The blood-red moon is past its apex now, beginning its slow descent to the west. He looks south. Orange raging in the blackness.
Is the whole city burning? Who is still there? Why would they be there?
Grandfather's warning: be ready once the chaos comes.
No one was ready when it came. Except Grandfather.
Grandfather talked with neighbors before the change. Only a few. But he was cautious about who he spoke to, careful not to attract attention. It was a balance.
Grandfather told the boy they must appear normal, boring to those around them. They should talk and visit on the street now and again, but not give too much information.
The boy asked why. His grandfather explained that most people avoid thinking about worst-case scenarios. Preferring the comfort of daily routines and distractions. It's easier to watch anarchy in a movie or read about society collapsing in a book. Afterwards, you simply click off the reading light, burrow down in the covers of a warm bed for a good night's sleep, in a house, in the neighborhood of a sane world. When the fantasy becomes real, people are shocked when the unthinkable happens to them. The boy was careful with what he said.
A flash comes from the shiny dragons far away in the city. A spark across the orange glow.
The little girl across the street, six years old, pops into the boy's thoughts.
She always rode a little bike, guided by her father. The boy would smile, wave. She would smile and wave back. Grandfather talked to the man on the street, sometimes. They were kind people. Normal people.
Yet Grandfather kept a distance. Cautioned the boy to do the same. At the time, the boy didn't understand. Why not make friends with the nice people across the street? Now, he understands. They're gone and the memory is raw. Painful.
He closes his eyes, but finds no relief from the scene in front of their house the night he fled, four nights ago. Death. It came in an instant.