Day 5.
It began with banana pancakes and an announcement.
"We're going on a field trip," Nana said, sliding a plate in front of Carl.
Carl blinked blearily. "I didn't sign any permission slips."
Ellie perked up from behind her juice box. "Are we going to Disneyland?"
"No. We're doing recon," Nana said, pouring coffee like it was ammunition. "I need to know which of our neighbors are still alive, who's crazy, and who has backup batteries I can steal— borrow."
Carl sighed. "That's a hard maybe on crazy. Half the block was already weird before the world fell apart."
Nana stabbed a pancake with surgical precision. "Exactly. That's why we go. We don't need allies. We need predictable chaos."
Toby slid into the room wearing a bathrobe and tactical goggles. "Do I get a recon badge?"
"No," Nana said without looking.
---
The recon plan was written on a whiteboard titled NANA OPS – SECTOR 1 SWEEP.
Carl and Ellie: Neighbor sweep, outer perimeter.
Toby: Radio duty, compound defense, chicken morale.
Nana: Command HQ and sandwich production.
Gear was distributed like a quirky militia:
Backpack with granola bars, extra socks, and stickers.
A map of the neighborhood annotated with Nana's commentary ("House with gnomes = cult," "Garage guy = hoards beans + blames Canada").
Carl's Emergency Mop™, now duct-taped with a flashlight.
Ellie's toy lightsaber, dual-wielded with a water pistol.
Before leaving, Nana handed Carl a walkie-talkie. "Channel 7. If you say 'over and out' wrong, I will revoke your sandwich privileges."
Carl saluted. "Yes, ma'am."
---
House 1: Mr. Kaplan's.
Known for shirtless lawn mowing and yelling at the weather.
The front door was slightly ajar—not broken, just tired.
Carl knocked. "Mr. Kaplan?"
Grunt. Shuffle. Heavy sigh.
Kaplan appeared, covered in sweat, wearing only camo shorts and a headband made of duct tape.
"I've been expecting this," he said, striking a pose that would terrify fitness influencers.
"You good?" Carl asked.
Kaplan nodded. "Training. Since '84. The world's finally caught up."
Inside, a whiteboard read:
> "DAY 5 – OUTLIFT DEATH. DON'T FEED THE WALKERS."
He offered them protein shakes made from crushed multivitamins and expired peanut butter.
They politely declined.
"My Roomba is a drone now," Kaplan added proudly.
Ellie stared. "That's… awesome?"
"I call it Recon Broom. It sweeps AND surveils."
Kaplan saluted them on the way out. "Tell the squirrels I'm watching."
Carl whispered, "Definitely watching us too."
---
House 2: The Watkins residence.
Nana's map labeled it in red ink: "AVOID. BLUE MAILBOX. EXTREME MOON BELIEF."
The mailbox was gone. Instead, a lawn sign read:
> "THE MOON HAS BEEN HIDDEN BY THE GOVERNMENT DURING THE DAY. WAKE UP."
A curtain twitched upstairs.
Carl and Ellie slowly backed away.
"Add a sticker to the map," Carl said. "Do not engage."
Ellie added a glittery alien face beside the address before muttering, "Heh, what a rookie, everybody knows the moon isn't real..."
---
House 3: The Myers.
Family of five. Known for Halloween displays and suburban chaos.
The porch was barricaded with couch cushions and pool noodles.
"Who goes there?" someone called from a window.
"Carl. Nana's house."
"Oh. Cool. We're rewatching Gravity Falls and eating cereal with water. Come by later if the apocalypse gets boring."
Ellie waved. "Your barricade is very squishy."
"That's the point!" the mom shouted. "Zombie bounce-back!"
---
House 4: Rich – end-of-the-world bingo guy.
Lawn chairs in the driveway. Bingo cards taped to a cooler. Rich wore a Hawaiian shirt and held a beer.
"Heyyy! Fresh survivors!"
He tossed Carl a warm Bud Light. Carl handed it back.
Ellie whispered, "That man radiates weird uncle energy."
They stayed long enough to confirm he was harmless. Probably. Definitely drunk.
---
House 5: Garage zombie.
The house was quiet, but rhythmic thumping came from the garage.
Inside: One zombie. Plaid shirt. Glasses. Possibly used to be a librarian.
It kept bumping into the door like an angry Roomba.
Ellie wrote: "Garage Roamer. Name: Doug."
Carl nodded. "Doug seems chill."
They moved on.
---
House 6: Slip-n-slide war zone.
Kids had turned the backyard into a watery combat arena.
Water balloons, inflatable crocodiles, and at least one foam sword duel.
"Can I join?" Ellie asked facing her father, stars in her eyes.
"Mission first," Carl said, dragging her away.
"Fun hater," she muttered.
"Alive hater," he replied.
---
As they finished their sweep, something strange happened.
The soft jingle of a familiar melody.
"…doot-doot… da-da-da…"
They froze.
Carl whispered, "Ice cream truck?"
Ellie's jaw dropped. "In this economy?"
Over the hill rolled a pink and white truck with solar panels, spikes, and a banner that read: FROZEN JUSTICE.
The driver, a woman in shades and a tactical vest, gave them a nod.
"You kids want some rocket pops?" she asked.
Ellie whispered, "Am I dreaming?"
They each got a frozen treat.
"Apocalypse discount," the driver said. "Remember: brain freeze is better than brain-eating."
"Are you recruiting?" Carl asked.
"Only people with mop-fu."
As she drove away, Ellie declared: "This is the greatest recon ever."
Carl nodded solemnly. "She has a cooler, better than our government."
---
Back at Nana's, Carl and Ellie returned like war heroes—sticky from popsicles, tired from the sun, and deeply suspicious of moon-based cults.
Toby met them on the porch, wearing a welding visor and holding what looked like a toaster wired to a car battery.
"Status?" he asked.
Ellie tossed him a half-melted bomb pop. "We made contact with a frozen vigilante."
Carl dropped the annotated map on the table. "Three neighbors still sane-ish. Two potentially hostile. One possibly zombified. Also, Watkins thinks the moon is being held captive by the government during the day."
Toby nodded. "The moon was always the governments property. But that's not today's issue."
---
They reassembled at the kitchen table with grilled cheese, juice boxes, and tactical glitter pens.
Nana studied the map like it was a battle plan.
"Mr. Kaplan is alive and mentally bench-pressing the apocalypse. The Myers are handling things with couch fortifications. Rich is... hydrated."
Carl added, "There's also a trapped zombie named Doug in a garage."
Nana jotted in her Stupid Decisions Log:
"Garage Doug: Harmless until garage door opens. Monitor."
Toby added: "I tuned the radio while you were gone. Found a broadcast. They're calling themselves Station Echo. Broadcasting on a loop."
He adjusted his toaster-thing and pressed a button.
> "If you're out there, know this: There's still power in pockets. Still food. Still people. Keep moving. Stay sharp. And whatever you do… don't trust lemonade stands."
Carl blinked. "Wait. What?"
Toby pointed at the screen. "Station Echo's most recent warning: 'Beware stand-based ambushes.' It's the new trap trend. Citrus-based deception."
Ellie gasped. "Like... a lemonade cult?"
Toby nodded solemnly. "They sweeten… then strike."
---
That evening, the mission shifted from Recon Mode to Signal Boost Mode.
Toby needed height for the antenna.
The highest spot nearby?
The chicken coop roof.
Carl, holding a ladder and a questionable amount of duct tape, muttered, "If I fall into a henhouse and die, I want my eulogy to be just the word 'cluck.'"
Ellie, reading from Nana's rule sheet, said: "Rule #16: Don't die stupid. Try again if you mess up."
Together, they installed the satellite dish—formerly affixed to Mr. Kaplan's gnome—onto the coop roof using soup cans and rope.
"It's wobbly," Carl noted.
Toby tightened a bolt. "That means it's working."
They waited.
Then—crackle, hiss, static, and a clear voice:
> "This is Station Echo. If you hear us, reply. Use channel 4. We're trying to reach the Riverside Library Base, the Ferris Compound, and any safe house in Sector D."
Carl grabbed the mic. "Station Echo, this is... Nana Base. Sector F? Or possibly E-minus. We have sandwiches, solar power, and a mop."
A pause. Then laughter over the line.
> "Well, Nana Base, you're the most coherent message we've gotten in three days. Keep your mop close. We'll be in touch."
Ellie whispered, "We're in the network."
Toby stood proudly beside his toaster-antenna. "Operation CoopCast complete."
---
That night, under the stars, the household gathered on the porch.
Nana sipped tea. Carl had a warm mug of cocoa. Ellie wrapped herself in her towel cape and leaned on her dad's arm.
Toby fiddled with a notebook labeled Lemonade Cult Variables: Preliminary Theories.
The radio crackled again.
> "Update from Station Echo: We've confirmed other survivors in town. Including… a guy calling himself 'The Creaminator.' Drives a reinforced ice cream truck. Shoots popsicles. Very loud. Definitely real."
Carl raised an eyebrow. "We met him."
Ellie whispered, "He's my hero."
Nana grunted. "If he brings vanilla, I'll respect him."
---
Before bed, Carl found Ellie drawing by lantern light.
"What's that?" he asked.
She turned the notebook around: a blueprint labeled Frozen Justice 2.0 Deluxe. The ice cream truck had tank treads, missile launchers, and a side dispenser labeled "emotional support sprinkles."
Carl smiled. "Still planning your future?"
"Yep. After all, weird wins."
Carl nodded. "It always does."
---
End of Chapter 5 – The Neighborhood Recon
> "In the new world, community was everything. Even if that community included moon cults, shredded gym teachers, and a satellite dish held together by soup cans."
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