Maggie gasped as her eyes flew open, her heart racing. She rolled off the narrow bed and hit the floor of her dorm with a thud. For a moment, she just lay there, disoriented, her gaze darting around the familiar room she hadn't seen in years. Her eyes landed on the foot of her bed—and there it was. The black backpack, pristine and new, her name embroidered on it in gold script.
She froze, staring at it in stunned silence before a sharp laugh escaped her. The laugh turned into something uncontrollable, tears streaming down her face as she let it all out—the shock, the disbelief, maybe even the absurdity of it all. Finally wiping her face, Maggie pushed herself to her feet, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Alright. If this is real, I'd better get to work.
She dressed quickly, pulling on sturdy blue jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and her old hiking boots. Maggie stepped to her closet, her mind whirring. She pulled her clothes from hangers and drawers, piling them onto the bed. With a quick motion, she unzipped the backpack, glancing inside. It looked empty despite its magic, a bottomless space waiting to swallow whatever she fed it. As her hand grazed the opening, she noticed the notebook glowing faintly blue. Frowning, she pulled it out, flipped it open, and her stomach clenched as she read the words inside:
GROUP—Harley said we have 10 weeks until the end begins. Mirror conference call at noon. Use all you have available to prepare. Be safe. We will decide a place and time to meet on the call. – RICK
Maggie closed her eyes, gripping the notebook tightly. Ten weeks. The words hit her like a punch to the gut. That's all we've got? Ten weeks to get ready for the world to fall apart? Shaking her head, she pushed the thoughts aside, slipping the notebook back into the bag. No time to waste.
She worked quickly, throwing her entire wardrobe into the backpack first. Each piece of clothing seemed to vanish into its depths, the bag showing no signs of filling. Toiletries followed, then every bit of food in her dorm room, even the perishables from her mini-fridge. She cleared out her drawers and shelves, her gaze darting around the room for anything she might have missed. Even her bedding went in—pillows, blankets, all of it.
By the time Maggie was done, the room looked as though no one had ever lived there. It was empty, sterile, a blank canvas that seemed worlds apart from the life she'd once led. She stood for a moment, staring at it, and exhaled slowly. Feels like I'm erasing myself. But this is what needs to be done.
Maggie glanced at her watch—6 a.m. The dorms were silent, still wrapped in the peaceful hush of early morning. She slung the lightweight bag over her shoulder, marveling again at how it felt like carrying nothing at all despite the mountain of items inside. She stepped into the hallway, locking the door behind her with an almost ceremonial care. Goodbye, old life.
Her boots thudded lightly on the stairs as she hurried down and crossed the quiet campus, the familiar paths now tinged with a strange sense of urgency. The library rose ahead, its doors just opening for the day. Maggie slipped inside, where only a single librarian sat at the desk, barely acknowledging her. Perfect. No distractions.
She made a beeline for the stairs, her thoughts already racing through what she needed. The medical section was her first target. One by one, she pulled books from the shelves: Human Anatomy and Physiology, Pharmacology, Medical Practices, Nursing Basics, and anything else that looked remotely useful. They vanished into the backpack, which sat on the floor beside her, still looking empty.
Next came the veterinary section: Animal Care, Veterinary Medicine, Breeding, Veterinary Pharmacology. Maggie thought of farms, livestock, the fragile ecosystems they'd need to rebuild. This isn't just about surviving—it's about thriving. About starting over the right way.
From there, Maggie systematically moved through the reference section, collecting books on Carpentry, Auto Mechanics, Gardening, Alternative Energy, Homesteading, Off-Grid Living, Food Preservation, and even Military Training. Her fingers hesitated on a dusty tome titled Herbal Remedies for Survival. She grabbed it, her lips pressing into a determined line. If it could help, it's worth taking.
When the practical materials were secured, Maggie wandered toward the fiction shelves. Her gaze softened as she let her fingers drift over the spines of novels, poetry, graphic novels, and classic literature. It's not just about knowledge. We'll need something to hold onto, something to remind us what we're fighting for. She selected a handful of books and added them to the bag, her mind already imagining quiet moments around a fire, someone reading aloud to keep hope alive.
When she'd gathered everything she could think of, Maggie stood back, surveying the now-gapped shelves of the library. She carefully shifted remaining books to cover the spaces she'd left. No sense in giving myself away. The magical bag was once again slung over her shoulder, its exterior still deceptively new, clean, and impossibly light.
As Maggie stepped out into the early morning light, she felt the weight of the task ahead pressing on her—not in her bag, but in her chest. Ten weeks isn't enough. It'll never be enough. But it's all we've got, and I'll use every second of it to make sure we're ready.
Her gaze swept across the campus as her boots struck the pavement. This was supposed to be where I built a future. Now it's where I salvage one. But as long as I've got this backpack, and everything inside, we might just stand a chance. Determined, Maggie strode toward her next destination, the morning sun glinting on the gold embroidery of her name.
As Maggie walked through the silent campus, the early morning air crisp against her skin, her eyes fell on the cafeteria ahead. She glanced at her watch—6:45 a.m. Breakfast was handled over at the café in the student center, and the cafeteria itself wouldn't open until noon. Employees wouldn't arrive for at least another three hours. The stillness around her gave her pause. Too good an opportunity to pass up, she thought, scanning the area. Not a soul was in sight.
Her steps quickened as she veered toward the back of the cafeteria. Her eyes darted to the corners of the building, checking for cameras or any other signs of watchful eyes. Finding nothing, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a bobby pin, running her fingers over its smooth metal surface. She knelt by the door, inserting the pin into the lock with practiced precision.
Turns out scavenging for supplies teaches you all kinds of things—like how to stay quiet and pick locks better than a cat burglar. The thought brought a smirk to her lips, and when the lock clicked open, she felt a brief rush of triumph. Maggie pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it gently behind her.
The work area was pitch dark, and Maggie reached instinctively for the small flashlight in her backpack. Her hand froze mid-motion as she thought better of it. Flashlights always give it away. In a closed building, they scream trouble. Lights being on? That could mean someone came in early. But a flashlight? That's someone who doesn't belong. She slid the flashlight back into the bag and instead flicked on a single overhead light, bathing the room in a soft glow.
She started with the freezer. Pulling the heavy door open, Maggie stepped into the chill, her breath fogging in the frigid air. She worked methodically, pulling packs of beef, chicken, pork, fish, and turkey from the shelves. Each pack disappeared into the enchanted food compartment of her backpack, preserved in stasis as if time itself had paused. She cleared entire sections of meat, but before leaving, Maggie carefully rearranged the remaining items, spreading them out to fill the gaps. No point in making it obvious someone's been here, she thought, moving a few bags around until it looked convincingly untouched.
Next, she moved to the freezer's other shelves, collecting frozen pizzas, fish sticks, vegetables, fruits, and tubs of ice cream. Each item slid into her bag, and once again, she took the time to reposition the remaining supplies, ensuring no glaring absences.
Satisfied with the freezer, Maggie turned to the fridge. Blocks of cheese, cartons of milk, fresh produce, and other perishables went into the bag. As before, she left enough behind to make the shelves look full, adjusting everything carefully to cover her tracks. Finally, she moved to the dry goods pantry, grabbing industrial-sized cans of beans, corn, tomatoes, and pudding, along with bulk packages of pasta, rice, and biscuit mix. She shifted the remaining goods forward, neatly stacking items to make the shelves appear undisturbed. Little tricks like this keep you one step ahead, she thought, recalling lessons Rick had shared about criminals covering their tracks.
Maggie's eyes wandered to the non-food supplies next. Pots, pans, sharp kitchen knives, plates, glasses, trash bags, dish detergent—anything remotely useful went into the backpack. She even grabbed towels and cleaning supplies, carefully scanning the room for any other overlooked essentials. When she was sure she'd taken all she could without drawing suspicion, Maggie turned off the light and peeked out the back door. The coast was clear. She slipped outside, pulling the door shut behind her and disappearing into the quiet campus.
The School of Veterinary Medicine was her next stop. This was an easier task; as a TA, she still had the key to the storage cabinet. Maggie entered the familiar room, locking the door behind her, and immediately set to work. Painkillers, antibiotics, antiseptics, and other medications—all of it went into her bag. These supplies, though meant for animals, could be lifesaving for her group. Once she'd gathered what she needed, Maggie carefully rearranged the remaining items, spacing them out to disguise what was missing. With the next inventory seven weeks away, she was confident no one would notice the theft in time to stop her.
She paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on the cabinet she'd spent so much time organizing during her TA days. Funny how this used to be about learning a trade, building a future. Now it's about survival. Shaking off the thought, she locked the cabinet and slipped out the door, leaving behind the building—and the version of herself who had once called it home.
Maggie's eyes wandered as she crossed the campus, and she spotted the athletic center in the distance. She made a quick detour inside, heading straight for the storage room. Rolls of athletic tape, resistance bands, first-aid kits, and portable stretching tables caught her eye. She packed it all into the bag, her hands moving quickly yet deliberately. As always, she reorganized the remaining supplies, ensuring nothing seemed out of place.
Her final stop was the maintenance building. The toolshed was locked, but Maggie made short work of it with her bobby pin. Inside, she grabbed wrenches, screwdrivers, bolts, and an assortment of spare parts. A push mower leaned against the wall, and Maggie didn't hesitate. She stuck one of Harley's enchanted Mickey Mouse stickers on it, watching as it shrank to the size of a paperback book. She placed it in her bag, the sticker preserving it for future use. As always, she moved tools around to disguise the gaps before locking the shed and leaving.
By the time Maggie reached her blue Dodge Ram, the sun was just beginning to rise over the campus. She climbed into the driver's seat and set the pristine black backpack on the passenger side. It looked impossibly clean, its sleek exterior betraying none of the supplies it carried. This isn't just a bag. It's survival, hope, and the future all in one.
As she started the engine and pulled away, Maggie's eyes lingered on the campus in her rearview mirror. This place was supposed to be where I built my future. Now it's just a stop in scavenging for one. Her grip tightened on the wheel. Ten weeks until the end begins. Every second, every choice matters. With her next steps already forming in her mind, Maggie drove south toward home, her resolve as solid as the rising sun.
-TWD-
Maggie's truck rumbled softly as she drove along the quiet highway, the faint glow of the morning sun lighting her path. Her mind raced with everything that needed to be done, every stop she had to make before heading home. When she passed the small town, her eyes locked onto the brightly lit grocery store sign. The parking lot was mostly empty, just a scattering of cars near the entrance. Maggie slowed, turning into the lot and pulling into a back corner. She angled her truck so it was partially shielded from view, the bed facing away from the store.
She sat in the driver's seat for a moment, letting her gaze sweep over the nearly deserted parking lot. Perfect. No one to ask questions. Maggie reached into the passenger seat for her enchanted money clip. The silver clasp glinted faintly in the morning light as she focused her intent. With the simple thought of multiplying the cash inside, the bills began to duplicate. She didn't need words—the magic of the clip was responsive to her intent. The crisp stack grew quickly until Maggie had $10,000 in her hands. She separated $1,000 and tucked it into her pocket, sliding the rest back into the money clip before returning it to her backpack. Amazing what this little thing can do—and just how much we're going to need it.
Maggie swung the enchanted backpack over her shoulder and stepped out of the truck, glancing briefly around the lot. Satisfied that no one was paying her any attention, she headed into the store. The cool air hit her face as she entered, and the silence of the nearly empty store was comforting in its own way. Grabbing a cart, Maggie rolled it forward with a sense of purpose.
She started in the dry goods aisle, grabbing bags of rice, beans, flour, and sugar—staples they could use for months. Cans of soup, fruits, and vegetables followed, along with jars of peanut butter, jelly, and pasta sauce. Maggie added oils, spices, and baking essentials like salt, yeast, and baking soda. By the time she reached the end of the aisle, her cart was nearly full, so she pushed it to the front of the store and parked it by an unused register. Grabbing a second cart, she headed back to the aisles.
In the beverages section, Maggie picked out cases of Coca-Cola and cartons of apple, orange, and cranberry juice. Sometimes it's the little things that keep morale up—even if it's just a cold drink after a hard day.
She moved to the fresh produce section next. Peppers, onions, potatoes, cauliflower, and leafy greens went into the cart, followed by fruit—grapes, blackberries, peaches, and plums. Each selection brought with it a wave of nostalgia for her farm, for the simple joy of picking fruit straight from the tree. Maggie smiled faintly as she added the last carton of blackberries.
From there, she rolled her cart to the cooler aisles, grabbing cartons of eggs, gallons of milk, blocks of cheese, butter, and yogurt. At the butcher's counter, Maggie selected packs of chicken breasts, ground beef, steaks, and pork chops. The items stacked neatly in her cart as she worked. Moving to the bakery, she added loaves of bread and packs of rolls to round out the essentials. She finished in the condiments aisle, loading bottles of ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, hot sauce, and vinegar into the cart. As she passed a display of chocolates and wine, she grabbed a few bars and a small bottle. A little indulgence goes a long way. Even survivors need something to smile about.
Pushing the full cart toward the front, Maggie joined the cashier who had already started ringing up the first load of groceries. The woman glanced at the overflowing carts and raised an eyebrow. "Stocking up?" she asked with a friendly smile.
"You could say that," Maggie replied, matching the smile as she handed over the cash. "Big family. Lots of mouths to feed." It wasn't exactly a lie—it was just missing most of the details.
The cashier handed back her change and a receipt so long it could have been a ribbon. Maggie thanked her and wheeled the two carts outside, her boots thudding softly against the pavement. Once at the truck, Maggie placed her backpack into the truck bed, tucking it into the corner near the cab and covering it with a few grocery bags to keep it hidden. Now for the part that counts.
As she unloaded the first cart, Maggie placed each grocery bag into the truck bed as though she were organizing them. Her hand slipped under the cover of the bags, unzipping the enchanted backpack. Bag by bag, she placed the groceries directly into the backpack, its magic swallowing them without hesitation. Cans of food and dry goods went into the main compartment, while perishables like milk, cheese, meat, and fresh produce were carefully tucked into the stasis compartment. She continued this method with the second cart, the backpack handling the massive load with ease.
To anyone watching, it would look like Maggie was simply unloading her groceries into the truck bed. She left a handful of empty bags scattered for appearance's sake, as well as a crumpled receipt. Little things like this will keep people from asking questions.
When the last bag was safely packed away, Maggie tightened the netting over the bed to secure the decoy bags. She wiped her hands against her jeans and stepped back into the driver's seat, glancing in the rearview mirror as she started the engine. The truck bed looked normal enough, and the pristine backpack sat on the truck seat beside her, its enchanted contents safely stored away. It's more than just food—it's survival, safety, and a chance for something after all this chaos.
Maggie's grip tightened on the wheel as she pulled out of the lot and back onto the highway. The small town faded behind her as the rising sun bathed the road ahead in a golden glow. Ten weeks until the end begins. Every second matters, every stop counts. This is only the start, and I won't stop until we're ready for whatever comes next. With her mind set and her purpose clear, Maggie pressed onward, heading home.
-TWD-
Maggie's truck rumbled softly as she pulled into the Bass Pro Shop parking lot, the massive building standing like a beacon of preparation. She scanned the lot, noting the steady flow of customers—families, hunters, and outdoor enthusiasts. Parking in a back corner, she angled her truck so the bed faced away from the main flow of traffic. It was a habit now, always thinking about visibility and planning for the unexpected. This stop is going to be big, but it's worth it. No cutting corners today.
Reaching for her enchanted money clip, Maggie focused her intent. The magic responded instantly, multiplying the cash inside until it held $75,000 in crisp, pristine bills. She separated $7,000 and slipped it into her pocket, tucking the rest back into the clip and returning it to her enchanted backpack. This should cover everything—and then some. Time to stock up properly.
Grabbing the backpack, Maggie slung it over her shoulder and stepped out of the truck. The sun was high now, casting long shadows across the pavement as she made her way toward the entrance. Inside, the cool air and faint scent of leather greeted her. She grabbed a cart and began weaving through the aisles, her boots clicking softly on the polished floor. Her eyes darted from shelf to shelf, each item sparking a mental calculation of its utility.
Her first stop was the firearms section. Maggie's pulse quickened slightly as she approached the gleaming rows of rifles, shotguns, and handguns. Flagging down an eager employee, she began listing her selections. "I'll take four hunting rifles with scopes, four shotguns, and six handguns," she said, her tone steady and confident. "And I'll need holsters for the handguns and slings for the rifles and shotguns—something durable and comfortable."
The employee's eyes widened slightly at the size of the order, but he nodded enthusiastically, gathering her selections. Maggie watched as the cart filled with the weapons, each one a potential lifeline. She turned her attention to the ammunition shelves next. "I'll need plenty of ammo," she added casually, her lips quirking into a faint smile. "Target practice." Box after box of bullets and shells went into the cart—enough to ensure her group would be well-supplied for hunting, defense, and survival. She also grabbed several gun cleaning kits, knowing full well that a well-maintained firearm was far less likely to fail when it mattered most. A dirty gun is worse than useless—it's dangerous.
Next, Maggie moved to the knives and blades section. She selected ten high-quality hunting knives, each one chosen for its durability and sharpness. Two of them caught her eye immediately—one sleek blade with a leather sheath, perfect for her boot, and another larger, serrated knife that would fit perfectly on her belt. She added five heavy-duty machetes and five axes to the cart, their weight promising both utility and protection. Blades don't jam or run out of ammo. They're as essential as the guns.
The archery section was her next stop, and Maggie's lips curved slightly as she surveyed the rows of bows and crossbows. She selected five compound bows and five crossbows, making sure each was durable and capable of precision. Maintenance kits for both types of bows went into the cart, followed by ten quivers and ample ammunition: 200 arrows and 200 bolts. She grabbed a few extra strings and replacement parts, aware that keeping the bows in working order would be crucial. Silent, reusable, and deadly. These might end up being the most valuable weapons we have.
Her cart was filling rapidly, but Maggie wasn't done yet. She pushed it into the camping aisle and began selecting gear. A multi-person tent, several high-quality sleeping bags, and a portable camp stove were first. Rolls of thermal blankets followed, along with fire starters, waterproof matches, and several coils of sturdy rope. She added a collapsible shovel, a heavy-duty hatchet, and foldable saws for clearing debris and cutting firewood. Nearby, she spotted large water purification kits and grabbed several, knowing clean water was non-negotiable. Warmth, water, and shelter—if we have those, we can survive anything.
In the electronics section, Maggie loaded up on ten solar-powered power banks, each one capable of charging multiple devices. She grabbed several sets of binoculars and compasses, walkie-talkies, and a hand-crank radio. Tactical flashlights and rechargeable batteries followed, along with spare batteries for every device she'd selected. Energy, navigation, and communication. Without these, we're blind and cut off. Can't let that happen.
Maggie's eyes caught on a nearby display of paper maps. She carefully chose detailed maps of Georgia, Florida, Alabama, South Carolina, North Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, Kentucky, and Mississippi, adding waterproof map holders to keep them protected. When the GPS goes down, these maps will keep us alive.
Her final stops were in the food and clothing sections. In the food aisle, she grabbed a variety of survival food packs—freeze-dried meals, protein bars, and powdered drink mixes. She added several seed banks filled with vegetables, fruits, and herbs, picturing the crops they could grow once they had a secure base. We're not just surviving. We're rebuilding. These seeds are our future. In the clothing section, she selected sturdy boots, jackets, and pants in a range of sizes, ensuring everyone in the group would have what they needed. Gloves, thermal socks, hats, and rain ponchos joined the pile, preparing them for any weather. You don't get second chances with the cold or rain. Better to overprepare.
As Maggie moved through the aisles, her eyes caught on several larger items tucked behind displays—things too big to fit in a cart but too valuable to leave behind. She glanced around, ensuring no one was watching, and reached into the small pouch on her backpack. Pulling out one of Harley's enchanted Mickey Mouse stickers, she approached a generator hidden behind a stack of boxes. With a quick motion, she pressed the sticker onto the generator, watching as it shrank down to the size of a shoebox. She slipped it into her backpack, the magic preserving it perfectly. This will be a lifesaver when we need power.
She repeated the process with a second generator, a canoe, and a set of paddles, each item shrinking down and disappearing into the enchanted bag. Maggie worked quickly, her movements precise and practiced. No one's going to notice these are gone, and they'll make all the difference when the time comes.
By the time Maggie reached the register, her cart was piled impossibly high. The cashier's jaw practically dropped as they began scanning her items. "Wow," they said, their voice full of awe. "Are you outfitting an expedition or something?"
"Something like that," Maggie replied smoothly, handing over $43,000 in cash. She offered a faint smile as the cashier counted the money, their excitement barely contained. The receipt seemed to stretch endlessly, and Maggie took it with a polite nod before wheeling her cart outside.
The midday sun was scorching as Maggie reached her truck. She lowered the tailgate and placed her enchanted backpack onto the passenger seat. One by one, she began transferring items from the cart into the bed of the truck. Her hand slipped under the bins to unzip the backpack, and the magic swallowed each item effortlessly. Guns, holsters, slings, and ammo were carefully organized in one section. Knives, machetes, and axes went into another, along with the sharpeners. Bows, crossbows, quivers, arrows, and bolts filled their own compartment, along with maintenance kits and extra strings.
The camping gear, including the tent, sleeping bags, thermal blankets, and water purification kits, disappeared into the bag's main section. The solar power banks, binoculars, compasses, and maps were tucked into a separate pocket, their importance as survival tools clear. Maggie worked quickly but methodically, leaving a few empty boxes in the truck bed for appearances.
She paused briefly to secure the sleek knife into her boot and hook the serrated blade to her belt. Their weight was a comforting reminder of her preparedness. Finally, Maggie climbed into the driver's seat, glancing at the enchanted backpack now resting on the seat beside her. Its exterior gave no hint of the critical supplies it held within. This bag holds more than just supplies. It holds survival, hope, and a chance to rebuild.
Starting the engine, Maggie pulled out of the lot, her thoughts already turning to the road ahead. Ten weeks until the end begins. Every second counts, and this is just the start. The Bass Pro Shop faded into the distance as Maggie tightened her grip on the wheel, her resolve as firm as the horizon stretching before her.