I barely had time to think before Alex was grabbing things, tossing them in a bag like we had some kind of shot at surviving whatever was slamming into our door. I darted into the kitchen, where my old bag sat. I threw open cabinets, suffing my bag with every scrap of food I could find: cans of beans, stale crackers, even some dusty oatmeal packets that probably hadn't been touched in years. I could barely think straight. All I could feel was the pressure, the urgency, the sheer terror clawing up my spine.
We stuffed the bags as fast as possible. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would burst.
