“There’s no smog,” Emily murmured as we came to the top of a hill with a better view of the city. I’d been so focused on looking down every block and skirting doorways, that I hadn’t noticed the sky. But I looked up briefly now and noticed she was right. Even despite the massive fire that burned miles away, the brown cloud that typically coated Los Angeles in a dirty haze was gone.

But before I could comment, a smell rose up and both Emily and I put our hands over our noses. Emily coughed, tilting her head toward me. “Dead bodies,” she said, both of us familiar with the putrid scent by now.

And when we turned the corner, we saw why. What had once been a tent city of homeless people was now a pile of rotting corpses. “Oh God,” Emily said, turning her face into my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around her and led her in the opposite direction.

A man stood on a street corner, one hand raised, the other clutching a Bible as a group of people stood before him. The people started swaying as the man’s voice boomed, “And there shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring; men’s hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth: for the powers of heaven shall be shaken.”

His voice faded as we moved on, and the screams and wails we’d heard in the distance grew closer. The occasional noise of an engine revving could be heard, and dog howls rose into the crystal sky.

It appeared that lots of people had already left.

But many had also stayed.

I’d heard once—somewhere—that on any given day, New York City had less than a week’s worth of food for every man, woman, and child. If the same was true of other major metropolitan areas, Los Angeles had run dry a week and a half before. But even that was generous considering many would horde and leave none for others. In some places, people had gone hungry on day one and stores that sold groceries had been stripped bare within a couple days, if not hours.

As we walked, we discussed in low tones the best route to take to my uncle’s house in Lynwood. From where we were, it would take about three hours to walk, and though I wanted to attempt jogging to get there more quickly, I also knew caution was key.

“We could try to make it to my condo instead,” Emily said. “I have food there.”