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food and bottles of water.  Some are running.  Some are bleeding.
                  I finally get to the point where I can pick out individuals instead of observing just a mob.  Most of them are Jo’s or my age.  I see a few children crying off to one side of the entrance and some people fighting directly in front of them.  A body lies on the ground– dead.  In the middle of the fight before the door, a single boy emerges, yelling.  He raises his arm, and fires a handgun into the air.  The piercing sound of the gunshot doesn't seem to surprise anyone other than us.  The looting just continues.  I feel a hand on my shoulder and my heart jumps to my throat.  It is one of the twins: Sara. She speaks softly, her eyes gazing at the crowd.
                  “Are they all fighting for food?” she asks nervously.
                  “Yes,” I respond.  They’re doing more than fighting; they’re dying for food.  I don't know what to say. Another gunshot rings through the buzzing air.
                  I throw the car in reverse and before I know it I am flying away from the mass of people.  My father's warning echoed in my ear.  That could have ended worse.  I should have listened.  The rear-view mirror shows Jo soothing both of the twins by running her fingers gently through their hair.  Our eyes meet in the mirror and she mouths, “Let's just get there.” I couldn't agree with her more.  I nod and we take off down the road, wondering how long it took for the supermarket to go from busy to a complete riot.
                  The campground is far removed from the city, but it doesn’t take too much longer for us to get there.  That market sits on the outskirts of town, so the rest of the drive is primarily highway.  Some daylight still remains as we approach the park entrance.
                  As we pull into the campground, it seems empty.  A steel gate blocks the access road and I see the lock hanging from the chain binding the gate’s entrance. Going around it isn’t an option because of the deep ditches and densely packed trees  on either side of the road.  The ranger station is just beyond this obstacle.  The key should be inside.
    “ I’m going to go see if there’s a key,” I quietly say to Jo and the girls.  “Stay here; I won’t be long.”
    The sun is going down and the trees cast eerie long shadows against the station’s walls. I walk up the steps and knock on the fading burgundy door of the silver trailer.
                  No answer.  I knock louder. “Hello, is there anyone in there?” I shout into the trailer as I turn the doorknob.  The light on the porch projects into the dark room.  It seems empty.  I feel the wall for a switch.  My hand finds the toggle and the lights come on.  It's relieving to know the power was still on in some places.  Nothing. The room is empty.
                  I exhale a sigh of relief.  Then, I feel a hand grab my ankle.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 9: Jonathon
                  A scream exits my mouth for the first time in years.  I look straight down and see a man sprawled out on the floor.  One hand is around my leg and the other is stretched out beside him.  The floor around him is smeared with blood.   The man looks up at me, his face swollen with a blistering rash covering its side.  This is the worst case of the infection I have ever seen, and it’s the most horrified I’ve ever felt.  I can’t help but silently pray that I will never end up on the ground gasping for air and soaking in my own blood. 
    My fears are interrupted by a pleading groan from the ranger.  His bloodshot eyes look up at me, and they beg for help.
                  I feel bad that I screamed.
                  Without much hesitation, I bend down turn him over and carry him into the main room.   He is very light and