Pat and I decided to take our RV up into the hills for the last days.

We’d heard that things might degenerate into insanity in the cities, what was left of them, and we didn’t want that as our last memory of this world.

Memory… that’s a funny concept, isn’t it, when you’re probably not going to be around to recall the events in question?

Anyway, I loaded up clothes, gear, and guns and Pat loaded up food and reading stuff.

“How long do you think we need to pack for?â€? she asked.

Good question. We weren’t sure if we’d ever see the sun again, and the wind was blowing choking thick sulfurous smoke and ash. No one really knew the exact day and time it would all fall apart.

“Why don’t you pack for maybe two weeks? We can hunt, fish and forage for longer, if we need to.â€?

Two weeks or two days, it didn’t really matter. Quicker might even be easier. I just wanted to go somewhere quiet, where I’d be able to hold her close at the end of it all.

She called to me from the bathroom, “Do we need sleeping pills?â€?