Soon enough, Corey knew she had to leave. She couldn't stay in the old house like a sitting duck, vulnerable without anyone to help her. It was when she started running low on what little food she had when she finally accepted the fact that her family wasn't coming back any time soon, if ever. So, she packed up whatever she could, leaving anything without vital use or of value, such as a couple pictures of her family and closest friends, some books and one or two small trinkets. She packed whatever she could in an old, good size duffle bag, her school bag (after she removed the school stuff, of course) and a white cooler, which mostly just held the food. Anything else was left behind, or, if small enough, thrown into the back seat. 

Lucky for her, brothers left their car, an old blue jeep, at the house. She was used to driving it, but not without an adult, since she only has her permit. Corey knew it was going against the law, for her to take the car, but she had no other way or transportation. The buses and cars stopped going down even the main roads long ago, there was no hope of her getting a ride. Her 16th birthday is in February, so close enough, right?

Before leaving, she took one look back through the house, the house she grew up in. Most of her best memories took place here. Her saxophone was sitting out on it's stand, like it had recently been played, when really the last time she touched it was before her mom left. She put it together carefully, feeling tears brink at her eyes just from the memories of this golden interment. It was the last thing her dad gave to her before being deported. Without this saxophone, she wouldn't have some of her greatest memories in marching, jazz and concert band. She walked around the corner and placed the saxophone on her parents bed with a note, just in case her mom came back. She continued throughout the house, fixing a few things out of place and stopping once in a while. Her hockey stick was the hardest to leave behind, it was her life line. She knew she couldn't bring it, it would only take up space. So, she left it in the corner of the basement, by the net and pucks. After that, she finally walked up the stairs and out the brown door. 

She slipped on her favorite hockey hoodie and snowboarding jacket over it. After loading the dogs up in the car and the last of the food, she pulled out of the driveway and down the old dirt road for what will most likely be the last time. She knew she wasn't going home any time soon, but maybe she would. She could find her brothers and mom, and they could all go home and live out here, far from the city. However, a feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that wasn't going to happen. 

It wasn't until she pulled out onto the main road did she see the damage. Smoke was rising from the city in the distance, cars and trucks were over turned and abandoned on the side of the road. What was once a bustling town outside the state capitol of Maine, was now a ghost town. The gas station was abandoned, the shelves stripped clean. She pulled up and started scavenging in the station and around it. She grabbed a couple of gas cans, filling up whatever was left and paying with a credit car she found in a wallet in an abandoned car. She managed to scavenge what little food was left, a granola bar package, a water bottle, 2 cans of pop, plenty of dog food, and a bag of chips. She threw her finds into the white cooler, besides the dog food.

As she drove slowly and cautiously down the road, she couldn't help but wonder where all the everyone had gone. Cars were scattered around the roads, bags and belongings scattered, tattered and broken. Occasionally she would see a children's or dog toy and feel a pain in her heart and reach over, patting on of the dogs for comfort. She could only hope that what or who left the toys and trinkets, were safe and sound. Judging from the damage around her, however, it didn't seem very likely. 

After seeing the damaged on the main road, she decided to stick to the back roads. There was less damage there, but every once in a while she would come across an overturned car, bike or even an ATV. Whatever people could get away on. She didn't even know where she was driving, but she just felt like the way she was going was right. She felt some kind of tug in the back of her mind, pulling her towards something, or even someone. All she knew was she was leaving her home of Portland, Maine, for quite possibly the last time, and it was one of the most painful things she has ever done.