," he said as he followed me into the kitchen as I rummaged for paper towels. "So you know using hydrogen peroxide for wounds? Well, that's a complete myth. It'll actually make your wound worse, and it's better to use clean, running water."

"What if you got stabbed in the woods and had to decide between pond water or hydrogen peroxide to clean your wound?" I asked. "Which would be better?"

"Uh..." he said. "Well, this is awkward."

"You can get back to me later."

"I'll definitely do that," he said. "So now show me your farming secrets."

I spent much of today working on seed germination, using Grandma and Grandpa's technique of wrapping seeds up in wet paper towels, before placing them in a container close-ish to the fire to keep them relatively warm. With everything being a debate, I thought that we'd have an argument about what proportion of seeds I'd start germinating, but strangely enough, everyone seemed amenable to the idea that I'd begin germinating half of the seeds that we had found in the seed pack, and will fill the rest of the pots with a mixture of peas and other miscellaneous dried beans that we had in our pantry. And lots of mustard since it's about the fastest growing plant that we have got outside of possibly lettuce.

While I was setting up the whole system, Caspian was right next to me just chattering away about a bunch of medical fun facts, some of which I was well aware of (essential oils are basically fake), some of which are weirdly disturbing (eye drops can kill people when ingested), and only a couple of which were useful (doxycycline, a common acne medication, can apparently treat so many different types of bacterial infections).

I was careful when germinating the seeds since I wanted to make sure that we wouldn't waste a single seed. For some of the smaller seeds, like the lettuce ones, it was such a pain separating each seed. I could imagine May smirking at me, watching my pain with a sort of delight that we were both mutually suffering, doing overly complicated mundane tasks that we never imagined would spend the rest of our lives doing.

Actually, it's not really that mundane because I just feel so nervous about everything failing, and I guess I'm also just really impatient. I just want the seeds to sprout roots and leaves, have the stalks reach towards the sky with flowers blooming from the tips of the plants, and harvest the bountiful harvest all within today, as if life went on a timelapse for the plants. Unfortunately, life isn't as weird as that, and we're just going to have to wait to see if what we did was enough.

I suppose that's why we're going to need the fishing net, but with every passing day, Dad just seems to be getting more irate, Mom more frustrated, and Mira more desperate. And with the news that she told us after she came back from the night watch, I don't know if we're ever going to get past Dad.

"I couldn't get the path switched," Mira said. "And Dean's getting more suspicious, so that's a worry. What we could do is split the nets into smaller portions and scatter them everywhere."

But everyone, and I mean Mom and Dad specifically, just completely ignored what Mira had added afterwards, about the compromise, and began pointing fingers at each other.

"We should never have taken that risk," Mom said. "Now we're in more danger–"

"It was your idea–" Dad rebutted before being cut off by Mom.

"I did it for you," Mom replied. "We have been making compromises to the plan for you, and now it's your turn to make a compromise for us. We need the nets up. It's the only way out, and if that means confronting your memories of the ocean, then it's what we have to do. It's a liability–"

"I'm not a liability," Dad said. "I just– It's just so much change, and we haven't been thinking about this properly."

"Now's the time to take risks," Mira said. "If we don't, by the time that winter arrives, it's going to be too late. We just have to act now and hope that it works out."

"We cannot afford any delays," Mom added. "We need the ocean, no matter how traumatic or hurtful the first few days were."

I think at that moment Mom was done with being empathetic and just cut to the point, and while I did have this temptation to cheer her one, as if this were a drama on the television, I guess I did feel a bit bad for Dad. Even though he's being overly stubborn, I get his frustrations of not being understood because that's how I felt when Charles was forced to leave. It's like there are just moments so vivid and personal that another person will never be fully able to imagine them because it's all too much.

"Let's go with Mira's plan. Then, we'll go with yours," Dad replied with a sigh, even if he was defensive. Mom seemed pretty satisfied.

"And the ocean?"

"I'll figure it out by myself," he said, standing up suddenly, heading to the garage under the pretense of gathering firewood. But I think it's the best place to just sit and think quietly, the thick concrete walls shielding much of the noise from our house.

"Dad is being so weird," May said.

"Your dad is going through a lot," Mom replied. "We're very lucky that we don't have to deal with this because it has been very hard on him."

I don't particularly enjoy thinking about death, but at the moment, I wonder what Dad had seen on the beach that had traumatized him to this degree. He's never talked about that night, the sole exception outside of now was the day after the chaos, which has left a lot of this to my imagination. The neighborhood search party must've arrived a while after the tides had engulfed those on the beach, meaning that no one could've done anything other than listen to the futile screams for help echoing the the darkness, Maybe that's why he's so afraid of the ocean because if we get trapped in the sea, there's nothing that he can do to save any of us.

Outside of his stubbornness, that must be the reason why he's so opposed to the ocean. There's no reclamation, no redemption possible since mass death is all he's known with the ocean because that's the last memory that he has had of it, and that memory has embedded itself deep inside his mind. If humans build the technology to push the Moon back into its normal orbit and return the tides to normal, I wonder if he'll ever be able to visit a beach again.

At the same time, I wonder if I'll ever be able to head near the ocean again. The last time I was there, Charles was here, and I don't want that memory to be displaced.

October 28

We set up the nets in the afternoon while the tides were low and plan on picking them up tomorrow afternoon, and even though it was still a long way till winter, I could see the first signs that it was creeping in.

Dad and I were sent to set up the river nets while Mira, May, and Mom were to set up the ones near the ocean. Because we weren't completely done with the net and still had some pieces of netting that hadn't been sewn onto the giant net, we decided to use those for the smaller nets that we had planned on scattering around the creeks and ocean. The rest of the morning was just spent on making rope from yarn to hold the nets into place.

Caspian even came by with his dad to help braid the long strands of yarn into a more durable rope.

"You know, we should be using grass to make rope," he commented, as he tied the yarn strands together. "Like what the cavemen did."

"Unfortunately, there isn't any grass outside," I replied. "It's pretty dead out there."

"You should be more optimistic," he said.

"You seem more optimistic than usual."

"That's because my headache had finally faded away," he replied. "And I don't know– I just woke up feeling better."

"Well, I'm glad that you do," I said, cringing at my response because of how corporate it sounded, before adding. "You weren't doing so great a couple days back, but, you know–"

Just for a brief moment, I saw his optimism flicker away, replaced by sadness, and I realized that how he was acting today was just another one of his facades.

I guess the first time that we met, I thought that we had nothing in common. And to be honest, I feel like if the Mooncrash never happened, we'd probably not have anything in common. But everytime that he puts on this air of positivity, it almost feels like an uncomfortable reflection of myself. It's like both of us are not truly open to the world, me because I can't stand the vulnerability of just being truly myself and him because I guess he wants other people to feel better.

But even when he's being fake positive, it's still infectious, and with the past few days being just so dreary and hopeless, I just let it slide. There are much bigger things that we should be worrying about than whatever happened in the past. It's not like these memories can hurt us.

"Also, while you were, you know, completely drunk, you said that you wanted to become a carpenter," I lied in my awkward attempt to jump to a tangentially related topic that was more light-hearted.

"A carpenter?" he said. "I've never even cut a tree in my life or taken any woodworking classes. Man, I must've been really drunk to have been projecting my lumberjack– You know what, never mind."

"So then what do you really want to be?" I asked.

"A doctor," he replied without any hesitation. "I want to make sure that we won't have to lose anyone anymore."

"That's real noble," I said. "I respect it."

"What about you?" he asked.

"I was just thinking of being a farmer," I said. "It's pretty peaceful, and while I think being a doctor is cool, it's just that I'm not too good around blood and veins and stuff like that."

"In a world where food is medicine, being a farmer is as valuable as being a doctor," he said. "I'm sure that you'll be saving all of our lives eventually."

And we both resumed braiding the pieces of yarn. Thinking about it, I just realized that we may have subconsciously chosen our futures based on the people of the past. I lost Charles to starvation and hunger, and he lost his boyfriend to the tides. It's like we can't ever escape the past.

When Dad and I headed out this afternoon, the grayish-brown leaves that crunched underneath our feet were ringed with little ice crystals that hadn't fully melted, even in the afternoon. I had to pull the scarf over my mouth extra high since the cold was seeping through my thin mask. The sky was dark and stormy, but there was no rain or snowfall, just light sprinklings of ash that coated the ground briefly before being blown around by the winds and kicking up an afternoon haze.

I suggested that we go to Charles' old home, just because I knew that there was no one there and that the neighborhood was completely empty, to set up the first of the four river nets. I didn't really want to go back there because I know that I'll continue to lose bits and pieces of him and that the memory of collecting river stones for the jar will disintegrate a bit quicker. But I guess a part of me just wants to see how things have changed, and how much has just been embalmed by the ash and preserved by time.

When we reached the creek behind the pond, I guess I didn't feel the same visceral reaction as before because it was about as gray and depressing as I had remembered. The trees surrounding the brook were skeletal, the branches forming a canopy that would normally be fiery as leaves fall into the creek to be carried away. But now, all that was left was the tire swing, sitting at the center of the stream, unmoving and untouched, almost like a noose.

The biggest change would be the water level. It was so low, low enough for patches of flat mud that are normally completely covered by water to be completely exposed. Even at the deepest point of the stream, there was way less than a foot of water, and the net that we had seemed comically large.

"Let's get to work," Dad said. "What are you waiting for?"

"You know it's not going to work," I said. "Look at the water levels. It hasn't rained in forever. I don't think there's going to be any fish here."

"We'll make it work," Dad said insistently.

"You know we're only going to catch things near the ocean," I replied. "We're lucky that the kelp forests don't depend only on sunlight like coral, so there's a chance that we'll have the chance to get enough fish to last for the rest of our life–"

"I know," Dad said. "I know– Just, let's just get this done first."

"Fine. I was just saying–"

"I got what you're saying," Dad said, and I knew that he just wanted to end the conversation, so I stayed silent then.

What we ended up doing was finding two large branches, going to opposite sides of the creek, and putting their bases deep into the wet mud so that they would stay stable. We also piled rocks around the branches just to make sure that they would stay in place. Afterwards, we unfurled the netting, tying the two ends to the sticks with the yarn rope, and made sure that the structure was fairly stable. Compared to the pains of creating the greenhouse, this was almost too easy.

I wanted to get the other nets done and head home, but Dad had different plans. He, instead, started going through the pebbles before finding a smooth, flat one.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"C'mon, let's do one skipping stone," Dad said. "Just like old times when we went camping. You used to love skipping stones."

"You used to love them," I replied. "Because you used to always win."

"Well, I'm rusty now," he replied. "So now's your chance to finally win. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"Not really," I said while looking for a stone to just satisfy Dad. "Whatever."

I ended up finding a beauty of a stone, perfectly smooth and flat and thin, perfect for landing a long skip, even if the creek is pretty short. Dad ended up throwing the stone downstream, getting only two skips, and I thought that I'd be able to top that. But unfortunately, the stone I threw just sank as I blew the perfect opportunity.

"We're both rusty," Dad said. "Camping must've been too long ago. Things have really changed, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding awkwardly, and there was this weird silence between us.

"I never told you about the first night, didn't I?" Dad said.

"I don't think so."

"Well, I feel like you're old enough to know–"

"I'm still the same age as before," I replied.

"Not after all of this," Dad replied. "You're a man now, and that comes with responsibilities of knowing all the information because you're responsible for helping protect your sisters and our family."

"I think they can protect themselves fine," I said. "I think they'd be the one that would be protecting me."

"I'm not joking, Neal," Dad said. "You don't understand being trapped in the darkness with the roar of the ocean everywhere. It was everywhere all at once, and there was nothing that we could do because the tides just kept pushing inland and the screams began getting more distant until we couldn't hear them anymore."

"That's what the ocean is. It's just too dangerous," Dad said. "You have to understand where I'm coming from, and the tough choices that I'm making."

"You know that I went down to the flooded zone with Charles?" I said, and Dad subtly shook his head. "We went three times. The first two were pretty bad, but the last one was great. Everything's destroyed, but even then, there's still life there collecting in the backyard pools and little tidepools formed by cars and other debris. It's like when we were younger with the tidepools down the coast, only bigger. It's not like the first night. It's safe, I know it."

"But you need to understand that the choice that we're making to marry our future to the ocean, is a big one and–"

"Did you know that Charles and I also skipped stones one time here," I said, suddenly changing subjects because I was sick and tired of Dad's long rants and he looked momentarily confused. "But that's not going to happen again, so, yeah, I know that these big choices matter."

"You know that it was ultimately his family's choice to leave," Dad said. "I'm trying, but you can't keep putting the blame on me–"

Before he could add anything more, I said, "Let's just finish putting up the nets."

And that's what we did three more times, setting up nets up and downstream from our first location. Even though I was wearing hiking boots, as we walked up the river, I could feel the water seeping through, and soon, my foot was both freezing from the icy stream water and just oddly warm. Still, it was a good thing that the boots had good grip because the stones lining the bottom of the brook were slippery with algae. I wonder if they're edible. I don't imagine they'd taste good, but I think we'll have to do what we have to do to survive.

Though thinking about it, there is actually a lot of food everywhere that we could harvest before resorting to consuming algae. The woods are filled with oak trees, and when I was walking up and down the creek, I noticed that there were acorns scattered everywhere and conspicuously few small animals consuming them. Maybe we could even tap trees for edible sap because even though we don't have maples around here, I'm sure that the sycamore or sweetgum trees lining the streets could be used. There are probably dried berries on some of the berry bushes, and I remember that we can make tea from the pine needles. I should probably add them to the idea board before these get lost in the pages of my journal.

By the time that we had to head back home, the sky had darkened with the hazy clouds in the sky parting just enough so that I could see slivers of the sunset filtering through the gray. I just realized that it's been a month since Charles had left. I wonder if he'll be able to see a full, postcard perfect sunset down in the South. Actually, the sun doesn't set over the ocean in the South, but maybe he can get that picturesque sunrise.

When we got home, we saw Caspian's dad standing in front of the doorway. I just realized at that moment that we had left him at home with Grandma and Grandpa along with everyone gone. He could've taken all the canned food and disappeared with his family, but they chose to stay. I guess they're really committed to the partnership.

"What are you still doing here?" Dad asked.

"We need the food," Tim said. "I just wanted to let you know that I've finished setting up the solar panels. I've got them covered now since we don't want them to get dust on them overnight, but tomorrow, they should start producing power."

"That's great," Dad said as we entered the house to grab the cans for Caspian's dad before coming out and handing them to him. "Have you set the lights up?"

"I didn't know where the bulbs were," he said. "But it'll be simple to set that up."

He then looked down for a moment, as if he was going to bid us goodbye, but instead, he asked, "Have you talked more about our partnership? I don't want to rush you guys since I know that I've given you time to think about it–"

"We've been busy," Dad replied.

"I know," he said. "The greenhouse, the nets, everything that you're working on, I know it's a lot. It's just that I want to reiterate that my family and I are fully committed to our possible future partnership. I've got ideas to generate more electricity an create more efficient–"

"I know," Dad said. "It's a great pitch, but we can't make hasty decisions."

"I understand," Tim replied with a sigh, somewhat disappointed. "It's just that we want just a little stability, you understand. I don't want to have to move again. I don't want that life for my son or my wife, not again..."

Dad gave a terse nod, the camaraderie that they had built during the solar panel run now faded away, and after a brief and awkward goodbye, Dad and I were left alone. We didn't talk much since Dad went to go and wash himself, and about ten to twenty minutes afterwards, Mom, Mira, and May came home. The rest of the night was quiet and that gave me a lot of time to think.

I suppose Dad's retort that Charles's family chose to leave was still echoing in my mind. They had left as soon as I was banned by Mom and Dad from bringing them food. It's like they chose to leave as soon as possible because my food was the only thing left staying for, and without it, they had nothing tethering them to the city. That's the most cynical interpretation that's been sitting in my mind, simmering under the surface before bubbling out today.

It's like they could've stayed. We could've figured something out if they had just stayed for a few more days. It's so frustrating that we can't use the things we know in hindsight to just alter the past because I wouldn't be marking today as the first month anniversary of his departure. We'd be putting all the random skills that we had picked up in our summer job into use and he'd be making all these terrible vegetable puns while I'd be amusedly chuckling.

Maybe in some mirror Earth this would be happening, if the choices that we had made were different. But now, all I can hope is that he's alright, and there's no choice, nothing that I can do, to help him now.

October 29

I suppose, given all that had happened, that today was a net failure.

Sorry, that wasn't funny at all, but I guess I just want to feel better after everything that happened today. It's like today was what people could call one step forwards and two steps back, except that those steps back could ruin Mira's vision of a unified community and screw up our future. I guess they really aren't steps, more like, well, I don't even know. Just something more important than just a simple step.

Our first failure was in the morning when we tested the solar panels. The panels seemed to work fine, but when we attempted to hook up the lightbulbs, stringing together a series of LED lights, none of them lit up. We ended up cutting it down to two bulbs but both glowed weakly, and finally, we ended up with just one single bulb to light up the entire greenhouse. The dangerous trip to the warehouse and weeks spent setting up the system just for all the panels we have to only support a single lightbulb.

"This is..." Mom said, just staring at the bulb.

"A disappointment," Dad said, finishing her sentence with what she was probably thinking of.

"It's a start," Mom replied.

Dad then turned to Caspian's dad. "We spent all this time and all these resources just for a single lightbulb?"

"I thought the panels would produce more," he said. "But we're only getting 10% of the sunlight that we normally get–"

"So how many more panels are we going to need?" Dad said. "How many trips will we have to make to the facility so that we can completely light up the greenhouse?"

Caspian's dad scratched the back of his head before looking down and back up. "It's– It'll be several trips admittedly. But that's what I was talking to you about yesterday, about my plans. We could set a system up in the rivers–"

"The rivers are barely a trickle," Dad said. "And everything is going to freeze over in the winter anyways–"

"We'll we've got the ocean too," he replied. "We could funnel water in a canal to a turbine. Maybe even set up a new greenhouse closer by–"

"We want to stay as far from the ocean," Dad said. "And the greenhouse stays put right here."

"Could we wire electricity from the ocean generators here?" Mom asked.

"We could," he said. "But we'll lose power. Look, I know that this is a disappointment, but we can figure something out. I'll figure something out, but it's just, we need more people, more supplies, just more everything in general."

"I'm sure we'll figure it out," Mom said. "Thank you for your work."

"I know that I brought it up with your husband yesterday," Tim said. "But I just want to say that I just want to give you guys more time to think over our offer. This has been a setback, but I've got ideas of how to figure things out if you guys would be willing to listen."

And then he just awkwardly excused himself out while we all just looked at him with silence. I guess we didn't really say much because it's like we had these grand hopes that the panels would be able to power the greenhouse lights all the time, but instead, all we got was a measly light bulb that'd shine only during the daytime. It's like our expectations had deflated.

That wasn't the only moment when we were let down. When Dad and I went to check on the river nets, there was nothing, not even a single fish or crustacean or anything edible. The nets were just clogged with some leaves and mud that had been entrapped within the miscellaneous pieces of vegetation, and what we ended up doing was just emptying the contents of the nets into the water, rinsing the nets a bit, and then bringing them back home.

"I thought we'd catch more," Dad said. "We should've left them out for a week or longer."

"That wouldn't have helped," I replied. "I know that there are signs that say that the stream has fish in it, but I've never seen one."

"Maybe next time, we can use bait," he replied.

"We can't afford to use bait," I said. "I think fish food is edible."

"Don't worry about eating fish food. We're not going to get to that point–"

"That's if we're able to get enough food," I responded. "And I don't think what we're doing right now is going to work well."

"We'll see," Dad said.

I suppose here's the second big failure, much more so for Dad than for everyone else. By the time that we had reached home, Mom, Mira, and May were all back, and given the grim looks on their faces, it's clear that their nets were also empty. When Mom spoke up and said that they had only found some rotting kelp and a handful of smashed shells, it was clear that another fight was going to erupt between Mom and Dad. I can only hope that this is the last one about this topic.

"Then the ocean is bare," Dad said. "And we should just cut our losses and focus on our greenhouse and foraging."

"It's not," Mom said. "We just had to place the nets out of the way–"

"So you guys didn't even set them up properly."

"It's not like we could set them up in the middle of the street," Mom said. "That's why we need the giant net. We can set it up in the middle of the street and maximize our catch."

She added, "We went with your plan first, but now, it's time to go with mine. We already went down to the ocean. With careful planning, it's perfectly safe, and we were able to make it in and out without even seeing the ocean."

Dad didn't say much, which was honestly a bit of a surprise since I expected him to at least have some kind of retort. However, given that everyone, including the facts of our circumstances, are against him, I can see why he had nothing to say back. I guess we're being overly utilitarian, putting food over his trauma, but that's just what life is like now. We're compromising our own experiences just to survive another day.

"You can either open up about the ocean or you need to deal with it yourself," Mom said. "I don't know what happened to you, but we cannot let it drag all of us down–"

"I know," Dad said. "But let's focus on something that you're forgetting: the net is too visible. Everyone can see it."

"I'll figure out a plan," Mom replied. "But we need to be on the same page now. I mean it. No more fighting, no more arguing."

Dad sighed. "Fine."

"Good," Mom said with the hints of a triumphant smile on her mouth. Still, I doubt that she was truly happy because what Dad heard that night is still hurting him, especially now more than ever.

I suppose that was our only one true step forward today, but even then, the lightbulb situation is just bleak. The bulb is dark right now since we've got virtually no battery storage for it to run for the full day, which was the original plan that has, to some extent, fallen apart. While the bulb glows bright during the day, there's going to be less and less sunlight as we head into winter, and I wonder, if we don't get enough panels, there simply won't be enough energy to even power that single bulb. The crops in the greenhouse will be shrunken and might not even flower, and we'll lose valuable seeds.

I don't know why I'm being just consumed in this wave of hopelessness, but it's like I feel like there's just so much to do all the time, and just not enough time to do everything. We need to get water, not just for drinking and bathing but for the heating system too, chop down trees for wood, grow food, forage in the wild, build systems and structures, and so much for, but there's only so much energy and so much time to do it all. It feels so overwhelming, and even when we put these ideas on the Dream, it's like we have so much we need to do before the temperatures drop below freezing.

I guess this anxiety in some ways reminds me of my old life. All the SATs, finals, driving lessons, college prepping, major selection, club participation, good grades are all just so much to have before adulthood, and I just want to avoid my new responsibilities, just like I did for these old ones.

But I know that I do, the consequences are going to be so much worse. I guess I just have to soldier on, one day at a time, and just hope that what we're doing is enough.

October 30

I thought that last week's water gathering was bad, but I don't think that I'll be able to survive gathering fifteen buckets of water every single week. However, with evaporation from boiling water, we're likely going to gather even more water than we had initially anticipated. I have no idea how we're going to make the greenhouse work because what we're doing is just unsustainable.

We started extra early today when the skies were still murky gray and everyone was still groggy and yawning. Because we were gathering fifteen buckets of water, we decided that instead of rushing it, like we did with the five buckets a week we usually do, we'd pace out the fifteen buckets throughout the whole day. Since we had started so early, Caspian arrived while we were on our third round.

"You're looking down today," Caspian said. "What's up?"

It's the return of the dreaded phrase "What's up?" I was so tempted to respond with "the sky" or something snarky, but I know that we don't have the best rapport, so I instead gave him a generic response. "It's just all this water gathering. I'm just tired."

"Same," he replied. "But actually, are you doing good?"

The truth was that I guess I had been thinking a lot about Charles and his family. It's already so tough here, even with all the support and stability that we have, that I have no idea how his family would be able to make it far enough to safety. If we're flirting with starvation and hypothermia, then his family must be diving headfirst into the horrors of survival, and given how hopeless everything seems, I've been getting a sneaking suspicion that my penny wish on our last day wasn't working.

I guess all these worries must've been visible on my face, and I was tempted to just bury these emotions and insist that I'm fine. But I guess, just in a spur of the moment decision, I thought it was a good idea just to reveal a part of the truth.

"I don't know," I said. "We talked about it when you were all drunk."

"Feel free to refresh me."

"I guess I just realized. Well, not just realized, but realized that it's been a month since my friend had left to the South," I replied.

"Oh," he said. "Sorry for your loss."

"He's not dead, but thanks," I said. "I guess I don't want to keep bringing it up, but, I don't know and I don't want everything to be awkward, but you said a lot of stuff about the people you've lost when you were drunk."

There was just this awkward moment of silence that fell between us, only disrupted by the sloshing of the leftover water in my bucket, and I was too embarrassed to look at him, so I gazed at the light imprints my feet were making in the ash. The only moment that I glanced upwards, I saw that he was looking away from me, and I felt so guilty for making him feel terrible.

"Do you think that your family's going to take the agreement?" he asked as he turned back to me.

I furrowed my eyebrows because I was confused that he just changed topics like that. But anything was better than that excruciatingly awkward silence, where my mind would fill in the gaps.

"I don't know," I said. "Probably."

"It's just that–" he said. "I'm sick of moving around. I'm sick of all the uncertainty and instability and all the things that we have to leave behind. And I don't want to lose another person..."

"Don't worry," I said. "You're going to be fine. I'll try my best, you know."

"Thanks," he replied, and our conversation drifted away for a bit before he added, somewhat jokingly, "So that got dark pretty quick."

"Yeah," I said with an awkward chuckle as I bobbed my head. "That's probably a good idea."

We didn't mention this conversation again, but I suppose our conversations that came after weren't particularly bright either. We didn't talk much since carrying these heavy water buckets left us with no energy for small chit-chat, but our few spare conversations were mostly just complaining about how heavy the water buckets were or how they keep feeling heavier every single week. At one point, Caspian's stomach grumbled, punctuating the silence, and for some reason, we started laughing even though it wasn't particularly funny. I guess it was just something so ordinary that it was a break from our reality, even if I know that growling stomachs are a product of our reality.

Eventually, we separated as he hurried back to our house to use the restroom, leaving May and I in the back.

"Neal," she said. "I've got an idea."

I groaned very audibly as she shot me a dirty look. "Well, I'm not going to be breaking into homes with you."

"Well, obviously not," she replied. "You'd just chicken out. So when Mom, Mira, and I went down to the beach, I saw that there were tons of homes in the flooded zone, and they were all untouched. I mean, the windows were cracked, but like, none of the looters had gotten to them."

"It's not a good idea," I said.

"Why?"

"Because the structures aren't stable," I responded. "All the water exposure is softening the wood, and combined with the mold growth, the homes are going to eventually collapse. It's only a manner of time–"

"I'll only be going to the nearby ones," May said. "Literally none of the homes that I've scavenged from have food, and it makes sense because who would be stupid enough to leave a bunch of food behind when going on their trip south. Because the people in the flooding zone were forced out on the first day, it makes complete sense that the houses will still have food in them."

"It's too dangerous," I said. "That'll be something we do if we're really desperate. Why don't you go foraging or something with Mira."

"Because it's not going to be enough," she said. "We are literally desperate right now. There's no way that we'll be able to keep this up for the greenhouse. Like we're on our seventh bucket, not even halfway through, and I feel like I'm dying–"

"Well you will be actually dead if you head into the flooded homes," I replied. "Like I am serious. Just give us time to figure out a better plan."

She sighed. "Fine. Two weeks, and then I'm going to check out the homes near the edge. They're barely touched by the water, so it's not like I'm going to be in real danger anyways."

"Just stay away from those homes."

"You sound like Dad, you know," she said and walked ahead with her water buckets before I could respond.

I mean, I don't sound like Dad, right? I don't know what she meant about that. Like was she saying that I had Dad's same fear of the ocean or that I was being overly paranoid and hypocritical? Or was she saying that I was limiting or controlling because I don't want her to risk her life in the collapsing homes? I think she meant that as a throwaway comment and nothing more, but there's something in there that's nagging at me because there's a chance that I'm falling into the exact trap that I desperately wanted to avoid.

Anyways, by the time that we had finished collecting all the water that we had needed, it was early in the afternoon, and all of us were so exhausted that we could barely muster up the energy to set up the heating system. Plus, carrying around boiling pots of water when our arms felt like jelly was a major safety hazard, but the seeds that I had been germinating had begun to sprout, so it's not like something that we could've put off for later.

The plan to warm the greenhouse seemed fairly simple. We'd boil large pots of water by the fireplace before carrying them to the greenhouse and placing them onto specific shelves and areas that we had marked out for the pots. While it'll help the greenhouse stay warmer for a bit longer and help make the heat transmission quicker, we had to keep the lids on the pots because we'd risk losing too much water to evaporation.

While the plan on the surface was simple, we did run into a couple of problems while we were doing it. The biggest had to be how heavy the water pots were, around twenty or so pounds, and we ended up only filling a quarter of the pot up because there's no way that Mom or Dad, bleary in their night shifts, would be able to carry the water pots into the greenhouse without dropping it. Not to mention Grandma and Grandpa, both of whom would barely be able to lift the water, let alone carry it into the greenhouse.

The second problem that we had encountered was that the water would just evaporate, even with the pot lids on, and we ended up losing at least half a bucket of water in half a day. That means that we're going to lose around seven buckets of water a week or around 20% of our water supplies to evaporation. That's assuming that we gather 15 buckets of water a week, and for some reason, if we can't gather that many buckets, then we're going to quickly run out of water and the greenhouse will begin to freeze over. We'll lose most of the crops and take a massive step back. It's like we're living on the knife's edge.

I suppose the last problem is that I'm not exactly sure if our plan is working. I guess the greenhouse is warmer than outside, but it's still fairly cold. I have no idea how long we need to wait before the greenhouse warms up or whether the boiling pots of water will be enough to counteract any potential heat loss.

It's like everything is always so uncertain, even the things that we can control. It's in these moments that my pre-planned former life feels almost comforting.

October 31

Mom and Dad's hushed conversation woke me up early in the morning when the only daylight was the small trickle that made it through the curtains. I couldn't see much without my glasses, but they were huddled around the fireplace, and I could make out their conversation despite the crackling of the fire.

"Are you sure you want to go put up the net?" Mom asked.

"Yes," Dad said. "I'm going to be fine."

"I think you should sit this one out," Mom said. "We can rig the wagon to carry the ladder, and Neal or Tim or Caspian are all tall enough to tie the rope high onto the street light pole. You should just take a break and not go–"

"If you guys are going to wed our future to the ocean, then it's better that I go right now than later," Dad replied. "I can man up and get it done–"

"If you really want to man up," Mom said. "You'd stay back at home and keep my parents safe. It's alright to admit that you aren't able to do this right now–"

"No it isn't," Dad said. "I'm going tomorrow. It's something that I've been putting off for too long and needs to be taken care of."

Mom sighed heavily. "This isn't something that can just be 'taken care of.'"

"I'll be fine," Dad said, but I could hear the hesitation in his voice.

It was a bit strange to hear Dad so unsure because normally he's like a bulldozer when it comes to dealing with problems, including his own, always just plowing ahead without looking back. But maybe this time, he won't be able to do that.

"Well you should get some rest," Mom said. "We're going to need all the energy for tomorrow."

"You should get rest," Dad replied. "I'm doing just fine."

"You were yawning during most of the conversation," Mom responded. "Go get a bit more sleep and think it over. I'll see if there's some tea or coffee in the back of the pantry since we're going to need it to get enough energy for tomorrow."

There was a long pause, the emptiness of their conversation filled with the crackling of fire. Both of them then stood up, the floorboards creaking underneath their feet, but they kept facing the fireplace.

"You know I'm trying my best," Dad said. "That's why I'm going with your agreement with the Coopers."

Mom sighed. "I know."

Dad went back to sleep, and Mom disappeared into the kitchen as I drifted back to sleep. I could hear the faint clacking of metal in the background, probably Mom sifting through the pantry and counting the number of cans that we have.

When I woke up again, the melancholy that had cloaked the morning burned off by the faint sunlight and Mom's productivity. She had brought out another whiteboard that I had no idea that we owned and was drawing diagrams on it. After we finished a soupy breakfast, she began explaining what we were going to do with the net.

Basically, the plan was to tie the four corners of the net to the street lights with the climbing rope that we had found in the Hunters' home, and to be honest, that's what the bulk of the plan was. It wasn't particularly complex, but all the logistics surrounding it were a bit of a mess. Because we wanted to get the net as high as possible, we needed to carry a ladder down to the beach, but luckily, we managed to solve that issue pretty quickly. We'd just tie the ladder to the small wagon that we had, and we should be able to wheel the ladder down to the beach.

What took forever to do though was folding the net. It was absolutely massive, larger than even our living room, meaning that it was near impossible to fold it properly indoors since it'd crinkle or get tangled easily. We ended up having to get the net sorted out outside, and given how windy it was today, the net constantly kept billowing to one side or another, which made the whole activity a huge pain. May wanted to quit midway, but Mom insisted that we complete this since it was the only way that we'd be able to transport the net down to the beach and unfurl it properly.

We ended up getting it done after an hour or so or wrangling, and all that was left to do was to finalize our agreement with the Coopers and wait until tomorrow to put up the net. I guess everyone was pretty nervous, especially Mom and Mira, both of whom were nervously pacing around and triple checking that all of the supplies that we were going to use (including the old ladder that had been gathering dust in our garage forever) were working.

I decided to spend time in the greenhouse rather than spend time in the living room, where their nervous energy seemed to be contaminating everyone. Last time that I had entered the room, it wasn't particularly warm, but I think that our plan is working because it was certainly balmy inside the greenhouse. Not like summer or even late spring warm, but definitely around ten or twenty degrees warmer than outside, which should be enough to keep some of the hardier crops alive. I suppose that the only way that we can know for sure is to test it out with the seeds and hope that everything turns out well.

By the time that I had finished watering the soil in the tin pots to make sure that it didn't harden and rewet the paper towels we were germinating the seeds in, Caspian and his whole family had arrived. Caspian gave me a small wave, and I flashed him a thumbs up, hoping that he'd understand that I was fairly sure that my family had taken the original deal.

"We've made our decision," Mom said to Tim and Cora at the dining table with the rest of us surrounding them, each person on their respective family's side, except for Mira.

"And?" Caspian's mom said.

"We'll accept your partnership," she said and Tim sighed with Cora cracking the tiniest smile and Caspian breaking out into a wider one. "But we have one condition."

"That wasn't part of the original deal," Cora said, the coldness returning to her. "It was supposed to be an open and shut case."

"Plans change," Mom replied. "And it's not an extra condition. I'm offering a deal in exchange for our partnership, one that I know will benefit the both of us."

"I don't–" Cora said but was cut off by Tim, who said, "Go on."

"As you know, we've been weaving a large fishing net to place in the flooded zone," Mom responded. "However, the only way to catch fish efficiently is to place the net between too light poles, which would leave the net exposed to less friendly people. In exchange for one of you to move into one of the houses close to the coast every time that we put up the net to guard it, your family will receive a quarter of the catch."

"50%," Cora said. "If this is a partnership, then an even split will only be fair."

"At the start of the new year, we'll split half and half," Mom replied. "That's the final deal."

"That isn't a fair deal," Caspian's mom responded, defensively crossing her arms. "We're splitting up, risking our lives all for a tiny piece of the pot. Our family lost each other once already, and I sure as hell am not going to let that happen a second time."

Mom didn't budge. "This is the only way that we're going to make our partnership work."

"We'll think about it," Caspian's dad said.

"We're setting up the net tomorrow," Mom replied. "So you'll have a day to decide. I know that it's not as much time as you gave us, but with winter coming, time is of utmost urgency, and we cannot afford to not be on the same page. I want this partnership to work, but we both need to make sacrifices to make sure that we make it past this winter."

While this whole ordeal was happening, I tried gauging Caspian's reaction, but for once in his life, he didn't really have much of a reaction at all. I didn't know if he was happy that this deal went through or whether he was angry that we were splitting his family. I guess I feel a bit guilty that I didn't even try to influence Mom and Dad's deal even though I had promised him that I would do that.

After that, Caspian and his family just left, and at that moment, as they headed out of the door and into the darkness of the night, I realized that today was Halloween. I haven't dressed up for it since middle school, so it's not like I'd be getting candy (though I'd probably dress up to get candy now), but there'd at least be people roaming the streets, jack-o-lanterns and other light-up decorations glowing, and the rumbles of distant house parties drifting in the air. Even though our neighborhood wasn't the most spirited one, unlike the homes surrounding the schools, there'd at least be something outside other than the pitch-black night.

Maybe it's better to just think of everything that's happening like it was Halloween. We're all just dressing up as survivors of the apocalypse, play-acting growing crops and gathering supplies, and that the next day, we could just take off the costume and have everything return back to normal.

If only life worked that way...

November 1

The morning was all rush and preparation.

Mom made sure that we brought everything that we needed along with extra supplies in case things went wrong, so May and I ended up running around the house trying to find scissors and duct tape rolls and any extra rope that we may have had (it turns out that our camping set has some rope in it). In the meantime, Mira was double checking the net for any loose areas, though that probably would've been better to do when the net wasn't folded.

While we were consumed by the chaos and running around to grab all the miscellaneous extra supplies, Dad was oddly subdued, just sitting on a chair with his eyebrows furrowed as if he was deep in thought.

"Dad's being super weird," May said. "Like can he just get over it."

"I mean it's complicated," I replied. "Weren't you as paranoid as Dad about dying, so that's how he's feeling right now because I guess that's what he associated with the ocean."

"Well I'm not anymore," she said. "Well I still am, but I actually know what we need to do now to make sure that we don't die, and if that means picking up a gun or breaking into homes, then that's what I'll do."

I was very surprised by her response because she had been extraordinarily paranoid around Mira's gun. Maybe not to that degree like I was but certainly a healthy amount. "Didn't you get really mad at Mira one time when we brought her gun?"

"I only did it because I was annoyed at her," May said. "Plus, that was so long ago. You need to keep up with what's going around you."

"Which are?"

"That everyone's getting more different every day," she said. "So you need to stop being so judgemental about my choices because I am actually changing to make sure that we actually make it through this five billion year winter."

"It won't be that long–"

"I wasn't being literal," she said and walked away.

I don't know how she can just keep changing her values like they don't matter and pretending that it's not a big deal. Maybe that's what she meant when she said that I was like Dad because I stick to old things for far too long instead of just letting them go, like everyone else.

The Coopers arrived around noon or so to let us know their decision as all of us huddled around the door. For an instance, I thought they had rejected Mom's proposition because it felt like they were drawing out the moment to let the bad news sink in. Even Caspian didn't seem particularly happy, and I thought that Mom had pushed everything too far for Dad.

"So, what's it going to be?" Mom asked.

"We'll take the deal," Tim said, and there was this audible deflation of tension around the door. "Do you want to shake on it?"

"Yes," Mom said and reached out her hand, shaking Tim and Cora's one, and Dad did the same after her. "Let's hope that this will be a long-lasting partnership."

"I'll be bringing papers over tomorrow," Cora said. "With the terms and agreements on there, so we can get everything on paper and ensure that there are no misunderstandings."

"Sounds good to me," Mom replied. "But we'll need to hurry to put the net up, so we can talk about that later."

Caspian's dad helped us move the net and mount and tie the ladder to our small wagon to make travel easier and faster while his mom kept watch on the streets to make sure that no one that we didn't know was approaching or watching. While Mom looked a bit jubilant and excited, Dad almost looked the opposite, a bit pale and silent, as if he had hoped that these extra conditions would cause the Coopers to defect.

"Are you excited for some fresh fish tomorrow?" Mira asked, clearly sharing the same positive energy that Mom has.

"I don't really like fish."

"That's because you haven't eaten good fish," she said. "I remember that they used to serve the best fish in this restaurant by the beachside near campus. Leon and I used to visit there on special occasions–"

"But fish is just so... fishy," I said. "You know what I mean?"

"But that's the bad fish," she said. "We're going to get a fresh-catch tomorrow, so you'll understand what I'm saying."

"Well I want sushi," May said, butting into the conversation. "I am literally so hungry for anything that isn't soup or anything wet."

"Do we even have rice?" I asked.

"Who cares about rice?" she said. "I'll take fish wrapped up in some crispy seaweed that we make from the seaweed that we catch. Plus, I'm sure that we'll find some way to get rice if we run out."

"I doubt that we could grow them in the greenhouse," Mira said. "Maybe we should go and find some rice seeds."

"Can't you just grow it from the brown rice?" she replied. "Like obviously not white rice, but, like, the natural stuff."

"No?" Mira responded. "Actually, I don't really know."

"Well, I'll find a way to get rice if we run out," May said, fairly seriously, though Mira thought she was just joking and said, "Sure you will."

Mira and May ended up talking about all the kinds of food that they were going to make from the catch, so I walked ahead of them so that I wouldn't get hungry. Just as I was about to drift into my own thoughts, I felt someone tap on my shoulder.

"I feel like you've been avoiding me," Caspian said.

"No?" I said, though that was a complete lie since I was worried that he was mad at me. "I guess I've just been celebrating with my sisters, you know? Today's, like, an actually good day."

"It sure is," he said but he obviously didn't look really excited.

"I'm sorry about my mom," I said. "I didn't expect her to pull that deal switch on you guys–"

"It's fine," Caspian replied. "We're all good."

"Look, I know you told me about how you wanted to keep your family together and that you guys will have to be separated–"

"It's no big deal," he responded before pointing at the sky. "Hey, I think I can see a little blue."

I looked up, but there was no blue there, only the same mat of gray, and I realized that he was just trying to switch topics. It's not like before, where he seemed annoyed or sad, but given how awkwardly and forcefully he changed our conversation, it seemed like he was nervous about talking about this. And like usual, I just let go of the conversation, continuing with the ruse that everything was going just fine with his family.

As we approached the beach, the smell of the ocean intensified, going from the faint trace that normally lingers in the air to the overwhelming aroma of rotting kelp and sulfur. Maybe it's because I hadn't been to the ocean for around a month, but it's like the smell was much stronger than usual, maybe because the lack of sunlight is causing the kelp to die off. But given that ocean plants grow underwater in low-light conditions, maybe I'm just projecting the pessimism within me onto the world around us. The only good thing was that the air was fairly clear, unlike the typical ashy mist that lingered over our city, probably because the water would prevent the ash from being kicked up again.

We must've arrived early because as we approached, the roar of the waves became louder, and I could tell that Dad was getting more uncomfortable. His hand clutched the wagon handle harder, his fingers fidgeting and constantly changing grip, and his eyes looked like they were going glossy, as if he was trying to just focus on the endpoint of the journey, moving closer one step at a time.

But when we were a couple of minutes away, I guess that just snapped when Dad told Mom, "Can you get the wagon? I just realized that I need to head back because I forgot–"

"It's alright," Mom replied. "I can take over."

"I'll be back," he said. "I just need to get– Actually, we probably won't need that, but I think it'll be a good idea to keep your parents safe. You think you can handle the Coopers."

"We'll be fine," Mom said. "I'm proud of you, you know?"

"I'm just heading back to make sure we're all safe," Dad said. "It's nothing more. I want to see the net be put up, but sometimes, other responsibilities come into the way."

"Just do what's best for you," Mom responded. "We'll be back around sunset. We're planning on staying until the tides roll in to make sure that the net stays stable."

"Just be safe," Dad said.

"You've got the knife?" Mom asked, and Dad nodded, so she added, "Stay safe too."

Then, Dad handed the wagon handle to Mom and turned back to walk down the street, looking more comfortable and confident as he disappeared into the distance. It's weird to see Dad turn around and just accept that he isn't ready to face the ocean right now. But I guess it has me thinking that if Dad of all people can take the first concrete steps towards change, maybe I could too when it comes to Charles. I haven't seriously thought about him for a while, but being around the ocean brought back all of the memories and although I was able to push them down, I could still feel the dull pain.

When we got to the street in the opening of the flooded zone and looked down it, the road appeared to be damp but not dripping wet, meaning that it was probably safe to walk down. But the sound of the waves still rippled through the air, and to be safe, Mom made us stay back until the rustle of the wind blowing through the dead branches was louder than the crashes of the ocean. Then, we made our way carefully down the street, stepping over rotting pieces of kelp swarmed by tiny insects, flitting and skittering in every direction. At least there was some life present, even if it was thriving off of death.

We ended up walking a couple blocks down because the streets at the very edge of the flooded zone only got around a couple of inches of water. We needed the water levels when the tide rushes in to be around ten or so feet high, so we ventured in deeper. The asphalt became increasingly cracked and moist as pieces of furniture and rotting planks of wood from collapsing homes were strewn across the road. Mom kept looking at the walls of the homes, checking to see whether the water line was twice her height, and after walking for some time, we finally reached that point as we began setting up the net.

Because the street lights were not directly across from each other, but instead were on diagonals, our net wasn't parallel to the shorelines, which meant it wasn't the most efficient net since the fish could bounce off our net. But it was the best that we could do, and after carefully unfurling the delicate nets, and looping in the rope around the corners of the net, we got to work setting it up.

The biggest issue that I had when tying the knots was that I just couldn't get the rope to hug the poles. Every knot that I had tried was just too loose and the rope would sag and eventually sink. Caspian ended up helping me with it.

"What you want to do is a rolling hitch," he said as he worked the rope. "You loop it once, then loop it again but with the rope going under the first loop, and finally loop it around a third time but with that one going under the second one."

"How do you know this?"

"It's something that I learned when I played volleyball in the park," he replied. "It's pretty easy to turn a tetherball court into a volleyball one. I can teach you someday."

"Yeah, maybe someday," I said even though I know that it'll be a long time before the world will be warm enough for us to go out in short-sleeves and play sports.

"I'm serious," he said, giving me a playful punch that I shrugged off, and we continued working on tying and securing the rope to the bottom of the pole. He then climbed the ladder that we had brought and did the same to the top as I held the bottom stable so that he wouldn't fall. After we had secured the corners, we had some extra rope, which we used to secure the sides to ensure that in case one of the knots came loose, the net would still remain relatively intact.

Around mid-afternoon, we finished securing the net into place, and then Mom began inspecting the giant net, checking for loose points, especially where the two pieces of netting were stitched, which we patched up with small ribbons of duct tape. Eventually, we patched all of the loose areas, and after double checking it again for any loose connections, we all stepped back to gaze at the giant fishing net laying upright on the street.

"It's finally done," Mira said. "We actually did it."

"We'll still have to wait to see if we caught anything," Mom replied. "But I'm optimistic that this'll work. I wish I had brought a camera to capture this."

"We should throw things at the net," May replied. "Or ourselves at it. We need to make sure that it won't break when the ocean comes in."

"No," Mom replied. "We don't want to break the net before the tides roll in. If the net isn't going to work, then there's nothing that we can do right now to fix it. All we can hope is that this plan works."

"Well, I wish that we had something more than hope," May responded.

"I'm sure we all do," Mom replied. "Now we just need to wait."

We then gathered all of our supplies and began moving back as the sky began darkening in the late afternoon and the tides began rushing back into the flooded zone. After we had stepped over the tattered remains of the yellow caution tape from the very beginning, Caspian's mom and dad split from us to find a house to stay in as the rest of us gazed at the net in the distance, hoping that it'd stay in place as we made awkward conversation.

"I'm so nervous," Mira said.

"I thought you were never nervous," I replied. "It's going to be fine."

"I know," she said. "It's just that I want this to work so badly because it's like a sign that we can actually build a better future. It's not just ideas, but it's reality."

"I get it," I said and paused for a few moments. "It's like maybe Charles could come back to a future, you know. It's not like there's nothing left behind here because we're actually creating something real."

Mira sighed. "Sometimes, I wish that Leon could come back to see what we've accomplished, but I don't know... I think we just need to let go of them because it's the only way to make it hurt less. It's the most painful form of hope."

"I don't know," I replied. "I guess I wish that I could just have a do-over and change the past–"

"There's no changing the past," she responded, cutting me off. "I know that this is harsh, but the more you think about it, the more real it feels and the more you'll hurt every day that it doesn't come true. The only way to let go of the regrets is to just let it out and accept whatever mistakes or missed opportunities that you think you made."

I know that she's right, and I know that I shouldn't be unhealthily obsessing over a past that I know I can't change. But I still haven't been able to "let it out" because I'm not at that stage yet and maybe even because I like this painful form of hope. It's better than knowing that what you did truly caused your only friend to be gone forever. I don't think it's possible to forgive after that.

By the time the sun began setting over the ocean, Caspian's dad had found a house across from the street to camp in. The rest of us stayed to watch the tides rush in, making sure that the net wasn't getting ripped from the street light poles that it was tied from, but as the water rushed through the gaps in the net, it swayed and bent, but remained steady. Eventually, around a third of the net disappeared under the ocean, and that's when Mom, Mira, and May left. I was going to leave when Caspian tapped me on the shoulder.

"Hey Neal," he said. "You mind sticking around for a few minutes?"

"Yeah, no," I said, fumbling the question awkwardly. "I can stay, yeah."

"Great," he said and sat down on the ground as small slivers of light slipped through the gray clouding the horizon. I followed him as we gazed out at the sea for a minute or so before he spoke up.

"Look, the thing is that I was lying about not remembering what I said when I was drunk," he replied. "I think you already know this, but I just want to get that out of the way."

I nodded but didn't really respond because I wasn't exactly sure I wanted to say. But that was fine because he continued talking.

"It's just that it's a hard topic to talk about," he said. "I'm sure that you could tell already, but my family is a bit of a mess. Mom refuses to talk about what happened, and Dad..."

"What about your dad?" I asked.

"Look, I'm serious, but you can't mention anything that we're talking about to Dad," Caspian said. "He didn't take what happened well at all in the early days, and while he's doing better now, I'm just worried that he's going to fall back into depression and worse."

"I won't tell anyone," I replied.

"Thanks," he replied, looking uncharacteristically unsure. "I feel like I'm dumping a lot–"

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Mira always tells me that it's better to talk things out than just let them get pent up, and while I'm not the best at following her advice, I guess it does help."

"It's just that, I always feel like I have to stay positive for everyone," Caspian replied. "Because that's the only thing that's keeping my family together."

"Yeah, that's definitely a lot of responsibilities," I said. "I didn't know that you had so much on your plate, you know."

"I feel like I am a mess though," he said. "You mentioned that your friend left only a month ago, and you're still holding yourself together. I'm jealous that you're so put together because even a month after, I was a complete mess inside."

"I guess the truth is that I'm not, you know, put together," I replied. "I still think about him a lot, and I guess I'm also having a hard time moving on."

It's at that moment that I remembered something that I had put onto the board that could maybe help the both of us.

"One thing that I was thinking about doing was making a sort of memorial," I responded. "It might help with the process I guess. I don't know if that makes complete sense, but–"

"Let's try it," he said. "It might be good."

"Okay," I said. "I don't know where to start, but–"

"You suggested the idea," he replied. "That's more than enough of a start."

We then stood up and gave one final look at the net, now difficult to see under the rapidly fading light. Still, it was comforting to see that, at least from our distance, that it was holding up even as the water level was increasing.

"Cheers to a future," he said, holding out his fist.

"Cheers," I said, lightly bumping it before he encouraged me to give it a harder bump, which I did but only very slightly more so, as we began walking home.

We didn't particularly talk about the memorial or the people that we lost or really much of anything at all. If we were in the normal world, the stars would be blossoming above us, a meadow of constellations covering the dark, and the air would be warmer and carry the sweet aroma of the ocean. Yet, even though the sky is dark, with only a light circle of the Moon breaking the darkness, and the air is cold and acrid, I guess I'm feeling that sensation of the perfect, normal night.

I don't know why I'm feeling so hopeful right now. Maybe it's because we got the net up, giving us a fighting chance, or maybe it's because for the first time, Caspian was truly honest with me, and we were both able to drop the mask for the first time. Maybe it's because, for the first time, I might actually be making a step towards moving on.

I don't really know when we're going to have the time to make a memorial. With the seeds beginning to germinate and the greenhouse set up as best as we could, I'm going to be busy gardening and making sure that we make it through the winter while Caspian is going to be training with his mom to become a doctor. But still, maybe it's the idea that matters because having it out there means that I guess I'm finally acknowledging that it's time to maybe start to finally say goodbye to Charles.

Even just writing that down feels terrifying, but it's nice to have Caspian by my side. I don't want to attack Mira because I know that she's got her own pain when it comes to Leon, but her loss was different than mine, and even though we haven't talked about it much in detail, I know that Caspian feels, in some way, as responsible for his loved ones deaths as I do about not being careful enough with Charles. I don't want our (possibly) budding friendship to be defined by the things that we lost, but maybe there's someway to find a way through.

I don't know why I'm feeling so optimistic right now. I've been drowning in pessimism these past few days, and it's like that gray veil has been lifted, at least temporarily.

Maybe it's the new partnership between our family or the setting up of this game changing fishing net or Dad's newfound willingness to accept that he isn't as strong as he wants to be, but it feels like change is in the air.

And maybe it's time that I begin to embrace a bit of it too.