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Turning her back to the notebook, she opened the first page.

3/15/2040

Dear Diary,

Daddy got me a puppy! I’m calling him Clover because Mommy said he’ll bring us good luck. I hope he does. Maybe Clover can make my parents smile again. They stay glued to the TV every night, not letting me watch cartoons, always insisting I play with the dolls in my room. But they don’t know I sneak down the stairs to watch, too. The stern ugly man on TV says big words like nuclear war and underground lottery. I don’t know what that means. But as long as I have Mommy and Daddy, I’ll be okay.

5/03/2040

Dear Diary,

I’m sorry it’s been a while since I’ve written. So much has been happening. We left our home in Las Vegas and moved a few hours southeast. Daddy says it’s just temporary until things calm down. I’m at a new school, and we have bomb drills every day. Sometimes we hide under our desks for hours. I miss my old life. I miss my friends. I just want to go home.

9/11/2040

Dear Diary,

I asked Mommy when we could go home, and she said when the war ends. I hate war. War would never happen if the people in charge had a playdate and talked about their feelings. I said that in class, and everyone laughed at me. There aren’t many kids left in class now. My best friend, Mary, told me she was going to Apollo with her mommy, daddy, and baby sister. I don’t know where that is. I asked Mommy if we could go also, and she started crying. I heard her and Daddy fight that night. Mommy screamed that they should’ve been accepted. But daddy yelled that there wasn’t enough space.

I don’t want to see them cry anymore. I have a plan. I drew them a picture today. It’s all of us together outside with Clover. I didn’t draw our old house because I want them to know that everything will be okay as long as we’re together. Better than okay. Maybe Mommy will take me back to the park! We haven’t been in a—

Khalani’s brows furrowed as she flipped through the pages hastily, but that was the last passage Ana Blackwood had written.

A crinkled paper fell out of the torn notebook. It was a crayon stick-figure drawing of three people holding hands outside a yellow house, with smiles on their faces and what appeared to be a small brown dog.

She let the notebook fall to her lap, a sudden pang fluttering in her chest. Something told her that Ana’s parents never saw the drawing.

Khalani’s fingers fluttered over the paper, tracing the little girl whose dreams splayed out before her in memory.

She tucked the drawing and diary inside her backpack for safekeeping, tapping them gently. She also grabbed the spare pencil lying on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

Khalani whipped her head around to find Brock standing next to the cubbies, gloved hands on his hips, wearing heavy combat boots and a dark brown cloak that outlined his muscular frame.

“I’m just looking around.” She flushed, zipping her bag quickly.

“Find anything interesting?”

“No,” she immediately replied, standing up, but hesitated at his deeper stare. “Well…yes. It’s just an old diary. And before you go on about conserving space, I already know. You think it’s stupid. I just don’t want to leave it here.”

Brock studied her with a blank expression for a few moments, giving away none of his thoughts. But then, he abruptly walked past her, staring through the open cracks in the barricaded windows.

“Have you gotten used to it yet?” he asked, looking outside.

“Used to what?”

“All the destruction.”

She moved beside him, peeking through the window.

The dangerous sandstorm seemed to have left without a trace. Remnants of broken-down vehicles were visible on the street, but not a soul lay in sight except for the seven of them in that dilapidated building.

She considered his question, imagining Ana Blackwood’s world before the Great Collapse. Waking up to beautiful landscapes, streets bustling with activity, and green trees lining every corner. All the young families laughing under the sun, blissfully unaware that it would soon disappear from their sight forever.

“I think you can get used to anything,” she said softly.

Brock’s watchful gaze shifted to her. “It’s sad, isn’t it? There’s no place where the world is truly good. Not underground or above.”