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extinguish 90% of the planet’s population and gain absolute power.”
    At first we laughed at his inane ranting until the day he and every single male in the country ages 17−36 were sent off to undisclosed locations under the Executive Order of Conscription.
    Mom and Dad couldn’t get work anywhere, not even cleaning homes for the wealthy that remained, not even pumping gas, because gas was running out. They kept some food on the table for a little while, but we had to sacrifice other amenities. Eventually they shut off our gas and electricity. We lived by candlelight and recharged our battery-operated electronics at local drug stores, or wherever we could find outlets. We tried to sell one of our cars for extra cash, but gas prices climbed so high people stopped driving. People abandoned the cars on the sides of neighborhood streets, or along the freeway shoulders. Things reached a new low when people looted shopping malls and stores, emptying the shelves. We found a few underground surplus stores to buy the bare essentials like clean water and canned goods, but those resources trickled out.
    Crime rates skyrocketed and a new breed of Officer policed the streets, snatching up the homeless. We don’t know where they took them, but we suspected they weren’t going to a shelter. The Officers began searching foreclosed homes and removing “freeloading” families. The majority of our neighbors, in our once-safe Santa Monica community, either left everything behind and went to Emergency Crisis Camps, or the police removed them. They never returned. Since animals weren’t permitted in the camps, the police started a campaign to put down any pets left behind.
    “They won’t hurt you, Rags, I promise. I’ll run to the canyons before I let anyone put you to sleep.” I had rescued the scruffy white terrier mix when I was ten years old, and she was my best friend. She rescued me during those dark days, and I promised to never let her out of my sight.
    The Planners instituted a new security protocol: delete all records of historical and current information. They worked non-stop to retract and destroy everything from the Internet by blowing up servers. They burned down local libraries, universities and the Library of Congress. We became the non-information age; except for the media channel I couldn’t stand watching. We stopped relying on the news reports. Dad used his outlawed ham radio and discovered an underground radio station airing on pirated frequencies. The angry voices streaming into our home reported the gritty details about the treachery being inflicted by our corrupt government. They informed us of the latest regions under attack, and the fires. We learned about a new strand of a deadly airborne virus spreading so rapidly the pharmaceutical companies couldn’t provide vaccines fast enough. Health officials visited homes to give inoculations. The day they arrived at our house, Mom and I were out pilfering nearby houses for food and supplies. Not long after their visit, my sister and Dad got deathly ill. Just like the underground radio station warned. The Planners created the vaccines to infect us. Hundreds of millions of Americans died. The death toll rose to unfathomable heights. And then it hit our home.
    “Bye, sis,” I sobbed, clenching her small hand.
    The law required the reporting of deaths, but when my sister passed, we buried her in the backyard. The house got quiet. I cried for my little sister who had her innocence snatched away before her first kiss, before her first dance. Rags and I stayed in bed with Mom to stay warm during those springtime months. Spring was supposed to be about rebirth. Those days were anything but. Dad remained in seclusion in his office, making lists and writing meticulous notes. He suggested we start our own journals to keep a record.
    My Dad passed on a Tuesday morning. We buried him next to my sister in the backyard.
    “Bye, Dad,” I cried, sitting next to the pile of