“Yeah, well, at least they’ll have this base for the Water Wars,” Husband said, and I snorted, but I didn’t laugh. Neither of us did.

“We don’t have a well, though,” I pointed out.

“They’re close enough to a creek. I think by the time it’s relevant that shit’ll be at the doorstep.”

“Ah. True. And, I mean, Philly used to be a swamp. I’m sure it’ll go back to that before this level of ‘end’ is even here.”

“Oh, for sure. Kinda already going down.”

“I guess that won’t really help them, though.”

“Why? It’s not like we’re in the sticks, we’re down the street from Philly.”

“Bugs.”

“Ah. Gross. Yeah.”

“Disease. Diseased bugs, diseased water, humidity…”

“Right, right. That’s why we need the solar panels. We have the AC. Solar panels and boom, so will they.”

“And a well.”

“Yeah. Maybe some chickens.”

“Ooh, so you agree to chickens?”

In the background, Al Jazeera went on, a droning, staccato story of a country that has always been dangerous, if you weren’t one kind of person. So fucking insane how many people claim it’s ‘gone to shit,’ as if it hasn’t always been a monster, obliterating every potential that isn’t the kind it likes.

“Eh. Listen. I’m ok with taking care of chickens,” Husband relented, a wry edge of humor and I grinned.

“Oh?”

News moved on to a world that was drowning and burning in the same minute, every minute.

“Yeah. The problem I have is setting it all up. Making it tight so the coyotes and foxes don’t get em. Like, there’s a concern we’ll just be like, feeding coyotes.”

“Ha. Nah, we can make it coyote-tight.”

“Right. So if you can handle all that, set it all up, I’ll be fine feeding some stupid chickens. So long as they’re not just bringing coyotes into the yard to eat the cats or whatever. Or the kids.”

“Eh. The kids are spry, and have each other.”

“J*** is like, five months old.”

“Eight months old. But I’m saying he’ll be spry by the time this is relevant. S***** is, he will be.”

News focused down again. Internment camps for war refugees. Families separated, sent away to die alone.

Quiet.

“They’ll have each other, too,” I added softly.

“Yeah. I guess you were right to keep him. He’s alright.”

I laughed. “You love him, dumbass.”

“Eh, what can I say. I love my son. He’s a cool lil dude.”

“Yeah. And when we die, they won’t be alone. Neither of em.”

Husband’s phone died and the news was off and the world was quiet. We live far enough from the city we don’t hear it every night–the crush of music and voices, fighting and laughing, a crowded rush of life that is fine, for now, peaceful enough, for now, but we knew from experience there were guns amongst that life, and there was rage, and there was lack, and the lack was growing and the resources were dwindling and folks were getting desperate and we weren’t even there yet, these ‘water wars’ that were a joke, but not quiet a joke and-

Cicadas didn’t come back this year. The heat suggests their sound, but it’s crickets instead, and crickets kind of sound lonely and young when you’re used to cicadas. It’s almost sad, hearing them out there. The fire in our chimenea also made a sound, though, a gentle crackle. That made it almost alright.

Husband’s face held the warm glow of it in the dark. His spliff had gone out, yet was still held slack in his hand by his face. He looked into the fire, and I did too, and the kids were upstairs sleeping, and it was all as ok as it could be.

“We can get some solar panels when we redo the house, easy,” I said quietly. “I think we even get some kind of tax discount if we do.”

“Dope.”

“Yeah,” I said, and sighed. There’s a park on all sides of our house. Makes it fun to think about the man who lived there first, who wouldn’t sell when they decided the park existed, who built a shed made of scrap to slaughter deer in and left us all his tools and someone, maybe even him, someone planted such an abundance of daffodils they crowd out the weeds every year.

It’s a beautiful place to survive at.

“Maybe even get a well, down the line,” I added. “How hard is it to get a well, anyway? We know there’s water down there.”

Husband was quiet, though.

After a moment he rose, wordlessly. Went back in to charge his phone.