By the time the heat waves subsided, at least a thousand people were dead.

Those are the official numbers, at least.

The numbers no one trusts.

The city government and the police denied breaking up homeless encampments during the disaster,

and only acknowledged a handful of outdoor exposure deaths.

On Twitter, someone shares a video of what might be a mass grave.

You're not sure if it's real, and you don't really have time to find out.

After the grid overloads, it takes weeks for the power situation to normalize.

Waddled water, abundant at the start of the disaster, becomes scarce.

In conversations with friends and snippets of time online, you learn that much of the Midwest

has been subject to Titanic mudslides and flooding.

Hurricanes hit the southeast, driving up demand for disaster supplies even further, and

putting more stress on interstate commerce.

Work is basically impossible for days.

You're not even really sure if your job's going to exist much longer anyway.

Outside of a few high-end shopping districts, life just hasn't gone back to normal for

most people.

So you've settled into a new normal, using your car and your now copious free time to

very supplies to and from, a handful of collection points in new encampments.

You felt bad for days after fleeing when the cops broke up the first camp.

Aaron, your community organizer friend, told you not to worry about it, not everyone's

ready to go face to face with riot cops.

...