Fault Lines: A Survival Story - Episode 3: What We Have

September 10th, 2026 - 07:18 a.m. - Disaster + 48 Hours

Dean had been up for the last hour. Waking before the alarm he couldn't set on his phone.

For several seconds he remained still, staring into the darkness of the bedroom. Then he remembered why it was dark.

No power.

No hum from the furnace.

No refrigerator cycling downstairs.

No distant traffic moving along the highway.

Nothing.

Beth was asleep beside him. Walker had somehow ended up sideways between them sometime during the night, one foot pressed against Dean's ribs. Dean carefully moved it. He had slept better than the night before.

Not well.

Better.

Knowing Beth and Walker were home had quieted one part of his mind. Unfortunately, it had left room for everything else. He slid quietly from the bed, pulled on yesterday's clothes, grabbed a flashlight, and headed downstairs.

The house was cold. Not dangerously cold. Not yet. He checked the thermostat out of habit. Nothing. Dean stared at the blank display for another second before remembering that staring harder wasn't going to make electricity appear.

He stepped into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator just long enough to look inside.

Milk.

Eggs.

Cheese.

Lunch meat.

Leftovers.

Vegetables.

Condiments.

Normal food.

Food that had become considerably less normal over the previous forty-eight hours. He closed the door. Today they needed to figure out exactly what they had. Not what Dean thought they had. Not what he remembered buying. Not what was buried somewhere in a closet or stacked in the garage.

Everything.

Food.

Water.

Medical supplies.

Fuel.

Power.

Heat.

Communications.

And, more importantly, how long all of it would last.

Dean pulled the notebook from his pocket. At the top of a clean page he wrote:

DAY THREE

Underneath it:

Inventory everything.

07:45 a.m.

Beth found him in the garage. Boxes had been pulled away from walls. Plastic totes sat open across the floor. Dean had already filled half a page.

"Did you sleep?" she asked

"A little."

"That's not what I asked."

Dean looked up.

"A little."

Beth folded her arms.

"Better."

He held up the notebook.

"Want the good news or the bad news?" he asked.

"The coffee news." she replied.

Dean looked toward the camping stove.

"That I can do."

Ten minutes later they were sitting on overturned buckets with two mugs of instant coffee between them. Neither complained about the quality. Civilization had apparently fallen far enough in two days that instant coffee now deserved gratitude. Dean looked down at his notes.

"Water first." he finally said, getting into the rundown of the supplies.

They had stored water inside the house, additional cases in the garage, and several larger containers intended for emergencies. There was also water in the hot-water tank and several possible natural sources nearby if they needed them. The amount looked good at first. Then Dean started doing the math.

Drinking.

Cooking.

Basic hygiene.

Four adults.

One child.

Animals.

And that assumed none of the stored containers leaked, became contaminated, or had already been partially used.

"We're okay," Beth said.

"For now."

"How long?" she asked.

Dean tapped the notebook.

"If we're careful, longer than most people." Dean said looking somewhat optimistic.

"That's reassuring." she said condescendingly.

"It shouldn't be." he agreed.

Beth frowned.

Dean continued.

"Stored water buys us time. It doesn't solve water."

They would need to establish a reliable long-term collection and treatment routine if municipal service remained down. He wrote another line.

Water treatment capacity.

They had filters. They had purification tablets. They could boil. What they didn't have was an unlimited supply of filter elements, fuel, or time. Next came food. That took considerably longer.

Dean worked through the refrigerator first, then the freezer, then pantry shelves, emergency food, canned goods, dry staples, and long-term storage. Beth called quantities while he wrote.

"Eight cans of chicken."

"Got it."

"Twelve tuna."

"Got it."

"Three boxes pasta."

"Got it."

"Four."

Dean crossed out the three.

"Four."

"Rice?"

"Enough."

"That's not a quantity."

Beth looked at the bucket.

"A lot."

Dean sighed.

"You're very helpful."

"I married you for your personality."

They continued. When everything was finally written down, Dean stared at the numbers.

It wasn't bad. Actually, compared with most households, it was excellent. Earlier that year Dean invested in one years worth of freeze dried food, but that was meant for him, Beth and Walker, not two more adults. But it looked different when every item represented a finite number of meals. The freezer was the immediate problem.

Without power, everything inside had a clock attached to it. They could run the generator. But the generator burned fuel. Fuel could also run the pickup. And nobody knew when the next gallon would become available.

Dean drew three circles in his notebook.

FOOD

POWER

TRANSPORTATION

Then connected all three to:

FUEL

Beth leaned over his shoulder.

"That's depressing." she said.

"It's efficient."

"It's depressing efficiently."

Dean couldn't argue with that.

08:03 a.m.

The medical inventory was where the first serious gaps appeared. Dean had more than the average household.

Trauma supplies.

Bandages.

Tourniquets.

Gauze.

Splints.

Basic medications.

Burn supplies.

Personal protective equipment.

A modest amount of over-the-counter medication. Enough equipment to deal with a fair number of injuries. What bothered him were the less dramatic items.

Children's medication.

Electrolytes.

Antibiotic ointment.

Cold medicine.

Anti-diarrheals.

Pain medication.

Prescription refills.

Basic wound-care supplies that disappeared surprisingly fast once people actually started getting hurt. Beth held up a nearly empty bottle.

"Children's acetaminophen."

Dean looked at it.

"I will add it to the list."

He wrote:

Pediatric meds.

Then:

More OTC meds.

Hygiene.

Gloves.

Disinfectant.

They weren't desperate for any of it. That almost made the decision harder.

If they had nothing, the answer would be obvious.

Go.

If they had everything, the answer would also be obvious.

Stay.

Instead they were sitting in the uncomfortable middle. Prepared enough to remain home. Missing enough that every passing day could make replacing those items harder. Dean moved on to fuel.

The numbers were better than he expected. They add virtually a unlimited supply of wood for the fireplace and his old wood stoves. Gasoline stored for equipment. Fuel in the pickup. Propane. A few smaller canisters. Enough to operate the generator intermittently. Not enough to operate it carelessly. He wrote another note.

Generator schedule.

Beth looked at him.

"How often?"

"Maybe two runs a day. Enough to cool the fridge and freezer, charge batteries, run anything critical." he answered.

"For how long?"

"We'll test temperatures today. See what we actually need."

"What about the furnace?" she asked.

Dean glanced toward the house.

"Not unless we have to, the fire place should be able to handle the winter no problem. If it comes to that."

It was early September. Cold at night, but manageable. Winter was another matter. That thought lingered longer than Dean liked. Winter wasn't far away.

09:12 a.m.

They moved outside. Dean checked the generator before starting it.

Oil.

Fuel.

Connections.

Extension cords.

He positioned it well away from the house and started it. The sound seemed impossibly loud after two days without normal background noise. Walker came running from the house.

"Dad! Power!" Walker yelled running up to Dean.

"Temporary power."

"Can I watch Outdoor Boys?"

Dean looked at Beth. Beth looked at Dean.

"No." the said in unison.

Walker stared at both of them with the kind of betrayal only a child could produce.

"But we have power."

Dean crouched beside him.

"We have enough power to make the refrigerator cold and charge things."

"And the TV." Walker said matter-of-factly.

"Technically."

"But..."

"No." Dean and Beth again said in unison.

Walker walked back toward the house muttering something Dean chose not to hear.

Beth smiled.

"You've crushed him."

"He'll recover."

The refrigerator and freezer came online. Battery banks followed. Radios. Flashlights. Phones, despite the phones still being mostly useless. Dean plugged in everything worth charging. That was when someone called from the driveway.

"Dean?"

Dean turned. A neighbor was walking toward the house. Nate lived two properties down with his wife and two kids. Good guy. Friendly. The kind of neighbor who would help move a couch without asking why someone owned a couch that heavy. Dean walked toward him.

"Morning."

"Morning." Nate replied.

Nate looked tired.

"You guys doing okay?" Nate asked.

"So far."

Nate nodded. There was a pause. Dean recognized it immediately. People rarely walked half a mile during a disaster just to ask how someone else was doing.

"We're getting low on some stuff," Nate finally said.

"What kind of stuff?"

"Water mostly. Food isn't great either. Kids went through more than I thought."

Dean felt his stomach tighten slightly. There it was. The conversation he had known would eventually happen. He had simply hoped it wouldn't happen on day three.

"Water's off?" Dean asked.

"Pressure died sometime last night."

Dean nodded.

"Same here."

"We saw you had some stored." Nate said looking around Dean at the garage.

Dean kept his expression neutral. He had no idea when Nate had seen it. Maybe months ago. Maybe yesterday. It didn't really matter.

"We do."

Nate waited. Dean didn't fill the silence.

Finally Nate asked, "Any chance you could spare some?"

Dean looked back toward the garage. He could. That was the problem. He could spare a case. Probably several. But Dean had absolutely no idea whether the outage would last another day or another month. He also had no idea who Nate had already talked to. If he gave one family water, what happened when another showed up?

Then another?

There was a difference between helping someone and turning the garage into the neighborhood distribution center. Dean chose his words carefully.

"I haven't finished inventory yet. I don't know what we can spare."

Nate's expression changed slightly. Not angry.

Disappointed.

Dean continued before the silence hardened.

"But I'm heading into town."

Nate looked up.

"Today?"

"Probably within the hour." Dean said glancing at his watch, which he now realized was also dead. He made a mental note to switch to his old analog watch before they left.

"Roads are screwed." Nate said glancing out toward town.

"That's why I'm taking Ernie." Dean replied pointing down to the barn.

Nate glanced toward the barn.

"I've still got Molly." he said.

"Then come with me." Dean suggested.

Nate hesitated.

"We can see what's open, see what they still have, and bring back what we can carry."

"You think stores are even operating?" Nate asked. A very valid question Dean thought.

"Only one way to find out."

Nate looked toward his house.

"Give me twenty minutes."

Dean nodded.

"Bring cash."

Nate laughed.

"Why?"

Dean didn't.

The smile disappeared.

"Right. Cash."

10:06 a.m.

Dean left Beth with the house, Walker, her mother and father, and a radio. He kept the trip deliberately simple. Ernie carried Dean and two empty panniers. Nate rode Molly with a backpack and another set of bags secured behind the saddle. Neither man carried anything conspicuously threatening. Dean kept the rifle broken down inside his pack.

Town was several miles away. Under normal circumstances, it was a short drive. Today, distance had regained its old meaning. They passed three abandoned vehicles before reaching the main road. One had a flat tire. One had collided with a guardrail. The third seemed perfectly functional.

Its doors were locked. Nobody was nearby. Nate nodded toward it.

"Think they just left it?"

"Probably." Dean nodded.

"Would you?"

"If traffic stopped moving and I needed to get home?"

Dean shrugged.

"I left mine in Seattle." Dean said gesturing toward the big city.

"Fair point."

They continued.

More people were outside than the previous day. Some were clearing branches. Others moved between houses carrying supplies. A man had set up a chainsaw station at the end of his driveway and was cutting fallen limbs into manageable pieces for anyone who dragged them over. Two teenagers were hauling buckets of water in a garden cart.

Nobody looked relaxed.

But nobody looked panicked either.

Not yet.

11:02 a.m.

Town looked strange without electricity. Traffic lights were dark. Cars moved cautiously through intersections whenever they moved at all. Several storefronts were closed. Others had handwritten signs taped to windows.

NO POWER

CASH ONLY

LIMITED STOCK

NO FUEL

The grocery store parking lot was nearly full. Dean and Nate tied the horses well away from the entrance. A handwritten sign covered one of the sliding doors.

OPEN

CASH ONLY

LIMIT 2 CASES WATER PER HOUSEHOLD

NO RETURNS

Below that, someone had added:

PLEASE BE PATIENT.

They went inside. The store was darker than Dean expected. Emergency lighting illuminated portions of the building, but employees had opened the front doors to let in additional daylight. Freezer aisles were taped off. Most of the refrigerated section was empty. Bottled water was nearly gone. People moved quietly through the aisles.

That bothered Dean more than shouting would have. Everyone was calculating. Dean took out the list. He wasn't there to buy everything. Only the gaps.

Children's medication.

Pain relievers.

Electrolyte packets.

Soap.

Disinfectant.

Batteries.

Bleach.

Shelf-stable food where practical.

More water containers if any remained.

Nate moved beside him.

"You always shop with a checklist during the apocalypse?"

"It's been three days."

"So that's a yes." Nate laughed.

Dean almost smiled.

"Stay focused."

The pharmacy section had been hit hard. Most children's medications were gone. Dean found one bottle of children's Tylenol. He took it. Then stopped. There were two bottles behind it.

His hand hovered.

One bottle.

Two families could need the others.

He hated the calculation.

He left them.

Nate noticed.

"You don't want more?"

"I want a lot of things." Dean said.

They moved on. At the household section Dean found unscented bleach.

Two bottles.

He took one.

Batteries were almost entirely gone. No D-cells.

A few AA packs remained.

Dean took one.

Nate loaded more aggressively.

Canned food.

Peanut butter.

Crackers.

Rice.

Water.

Diapers for his youngest.

By the time they reached checkout, both had filled nearly everything they could reasonably transport on horseback. The line wrapped halfway down an aisle. Dean checked his radio. The local repeater was busy.

"...Guard units activated statewide..."

Static.

Another voice came through.

"...Seattle police requesting mutual aid..."

Someone behind Dean was listening to a FM radio.

A news anchor's voice drifted through the line.

"...officials are continuing to ask residents to avoid unnecessary travel. Interstate Five remains closed in multiple locations pending structural inspection. Landslides and bridge damage continue to restrict access throughout western Washington..."

The broadcast faded beneath conversation. A man several places ahead turned around.

"My brother's in Tacoma. Says people busted into a sporting goods store last night."

Someone else answered.

"Seattle's worse."

"That's not what they're saying."

"That's because they're not telling you."

Dean looked back at his cart. Rumors. Some might be true. Most probably contained at least part of the truth. That didn't make them useful. Then the radio became clearer.

"...Washington National Guard personnel are continuing mobilization in support of state and local emergency operations. Officials stress that mobilization remains focused on transportation support, medical assistance, communications, and security..."

Nate looked at Dean.

"Security." Nate look concerned.

"Could mean traffic control." Dean tried to smooth out Nates fear.

"Could mean looting." Nate said.

"Could mean both." Dean said after a moment. No reason to lie.

The broadcast continued.

"...FEMA officials acknowledge that damage to major highway, rail, maritime, and aviation infrastructure has slowed the arrival and distribution of federal resources. Residents in affected areas should continue relying on local emergency guidance and remain prepared to shelter in place..."

The cashier called the next customer. The line moved forward.

Another report followed.

"...the United States Geological Survey has recorded additional seismic activity across portions of Oregon overnight. Officials say the events appear to be aftershocks and are urging the public not to rely on social media speculation..."

Dean stopped listening.

Oregon.

More aftershocks farther south.

He filed it away.

One more thing he couldn't do anything about.

12:17 p.m.

Dean reached the register.

The cashier looked exhausted.

"No cards." she said.

"I've got cash." Dean answered.

"Good."

She began entering prices manually. Dean watched the total climb. Emergency preparedness had a strange way of turning ordinary purchases into expensive ones.

Medication.

Food.

Water.

Bleach.

Batteries.

Soap.

The total stopped.

Dean paid.

Nate stepped forward next. His total was higher. He pulled out his wallet.

Counted.

Stopped.

Counted again.

The cashier waited.

Nate looked toward Dean.

"I thought I had more."

"How short?" Dean asked.

Nate told him. Dean reached into the emergency cash envelope inside his bag. He counted out the difference. Nate shook his head.

"Dean, you don't have to."

"Your kids need diapers."

"I'll pay you back."

"I know."

Dean handed the money to the cashier. The decision felt very different from giving away supplies from his garage. Cash could be replaced eventually.

Maybe.

Water couldn't be created from an empty shelf. Nate looked embarrassed. Dean ignored it.

"Load up." he said.

Outside, they divided everything between the horses. The store manager had stationed an employee at the doors checking receipts. A sheriff's deputy stood nearby. Dean noticed the deputy before Nate did.

"Security," Nate said quietly.

Dean nodded.

"Apparently."

There was no confrontation.

No riot.

No desperate crowd trying to smash through the doors.

Yet. Dean thought to himself.

Just tired people carrying groceries to cars that might or might not be able to get them home.

Dean preferred that.

01:09 p.m.

They stopped near the edge of town to let the horses drink. Nate sat on a low concrete barrier.

"You think FEMA's actually coming?"

Dean tightened one of Ernie's straps.

"Yes." Dean said.

"When?"

"No idea."

"Days?"

"Probably."

"Weeks?"

Dean looked toward town.

"Maybe in some places." Dean said, but internally did not agree.

Nate rubbed his face.

"My wife thought I was nuts when I told her we should keep more food."

Dean didn't answer.

Nate laughed without humor.

"I thought I was nuts too."

Dean checked the saddle again.

"You've got enough to learn from it."

"If things go back to normal." Nate agreed.

"When."

Nate looked at him.

Dean repeated it.

"When things go back to normal."

Neither man sounded entirely convinced.

02:26 p.m.

The return trip was slower. Both horses carried more weight.

They stayed off the main road wherever possible. At one intersection, several vehicles had been pushed aside to create a narrow emergency lane.

A National Guard Humvee rolled past them heading west.

Two more followed.

Nate watched them disappear.

"Guess the radio wasn't lying." Nate nodded toward the Humvee.

"No."

"Feels weird seeing that here."

Dean understood what he meant.

Military vehicles belonged on bases.

Training areas.

Convoys.

Television.

Seeing them drive through familiar roads made the disaster feel larger. Even while Dean was active duty, they rarely drove through populated areas, mainly stayed on the main roads.

A handwritten sign had been placed at the intersection:

SHELTER – HIGH SCHOOL

Another:

WATER DISTRIBUTION – 4 PM

Dean made a note of both.

Information mattered almost as much as supplies now.

Maybe more.

03:41 p.m.

They reached Nate's property first. His wife came outside before they reached the barn. The relief on her face when she saw the supplies made Dean uncomfortable. Not because she had done anything wrong. Because the groceries looked so ordinary.

Diapers.

Water.

Peanut butter.

Canned food.

Medicine.

Three days earlier, nobody would have considered any of it valuable enough to celebrate.

Nate climbed down.

"Thanks."

Dean nodded.

"For the cash too."

"We'll figure it out later." Dean said reaching his hand out for Nate to shake.

Nate hesitated.

"If you guys need anything..."

Dean looked at Molly.

"You have fencing tools?"

"Yeah."

"Chainsaw?"

"Two."

"Fuel?"

"Some."

Dean nodded toward the house.

"Then you have things people are going to need."

Nate considered that. Finally shaking Deans hand.

"I guess." Nate said.

"Nobody has everything."

Dean continued home. The statement remained in his mind. Nobody had everything. That included him.

04:08 p.m.

Beth met him at the barn.

"Successful?"

"Mostly."

Dean handed her the medication.

Her expression changed immediately.

"You found children's Tylenol."

"One bottle."

She looked through the remaining bags.

"Bleach. Batteries. Electrolytes."

"Some food." Dean said.

"How bad was it?"

"Not empty."

"Yet." Beth let out. A slight crack in her voice.

Dean looked at her.

"Yet." he agreed.

Together they carried everything inside. Dean updated the inventory. Then he started the generator for the second run of the day. The freezer temperature had risen but remained safe.

Good.

That meant they didn't need continuous power. He wrote down the temperature, start time, and fuel level. Beth watched him.

"You're making a generator log?"

"Yes."

"Naturally."

He looked at her.

"You mocked the lists yesterday."

"I'm going to keep mocking them."

"But you're using them."

"Also yes."

Dean smiled.

For the first time all day, he felt almost normal.

05:22 p.m.

The ration plan started at the kitchen table. Dean hated the word rationing. It sounded more dramatic than what he intended. They weren't starving. They had plenty of food.

The point was to prevent four people from eating randomly from finite supplies without understanding the rate at which they were disappearing.

Beth read through the inventory.

"We should use the refrigerator first." she said after a minute.

"Exactly."

"Then freezer."

"Depending on generator fuel." Dean answered.

"And canned and dry stuff last."

Dean nodded.

They divided food into categories.

Use now.

Use soon.

Long term.

Dean calculated approximate meals. Not calories down to the gram. That would come later if it became necessary. For now, he wanted control.

Three planned meals.

Limited snacking.

Children prioritized where appropriate.

Perishable food first.

No opening something new when something already open could be used. Water consumption recorded each day until they knew whether service was returning. Generator twice daily unless temperatures required more. Battery charging during generator runs.

Propane reserved.

Pickup fuel untouched unless travel became necessary.

Beth tapped the notebook.

"This feels excessive."

"It probably is." Dean hoped.

"That doesn't sound like you."

Dean leaned back.

"I would rather feel stupid about tracking everything when the power comes back tomorrow than realize in two weeks that we've burned half our fuel because we assumed it would."

Beth considered that.

"Fair."

Dean drew another line.

Review every morning.

Not because the plan would stay the same.

Because it wouldn't.

06:31 p.m.

Dinner was an exercise in refrigerator management.

Eggs.

Bacon.

Milk.

Fruit that wouldn't last forever.

Walker thought it was excellent.

"Can we eat breakfast for dinner tomorrow too?"

Beth looked at Dean.

"Probably."

Walker grinned.

Disaster planning apparently had one supporter. They ate together at the kitchen table while a battery-powered radio played quietly nearby.

The reports had become repetitive.

Road closures.

Shelter locations.

Boil-water advisories.

Emergency declarations.

Requests for blood donations.

Warnings against unnecessary travel.

Then came the larger stories.

Reports of looting in parts of Seattle.

Several fires believed to have started after gas-line failures.

Police agencies stretched thin.

National Guard support expanding.

Damage throughout Oregon.

Aftershocks.

Port disruptions.

Fuel deliveries delayed.

Federal officials promising additional resources.

State officials asking for patience.

Dean listened while eating. Each individual report sounded manageable. Together they didn't. Beth finally reached over and turned the volume down.

"Can we not listen to the end of civilization while Walker eats pancakes?"

"They're eggs."

"You understand my point."

Dean nodded.

She was right.

He turned the radio off.

07:14 p.m.

After dinner, Beth found Dean standing beside the pickup.

He was checking its fuel level.

Again.

"You've checked that three times." she said placing her arm on his shoulder.

"I know."

"You think somebody siphoned it since lunch?"

"No."

"Then why are you staring at it?"

Dean closed the fuel door.

"Thinking."

Beth leaned against the truck.

"About?"

"Work."

She looked at him.

"You haven't talked about it." she said sitting down on the tail gate.

"There isn't much to talk about." he said sitting next to her.

"Your building?"

Dean looked toward the road. The memory came back faster than he wanted it to. The movement. Concrete cracking. Ceiling panels falling. People running. The moment he realized the building wasn't going to remain standing.

"It failed." he finally said.

Beth's expression tightened.

"Completely?"

"Enough."

"Your lab?"

"Probably destroyed."

"And everyone?"

"The people I saw got out."

"Dean."

He knew the question underneath the question.

He shook his head.

"I don't know about everyone."

Beth moved closer.

For several seconds neither spoke.

"What happens with work?" she asked.

Dean almost laughed.

"I don't think I'm going in tomorrow."

"I'm serious." she said.

"So am I."

She waited.

Dean sighed.

"The building is damaged. Roads into Seattle are barely functional. Nobody's calling anybody. Even if work wanted us there, how?"

Beth nodded.

"And school?"

"Radio said schools are closed indefinitely."

"Indefinitely." she repeated.

"That's the word they used."

They both looked toward the house.

Walker was inside with his grandmother.

Beth folded her arms.

"So we're all home."

"For now."

There was something unsettling about that. For years, their weeks had been divided by schedules.

Work.

School.

Commutes.

Appointments.

Errands.

Classes.

Now every calendar entry had vanished within forty-eight hours. Their entire world had contracted to a house, a few acres, several neighbors, and whatever distance they could travel without relying on infrastructure. Beth looked toward the pickup.

"What do we do tomorrow?"

Dean thought about it.

"Same thing we're doing today."

"Inventory?"

"Plan."

"For what?"

Dean looked toward the mountains.

"Whatever comes next."

08:03 p.m.

Dean walked the property before dark.

Gates.

Fences.

Barn.

Fuel.

Generator.

Outbuildings.

Nothing unusual. He stopped at the road. The valley was quiet again. Too quiet. A vehicle moved somewhere in the distance. Then another. Much less traffic than normal. Dean checked the mesh device. A few nodes appeared. Several familiar ones hadn't checked in since before the earthquake. He switched to the radio.

The repeater was active. People requesting road conditions. Checking on family. Sharing shelter locations. Someone asking whether a pharmacy was open. Someone else reporting that a bridge inspection had failed and the route would remain closed.

Then a transmission from farther south:

"...another noticeable aftershock here. Nothing major. Just letting anyone north know."

Dean listened.

A second voice replied.

"Copy. We've been feeling them up here too."

Dean looked toward the house.

He had spent years thinking about earthquakes.

Preparing for them.

Teaching preparedness around events like them.

None of that had included the psychological effect of waiting for the ground to move again.

That part was difficult to put in a checklist.

08:47 p.m.

Walker was building something beneath the stairs. Dean stopped in the hallway. Blankets covered the opening. Pillows had been dragged from the couch. A flashlight illuminated the interior.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

Walker crawled out.

"Camping." Walker said, looking up at his dad from under one of the blankets.

"Under the stairs?"

"Yes."

Dean looked toward Beth.

She was standing in the kitchen trying not to smile.

"Why?"

Walker looked at him as if the answer should have been obvious.

"Because it's safe."

Dean's smile faded slightly.

"Who told you that?" Dean asked.

Walker shrugged.

"It doesn't have windows."

Dean crouched beside him.

That wasn't entirely unreasonable. The space beneath the stairs was small, interior, and away from the larger windows. Apparently Walker had been paying more attention than Dean realized.

"You want to sleep there?"

Walker nodded.

"Can we all camp?"

Dean looked at Beth.

She raised an eyebrow.

He looked back at the blanket fort.

"I think we can probably do that."

Walker disappeared underneath the stairs again.

Dean stood.

Beth stepped beside him.

"You're sleeping under the stairs." she said.

"Apparently."

"Prepared for everything." she laughed.

"Almost everything."

Then the floor shifted. Only slightly. A glass rattled in the kitchen.

The hanging light fixture moved. Dean instinctively reached for Beth. The aftershock lasted maybe three seconds. Then stopped.

Silence followed.

Walker poked his head out from beneath the blanket. His eyes were wide. Dean waited for the fear. Instead Walker pointed into the little space beneath the stairs.

"See?"

Beth laughed.

Dean couldn't help it.

He laughed too.

"All right," he said. "You win."

09:03 p.m.

They spread sleeping bags beneath and around the staircase.

It wasn't comfortable.

It wasn't necessary.

Dean didn't care.

Walker lay between them with his flashlight.

His grandmother had already gone back to her house, apparently deciding that one earthquake-themed family campout was enough for her.

This was the first time he really though about how his preps must now includ ehis in-laws. He made a mental note to work with his father-in-law tomorrow to see where they were at with supplies.

The radio sat nearby at low volume.

Dean's notebook rested beside it.

He looked at the last page before turning off his light.

Food – stable.

Water – adequate, establish replacement source.

Medical – gaps partially filled.

Fuel – conserve.

Power – generator twice daily.

Transportation – limited.

Communications – operational.

Then one final line.

Community needs increasing.

Dean stared at it. Nate had been the first. He wouldn't be the last. Today the stores still had food. Today cash still worked. Today people were still helping one another.

Today the National Guard was arriving.

Today the government was telling everyone that help was coming.

Dean hoped all of those things were still true tomorrow.

He closed the notebook.

Another faint transmission came from the radio.

"...residents should remain prepared for additional aftershocks throughout the night..."

Dean reached over and lowered the volume. Walker was already asleep.

Beth shifted closer to him.

"You think we're okay?" she whispered.

Dean looked toward his son.

Then toward the dark house beyond their small circle of flashlight glow.

"Tonight?"

He nodded.

"Yeah."

Tonight they had food.

Tonight they had water.

Tonight they had heat if they needed it.

Tonight everyone was home.

That would have to be enough.

Outside, the valley remained dark.

And for the third night in a row, nobody knew what morning would bring.

Episodes - 1, 2