Sometime during the dead of night, around two or three, an explosion sounded somewhere to the south-east.
I wasn't awake for it, but Anna told me later that the ground shook lightly. And a few seconds later (minus a boom) the ground shook again, even lighter, signaling another blast.
We don't know the cause or reason, but we found plenty to fret over.
We're right in the middle of fire season. The sweltering days have peaked, and with the dry bush and ungodly temperatures blowing cruel winds among us, it's not hard to imagine a small fire quickly blazing out of control. And engulfing us.
Especially without a fire department to control a blaze.
In fact, I'd have to say we've been incredibly lucky, on that front so far.
It's not like there hasn't been any fires, there have, but the ones that blazed were either started when the government still had presence before the End (i.e., they were extinguished) or was brought under control by survivors pooling together for a cause.
Some parts of the city burned, but what did was mostly confined to neighborhoods and buildings, and thankfully, most of the city still stands.
It's unfortunate, but if a large scale fire did erupt from a tanker explosion or pyromaniac idiots, we simply wouldn't have the resources or, indeed, man-power to suppress it. We'd be forced to flee.
Flee from the minimal security we'd found for ourselves into uncertainty. And most probably, death.
And so, upon the explosion that sounded in the midst of night, we found plenty to worry ourselves over.
But it seems we needn't. Morning came and smoke was not gushing into the blue sky. Fire was not dancing our way, encroaching our home. Luck had seemingly smiled upon us another day.