Let's do it.

Finally, he simply says, "Ok."

That's good enough for. You hand him your brother's pack and pull him back inside the house for a clothes fitting.

First, you check the boots. They are a little loose, but you give Todd some thick socks from your own supplies and they will work. Certainly better than his beaten up Chucks. The second pair gets stuffed into at the bottom of his pack as a spare - they are light enough and serve as a replacement for him or even for you in a real emergency. Next, you instruct him to strip off his filthy jeans - give him a glare when his dick has a moment of excitement at your face being close to it again - and get him to try on the hiking pants and Jim's uniform. With a few snips of some scissors, you have them modified to a more suitable length, and use a few seconds of precious candle flame to singe the nylon composite material and prevent fraying. They look pretty ridiculous, as the lack of hem and inappropriate tapering makes them seem more like culottes. But at least they won't restrict his movement like the jeans would, especially in wet weather.

Next, you get him to wear one of the uniform jackets. It needs a belt across the waist, and the sleeves need shortening, but it's good enough. Your fingers brush over the embroidered MARSHALL name tag, and tears spring to your eyes at thoughts of your family. It feels somehow fitting that Todd's going to be emblazoned with the name, seeing as you're taking him under your wing, and have a gut feeling that you'll have **** but to consider him family before too long.

You select the plain-coloured hiking pants for him to wear first, reasoning that it's probably unwise to set out in head to toe camo material, simply to avoid giving the wrong impression to anybody we might encounter.

Next, you talk him through the weapons.

"I found this pistol in my brother's things. It's going to be easier to use than the revolver, so I think you should have it. It's still a big bullet, will fuck up anything that it hits, but the recoil will be less, it has three more rounds in the magazine and is easier to reload quickly. Hold it like this -" you demonstrate, and attempt a reasonable firing stance, half remembered from sessions with dad on the range all those years ago. You show him how to work the slide, check the chamber, where the safety is, and finally cock the hammer and squeeze the trigger while sighting at an empty vase on the mantelpiece. The chunky click of the dry fire action makes him jump.

"It's going to be a bigger bang than that, when you do it for real. We can't risk drawing any attention to ourselves, and we don't have much ammunition to spare, so I'm afraid that your first time is going to have to be high-stakes. Hopefully we'll never have to use them."

"God Alana, I never knew you had so much experience with these."

"My dad was the sheriff, Todd. He had me on the range with him from when I turned six. That said, I haven't fired a weapon in nearly ten years, and never at a moving target. I'm hardly a pro. Anyway, look - here you go. The first and most important rule: always treat any weapon as though it is loaded. Never, ever assume that its not."

"It's heavy!"

"Yeah, it is. It will be heavier with the rounds in. You'll get used to it. Remember how I showed you the hammer? Pull that back and squeeze the trigger. You need to have the stud at the front lined up with the target. That can be enough, if you have to shoot quickly and at close range, but to be more precise, you need to then line up the rear studs like so..."

He pulls the trigger, a bit too forcefully, but it's not bad. You can work with this.

"Gentle - just a squeeze, remember? Try to breathe out when you do it... good. Okay, do that thirty more times. You need to get the muscle memory. Then practice it thirty more times, but put the gun down or put it in your pocket between each one. I'm going to pack our supplies."

You hear the pistol clicking away, and get everything useful that you think you can manage crammed into the bags. Your pack is bigger, which is fine for now but might be a challenge in a few months time. Oh well, you'll cross that bridge if you come to it. You use the extra room in your pack for a compact tent and sleeping bag, and some various bits of mismatched cold weather gear that Todd can wear if needed. One final item you add, despite its considerable weight, is a chunky medical textbook, one of the required reading items from your pre-med college track. This one is focused on primary care and initial diagnosis, but has some generalised chapters on anatomy and first aid that you figure will all be useful. You were a long way off being a medic, still, but having the resource to refer to would hopefully equip you for some of the likely problems that you will encounter out in the wide world.

Next you fill every portable vessel you can find with water from the rainwater butt. Clipping pouches, bottles, Camelbaks to any spot you can manage on both packs. We have about six gallons in total. A lot of weight to be carrying, but crucially important for survival. You also manage to find a way to make a reasonably portable version of the collecting funnel and tubing, so that we can replenish a bit if it rains.

Finally, you fix the revolver holster on your pack's right waist strap, and load the shotgun with two birdshot shells and one buck, thinking that the lighter weight shots might be used to scare somebody away before hopefully not needing the last, definitely lethal, one. Now that Todd has a weapon more suited to him, you elect to keep the shotgun for yourself. You find a place on each pack to secure one of the knives within easy reach, and put the taser on your pack on the opposite side to the revolver. You give Todd the handcuffs, reasoning that he'll be able to rush in to use them while you have somebody zapped.

It's now getting late, and after a brief, modest meal to have the smallest impact on your supplies, you tell Todd to go and get his head down in your brother's room. He looks disappointed that you won't be sleeping together, but you glare at him and he quails under your withering look. After he's gone upstairs, you look over the assembled kit, and think you're nearly as ready as you can be.

***

In the morning, you wake Todd up shortly after sunrise, and tell him to eat breakfast and prepare. You sit poring over the maps while you wait for him, trying to clarify your memories of the area around the lodge. Eventually he sheepishly sits down next to you and gestures that he's all good.

Ready to go. One last thought occurs, and getting some spray paint from your dad's tool cupboard, you spray on the living room wall:

JIM - GONE TO LODGE, A

It's going to be a vain hope, you're sure, but just in case. If Jim's alive, he'll try to find you. The message is vague enough that anybody else won't know what it means, and you won't have just left a signpost for other **** survivors to come and prey upon you for supplies - or worse.