what if

I burst into my husband's room and flashed on the light. "Wake up. Wake up. We have to go. They just hit L.A. with a dirty bomb and they think one is heading to San Francisco." He sat covering his eyes and looking pissed. "We need to take both cars...that way we can take more stuff and we can siphon everything if we need to go down to one vehicle. I'm going to get mine and the kids' things. You go to Safeway and get every penny you can out of every account. Get water...come on! Wake up!" I snapped my fingers in his face. He gave me the "dumb bitch, what are you talking about" look. I lunged at the remote control and turned on CNN. He sat riveted to the "Breaking News" as his wide eyes darted back and forth across the screen, following the burned and screaming victims, the lights of fire trucks desperately pushing through the rioting, dying crowds...mayhem. I think it all clicked then. "Get all the water you can...at least 50 gallons, and all the beef jerkey and granola bars--some canned food...tuna, get all the tuna...I'm going to get the two camping boxes from the garage. Get any propane fuel they have. And candles! It's, what, 3:18 a.m., so I hope most people aren't up. We should be okay, but still go as fast as you can. We need to be out of town within the hour..."