Many real grid failures will catch people between places: a dead traffic light, a garage that will not open, a phone at four percent. A small kit in the vehicle — water, a layer of warmth, a paper map, a battery bank, comfortable shoes — covers that case without pretending the car is a homestead.

The garage door is an electrical appliance that looks like part of the building. When it stays down, the car you counted on is in a locked room. The manual release, used once in daylight so you know where it is, is the difference between that room and the driveway.

The paper map should be the roads you actually drive, not a souvenir of a larger region. A navigation app is a battery and a tower. Shoes are in the kit because the last stretch may be a walk from an intersection that no longer directs anyone, and the shoes people drive in are often the ones they cannot walk far in.

Keep the tank above a quarter in winter. Fuel stops being available when pumps lose power, even if the refinery is fine.

That quarter tank is for finishing the commute or reaching the place you already named. It is not a plan to cross the state. A long unplanned drive spends the fuel in someone else's jam and leaves you farther from the people who know where you were going.

The battery bank is in the trunk so the car's own battery can stay a starting battery. Sitting with the engine off while a phone drinks the vehicle dry is how a delay becomes a stranding. The kit is supposed to spare that battery, not borrow it until the key does nothing.

Tell someone the route you actually drive. A plan that assumes you are home is a plan for one of your days. The person you tell should be able to picture the school, the shift, or the exit where you would actually be stopped. Otherwise "not home" is a message with nowhere to land.