Day Two (Chapter 5)

A new day began.

Despite the world’s collective hope that the events of yesterday were just a horrible dream, reality greeted everyone with the same cold truth: it was all still happening.

The soft winter sunlight spilled lazily through the half-closed curtains of Kotae’s room, casting golden strips across the floor. The snow had stopped, leaving a white hush over the city that somehow made everything feel quieter—too quiet.

Kika stirred under the blanket, her eyelashes fluttering open. For a moment, there was peace—just a warm bed and soft breathing beside her. Then the weight of memory crashed back in, and the warmth seemed to retreat. She turned her head slowly and saw Kotae still asleep, facing away from her.

Trying to slip out of bed without waking him, she leaned across the nightstand for balance. But her hand bumped the TV remote, sending it clattering onto the hardwood floor and clicking on the screen. The sound startled them both.

“I’m so s—” Kika began, wincing.

“I was already awake,” Kotae interrupted, voice low and groggy.

“Oh,” she said, letting out a small, sheepish laugh. “Right.”

There was a pause. Neither of them quite knew what to say.

Kika glanced out the window. “So… this is still happening.”

“Seems like it,” Kotae replied without looking at her.

A few more seconds passed in silence before Kotae suddenly swung his legs over the bed and stood up.

“Alright. We’ve still got fresh, delicious food to cook while the fridge still works. Might as well enjoy what we can while we can. You’re eating with us.”

“I accept the invitation, thanks,” she said, brightening just a little. “I’ll be in my apartment for a bit before that.”

“Take your time.”

They both stepped out into the living room, where the scent of cold morning air met the flickering sound of a muted news broadcast. His parents were already awake, bundled up in robes, eyes fixed on the screen.

Kotae walked over. “Anything new?”

His mom sighed, not taking her eyes off the screen. “The stores are empty. Barely anything left.”

“As expected,” Kotae muttered.

“Definitely,” his dad added, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“I’ll make something to eat,” his mom said, already rising from the couch. “Check the fridge for what we still have. What do you want?”

Kotae shrugged. “No expectations today. I trust you. Whatever you make will be good.”

She chuckled, grabbing a spatula from the kitchen counter. “Alright, chef’s choice it is.”

About thirty minutes later, a knock echoed through the apartment.

Kotae opened the door to find Kika beaming at him with an excitement that didn’t quite match the current state of the world.

“What happened? You look like you just found gold.”

“I have great news! Well—good news. Maybe just okay news? I don’t know. Let me explain!”

He stepped aside, holding the door open. “Come in, then. Tell me everything.”

Kika practically bounced inside. The sudden burst of energy caught the attention of Kotae’s mom, who peeked out from the kitchen, still holding her spatula like a wand.

“So,” Kika began, “I made some phone calls. You know how I know a lot of people…”

Kotae arched a brow. “So do I. Keep going.”

She cleared her throat dramatically. “Anyway. I called around. Asked if anyone had generators, fuel, anything. Most people didn’t have anything at all. But eventually—I found someone who does.”

“That sounds promising,” Kotae said.

“Well, it is. But obviously, they don’t just have a pile of generators to hand out like party favors,” she added, deflating slightly. “They want a trade.”

Kotae nodded, thoughtful. “So the question is… can we afford it?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Do we have enough to trade without risking our survival?”

Kotae turned to his dad. “Let’s do the math.”

They went to the kitchen table, and within moments they had notebooks and pens, and Kotae was organizing everything with mechanical calm.

“Alright. Water first,” he muttered. “Let’s assume we each need about half a liter per person per day. There are six of us, so three liters daily.”

He looked at his dad. “How many jugs did we get again?”

“Fifty-two of the big ten-liter ones.”

Kotae did a quick calculation. “That’s 520 liters. At three liters a day, that gives us over 170 days of water.”

Kika leaned over. “That’s almost six months.”

“Longer if we ration, collect snow, or catch rain,” Kotae said. “But that’s our safety net.”

“What about food?” his mother asked, setting down plates in front of them.

Kotae flipped the page. “Cans. We counted close to 320 usable ones—soups, beans, stews, tuna, chili, stuff that lasts and fills you up.”

“If we do one can per person per meal,” his dad said, “that’s 18 cans a day. Not sustainable.”

“Right,” Kotae agreed. “But if we drop to two cans per person per day, paired with rice, bread, or pasta, that’s 12 a day. That gives us roughly 26 days. If we don't manage to restock, we can eventually further lower the rations to give us more time.”

“Plus the bags of rice, pasta, flour, peanut butter, etc. We can stretch that,” his mother added.

Kotae nodded. “Let’s say we have two months of decent eating if we’re careful. Maybe more. Enough to spare a little.”

Kika leaned in, voice low. “So… do we have enough to trade for the generator?”

Kotae tapped his pen against the notebook. Then he looked up.

“If we give them sixty cans and four water jugs, we lose about five days' worth of food and water for the group. That still leaves us with over 250 cans and 48 jugs. It’s a hit, but it won’t break us. Not if the generator works.”

“And if we can get fuel,” his father added.

Kika nodded. “They have some fuel, enough for a few weeks of minimal use. They’re including it in the trade.”

Kotae looked to each of them. “It’s a risk. But having power could mean communication, heating, maybe even cooking down the line. I think it’s worth it.”

Kika smiled. “I’ll call them. Let’s make the trade.”

The day outside was still cold, still uncertain. But inside, for now, they had a plan—and a little bit of hope to go with it.

About ten minutes later, the smell of warm food filled the apartment, gently masking the bitter anxiety lingering beneath the surface. Kotae’s mother placed down steaming plates on the table just as Kika returned.

They all gathered around the table in quiet unison.

Kotae leaned forward, a hint of tension in his voice. “So? Did they accept the deal?”

Kika nodded, her lips curling into a small, cautious smile. “They accepted.”

A soft wave of relief passed over the room.

But Kika’s expression shifted.

“There’s only one problem,” she added, eyes dropping slightly.

Kotae groaned, half-laughing. “Here it goes…”

“They live far,” she said, sitting down beside him. “Way across town. And they’re only willing to meet us halfway.”

A heavy pause settled over the table.

Kotae looked toward his dad. “How are the roads holding up?”

His father set his fork down and thought for a second. “Fortunately, not too bad. It’s not like there’s a zombie apocalypse. No wrecked cars littering the streets. People rushed to the stores, yes, but now that the shelves are empty… there's not much left to run out for. Most are probably laying low. Some traffic, but nothing crazy. After we eat, we’ll go."

He turned to his wife. “You stay here. Just in case. Keep watch. If anyone loses their way or comes looking for help, you’ll be here.”

His mom didn’t argue. She only placed her hand on Kotae’s and gave a gentle squeeze. “Still, please… all of you, be careful out there.”

They finished the meal quietly, each bite slower than usual. The food was good—maybe even better than usual—but their minds weren’t focused on flavor. Even though the risk didn’t sound too high on paper, a subtle anxiety brewed in each of them. A sense that once they stepped outside again, they’d see just how different the world had become.

Once the plates were cleared, they packed up sixty cans and four large jugs of water, sealing them into bags and storage boxes like they were gold. Kotae’s dad loaded everything into the trunk while Kotae and Kika bundled up with scarves and coats.

They slid into the car, the doors closing with a series of cold clicks, the world outside feeling both too still and too uncertain.

As the car pulled out of the parking lot, Kika glanced at Kotae with a nostalgic, almost wistful smile.

“You know,” she said, “we’ve been friends for quite some time. We never took a trip together.”

Kotae glanced sideways, a small smile curling at the edge of his lips. “Didn’t expect our first one to be during the end of the world, huh?”

Kika laughed softly, her breath fogging the window. “Not exactly.”

“Well,” Kotae said, turning his gaze back to the road, “we can at least pretend it’s a normal trip. Enjoy each other’s company while we still can. That’s about all we can strive for right now.”

She nodded, warmth flickering in her expression. “I agree. Let’s do that.”

And so they drove—two friends, a father, and a plan—down cold, quiet roads toward the halfway point, chasing survival in a world that no longer promised tomorrow.