I was naïve enough to believe that someone somewhere was taking care of it for me. As for me, I didn’t think the world was ending. You name an apocalypse movie, and someone believed we were living in it. There were plenty of other theories a massive solar storm, rapture, Russians, super intelligent sentient computers, aliens…the list went on. It wasn’t like airplanes suddenly fell from the sky. My cellphone had power-though no signal or Wi-Fi-and most older cars ran just fine. People at camp said it couldn’t be an EMT-or was it EMP?-because there wasn’t a weapon big enough to knock the whole country off the grid. We even made a game of tossing ideas around, trying to figure out how we’d gotten in this mess. Most of my bunk mates were friendly enough and though the food wasn’t amazing, it would keep me going. Moving from my duplex to one of the disaster relief camps was like going to summer camp. Unfortunately, it was only the beginning.ĭespite having no lights, no fridge, and no running water, the blackout felt inconsequential during that first month. I still remember the sickening dread I felt over the first report of someone killed over supplies in the city. On the other hand, those who had it also found themselves facing death by the hands of those without. Food was food in the end of the world and those of us without it found ourselves at a disadvantage that could serve to be deadly. One or two months in, I suddenly understood the appeal of buying sixteen cases of canned vegetables.

Why bother stocking up on groceries that won’t keep? At first, I thought the people stockpiling had to be out of their minds. At first there was only a little pilling a handful of looters who thought they could get away with stealing-they usually could-and soccer moms fighting over the last package of toilet paper at big box stores. It was like someone took the seams of the entire nation and started tugging. Government officials disappeared and with them, government aid. Six months after the blackout, they went dark too. They always know stuff like that, don’t they? I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. Except maybe some secret branch of the government.

Moonshine by Kat Bostick