(Journal - Robby, Age 10)

  Winter is quieter when you know what you’re doing.

  Snow still makes everything harder, but not scarier. I already had food stored and the house sealed up better this year. I even fixed the roof where it leaked last winter. It doesn’t drip on my face anymore when I sleep, which is nice.

  I still check the car every night. Still feels safer in there sometimes. I think it always will.

  An old woman was at the farmhouse, I found out her name is Nina.

  I didn’t see her at first. I just noticed smoke coming from the chimney one morning and almost panicked. I watched for a long time before I went closer. ARKNAD said not to assume bad things right away. So I didn’t.

  She’s old. Like actually old, not just “older than me.” Older than Trixie even. She walks slow and coughs a lot and her hands shake sometimes. She said she got sick and had to leave for a while, but she didn’t want to die anywhere else so she came back.

  She didn’t yell when she saw me. That helped.

  She thanked me for keeping the place from falling apart. I told her I was just borrowing it and she laughed and said that was fair. She makes soup that smells like real food, not just survival food.

  She asked me to stay there at night. I said no. Not because I don’t like her. I just need to go home at night. She didn’t push.

  She found a tire for the tractor.

  I don’t know where she got it. I didn’t ask. Borrowing rules still apply.

  Fixing the tractor took longer than I thought but not as long as it would have last year. I actually understood what I was looking at this time. Electric systems still confuse me, but slow thinking helps.

  When it finally turned over, Nina clapped. I pretended it wasn’t a big deal but it kind of was.

  We harvested the wheat together. Mostly me doing the work and her sitting and telling me when to stop and drink water. She yells about that a lot. She says I forget I’m still growing.

  We replanted her garden too. I used what I learned from mine. Rows straighter this time. Better spacing. Less wasted effort.

  She cooks every night and sends me home with food wrapped in cloth. I always bring something back the next day. Fair is fair.

  I started building a root cellar today.

  Nina says it’s smart. Keeps food safe from heat and cold. Also, if a storm comes, it’s a good place to hide. I like that idea.

  I burned some trees first, just a little, like I learned from the big survival book. Then I dug the hole deeper than my new poop room. Bigger too. I want it to last a long time.

  I borrowed my wagon again and went to abandoned houses nearby. I picked up big grey bricks, cinder blocks they call them. They’re heavy but I can manage with the wagon. Also grabbed lots of old logs. Nina let me use the electric chainsaw to cut them down, which was fast and fun.

  I started stacking bricks for the walls, then layered burnt logs between them. Nina says layers help keep it strong and insulated. I didn’t finish yet, but it already looks like it will be good.

  I’ll keep working tomorrow. I have to be careful, I don’t want it to collapse. Function over fancy, like she said.

  Trixie came to visit me. She wanted to check to make sure I was ok and she brought me some food too. She said the guardians haven’t been asking about him lately, not since last fall. She figured it was safe to come find me. She drove down the road but couldn’t find where I was. I heard the car and watched her drive back and forth like a crazy lost city person. It was nice to have company. She said I should still stay away from town, it’s been crazy lately. People are scared about the war.

  I Nina visit almost every day unless the weather is bad.

  We talk while I work. She tells stories about before everything went wrong, but not the war parts. Mostly little things. Neighbors. Weather. Her husband. I listen and try to remember them even though they aren’t mine.

  She asked about my parents once. I said they were coming back. She nodded like that was the right answer.

  She doesn’t talk about Guardians much. When she does, she doesn’t sound scared. More tired.

  My routine is solid now.

  Morning: check traps, feed myself, check the house.

  Midday: Nina’s place, work, tractor, fields.

  Evening: back home, prep food, fix things, study.

  Night: sometimes radio, sometimes not.

  I like routines. They make time behave.

  I’ve been reading more advanced stuff. Measurements, angles, load-bearing. I don’t know why but it feels important. Like future-proofing myself.

  I made a better coat from layered cloth and leather. Nina says I look like a scarecrow. I think that means it works.

  The root cellar is done!

  I finished stacking the bricks and logs. Nina helped me check it. She says it’s strong enough for storms, and even if someone came, it wouldn’t be easy to find. I made the entrance small but safe, cut up an old door with a window from another abandoned house.

  I used the wagon one last time to bring the final bricks and logs. I burned some extra wood and put ashes around the floor for insulation like the book said.

  Inside is big enough for all my corn, wheat, root vegetables, and jerky. Maybe even meat if I need it. It smells of wood smoke and dirt and… safety.

  I tested it by crawling inside. It’s quiet and cool. Feels like the secret hideaway I wanted. Nina says I did a good job, but I know I worked hard and that’s why it’s good.

  I feel proud.

  I’m writing this by candlelight.

  Stolen story; please report.

  The car is warm enough. The perfume bottle is still here. Still smells the same. That makes me feel better than it should.

  I don’t know why, but it feels like I should write more right now. Like if I don’t, something important will slip past me.

  I moved a lot of the food from the car into my root cellar, Nina says it will last longer in there.

  Everything is quiet.

  Too quiet, maybe.

  Summer makes the woods loud.

  Everything moves. Bugs, birds, leaves, even the dirt feels busy. It’s harder to hear danger but easier to find food if you’re patient.

  I got a deer today.

  Not a big one. I watched it for a long time first. Nina says you don’t rush shots just because you’re hungry. I waited until it stopped moving and breathed out. The arrow went where it was supposed to.

  I said thank you after. I don’t know who I was saying it to, but it felt right.

  Getting it back home was harder than killing it. I borrowed the wagon again. I cleaned everything after. Nina helped without making it weird.

  We worked all afternoon.

  She showed me how to cut the meat thinner so it dries evenly. I thought thicker meant more food, but that’s wrong. Thinner means it lasts longer and tastes better. She laughed when I said I didn’t care about taste, then proved me wrong.

  We used spices from the garden. Onion, dried herbs, a little salt. She said flavor matters because it reminds you you’re still human.

  The jerky smells… good. Like something from before.

  She said I did well. I didn’t know what to say to that so I just kept working.

  I found another boar. Not the same one. Bigger. Meaner. It didn’t run when it saw me. That scared me more than the charge.

  I didn’t wait this time. I hit it with the spear first, then again when it tried to turn. It still got close enough that I felt the wind of it. Too close.

  I won, but I didn’t feel proud. Just relieved.

  I keep thinking about that face tooth. Tusk. Whatever it’s called. One good hit and it would’ve opened me up.

  I don’t want that to happen again.

  We processed the boar together too.

  Boar fat is different. Greasier. Nina showed me how to render it properly without burning it. We stored it in jars. Good for cooking. Good for winter.

  She helped me tan the hide. I ruined the first section but learned fast. Failure teaches louder than books.

  The jerky this time is even better. The spices work differently with the fat. Nina says you remember food like this.

  I think she’s right.

  I started making new armor.

  Nothing fancy. Leather layers stitched tight. Extra padding over my chest and thighs. I reinforced the spots where a tusk would hit first. Function over fancy.

  I tested it by ramming myself into a tree.

  That hurt, but less than it would have.

  Worth it.

  Late summer nights are shorter already.

  I can feel fall sneaking in. The air smells sharper. The creek runs colder. I check my stores more often now, counting without meaning to.

  The jerky stacks up neatly. Corn, wheat, dried roots. Meat hanging where the smoke keeps bugs away.

  Nina says I’m thinking like someone who plans to still be here.

  I think I always have.

  I don’t go far anymore.

  Not because I’m scared. Just careful. There’s enough here. Enough work. Enough quiet.

  Some nights I expect ARKNAD to say something clever or loud, but he doesn’t. That’s okay. Quiet doesn’t mean gone.

  The world feels like it’s holding its breath.

  So am I.

  Radio Night…

  The radio hissed and popped, static scraping against the walls of the old hatchback, but no station would come through. Robby twisted the knob again, willing some normality into the night, but the autoscan spun uselessly. Outside, the moon was dim, hazy, its pale light smeared behind clouds. Something felt wrong… he could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

  Then the sky screamed.

  A massive flash lit the horizon, and Robby’s stomach lurched. One, two explosions. Small at first, distant, like fireworks, but then the rhythm quickened. Each burst painted the sky with unnatural light, shadows lurching across the frozen ground. He froze, eyes wide. Sparks streaked down in arcs, little fiery tears falling from the heavens. His heart thumped in his chest. He snuffed the candle on the passenger-seat table and shoved it into his coat pocket. He didn’t want to be seen… not tonight.

  Explosions multiplied, the sky now a continuous blaze. Debris started to fall: a few flakes at first, harmless, tinkling against the trees, the frozen creek, the roof of his car. Then the storm intensified. Thousands, then tens of thousands, silver and fiery shards, streaking across every patch of sky. Some burned up in a hiss of smoke before reaching the ground, others plummeted with terrifying precision. Sparks landed in wet leaves, sizzling and smoking, sending plumes of odor up into the air.

  The first shockwave hit near the car. Glass exploded from the passenger window, shards flying like knives. Several pieces hit the right side of his face, nicking his hand that was rushing to cover his face. Warm blood mixed with tears and urine; he hadn’t even noticed he’d peed himself in fright. Panic surged, raw and animalistic. He pounded on the door, shrieking, until the twisted frame gave a reluctant groan and the latch let go.

  He fell into the frost-hardened ground, chest slamming hard, frost crunching beneath him. His pants stuck uncomfortably to his legs. He scrambled upright, adrenaline driving him forward, and ran toward the root cellar he had built in spring.

  A deer bolted out of the nearby woods, hooves pounding the frozen dirt, nostrils flaring, eyes wide and wild with terror. Robby froze for a split second, watching it vanish through the trees as another streak of flaming debris crashed into a dead pine, sending sparks and smoke into the sky.

  Crossing the creek, he misjudged the slick rocks. One foot slipped, sending him plunging face-first into the icy water. Cold engulfed him from head to toe, soaking his clothes, chilling him to the bone. ARKNAD’s voice, sharp and urgent, echoed in his mind: “Get moving! NOW! BOY NOW!”

  Robby clawed at the opposite bank, fingers numb, skin scraped raw on icy rocks. Explosions cracked all around him. Sparks ignited the frost-tipped grass and leaves, curling into black smoke that stung his nose. The smell of burning wood mixed with something acrid, metal, oil, and dust from the distant destruction. More debris rained down, striking the ground, pinging off stones, and ricocheting through trees. Each strike made him jump, heart hammering. Somewhere in the distance, a larger impact sent up a plume of dirt and fire, the sound rolling across the hills like a monstrous drumbeat.

  He finally reached the root cellar. The door barely held as he shoved it open and tumbled inside. Panic clawed at him like a living thing. His jacket came off in a wet slump, clinging to his body. The candle he had shoved into his pocket had shattered; jagged mason jar glass embedded itself in his side. Blood oozed freely, warm and sticky. He shivered violently, hands trembling as he pulled out each shard, wincing at every sting.

  Outside, the chaos continued. Pieces of debris struck the frozen creek with violent splashes, knocking up water in towering sheets. Sparks hissed and popped where fragments hit rocks or wet leaves. The smell of smoke intensified, mingling with the coppery scent of his own blood and the faint, humiliating stench of his wet clothes. Each breath was cold and sharp, carrying the smell of wet earth, pine, fire, blood, and urine.

  He poured cold water over his head, rinsing away blood, dirt, and glass fragments, teeth chattering uncontrollably. Finally, inside, he lit another candle. The weak flame cast long, quivering shadows across the walls. His chest heaved.

  He rifled through his scavenged medical supplies, pulling out a nanite slap patch. The largest cut gushed, ragged and deep. With shaking hands, he pressed the patch onto the wound. Faint blue light glowed as the nanites stitched the skin together, sealing the cut in moments. But it did nothing to stop the terror or the sobs that racked his body.

  He collapsed against the wall, naked, soaked, trembling. The chaos outside continued: debris streaked across the sky, fiery arcs falling in impossible numbers. The sound was deafening, a constant crackle, a rolling thunder, the sharp whine of distant impacts. Somewhere close, a tree split with a deafening crash. More sparks ignited, spraying the forest and lighting up the night. The smell of burning mixed with wet earth, blood, and fear.

  He was not brave. Not strong. Just a kid, bleeding, shaking, alone, in a world that was suddenly very, very loud, and very, very dangerous.

  Outside, the sky continued to burn.