“Orchard Street,” Easton read the street sign above him. “We’re close.”

Finally, Marcus thought.

Compared to the rest of the city, Orchard street had barely any damage at all. Houses were still boarded up with wooden planks and shutters against the storm, though incurred some minor damages from the high winds, and a handful of younger trees lining the sidewalk were uprooted, splayed out and blocked the path. It didn’t look like a war zone breezed through it. However, a thin sheet of snow blanketed the neighborhood.

Affluent families mostly inhabited the neighborhood, and Andrew Russell was no stranger to such a lifestyle, a renowned professor in the University of San Francisco’s History Department, an expert in Medieval Literature and History, who would occasionally bump shoulders with the most influential people of the city during their monthly soiree, or whatever rich folks get their pants wet in their free time. After hearing their move to Orchard Street, Marcus wasn’t surprised that Andy cashed in his investment back then to a little company called Apple in the eighties.

A red Ford pick-up truck was parked right on the front lawn of a two-story bungalow house. Lights emanated out of the partially opened shutters from the house next door. Marcus saw a man peeked his head out, watching as they passed by his house.

“That’s Mr. Boone,” said Easton. He gave Mr. Boone a little wave, but the man quickly closed the shutters and killed off the lights. Easton frowned. “I hope he and his family are okay. They stayed behind to wait out the storm.”

“Should we go and say hi?” Jacob asked.

Easton thought about it for a second but shook his head. “Maybe later. I think we’ve spooked him.”

“Armed men wandering San Francisco, not exactly politically correct, isn’t it?” Marcus joked.

“Most of this neighborhood is anti-NRA, so, yeah. You get your hand cut out for you,” Easton said, “though not Mr. Boone. The dude’s red as anyone gets around here.”

The Russell Home was right next door from Mr. Boone’s; a two-story carriage house of pastel white and royal blue, sitting at the base of a hill, hidden beneath the shadow of a linden tree and a lush flower garden now ruined by the hurricane. A gated hedge wall surrounded the property, standing close to seven-foot-tall, which Marcus was grateful for, concealing the house from prying eyes.

Easton slipped his arm between the gaps of the iron-casted gate, hooking his fingers on the latch and pulled it loose, pushing the entrance open. They walked toward the front door.

“The spare key is up here,” Easton said, standing on his tiptoes as he grabbed the hanging flower pot next to the porch lights. He fished out the key. “Okay, I got it.”

Easton was about to turn the knob, but Marcus caught his wrist, shook his head, and said, “I’ll go in first.”

Easton sighed, then nodded. “Want us to stay back further?”

Marcus looked around the garden. There was a small canopy close to the linden tree, and he told Easton and the others to hide there. He gave the duffel bag he was carrying to Connor, grabbing a flashlight from the pockets and switched it on. Equipped with his shotgun, he entered the premises.

With the windows barred shut, the house was almost pitch-black, bathed in the silence. Too quiet for Marcus’s taste, which made his blood matched the winter air pawing outside. He took another step, then another, until he stood in the middle of the foyer, right at the foot of the staircase leading to the second floor and next to the living room’s entrance. He peered into the living room, saw no one there. He was afraid to call out, fearing that something else might be inside the house.

He gripped the weapon tighter, pursing his lips. Ah, fuck it, he cursed. “Andy, are you in here? Eli? It’s me, Marcus.”

No answer.

He cast the flashlight onto the foyer’s floor, saw that the only footprints there were his own — no little boots from Eli or any adult-sized shoe-prints trailing from the front door.

Marcus pivoted his heels, turned toward the dining room. Still, there was no one there. He stopped to listen for footsteps above him, the deep cautious creak of the floorboards, a pin dropping, or the sound of breathing. He only heard his own.

He called after them again, yet the silence remained.

Marcus found himself trembling as the grim thoughts invaded his head. Had they arrived at the house before them? Had he made a mistake in assuming they would hide here? There was a high possibility that Andy and Kenny went back and searched for Jacob out on the street where Marcus found him. Then again, the prospect didn’t reassure him, knowing full well that if they did, they would most likely be dead.

Marcus moved over up to the second floor, clearing every bedroom and bathroom, looked into the closet, and even climbed up the attic, only to find no one there. His worries turned into a full-blown panic, now realizing that the others might still be out there somewhere in the city. With those capuchin abominations, the giants, and the flying beast, the odds were slowly dwindling.

The basement, Marcus realized.

He went back down the stairs and walked toward the kitchen. The basement’s entrance was next to the pantry door, but Marcus’ heart stopped at what he saw.

The door was bolted shut from the outside. Hooked on the latch was a four-numbered padlock—A code he didn’t have. Marcus lowered the weapon.

Not in the basement then, Marcus surmised, pouting. He made sure to tug on the padlock, just in case it was loose, but it was firmly secured.

Andy, Kenny, and Eli never made it to the house.

There was a slight change in the air, prickling the hair at the nape of his neck. It was as if time slowed down to milliseconds, could feel the adrenaline pumping the blood rushing to his heart, every muscle constricting, his brain diving into a singular focus as his senses intensified. And there it was, that shallow press of a weight carefully planted on the floorboards, not from the muffled carpet out on the dining and the living room, but the actual wooden floorboards of the kitchen to his right.

Marcus whirled around, racked the action bar in a resounding Schlick, Klickt—and aimed the weapon at the intruder.

A key dropped onto the floor, followed by a howling screech from Easton as the flashlight blinded him. “Marcus! Marcus! Dude, it’s me!”

Marcus lowered the weapon to the side, muttered a curse, “Damn it, Easton. I could have killed you!” Marcus bellowed.

“I didn’t want to—oh, crap. Look, I’m sorry. I should’ve announced myself. Shit, that almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Don’t do that ever again. I was this close at pulling the trigger and blowing your head off.”

Easton rolled his eyes. “I guarantee there won’t be one.”

Marcus placed the shotgun on top of the island, calmed his breathing. “Why are you here? I told you to stay with the kids. Are they alone out there?”

Easton raised his hands to protest. “No, it’s not like that. I didn’t leave them by themselves.”

“You mean…” Marcus paused.

“They’re outside,” Easton finished. “I was going to get you—”

Marcus didn’t wait to hear what Easton had to say next. He grabbed the shotgun off the table, slung it back around his shoulders, and stomped past Easton, making his way for the front door.

Andy knelt at the foot of the porch steps, holding Jacob and Connor around his arms. Kenny stood behind him, sporting a baseball bat, and when their eyes met, he beamed Marcus his widest grin and raised a thumbs up. Another man stood next to Kenny, about in his mid-fifties, who carried a hunting rifle and wore a black 49ners baseball cap, and as Marcus drew closer, he recognized him as the man next door, Mr. Boone.

Andy got up and took Marcus into a tight embrace.

“Thought we lost the lot of you,” Andy said. “Listen, we tried to go back—”

“It’s alright, Andy. We’re all here now,” Marcus said.

“No. It’s not. I didn’t know what we were thinking, but all I can focus on was Eli, and if we go back, he won’t…”

“I understand. Don’t worry about it. Though, it takes more than that to put a Ward and a Russell down.”

Andy chuckled, untangling himself from Marcus’s grasp. “I can see that.”

Marcus tried to find Eli from the crowd, but there was no sign of the little boy anywhere. He started to panic, but Andy clasped his hand on his shoulder, reassuring him that everything was fine.

“Where’s Eli? Did he—”

“He’s safe, Marcus. He’s in Roylan’s house with the others,” Andy said, cocking his head toward Mr. Boone.

Roylan tipped his baseball cap forward, mumbled a curt hello.

“Take me to him.”

—

“Dad!” piped Eli as Roylan opened the sliding door at the back of his home.

Eli dashed toward his father, and Marcus took him into his arms, lifting him off the floor. A warm swell knotted deep in his chest, the mountain lifting off of his shoulders. He brought the boy back down, checked him everywhere if he was hurt, but there wasn’t a new scratch on him except for the previous cut on his forehead.

Compared to the Russells’ house, Roylan’s beamed with lights, as if the citywide blackout never occurred at all, all powered by Roylan’s generator. There was a large pot of stew simmering on the stovetop, and plates laid out on the dining table, which was occupied by four other people, two of whom were about Eli’s and Jacob’s age.

Roylan led him toward the stovetop, opened the cupboard above the juice blender, and grabbed a stack of bowls. He proceeded to scoop out the stew from the pot and dumped them on the dish. He handed the first one to Marcus.

“Here. You must be hungry,” Roylan said.

Marcus hesitated, at a loss for words. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he thought about food, swarmed by the constant nag of his adrenaline pushing him forward, out in the grasp of death. But the sight of it—the smell of it—was intoxicating.

“It’s okay,” Roylan interrupted. “I get it. But you need food. We made it about half an hour ago. Eat it while it’s still hot.”

“I don’t know if I’m hungry,” Marcus said, though his stomach’s growling protest told the opposite.

Roylan smiled. “Young man, you’ve been out there for, what, six hours? Out there, in the cold, with no food ever since this…well, whatever this is, started. Take it. It’ll at least clear your head.”

Marcus took the bowl, and the others followed his lead. Connor and Jacob didn’t hesitate to gobble up the entire bowl before they could make it to the dinner table. Eli tugged on Connor’s wrist, leading him toward the table where the other kids were. Jacob followed after them.

Marcus took a single bite, almost let out a moan as the spices danced on his tongue, kicking him awake.

“Sorry. Forgot to tell you its a bit spicy,” Roylan said, then he pointed at a small boy, who looked no older than fourteen, sitting at the dining table. “Someone got carried away with the red pepper flakes. Brett was trying to get the children’s minds off of what’s happening outside. Thought it would be better if they have a cook-out.”

“We’ve been waiting for more than an hour,” Andy was saying, “checking outside every ten minutes, hoping all of you will show up.”

“An hour? I thought we were at least behind you for a few minutes. We hoped we'd catch up to you.”

“Thank Roylan. He saved us,” Andy said, “he and his son were at the Marina, checking it out to see if it’s safer to relocate their families there, you know, with the military support and all. They happened to be heading on their way with their truck when those creatures attacked, turned back, and Roylan just so happen to recognize me in the crowd, told us to hop in.”

“Well, it wasn’t an easy drive, damn roads are fucked up as it is,” Roylan chuckled. “Lots of people want to get in too, but—” He raised his hunting rifle, “—They can be persuaded not to. Marcus is it?”

Marcus nodded.

Roylan pushed him forward into the dining room. “Come. I’ll introduce you to the rest.”

Roylan led him toward the dining room, not before he placed his bowl of stew on the countertop as he followed Royan’s trail. When Marcus first thought that there were four other people in the house, there were five more, sitting in the living room, all crowded in front of the TV, watching a recording of some Adult Swim cartoon.

“Neighbors,” Roylan said, catching Marcus’s curiosity. “Most of the block left before the hurricane arrived, damn lucky bastards. But to those who stayed behind, I am the only one who has a working generator in the neighborhood. So, I invited them to stay here with me. This isn’t all of them by the way.”

“Where are the others then?”

“Hold up in their own houses outside, refusing to accept my generous hospitality,” Roylan said sarcastically. “They’re scared. Though, the cartoon seems to cheer them up at least. Gives them something to do instead of worrying about what’s going on out there.”

That’s only going to be temporary, Marcus thought. “For now.”

“Yeah. For now. Here. I’ll introduce you to my son, Paul.”

Roylan steered Marcus to his eldest son sitting on the dining table, a balding man who was about the same age as Marcus, though shorter, fairer, and plump than him. Paul had a slight limp on his right leg, which he blamed after falling down the stairs when the shaking began. It took Marcus a second to realize what he meant of the latter.

The change.

Roylan then pointed at Paul’s sons next to him: his eldest was a tall teenage boy named Noah, who answered with an annoyed huff as he stalked away from the table, slumping down on the sofa by the living room. Paul’s youngest son, Asher, was similar to Connor’s age. Asher extended his hand out, and politely shook Marcus’s.

Roylan’s youngest son, Brett, reached out as Asher did, but with the broadest grin, Marcus had ever seen, looking too happy at meeting him, a contrast given their situation. He looked similar to Paul that at one glance, Marcus almost mistook him for his twin. Marcus felt his hands were clammy and sweaty from the contact.

“It is so glad to hear that you were all safe and well!” Brett said, “Andy and Eli were worried sick. I don’t know how you manage to walk all the way from the park, then down to here, on foot, with those things running around. I mean, I didn’t see them personally, but—”

“Enough of that, Brett. Let him be,” Roylan groaned.

Brett’s smile wavered. “I, uh, yes, dad.” He sat back and pursed his lips, swirling the spoon over his stew, looking like a man who got caught kicking a puppy.

Roylan then whisked Marcus to the living room, introduced him to the two men sitting on the sofa next to a toddler playing with his blue toy boat.

“This is Blake Foster.” Roylan patted Blake’s shoulder, who was dressed in a thin hoodie shirt and sported a bruise on his left cheek, he looked to be in his late twenties, average build, with dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes. “His husband, Hyun, and their son, Willie.” Roylan pointed to a tall, lean Korean man sitting next to Blake, and to the toddler.

Marcus reached out to ruffle Willie’s hair, but the toddler scurried away and hid behind Blake’s legs.

“Don’t mind him,” Blake said, “He’s a bit shy. Little man just turned three tonight. What a way to spend a birthday, right?”

Blake forced a chuckle, but his eyes told a different story, suffused with doubt. Hyun spared a smile, but he didn’t say a word. Willie peeked out from his hiding spot, squeaked a quiet hello before he climbed up the sofa again and grabbed his toy.

“And last, this is Arjun Kapoor,” Roylan said, directing him to a frail old man wrapped in a warm, thick blanket, holding a cup of tea, “and his grandson, Malik.”

Malik stood up and shook Marcus’s hands, a boy no older than his early twenties, lanky and tall, and with bags under his red eyes, looking like he had been crying them out.

“Sir, have you seen my girlfriend? Her name is Farah. She’s about this tall, and she has red hair, and she was wearing a white parka? Have you seen her?” Malik persisted.

“Quit it, boy. He hasn’t seen her,” said the old man—Arjun.

“But Ba, he might have.”

Marcus gulped. “I’m so sorry, but I haven’t her, well, to be honest, I haven’t seen a woman at all tonight.”

“See? Of course, you haven’t,” grumbled Arjun, “my grandson here still can’t believe that the women are all gone. Paul’s wife is gone, and so is his daughter. Evil took them.”

“Bapuji, don’t say that.”

“But it’s true! I don’t know why it won’t stick in that egg-headed brain of yours. It’s the apocalypse. The end of times. It has come. Better accept it, Malik. It’s the only thing we can do. The Devil is here.”

Roylan leaned onto Marcus’s ear, fortunately dragging him away from the quarrel, and said, “Don’t mind, Mr. Kapoor. He’s always been a knock on the head. His grandson tried to convince him to get out of the city and drive him back to Seattle before the storm hits, but he stayed behind instead with his girlfriend to watch over him.” Roylan paused, sighing, “until she disappeared. Said, he was looking right at her and then, poof. She wasn’t there.”

“He saw her disappear?” Marcus pressed.

Roylan shrugged. “You and I know what happened. We blacked out, and the world changed. I think he’s …not in there completely. It’ll take time. I still can’t believe that Sherry and Camille are not here.”

Marcus didn’t say another word, thinking Roylan might be talking about Paul’s wife and daughter.

“Anyway, let me help you with that bag—” Roylan paused, seeing the label on the duffel bag: POLICE. “That’s from the cops. Where did you find it?”

“Lost and found.”

Roylan whistled, nodded his head. “Just like that, huh? Without the cop knowing or at least giving up a fight?”

“She’s dead. Or we think she is. No body, though.”

“Oh.”

Marcus dropped the bag on the floor. “Well, we need it more anyway. Hey, do you have a spare room? I don’t want to start pulling out these guns out in the open with the kids around. We need to arm everyone here.”

Roylan scoffed. “Andy did say you’re an army man.”

“Correct. That a problem?”

“Not exactly. Half of this room doesn’t know how to use a gun, except for you, me, and my son, Paul. Maybe that big guy with you, Kenny, I think? But the rest is as soft as they get.”

“My son, Connor, knows how to use one, ever since he was eight.”

“Good. We can go to my office. It’s the first room on the left on the second floor. I'll call Andy and his son as well.”

"See you there in five minutes."

—

They flocked around the cramped office space, all seven of them—Marcus, Easton, Roylan, Andy, Kenny, Paul, and Connor—standing around the office desk sans the computer and other clutter, replaced by a stack of weapons that Marcus laid on the table.

There was a lot of things inside the two duffel bags. No wonder Marcus’s back was sore hauling a pack that probably weighed around fifty pounds, close to what an average soldier would’ve carried in Afghanistan, a burden Marcus was very familiar with for fifteen years.

There were two shotguns of the same model that Marcus had been using, five boxes each filled with twenty-five shells, totaling close to a hundred and twenty-five shotgun shells for them to spare. There were also three more weapons: one was a LAR-15 with a double Poly-MAG, thirty-round capacity, and Aim-Point Pro beast, the other was an AR-15 with barrier-penetrator rounds, and a 9mm handgun, all accompanied each by three boxes of ammunition.

There was also a big roll of the yellow crime scene tape, two black raincoats, glow sticks, two bullet-proof police vest, a couple of baton sticks, a pack of zip-ties, earplugs, handcuffs, a water jug, and dozen highway road flares. There were also three flashlights that Marcus could mount on the rifles and four sets of shoulder-slings, a pouch filled with oil cleaner kits for the guns, the first-aid kit that Easton had, and most of all; there were two standard law enforcement rulebooks as thick as his arm, which Marcus threw them out.

Even with their impressive haul, enough to hold out an attack by looters, it didn’t alleviate everyone’s concerns. Marcus hadn’t shot one of the giants yet, but Easton insisted that guns didn’t work on them.

We’ll see with about that, Marcus thought. It did worry him that he might have to use all hundred-and-twenty-five shotgun shells to bring down one fucking giant, and then face down the flying beast? They might ran out of ammunition before they could make it past the tree line. What then? He hoped it wouldn't get to that point.

At least we go down fighting.

Roylan pacing across the room made Marcus’s head spin. Andy was beyond his wits, shouting at the many reasons why they shouldn’t leave the city, while the others held grim as they pondered what Marcus just introduced on their feet.

They had been going at it for almost half an hour, with Easton retelling what he witnessed in the Marina with the strange robe-wearing red-scaled creature that threw a fireball at the meadow, and with Marcus watching a giant tree grew out of the pavement and released a swarm of fiends that eat people like piranhas. Out of all the things Marcus had seen, he didn’t intend to come near, ever, with the latter.

“Look, it’s simple,” Marcus started, “if we stay here, we die.”

“Are you mad?” Roylan howled. “You want to go out there in the woods where they came from?”

“Either that or freeze to death here — your choice. But in an hour or so, My family and I are leaving. You can join us and take our chances out there in the woods, or stay here and hope for the best,” Marcus said.

“I don’t agree with this, Marcus,” Andy said, “others tried and looked what happened to them. Have you seen what happened when those bikers entered the forest?”

“But now we know what to expect.”

Andy ignored him. “And besides, how do you survive out there without shelter? Food? Transportation? Resources that we can have here?”

Marcus crossed his arms and sighed. “Look, we’re going to run out of food here, too. With those things destroying everything in the city, it’s a lose-lose situation. We can hunt our food out there, and we can bring camping gears with us. We passed by a sporting goods store four blocks away from here. We can get what we need there.”

“We don’t even know if the food out there is edible!” Roylan bellowed.

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Easton? Kenny? A little help here?”

“Right. I’m with Marcus on this one,” Kenny said, stepping in close to Marcus’s side. “While they’re busy razing the city, we have a chance to get out while those things are distracted.”

“Dad, something is happening out there, too,” Easton jumped in, “trees are growing throughout the middle of the city, and it brought with them things that see us as lunch. Frankly, I don’t want to stay here and wait what happens next, or what might appear next. They took out the army!”

“Oh, you don’t know that,” Andy waved away.

“Easton’s right,” Marcus said, “the beast, the dragon, or whatever you call it, destroyed the entire Fort up in the Presidio. What’s left of the army might have gone back to San Bruno, but I am vehemently opposed to going there unless you want that dragon and those giants right on top of you.”

“How about your army contacts? Can’t they help us?” Andy asked.

“Without proper communication, we can’t guarantee if they can help us. I have every right to believe that the army might be abandoning the city as well.”

Roylan’s jaw hung open. “Why would you think that?”

“Its the only logical thing to do. The same reason why we’re also leaving. The city’s lost. It’s beyond saving. Colonel Reeves, if he wanted to save what’s left of his men, would take his chances in the woods, and that is what we should do, too.”

“How about we wait for daylight before we relocate to a safer part of the city?” Paul suggested.

“Are you even listening? There is no safe part of the city. Those monsters are going to wipe it out. Gone. And we don’t even know if there’s daylight.”

“It’s just as bad there as in here,” Paul pressed on.

“So, we take our chances out there, maybe find a body of water, a river would be good, and we follow it downstream until we find something.”

And they argued some more, beating down on Marcus that he wished he could veto everyone else, maybe steal Roylan’s car keys, and use his truck parked outside on his front lawn.

It was then that Connor jumped in and showed Marcus a video recording on his phone.

“Maybe this will convince all of you,” Connor was saying, “I was filming the mountains and the forest before the giants attacked, using it as a telescope to see how far I can see, but anyway, I caught this. Fair warning, it’s a bit dark but, ah, what the hell, you’ll see.”

Connor pushed aside the weapons on the table and placed the phone at the center before playing the video. It started shakily with Connor zooming in the lenses toward the mountains, shifting the camera up to show the two moons above it. As he focused down back to the tree line, Connor quickly paused the video.

“There. See it?”

Marcus and the others had to lean in closer, squinting.

“What am I seeing?” Easton asked.

“There. That shape. Look familiar?” Connor pointed at the right side of the screen.

Marcus’s eyes widened.

“The giants,” Kenny said, finishing his thought. “They were waiting. Like an ambush.”

“Exactly what I thought,” Connor said, “I was watching all the videos I took, and here’s another one.”

Connor zoomed out of the video and clicked back, opening up another one. The haunting screams emanated out of the phone’s speakers as Connor ran across the park. He turned back to film the dragon blast the wall of fire, freezing it out. Marcus closed his eyes. That was a mistake; his mind instantly wandered to the panicking screams as the people who had died, clamoring to flee the area — people whose luck had run out.

Connor paused the video again.

“There. See that?”

And Marcus did see it.

It was unmistakable.

There, right on the beast’s back, was a figure pulling the reins wrapped around the creature’s long neck.

A dark figure rode the beast.

“I think we didn’t stumble on the giants in the forest. I think we were deliberately attacked by, well, whoever that is,” Connor said, “The guy Uncle Easton and I saw on the park, I believe he was protecting the city, creating that wall of fire, and then the guy riding that dragon might be who he’s fighting against, maybe?”

“With the giants waiting, and that dude riding,” Kenny mused, “and with the giants and that dragon seems to coordinate their attacks on the city, they could be all working together. Well, except for Fire Guy.”

“Is that how far you can zoom in?” Paul asked.

Connor nodded. “Sorry. That’s the best I could do.”

“Why are they here?” Easton asked. “Like why are they specifically here with us? Why are they fighting each other?”

It was a question Marcus didn’t have an answer to, struggled to suppress the shiver running down his spine as the idea clawed and pawed at his mind. If someone could use a beast like that as a transportation device and a weapon of mass destruction, then they were a sentient and intelligent life form. The cog started turning in Marcus’s brain, and if they were sentient, then they were capable of language, society, and maybe their civilization. They were aliens, for lack of a better word. Not the hippie, green-skinned, I-come-in-peace type that Marcus had seen in the movies, though it was hard not to accept that they were that, and it would significantly explain why there were two moons in the sky.

Are we on a different planet? Did that rift in the sky transport the city to this place?

Marcus stopped at the latter. Will they have settlements here, like towns, cities, hell, large swathes of territories? Countries? Did our appearance on these lands consider trespassing? Is that’s why they attacked?

More questions formed and swirled, and Marcus had to hold them back before he had the urge to puke. He began to think that if they made it through the forest, they might encounter them.

But one thing was clear.

There was one thing more dangerous than a wild savage animal driven by primal instinct, and that was an animal with the full capacity for cruelty and violence.

And Marcus had seen what humans were capable of with cruelty. He hated seeing it wielded by another being.

Marcus, taking the M4 carbine off the table and handing it to Kenny, asked the others, “So, any objections to our next move?”

Everyone clung to the silence, shifted on where they stood, but never dared say another word. Marcus waited for a minute, yet at the same time hoping no one would speak up. When he was sure no one objected to his plan, Marcus slung his shotgun around his shoulders and trudged toward the door.

"Good," Marcus said, "I'll lead the party to get the camping supplies. As for the rest, grab all you can pack. We leave in an hour."