My dog whines again. “Do you need to go potty?” I ask.

She spins around on the foot of the bed, tail wagging.

“You and me both, girl.” My muscles are stiff as I drag myself from bed, but I don’t feel injured. Lucky break.

Emmaline follows me through the kitchen and dining nook to the back door. She charges out when I open it and squats to pee. A layer of fresh snow covers everything, but it’s already melting with the sunrise. I rub my upper arms for warmth as I sniff the air. Either the smell of decay is abating, or I’m getting used to it.

She kicks up snow with her rear legs when she’s done, and I usher her back inside. Emmaline follows me into the bathroom. It’s a little weird, having a dog stare at me while I take care of business, but it’s better than being alone.

I started my period during the night as expected, so I roll up the old adult diaper and toss it in the trash and put on a new one. As I wash my hands, I think about trash. How long will it take for me to fill up all the cans in the house? A week? Less? What about the garbage cans outside? Without weekly trash collection, I’ll have to get creative. Maybe dump everything in a neighbor’s yard. How far away should trash be taken to be safe?

I reach for my phone to look it up before realizing that my phone blew up with everything else in my house.

For breakfast I indulge in another can of Ensure—strawberry this time—while Emmaline chomps on canned tuna. While I sip, I set my goals for the day.

First, I need a backpack. Something to hold essentials that I can grab quickly. I’ll keep bottled water inside. First aid supplies. A few granola bars. A box of tampons. Maybe I’ll add a knife and some batteries too. It wouldn’t hurt to find a gun. I’ve never shot a gun before, and the idea terrifies me, but not so much as the idea of another wild dog chasing me down.

After I have some basic, easy-to-carry supplies, my second goal will be to look for the living. I can’t be the only one who survived this thing; I just can’t. I’ll drive down to University Hospital, where Mom worked. If there are any survivors, that’s where they’ll be. A big hospital like that has to have backup generators, right? And medical supplies. The swelling from my IV entry site has subsided a lot, but the bite on my foot could sure use an antibiotic.

For once, Emmaline doesn’t follow me around as I search the house for some kind of carrying item. I hope that’s a good sign that she’s settled, that she’s less scared now.