As Ethan arranged cans neatly inside the tote, he glanced sideways at me.
“You know,” he said, “if my dad asks whose idea this was, I’m definitely taking credit.”
I chuckled. “Oh, absolutely.”
He grinned—wide and unguarded; it belonged to a kid who still believed tomorrow might turn out okay.
“Cool.”
* * *
By the time Callan and Jeff came back through the service corridor, Ethan and I had reorganized half the apocalypse.
Ethan sat on the floor, wrestling the lid onto an overstuffed tote when the door swung open behind us.
Callan stopped in the doorway.
“What the hell is all this?”
Jeff leaned around him, eyebrows climbing.
Ethan looked up, beaming. “Oh, hey Dad.”
I crossed my arms and tipped my head toward the kid. “His idea.”
Callan looked between us, then at the tower of supplies on the cart. “Should I be worried?”
Ethan stood and brushed his hands off on his jeans. “We figured if we had to leave fast, there wouldn’t be time to pack food. So we load the non-perishables onto the boat now. Have it ready to go.”
Jeff blinked, then nodded slowly.
“Well… that’s actually smart as hell.”
Callan walked over to the cart and lifted one of the totes, checking the contents. He set it back down and looked at me.
Callan studied the kid for a beat. “Not bad.”
Ethan tried hard not to grin. He mostly failed.
Jeff clapped his son on the shoulder. “Looks like you’re the quartermaster now.”
“Cool,” Ethan said, like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to give him a title.
Callan set his hands on the dolly handle. “Alright. Let’s move it.”
The rest of the afternoon turned into a long, grinding supply run.
We loaded the first batch of totes and rolled them down the service corridor toward the quarantine pool. The aquarium echoed with the rumble of cart wheels and theoccasional clank of cans shifting inside the containers—a strange, industrial sound bouncing off walls designed for observation.
Jeff chuckled softly as we walked. “Never thought I’d be raiding an aquarium pantry during possibly the end of the world.”
Callan pushed the dolly beside him. “Could be worse.”
“How?”
“We could be the food.”
Jeff snorted. “Fair point.”