I chew on the pen. On the end table is a framed photo of me and Shawntelle in last year’s prom gowns and bedazzled Chuck Taylors. We’re back to back, hands on our hips, standing below a fake arbor wrapped in blue and gold balloons. A couple of guys from the boys’ basketball team asked me to junior prom, but Shawntelle and I decided to heck with the boys; we were going together. A girls’ night out.

How do I find out whether the streets are empty because everyone is hiding, or because everyone is dead? Maybe Shawntelle is holed up at her place, afraid to leave.

I stare at the photo. Shawntelle loves purple. Her prom gown, her corsage, her Chucks, her nails, even her laboriously straightened hair—all violently purple.

My best friend was afraid of nothing. If she were alive, nothing would have stopped her from being at my bedside when I woke up.

I have to go out searching for signs of life, even if I risk encountering someone with orders to shoot me on sight. It’s what Shawntelle would do.

In my notebook, I write, Signs of life: running vehicles, movement, light.

I tap the end of my chewed-up pen against my lip, then I underline light.

A plan forms. I’ll wait until dark, wear dark clothes. Carry nothing but a water bottle, a flashlight, and pepper spray. I’ll dart from house to house, using the buildings as cover, listening for sound, looking for candlelight or the sweep of a flashlight. If I encounter trouble, I can sprint for the shadows. I’m a very fast, agile runner.

No, I was a very fast, agile runner.

In my notebook, in all caps, I write, GET HEALTHY.

March 15

I ALLOW MYSELF ONE DAY BEFORE ENACTING MY PLAN. I USE THAT time to drink as much water as I can and readjust my stomach to normal food.

I’m worried about the water. Will it get polluted? How long until the supply from the nearby tower is used up? I could collect rainwater, I guess. One thing you can count on in Columbus is a steady drizzle of snow and rain. But how would I keep it uncontaminated? I would have to keep the birds away, the birds who have been drawn here by death.

What I really need is bottled water. My grocery store has a whole aisle devoted to spring water, distilled water, water in gallon jugs, sparkling water. But until I know whether or not martial law is being enforced, I don’t dare go looking.

And I’m almost out of dog food. I have tuna in the pantry, a little canned chicken. I’m pretty sure Emmaline will eat anything, but I’ll need to come up with something else for her soon.