I use up the last of the first aid supplies to patch up his wounds. His skin is like silk-covered steel. I'm a little rougher than I need to be because it helps keep my hands steady.

“Try not to move around too much so you don't bleed again. The bandages aren't that thick and blood will soak through pretty quickly.”

“No problem,” he says. “Shouldn't be too hard not to move around as we run for our lives.”

“I’m serious. That's the last of our bandages. You'll have to make them last.”

“Any chance we can find more?”

“Maybe.” Our best chance is from first aid kits in houses, since the stores are either cleaned out or claimed by gangs.

We fill up my water bottle. I didn’t have much time to pack supplies from the office. The supplies I carried with me are a random assortment. I sigh, wishing I’d had time to pack more food. Other than the single dried noodle cup, we’re out except for the handful of fun-sized chocolates I’m saving for Paige. We share the noodles, which is about two bites per person. By the time we leave the cottage, it is mid-morning. The first place we hit is the main house.

I have high hopes of a stocked kitchen, but one glance at the gaping cupboards in the sea of granite and stainless steel tells me we'll have to scrounge for leftovers. Rich people may have lived here, but even the rich didn’t have enough currency to buy food once things got bad. Either they ate all the food they could before packing up and hitting the road, or they took it with them. Drawer after drawer, cupboard after cupboard, there is nothing but crumbs.

“Is this edible?” Raffe stands at the kitchen entrance, framed by the Mediterranean archway. He could easily be at home in a place like this. He stands with the fluid grace of an aristocrat who's used to rich surroundings. Although the quarter-bag of cat food he’s holding up does mess with the image a little.

I dip my hand into the bag and bring out a few pieces of red and yellow kibbles. I pop them in my mouth. Crunchy, with a vaguely fishy taste. I pretend they're crackers as I chew and swallow. “Not exactly gourmet, but it probably won't kill us.”

That's the best we can do in the food department, but we do find supplies in the garage. A backpack that doubles as a duffle bag, which is great since he can't carry a backpack right now but might be able to later. A couple of boys' sleeping bags all rolled and ready to go. No tent, but there are flashlights with extra batteries. A slick camp knife that's more expensive than any I've ever managed to buy. I give mine to Raffe and keep this one for myself.

Since my clothes are dirty, I simply trade them in for clean ones from the closets. We also liberate some extra clothes and jackets. I find a sweatshirt that comes close to fitting Raffe. I also make him change from his tell-tale black pants and laced boots to jeans and ordinary hiking boots.