Everything in the book assumes a house. Above the sixth floor your water is pumped, and the pump is electric — you get minutes, not hours. The balcony is not a backyard, and the fire code is explicit about it. The forty gallons in your water heater may not be yours at all. And the light in the stairwell runs on a battery rated for ninety minutes. Four chapters of the book, rewritten for a building, plus a card you print and tape inside a cabinet door. 7 printable pages.

Staying is the plan until it is not. This is how to know it is time to go before the decision gets made for you: what goes in the bag, which documents matter and in what form, and where you are actually going. Decided at the kitchen table instead of a dark hallway at two in the morning. 6 printable pages.

The book tells you what to eat. This tells you how much to buy: 50 shelf-stable foods, exact quantity per person for fourteen days, all of it food your family already eats. Plus how long each one keeps, and the three rules that stop a pantry expiring quietly in a cupboard. One shopping trip. 6 printable pages.

Nobody reads a book in the dark. People reach. This is one page you tape inside a cabinet door: the exact order to do things in the first sixty minutes, big enough to read by flashlight, with blank lines for your utility number and the two neighbors to check on. Print it tonight. 5 printable pages.