One hopes to stay warm and dry and well fed, but the unknown beckons. Will we remain exiled from home when so many are struggling to set the neighborhood to right? Is there nothing we can do to help? Are we to ignore the spoiled food in our icebox? 

No, I argue with my family, we must leave this bed of luxury, return to our own humble digs and chance the consequences.

At dawn I bundle up our clothing and the small library that we have collected on our travels, and load up our little Honda Fit for the journey home. We should have enough fuel to travel a few miles; the road includes hills and valleys but no flooding and no washed-out bridges. The questions are this: will we make it home with such a small bit of oil, and what will we find when we get there? And furthermore, will we encounter brigands?