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from my office alone, and there wasn’t enough money coming in for me to keep her on. When she left, I told her I would call her when things came back, but realistically, we both knew that wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t even generating enough revenue to pay my own salary. I had to start pulling from savings every week just to buy groceries and pay bills, though I don’t even know why I bothered at that point. Money had become virtually worthless. Our neighborhood grocery had shut down, but they had left thedoors unlocked so that looters wouldn’t have to smash the glass to get in. The police force was too concerned with its own desperation to interfere.
    Despite my insistence that we continue to honor our financial responsibilities, services began to go out. First it was the satellite television, which was only playing news and reruns at that point because there was no money anywhere for new production. As much as we enjoyed those old sitcoms, they lost their appeal. We really only watched about five out of the two hundred or so channels we got anyway.
    Cellular phones went next. I was talking with Maria one day when her voice abruptly went silent, and the signal strength icon on my smartphone was at zero. It seemed archaic to have to resort to the old wired phone plugged into the wall. As awkward as it felt, though, I also felt a certain sense of liberation, a freedom from that omnipresent need to be available. Less than two days later, the Internet was out and landlines were dead. The radio said that it was happening everywhere. A lot of places had already lost power. That was when I left work for the last time. It was time to refocus my attention on what we would need for survival once the electricity went out and gas lines went down. December in the Midwest can be brutally cold.
    I began walking home to check on Maria, but my reluctant saunter soon became a run as I noticed angry crowds beginning to form in the streets. I knew then that that was it. There was no coming back. Maria was startled when Iburst through the door and broke down crying when she saw me.
    “What’s happening, Joe? I’m so scared,” she sobbed onto my shoulder as I held her tightly.
    “Everything is going to be OK. I promise.”
    So many thoughts were rushing through my head. We needed food. We needed water. Soon we were going to need heat. We needed to secure the house. Where were our friends and family? Were they OK? What was going to happen next?
    First things first.
    “Maria, I need to go get food before there’s nothing left.”
    “Where?”
    “The grocery store.”
    “It’s closed.”
    “I don’t think that matters now.”
    I continued talking as I headed into the bedroom for the Mossberg.
    “Joe! What are you doing with that?”
    “You’re taking it.”
    Maria was shaking as I loaded up the shotgun and forced it into her hands, giving her the briefest firearm tutorial in history just in case anyone tried to get in.
Safety off. Point-shoot-rack-repeat. Eight shells in the magazine, one in the chamber
. She stayed at the house with the doors bolted, the blinds drawn, and the lights out. Any place that had food was potentially dangerous, and I couldn’t put her at risk. Human laws are ignored in such times of desperation. Allthat matters is staying alive. I grabbed the Ka-Bar from our bedside, rushed out the door, jumped in my car, and headed quickly to the grocery store with a duffel bag.
    In my haste, I had left my coat, but there was no time to go back. There would be others scrambling for food too, and I didn’t want a fight. The frigid air bit the bare skin on my arms. My breath froze before it even left my mouth, and my dry fingers could hardly grip the slick leather-wrapped steering wheel. It had been raining for days, and the ground was coated in a thick layer of black ice. The engine roared as I slid through the grid of streets, and the antilock brakes grabbed repeatedly but did little to slow me down. The car