Sunday, August 7, 5:56 AM. Brewer.

I slept horribly but I can’t sleep anymore. The hiking is catching up with us. I’m really sore. It was hot tonight and with no air conditioning I was just sweating and tossing and turning anyway.

It’s now Sunday morning, early, and I haven’t finished writing down everything that happened yesterday.

As Garrett and I drove around downtown yesterday morning, he asked, “Is this the rapture, Dad?” He was gazing out the window.

It had already been on my mind. “I don’t think so,” I answered. “That’s supposed to be for the good guys, remember? It’s the bad guys get left behind.”

He was quiet for a while. “What if we’re the bad guys?” He glanced at me, then continued his search out the window. “Maybe we got it wrong somehow.”

It took me a while to form words. “Could be,” I said at last. “I don’t suppose anybody’s faith is perfect. I’m sure we get it wrong in some ways.” I rolled down all the windows. “But it’s hard to believe everybody else got it right. You see? I don’t think it’s the rapture. Close your ears a second.”

I blared the horn. We listened to the echoes die away, then strained to hear any reply—a shout, a horn, anything—that might come along the alleyways and streets. There was only the sound of our tires shuffling over the pavement.

“Then what is it?” Garrett asked. “What’s happening to us?” I heard a little quaver in his voice.

“I don’t know, son. I wish I did. There have to be people around. We’ll find them. But right now we need to focus on water, food, essentials. The car is almost out of gas and I haven’t seen a station with its lights on since Friday. What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. Give me some ideas.”

We considered driving around to various stations to see if we could find one still working. But we were running out of time, and there were abandoned cars everywhere that might have their keys still in them. We checked two or three vehicles before we found one that started. We left our van on the shoulder of the freeway and took it. It felt wrong to steal. But under the circumstances, who would miss it?

It was an old rusted pickup from the ‘60s, and it was liable to die all of a sudden, as we soon discovered. Maybe that’s why it still had gas. The other cars, after they’d been abandoned, had kept running till they were dry.

Apart from the truck giving out on us a couple times we made it home fine.

Amy, Claire, and Trevor were waiting for us on the front porch. I could see by her face that Amy knew what I was going to say. I just shook my head. She rushed up and kissed me long enough for the kids to start making noises. For a moment we laughed, but then it turned to tears. We’re all scared. We hugged in a circle on the front porch. Even Claire hobbled over and leaned in. Trevor had made her a makeshift crutch from an old broom, towels, and duct tape.

I need to get started with the day. I’ll finish telling about yesterday—Saturday—later on today.