Chapter 14 – Preparations at Dawn
The dawn broke without fanfare. No birdsong greeted the morning—just the soft shuffle of wind through damp leaves and the distant creak of branches bending under their own weight. Alex stirred awake on the attic floor where he had spent most of the night, notebook pressed against his chest like a shield. His neck ached from the awkward position, but his eyes were clear, sharpened by the memory of the faint glow he had seen across the horizon.
He lay there for a moment, ears tuned to the silence of the house. The smell of warm food drifted up from the kitchen—Margaret was already at work, steady in her morning rituals. Somewhere outside, wood struck wood with a dull thunk—Robert, splitting kindling near the shed. Their lives were now stitched together by small, repetitive acts of survival, and yet the weight of each choice felt larger with every passing day.
Alex rose quietly, stretching until his backbone cracked. He picked up the notebook and flipped to the page he had written at dusk:
Observation: faint glow eastward, distant, irregular. Possible artificial source. Maintain caution.
He stared at it, pencil hovering. He wanted to add more—to speculate, to interpret—but speculation was a trap. His notes had to remain clean, factual, a ledger of the world's truths. "Sigh..." With a sigh he closed the book and tucked it under his arm, heading downstairs.
Margaret looked up as he entered the kitchen. Her eyes softened with relief, as though part of her had feared he wouldn't return from the attic at all. "Breakfast is simple today," she said, pushing a bowl toward him. Porridge, thin but hot. She slid a small jar of preserved fruit beside it. "Eat. You'll need it."
Robert came in behind him, wiping his hands with a rag. His voice was steady, but there was an edge beneath it. "You're planning another trip out today."
Alex didn't bother denying it. He sat down, blew on the porridge, and nodded. "Yes. Yesterday was just the beginning. I need to trace the road further, maybe branch into the fields. The shed and farmhouse gave us useful things. If I push a little farther, I might find more."
Margaret's hands paused mid-motion, the fruit jar still between them. "And if you find people?"
"Then I ignore them," Alex said simply. "I stay unseen."
Robert studied his son for a long moment, the silence thick. Finally, he sat, leaning his elbows on the table. "You saw something last night, didn't you?"
Alex hesitated, then nodded. "A glow. East horizon. Faint, but real. Too far to know what it was."
His father's jaw tightened. "Fire?"
"No. Too brief, too clean. Not lightning, either." Alex tapped the notebook on the table. "Artificial. Maybe a lantern, a signal, or headlights."
The word headlights lingered heavily in the air. Vehicles meant mobility, resources, and people bold enough to use them. People who were either organized—or reckless.
Robert leaned back, exhaling slowly. "All the more reason to prepare before stepping out. No more wandering blind."
After breakfast, Alex laid out his gear on the table. His backpack sat open, the contents arranged in neat lines:
Flashlight, batteries checked and replaced
First aid kit, reorganized with gauze on top for quick reach
Energy bars and a small pouch of dried beans
Canteen, filled with freshly boiled water
Notebook and two sharpened pencils
Compass, cleaned of yesterday's mud smears
Shotgun, oiled and checked, with shells wrapped in cloth to keep them quiet
Margaret hovered nearby, her fingers brushing over the beans. "Don't take too many," she murmured. "We'll need them here to plant."
"I won't," Alex promised. He slid just a small handful into the pack, for emergencies only.
Robert brought a coil of rope and placed it beside the pack. "You'll need this if you come across anything worth pulling back. Or if the terrain surprises you."
Alex accepted it, coiling it tightly. "Good thinking."
Margaret disappeared into the pantry and returned with a small cloth pouch. She pressed it into Alex's hand. Inside were dried leaves—mint, chamomile, and something else with a bitter edge. "For tea, if you find yourself chilled. Or for medicine if your stomach turns. Don't waste it."
He smiled faintly, touched by the gesture. "I'll use it wisely."
By mid-morning, preparations were complete. Alex stepped outside to test the weight of his pack. It was heavier than yesterday, but balanced. He adjusted the straps until the load hugged his back snugly. Robert walked beside him to the east gate, the tripwire alarm still taut and untouched.
"You'll stick to daylight," Robert said, his tone not quite a command but not far from it.
"Yes," Alex said. "I'll head further down the road, maybe check the fields on the south side. I'll mark distances and landmarks. No chasing trails too deep."
Robert clasped his shoulder. "Remember, maps aren't just paper. They're memory. Take in more than what you write. Smells, sounds, things that don't fit."
"I will."
Margaret appeared, apron still dusted with flour. She pressed a small, tightly wrapped cloth bundle into his palm. Inside was a slice of yesterday's bread, dry but filling. "For later," she whispered, her voice full of worry.
Alex squeezed her hand gently before slipping the bundle into his pack. He saw the worry in her eyes, the silent plea for him to return. He gave her a small nod, a promise he hoped he could keep.
At last, the gate creaked open. The dirt road stretched ahead, damp with morning dew, bordered by fields that glistened faintly under the rising sun. Alex took his first step beyond, the crunch of gravel beneath his boots sounding far too loud.
He paused a moment, turning back. Robert stood tall by the gate, arms crossed, eyes scanning the treeline as though daring anything to approach. Margaret lingered in the yard, one hand on the porch railing, the other pressed to her apron.
Alex raised a hand in a brief wave, then faced forward, notebook ready in his other hand.
The world beyond waited, vast and uncertain. He knew today wouldn't just be about scavenging or diagrams or jars of beans. Today was about pushing the boundary of safety, about testing how far they could stretch the fragile line between isolation and survival.
And so he walked, each step measured, each sound catalogued, the road slowly unfolding like a page yet to be written.