Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Always remember, folks. You heard it first from Charlie.”

~

Schlatt’s in New York. Noah’s in New Jersey. Ted’s with one Connor E. Pants on a housing tour, showing the man around Boston. Cooper and Travis are in California. Josh is in a hotel somewhere in between them, taking a break from things.

Charlie knows this, objectively, but he doesn’t think about it all that often. Why would he?

Charlie’s in Virginia. Amazing! Locations don’t matter much, these days, and the only one Charlie cares about right now is California.

He’s road-tripping this summer, just him and Route 66 and a whole lot of junk food. He’s thinking about that, mostly. See, they’re moving in together, he and the boys, as they say. Been in the works for months. There’s a house in Cali with their names on it, quite literally.

And Charlie’s got a plan to get there. What could go wrong?

(Warning number one. In June, half of Japan floods. Charlie streams for charity relief and feels like the danger couldn’t be further away.)

~

Schlatt’s in New York.

“It’s snowing,” Schlatt grumbles to him over the phone. “The hell is it snowing?”

Charlie frowns. “That is strange.”

Schlatt’s voice gets muffled as he leans away, accompanied by the tell-tale rustle of a blind. “-fuckin’, white shit. Comin’ down like bullets. It’s July.”

Plan a route from Virginia to California. From his parents’ home to his new home. Simple, thanks to satellites and his state of the art gaming setup.

But it feels pointless, for some reason, and that’s making it hard to concentrate. There’s something more important he should be doing, he knows it, feels it in his ribs. His chest tingles like his bones are made of copper.

Charlie rubs his eyes and shakes his head, scrolling a little further down on Google Maps. “Wack.”

Schlatt snorts. There’s a little bit of static from his end. “Since when do you say wack?”

“Since when does it snow in July?” Charlie blinks. He’s unfocused his vision again.

“Hey,” Schlatt cuts back in, “unrelated - unrelated, but.”

“Yeah,” Charlie hums. He’s almost through Colorado. He wonders if he has time for a stop by the Grand Canyon. Maybe the Hoover Dam.

“Have you been feeling weird, lately?” Schlatt asks, and there’s a wobble in his tone Charlie’s never heard before.

Charlie puts down his pencil. “No,” he says, and convinces himself he doesn’t know it’s a lie.

Schlatt’s quiet for a second or two. “Okay. Yeah, no, it’s probably just -”

“Stressed about the move?” Charlie asks.

“Yeah. I guess. Mostly just worried about how I’m gonna live more than a week with you as a roommate.”

It’s a joke, so Charlie laughs. Where was he, again? Nevada? No, Colorado. “Man, I get it. It’s a long way from home for me, too.”

“Yeah,” Schlatt says. His voice cracks. “Yeah. At least I’ll have you guys, though. I’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Charlie says. “We’ll be fine.”

Schlatt’s quiet. The blinds rustle again. “It’s fuckin’ snowing,” comes his broken voice. “Charlie.”

“I know,” Charlie swallows. “I -“

“It’s July,” Schlatt says. “God, Charlie. It’s July.”

~

He’ll drive from home to Cali. Better than paying for a moving truck, he’d assured his mother. More fun than a plane, he’d muttered to Grace.

He can take his time, relax from work for a while, get his thoughts in order before the grind starts back up with a vengeance. That had gotten Grace on his side.

Grace. She’d been right. How different would it have been, if he stayed with her?

(Warning number two. South America bursts at the seams, their mountains crumbling, seas surging up from their beds. Machu Picchu is destroyed. Charlie streams for charity relief and ignores the similar warnings starting to come through on the news.)

~

Noah’s in New Jersey.

“Yeah, it’s been weird around here,” Noah says, nonchalant as always.

Stream’s going well. He’s playing CS:GO with Cooper, Noah, and Connor. Chat scrolls by lazily, happily, laughing at Charlie’s brief moments of incompetence. He ignores the donations coming through about how much his content is helping people through the uncertain times and convinces himself he’ll read them out later.

“Yeah?” Connor asks, immediately followed by a disappointed exhale. Charlie’s screen flashes red. “Dammit!”

“Weather’s all jacked. Schlatt says it’s happening in New York, too. All up the east coast.”

“Huh,” Charlie says. Noah sounds calm about it, just vaguely interested, but that doesn’t mean anything.

“The other day, they said we should look out for earthquakes. In New Jersey.”

Cooper laughs. “That’s funny.”

Noah echoes him almost perfectly. “Right? I told Schlatt, I said, we’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. It’s all going according to plan, dude.” Cooper shuffles with something, sets down a can with a clang. It rattles a little longer than Charlie thinks it should.

”On our ends, maybe,” Noah grumbles. “Bastard’s still holed up in his apartment. I don’t know if he’s even packed, yet.”

Noah’s hiding behind miles of sky and wires. Charlie’s sure that he, too, sounds alright over Discord - it allows him to say, “He’s probably busy making snow angels.”

“Snow angels,” Connor snorts, but doesn’t sound amused.

“He should get a move on,” Noah says like no one had spoken. “Earthquakes. Gotta outrun ‘em.”

“Running from earthquakes,” Cooper says dryly, “to California.”

Connor guffaws, a little louder than he probably should have. Over the line, Cooper’s can rattles again.

For a moment, then, Charlie feels the world around him tremble with a pained inhale. His breath catches in his chest. His vision drifts from the monitor.

He snaps it back just in time to see his character get shot. He’s never been so happy to die.

Connor chastises him loudly and distractingly, chat goes feral, Cooper’s laughing, high-pitched, and it rings in his ears.

Stream’s going well. He can’t stop it now.

So Charlie cracks a pun.

So Charlie forgets about New York/NewJersey/earthquakes/snow in July.

And Charlie decides he should drink less caffeine, for it has to be his body that’s shaking and not the dirt beneath his feet.

~

The day before he leaves for his parents’ house, he takes apart his room, takes apart his equipment, hunts down stray belongings he’s scattered around his apartment, and packs it all up one box at a time.

He sold his car and bought a van for this. Seven people to cart around, now, plus it’s a convenient way to fulfill his road trip dream. Plenty of space for the limited things he decided to bring.

He’s not sure how he packed. Each item felt, in his hands, useless. His play buttons had barely made the cut. He’d only put them in the box when he remembered his background would look a little bare without them.

(The midwest issues tornado watches once a day. The west calls for shelter from dust storms larger than Wyoming. Warning signs. He misses every single one of them.)

His parents’ house is no different - childhood tokens he’d almost forgotten about, pictures, his hoodie he’s had since seventh grade.

While he’s packing, sometimes he finds himself drifting into the mindset that he’s never coming back. That this is it. Whatever he doesn’t put in the boxes, if he doesn’t herd his family into the van and take them along, he’ll never see them again.

(Maybe he hadn’t missed the warning signs, after all. It was snowing in July, after all.)

Stream equipment is swaddled in whatever clothes he didn’t think he’d need while driving, safely pinned in place by the boxes. He stares for a long time at his life, all nice and neat, how easily it fits in the back of his van.

It’s an odd feeling. He shuts the trunk.

~

Ted’s in Boston.

Charlie’s phone rings. It almost doesn’t wake him up.

“Charlie,” Ted yells into his ear as soon as he picks up. “Oh, God, thank God -“

“Ted?” Charlie blinks, rubs at his eyes enough to squint at his bedside clock. It’s four in the morning. “It’s four in the -“

“No one else would pick up, shit -” and Ted cuts out. Static buzzes in his place.

Charlie’s heart stops.

“Ted?” he barks, like if he screams louder it’ll work. “Ted? Are you okay?”

Silence. Oh, God.

“Ted!” Charlie shouts.

Then the phone crackles, sparks, and the other side roars back to life with - “Fuck!”

“Ted!” Charlie struggles to sit up, grasping his glasses with shaking fingers.

“I’m fine - Charlie, Charlie?”

“Ted,” Charlie says, heart erupting into his mouth. He tastes blood. “Ted, can you hear me? I’m here.”

“Oh God, Boston,” Ted sobs, like it’s the first breath he’s taken in hours. “Boston’s underwater.”

It cuts again.

Boston’s underwater.

“-barely gave us any warning, we’re driving like hell, shit, Charlie, I -”

Boston’s underwater.

“Are you okay?” Charlie says, he whispers, he can barely force it out. “Ted, please -”

“We’re fine,” Ted chokes. “My - my family’s in Pennsylvania, my - I’m with Connor, we managed to - I don’t know. I don’t know about anyone else.

“We’re driving,” and Ted’s crying now, harder than Charlie thinks is healthy. “The wave, I just barely, I -

“I don’t know what to do,” Ted mourns, “I saw it coming, Charlie. It -”

Charlie can’t talk. “Is there a place you’re supposed to go? When they warned you, did they -”

“Warning!” Ted howls. “There wasn’t a warning. There wasn’t - we got an alert that we had an hour. An hour. An hour, Charlie, and by the time we got to driving it was almost on us -

“I don’t know who to call,” Ted says. “I don’t know who got out. I don’t know where to go. Charlie. Charlie?

“Charlie,” Ted begs. “Please, are you there?”

Boston’s underwater.

Charlie can’t stay here any longer.

“Come to California,” Charlie says, rushed, shooting out of bed. “Go to California. I’m leaving tonight.”

He waits for Ted to answer. There’s nothing but silence. Not even static.

The call’s been disconnected. Charlie involuntarily whimpers and clutches white knuckles against his heart.

Oh, shit.

Boston’s underwater.

~

His family begs him to stay. They say the government’s releasing information about the end of the world. They say the continent is breaking apart.

Grace begs him to join her - she’s flying to Africa with her family. They say it’s not going to flood. They say there are safehouses, there.

Charlie can’t. He could.

He doesn’t.

(Warning number three. The final one. He sees this one. He turns his back on it anyway.)

~

“I’m going down,” Josh tells him with a shaking voice. “I’ve got to. Cooper and Travis tell me things are getting real bad, down there - we can’t just leave them.”

“Why can’t they come to you?” Charlie begs, just to hear someone tell him what he already knows. “Why can’t they come to us?”

“It’s not like the East Coast is better,” Josh snaps. “Noah told me he was driving out of state as soon as he could. He also told me Schlatt won’t pick up the phone. The country’s crumbling at both ends, Charlie.”

Charlie transfers his phone to one hand, picks up another empty gas can from the shelf, and dumps it into his shopping cart. It lands on top of more first aid supplies than Charlie ever thought he’d need and too many packs of bottled water. Countless other things litter the basket on his arm. He looks like a doomsday prepper.

Ironic, isn’t it? He was so woefully underprepared for doomsday.

“I’m doing it, too,” he admits softly. “I just wish - I just -”

“Cooper cut out mid-call, yesterday,” Josh says with a sigh. “They won’t pick up. The quakes are taking out cities, now.”

“Great,” Charlie says, tight. “That’s four dropped off the radar.”

“Ted?” Josh whispers after a beat of processing. “Shit, Ted, no. Charlie?”

Charlie swallows. “I don’t know.”

Josh is quiet. Charlie stares at the canned food and doesn’t move a muscle.

“Okay,” Josh finally says. “I’ll see you there. Keep in touch.”

“Alright,” Charlie says, and prays he isn’t next.

~

His life is packed up into his van. Funny, now, that he feels more alive than he has in months.

He tells Grace goodbye, and he starts to forget her voice almost as soon as he shuts the door.

He doesn’t stop anywhere, he drives for hours until he can’t see straight, he sleeps fitfully on the side of the road. He’s got too many miles to go.

He has to get to California.

(Even though there’s one in his car, he has another radio, now, one that he can talk on. He buys it from a gas station in Illinois. Who knows how long the cell service will last?)

~

Cooper and Travis are in California.

Charlie never makes it there, in the end.

He’s just passed the Missouri state border when he hears it over the radio. Yesterday, the announcer says, the entire state erupted along the fault line. Death toll in the millions. Destruction on a national scale.

California’s fallen into the ocean, no warning, no chance to escape. California is gone.

Charlie pulls over on the side of the road and thinks he might black out.

The dust clouds and smoke are still ravaging their way across the desert, they say. Tidal waves are surging to replace the landmass, and a shaken sounding reporter describes the scene from a helicopter over the newest territory of the Pacific Ocean.

“The new chasms are completely flooded,” they say. The wind makes their words almost inaudible. “The - the water is quickly wearing away the land masses l-left, there’s a few chunks sticking up, out of the water, along the - coast. Rescue teams are searching for survivors before they, too, collapse. It’s not estimated to be more than - than -”

When the broadcast cuts out, Charlie screams.

Everything was in California. Cooper and Travis were in California.

Charlie calls them, fingers fumbling the numbers a few times before he gets it right. It doesn’t even go through.

He tries Noah. He doesn’t pick up. Schlatt goes straight to voicemail. Ted -

Charlie climbs with shaking legs back into his van and shuts the door. California’s gone.

Turning on the car, he notices with a cold detachment he’s running low on gas. He needs to stop soon.

Where is he going, now? What does he do, now?

The earth is shattering, call the people on the radio.

Charlie rather feels like he’s shattered with it.

Chapter Text

Cooper doesn’t want to leave California.

This is a problem, Travis thinks.

~

Hello? Hello?

Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you. I'm finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact. So, I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I'm here to tell you there's nothing to worry about. Uh, you'll do fine. So, let's just focus on getting you through your first week. Okay?

...

Really, Charlie? Do better.

Try again.

Hello. My name is Charlie. I’m twenty-two, I’m from Virginia.

If there’s anyone out there - no, if this is even working, oh, God, what if it’s not working? What if I’m talking to myself in the back of my van eating Chex Mix out of a Tupperware?

...

That is what I’m doing. Whatever.

It’s eleven p.m, I think, if my watch didn’t die while I wasn’t looking. I’m somewhere in Missouri. It’s sometime in August.

Oh, shit. Is it my birthday? It might be my birthday.

Hah, look at that! Happy birthday, Charlie.

I don’t know if this is even working. It looks like it is. I hope it is. I guess I won’t really know, will I? My computer’s wrecked, now, but Mich- the guy I ran into in St. Louis said it would broadcast. If there’s any towers left, that is.

I hope he’s okay. He was waiting for the evacuees from Hawaii. Apparently, the islands are set to blow any minute.

I hope he’s okay.

…

And California is gone. I’m sure you know that already.

…

My phone’s almost dead. I didn’t bring my car charger. I’m too scared to use my laptop battery.

No one would call me, anyway.

...

Huh. Look at me. I don’t know what to say.

Happy birthday, Charlie. You’re talking to yourself in the back of your van in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

...

I’m looking at Twitter. Niagara Falls is filling up.

God, I have to call -

...

Phone’s dead.

Fuck.

Happy birthday, Charlie.

~

The road outside their house has a crack in it.

“It’s not a problem,” Cooper grumbles over dinner. “We can still drive around it.”

“It goes through the yard,” Travis argues.

“It’s just part of the earthquake deal.”

“It’s big. I could fit both feet down it.”

“I was thinking of doing some tricks over it.”

“What if it splits further? In the next quake?”

“Then don’t fall in.” Cooper stands, slams his plate into the sink. “I’m going to stream. Don’t bother me.”

Travis doesn’t, and goes upstairs to do some background work on Animal Crossing.

It’s only a few minutes later that he feels a quake starting. He curls up under his bed and hopes the ceiling stays up.

He notes that his village doesn’t shake with the house. He notes, jumping at the clatter, that his monitor has probably fallen over. He hastily pulls up Twitch and notes that Cooper seemingly hasn’t noted any of this. He’s still streaming. Behind him, one of his skateboards falls off the wall again.

“Damn,” he sighs, barely giving it a second glance. “That’s the seventh time this week.”

It’s a small quake, thankfully, and soon the rumbling subsides without any more loud noises. Travis edges out from under the bed and dusts off his clothes. Looking up, there aren’t any cracks in the ceiling. Looking down -

There’s one in the floor. He’s straddling it.

He can see through the gap to the kitchen below. Oh, God.

There’s plaster in the sink.

That’s it. That’s it. That’s it.

His limbs seem like they weigh tons as he navigates his way over the crack and winds a pathway around his room. Sometimes the floor creaks, and he freezes for a minute before he lets himself move again. He feels like he’s walking on ice.

Back and forth, from his dresser to the hallway to his bed to the walls. He packs up everything he’s avoided bringing to the kitchen, box by box, until the small pyramid of five threatens to block off the stairs.

There are even more boxes in his room. He knows he won’t pack them. He’s almost surprised when he tells himself that - but not quite.

Half of the remaining items are useless things, trivialities he only keeps around to remind himself he has them. The ability to have and own, the proof of stability. It makes his stomach hurt.

It’s all pointless when your house is falling apart and your garden drops off seven miles into the earth.

The other half he knows he simply can’t take. There’s only so much room, they can only carry what they need. He says goodbye to that half quietly, and when he closes his door the walls groan.

For the rest of the hour, Travis carries his things down the stairs and into Cooper’s car. His arms hurt by the time he gets it all secured in the trunk.

The ground is shaking again. He slams the car door shut and buckles his seatbelt.

He sits in the passenger seat and watches a tree go down across the road. It barely misses a house. It makes a noise like a thunderstorm, and a family of birds desperately flies away from it.

He wishes he could do that. He thinks briefly and wildly about stealing a plane.

In the air, the earth poses no danger to him. They could run away faster, safer. They should have run away a long time ago.

The newscasters have been saying this for weeks. Cooper wouldn’t listen to the newscasters. Maybe, Travis thinks hopelessly, Cooper will listen to him.

Time passes slowly. According to his phone clock, it’s been forty-five minutes by the time Cooper finally finds him.

“Oh my God, what are you doing out here?” Cooper snaps, hauling open the car door. “I’ve been looking for you for -”

“Put your stuff in the car,” Travis interrupts.

“What?”

“We’re leaving.”

Cooper stares at him and comprehends his reasoning instantly and once again ignores it.

Travis’s blood boils.

“We’re moving in two weeks, not today,” Cooper says bluntly. “Get out of the car.”

“No.”

“Get out,” Cooper says, “of the -”

“No!” Travis shouts, bright and finally angry. Cooper reels back and runs into the car door. “There is a hole in the floor of my room, Cooper!”

Travis counts seven beats of his heart before Cooper starts breathing again.

“So?” he whispers and clears his throat. “Been one in mine for a week.”

“You’re crazy,” Travis says wildly, “you’re crazy and dumb and you’re going to get me killed, us killed -”

“Nothing’s going to fucking kill us.” Cooper rights himself, that god-awful glaze in his eyes returning with a vengeance.

“You’ve seen the news,” Travis fires back. “You know it! You do!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Cooper shouts.

It rebounds down the street. As it echoes back and slams into them, the first aftershock shakes Cooper to the ground. Travis claps his hands over his ears.

And it’s loud, this time. It’s not stopping, this time. It must be more than just an aftershock, this time.

The singular sound of wood breaking snaps through the air. Travis almost doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t think anything of it.

He’s mostly thinking about how to use this quake as ammunition, he’s still angry.

Cooper’s struggling to his feet, he’s shaking his hood off of his hair, he’s drawing in a breath to yell something over the earth’s crust tearing itself apart.

And then. And then.

Then.

~

I’m driving to the Hoover Dam.

I know they say you shouldn’t drive distracted, but does this really count? I’m just talking. Oh, oh, it’s like you all are my passengers. Travel companions.

We’re currently driving through Colorado, guys! On your right, you will see sand. If you look to your left, there’s a red rock.

Ha.

Um, I’ve got enough gas in the tank to last me another couple hours, then I’ve got more in the gas cans. Oh, shit, I hope they don’t spill over on my clothes.

Wait, wait. Give me a second. Shit.

…

Okay, guys, I’m back. They’re better secured now. No worries.

As I address the empty interior of my van yet again, let it be known I do realize there’s probably no one out there, listening. I don’t know, it just makes me feel better to act like there is. Easier to talk, too. It’s like recording a podcast, you know? Podcast.

You gotta just roll with it.

…

Sorry. Gimme another -

…

Sorry.

Allergies.

Um, what am I allergic to, you ask? Crushing loneliness! Ha, ha.

No. I’m just kidding.

I know no one’s asking.

...

The, uh, Hoover Dam has been on my bucket list for a while. Nevada doesn’t seem to be too unruly right now, so I figured I better go while I still could.

Aftershocks, they say. California only went down four days ago. But I think I’ll be fine. I’ve got gas, food.

What more do I need?

~

“-than a few dozen, if even that. Officials say the dust cloud, the debris cloud will reach neighboring states in less than a day, covering several thousand miles. Due to the. Unusually high winds. The aftershocks are slated, t-to -”

Cooper haphazardly slams his hand into the car radio. It splutters, changes channels, landing on a station that is currently broadcasting nothing but static.

Oh, God. California is gone.

They’re far enough away that they can’t see it, the ground under their feet merely quivering instead of ripping apart. Still, Travis worries. In the rear view mirror, he sees the dark line on the horizon. Ash and dirt. Dust and smoke.

California. His home. His home, his home, his -

“Fuck!” Cooper screams, suddenly -

The earth jerks -

The car lifts off the ground for a split second, they’ve hit something, they’re listing dangerously -

And then they slam to the ground again and bounce and keep driving. Travis exhales, shakily, pulls his hoodie over his head.

The dust cloud follows them much faster than they can drive.

“Shut your window,” Cooper says tightly.

“Never opened it,” Travis says. “Broke.”

Cooper chances a look away from the cracked and broken road to decide this for himself. Sure enough, he eyes the shattered spiderweb hole and the wooden splinters still stuck in the glass and exhales an anxious sigh.

Funny, Travis thinks, that he has to see the damage before he believes it.

“I didn’t pack any of your stuff,” Travis says to break the buzzing of the radio static.

“I’m aware,” Cooper says.

“I didn’t bring your good skateboard from the garage. I thought about it,” Travis says.

“Shut the fuck up,” Cooper says.

“I bet my switch got busted,” Travis says.

“Stop,” Cooper howls, “talking about the fucking house! Stop talking about California, about how much we just fucking lost -”

He stops himself like a dog on a leash. It’s physical, the way he pulls himself down.

“Where are we going?” he says, like he’d never raised his voice.

Travis looks away. The dust cloud is closer. The aftershocks are getting worse. The sky is darkening, and it is noon. “Why are you asking me?”

“You’ve got all the bright ideas.” It bites. It makes Travis angry again.

He wants to say I told you so.

He wants to say I was right.

He wants to say if we hadn’t left when the attic crashed into the basement, we’d be dead.

He wants to say if we’d stayed, like you wanted, we’d be drowned in the Pacific.

He wants to say if you had just listened to me -

“Well?” Cooper growls. Dust starts to blow in through Travis’s broken window. Cooper turns on the headlights; they mostly illuminate the ashes and barely light up the road.

Travis opens his mouth to answer him, and is mortified to find that all he can do is sob.

Cooper’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

And just like that, the sun disappears from the sky.

~

Listeners.

Weird word.

S and a T right there, next to each other. ssssssstuh. Listeners. Do you say it lihst-en-ers? Or liss-en-ers?

Call in with your answers. Ha, ha.

Listeners.

…

…

...

I’m running low on battery power, but I wanted to thank you before I signed off. For - for pretending to be there, at least for today.

Tomorrow, I run out of water. If I can’t find more -

My name is Charlie. I hope someone out there can hear me. My name is Charlie - if I don’t come back tomorrow -

Hah.

Hah, who -

Who am I kidding?

Goodbye, listen-

Goodbye.

Chapter Text

Hey. Is this thing on?

I’m still here. I’m - I’m tired, it’s been a hell of a week, but I managed to find a town still standing. I got in, got what I needed, and left. I didn’t see anyone else the whole time. Part of me is glad about that - part of me knows what it has to mean.

Towns are emptying. I haven’t seen any other cars in hours. California - California scared a lot of people. It sure scared me, ha.

I was supposed to go there, y’know. I was moving. On my way, actually.

I’m lucky I didn’t make it there. But I had -

...

Sorry.

...

No.

No. I had friends there.

I had friends there, and they won’t pick up my calls - I think the nearby cell towers are busted, or maybe it’s something completely unrelated. I don’t know. I don’t know what happened to them.

All I know is that I’m talking to myself in my car, pretending like there’s any way this radio thing actually works -

…

I’m driving again, I’m good on supplies for a week or so. But still, I shouldn’t talk so much. Who knows when I’ll next get water.

I’ll see you at the dam.

~

Josh is in a hotel somewhere in Bumfuck, Midwest.

He’s got his important stuff with him, the basics - a laptop, chargers, a week’s worth of clothes he keeps washing in the sink. He doesn’t have his stream equipment. He had told himself he won’t be gone that long.

He doesn’t know if anyone else is staying in the hotel - there’s never anyone in the hallways, and housekeeping hasn’t knocked on his door in days. He makes good use of the deadbolt every night, and the irony of protecting himself from a nonexistent threat makes him want laugh so hard it hurts.

He feels like a ghost, and the world around him feels just as dead.

It’s a strange sort of loneliness he cultivates, sitting silent in his hotel room, listening to the howling wind outside.

(Oh God, does the wind howl. He swears he sees twisters, one day; the swirling winds tear a telephone pole from the ground. It smashes into the side of the hotel. The noise it makes makes him physically flinch, but it doesn’t hurt the structure, and it doesn’t hurt him.

Josh closes his blinds and goes back to bed.)

His time is mostly spent scrolling through Twitter, occasionally watching his friends stream. He ignores the bad news piling up in his phone. He tells himself he’ll catch up when things settle down.

(Things do not settle down. The earth keeps shattering. He receives a note from the hotel management - they are shutting down in light of the warnings starting to come through.

No one comes to evict him.)

And it’s a guilty sort of loneliness, the day he finally breaks; he listens to his voicemails and his mother tells him over the crackling speaker that they’ve left the country. His stuff is still at the house, should he want any of it. She tells him, begs him, to flee as soon as he can.

He calls her back and it doesn’t go through. He thinks about cell towers going down, and then doesn’t think about them again until much later.

The days go by in a haze of staring at the ceiling and his phone and out the window, watching thunderstorms tear through the cornfields.

(He told himself he was still going to visit. He told himself things were fine. It worked - until it didn’t - and he thinks sitting here, stuck in the middle of nowhere by nothing but his own fear, might be just what he deserves.)

In July, Noah calls him, only once; he’s harried and a little too desperate for Josh to pretend everything is normal.

“Schlatt’s not picking up the fucking phone,” he says. Josh elects not to tell Noah he almost didn’t, either. “Things are real bad, out here. People are getting restless. No consequences for anything anymore, either - neighborhood across from mine burned down the other day.”

“Shit,” Josh says. His mouth is dry. Outside, the sky cracks in two with a flash so bright he has to close his eyes.

“No kidding.” Noah shuffles around on his end. “I’m going up. Someone’s gotta make sure he’s -” alive, alive, alive, screams the pause - “he’s alright.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Josh says hesitantly.

“I’m not,” Noah snaps. “It’s been fucking snowing.”

Josh knows that’s not the real issue. The East Coast has been slammed with thunderstorms, too, hurricane-level rains,earthquakes; he’s seen the news reports. He knows crime is off the charts.

He’s not sure what Noah wants him to say. So he closes his mouth and doesn’t say anything.

To his credit, Noah waits for a minute before he sighs. ”Good luck, Josh,” he says instead of goodbye. “Maybe I’ll see you in Cali.”

And there’s a nauseating sort of loneliness in the silence he leaves behind.

~

I saw the dam.

It was still going, believe it or not. I’m sure it’s the only reason this area had power. I stared at it from above for a while.

I was going to go down, but -

Well, you know.

California is gone.

Aftershocks, they say. One of them hit while I was -

…

The Hoover Dam is gone, now, too. I’m parked by the - the river. The lake. I don’t know.

It’s - it was -

I watched it go. Tons of concrete, just - just crumbled like sand. Water everywhere.

…

I think I’ll go to the Grand Canyon, next.

…

Listeners -

...

Never mind.

~

The restaurants stop delivering after the roads get too dangerous.

Josh goes grocery shopping when he feels like he’s about to collapse and the fear of starving outgrows the fear of going outside. His car is still there, miraculously.

The store he manages to drive to is practically deserted; it looks like no one’s been in to restock in a while. Every visit proves his suspicions that no one ever will again. There’s one cashier, the same person every time, and he wonders how long they’ll keep coming to work.

There’s an understanding between them, he thinks sometimes, when he can no longer brush it off as desperate need for human interaction. Like maybe, if they just keep living, stay put in the same place, the world will stop going forward and apart.

He grabs as much as he can carry off the shelves. Cans of non-perishables, water, some other things - a pocket knife, a first-aid kit.

The cashier never fails to look relieved when he only pulls his credit card out of his jacket pocket.

Day after day he sits, knowing he should be doing something, knowing he can’t. The weather gets worse. It rains bullets against his window and leaves cracks in the glass, thunderstorms threaten to deafen him, lightning sets the fields around him on fire. The wind picks up everything from tree branches to cars, slamming them into anything and everything.

Josh goes to the store one last time, clears them out of everything useful, deadbolts the door of his hotel room, and waits.

And it’s a howling, screaming sort of loneliness, the end of the world.

~

Near the end of July, Josh sits in his hotel room with his laptop on the bed, and watches in horror with the rest of the world as Boston drowns in the Atlantic.

He finds out from Charlie, later, that Ted had tried to call him. Josh feels an awful pressure in his throat.

Four dropped off the radar, Charlie says, and Josh counts them in his head.

Cooper, Travis, Schlatt, Ted.

He can still remember the way the air crackled with Cooper’s voice, he can remember feeling relieved to hear him alive, and he can remember the dead silence that followed California’s cell towers malfunctioning.

Josh prays it was the cell towers malfunctioning.

And it’s that phone call, he thinks, that’s driving him up the wall for the first time in days - the worry has caught up to him. He can’t stay here forever.

Noah and Schlatt are both gone, now, but he doesn’t tell Charlie that. The man sounds stressed enough as it is.

He tells Charlie he’s going to California, the decision made as the words leave his mouth. Maybe I’ll see you in Cali, Noah had said. We’ll see you soon, was Cooper’s mantra.

Outside, the storm rages. More of the building crumbles. The wall starts the crack.

Josh sees his car in the otherwise empty parking lot, miraculously untouched. He thinks long and hard about cell towers and dropping off the radar and getting to California.

“I’ll see you there,” he says, like he can speak it into existence. “Keep in touch.”

He hangs up on Charlie, and starts repacking.

~

(He’s a third of the way there when the news about California comes through.

He calls Cooper again. The cell towers, he tells himself when nothing happens, and thinks about their plans and their future and how much he’ll never see again.

It’s a horrific, empty loneliness, the end of the world, and he sits in his car and sobs.)

Chapter Text

New York isn’t doing so fucking hot.

~

This is a nice river.

River? Maybe a creek. Whatever you wanna call it.

The water’s cold. I don’t trust it enough to drink it, but I think I should fill some bottles just in case. Maybe I can boil it sometime down the road.

...

Well, I made it to the canyon, though I probably should have gotten here a little sooner.

Since you can’t see, I’ll, uh -

There’s some trees, scraggly little things, more like bushes, really. They’re all, uh, uprooted - still pretty. I wonder how tall they were. Kinda looks like, like they’ve been sanded.

Must have been a hell of a duststorm, huh? Hell of an earthquake. I heard it on the news, couple days ago. California - it fucked up a lot of the landscape. Clouds of dust - I got hit by one, on my way here. It wasn’t bad. Scraped a little paint off my car, nothing serious. Blotted out the sun, though, which was a little, uh, tense. Like Pompeii, ha. If only the Romans could see us now.

...

Pompeii. Remember that song? Maybe when I get back I’ll sing it for you.

Karaoke.

..

I’m parked alongside the river. Creek. It’s going quite fast.

The Colorado River, huh? The Grand Canyon. It’s gone, by the way - there’s - there’s just a crack in the ground, now. I mean - it was always a crack in the ground. But now it’s a crack in the ground I can fit one foot on either side of.

Isn’t that something?

Hell of an earthquake.

...

What’s left when you take the canyon and the grand out of the Grand Canyon? Sounds like the setup for a joke.

What’s left?

…

Ha.

...

This, apparently.

~

“We need to stop,” Travis says once, spitting dust out of his mouth in Cooper’s peripheral.

He stares out the window in the passenger seat. He speaks quietly, every word treated like a bomb, like if he’s too loud, the dirt below them will take it as a personal offense.

Cooper doesn’t answer, keeps staring straight ahead, pretending he hadn’t heard.

He feels tense, tired, dirty - he hasn’t taken a shower since last week. He’s only stopped driving to raid convenience stores and sleep for three hours at a time. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

Travis breathes shakily beside him - Cooper rather feels like he hasn’t taken a breath in months.

This is fine. If he tunes it out, he can almost convince himself it’s just a day out on the road. On his way to the store. On his way to the skate spot.

Every time he lets his eyes wander from the dirt road he feels his stomach lurch.

Around them, the landscape passes by in a blur of red and sand; the same, the same, the same, and so alien it makes his head hurt. Cooper hates it with a flaming, burning passion.

“Did you hear me?” Travis says, venomous despite his quiet tone. “We need to stop again, soon.”

Cooper’s not sure what he hates, exactly. He decides the landscape is a better target for it all than Travis.

“Did you hear me?”

It’s almost like a point of pride now, a challenge. How long can he go without thinking? How long can he go without looking away from the road? How long can he go without the awful, awful roaring in his ears? How long can he go before it all crashes down?

“Cooper!” it’s loud, it rattles him - he finally jumps and the car swerves a little, shaking in tandem with his arms. Still, he doesn’t answer.

“You’re an asshole!” Travis shrills.

When he risks a quick glance over, he sees Travis has one hand clenched around his seatbelt, the other clawed into the door handle like he’s contemplating jumping out. “You can’t do this forever! I thought you’d at least be able to pull it together, I thought you’d understand, by now!”

Something in him snaps, at that - like any of this is his fault, like he’s he one who -

“I can,” Cooper growls, raspy from disuse, “and you’d do well to shut up, shut the fuck up!”

“The house is gone,” Travis says, bright, all caution abandoned. “It fell into the ground. You saw it. You lost everything.”

They’ve done this before. Travis has done this before, and Cooper has ignored him, and Cooper has fought and fought and fought to stay like this, to stay normal.

It was easier to pretend when he had a roof over his head. Easier to pretend when his home, the only place he’s ever known, was still above sea level.

He doesn’t want to think about the noise it all made. He hears it echo in his ears anyway.

The dust that winds across the open desert mocks him with the familiar smell of his backyard. The ground trembles with laughter, threatens to open up and take what it failed to get the first time around.

“We lost everything,” Travis says. “We don’t know where our friends are. We can’t ever go home again. We’re going to die if we don’t stop, soon.”

He doesn’t want it to be over. He doesn’t want to go on.

“We’re going to die if you can’t do this,” Travis says, and the resignation, the desperation, something in it tells Cooper if he doesn’t do something now he’ll find himself alone in the middle of the desert.

That scares him, and suddenly he has something more frightening than change to be worried about.

(It’s - it’s not instantaneous.)

Cooper’s hands are tight on the steering wheel. He stares straight ahead -

He -

“Please,” Travis says, and it hurts. “Cooper, please.”

(But it happens.)

Cooper moves his foot to the brake. The car stops with a shuddering squeal.

“I’m sorry,” Travis whispers.

“Yeah,” Cooper says, and when he finally breathes again, he finds he can’t stop sobbing.

Travis shuts up and lets him cry while the sun sets on the past.

~

Schlatt’s ready when the power finally goes out.

It’s what comes after that really screws him over.

~

(You good?)

(Yeah. Yeah, just thinking.)

(Penny for your thoughts, Ted.)

(Just -)

(...)

(It just feels like nothing will be the same.)

(Oh.)

(Nothing will ever be the same again.)

(...)

(I don’t know.)

(Are you sure about that?)

(…)

(Nothing and ever are strong words.)

(Oh, fuck off.)

(Ha.)

(...)

(You’ve got me, right?)

(Unfortunately.)

(You’ve got me. That’s the same.)

(Yeah.)

(...)

(Yeah, Connor. Thanks.)

(Of course.)

(...)

(...)

(Hey, you sentimental fuck. Eyes on the road.)

~

The power goes out around the same time Boston does.

Schlatt’s still reeling from the broadcast announcement. His TV shines bright on his face. He thinks for a second he might be shaking. Boston is underwater, and he blinks, and painted on the inside of his eyelids is a burning bloody red.

(Get your shit together, he laughs over the phone in June.

Ted laughs back. Schlatt can hear the rain pounding on his windows, even over the speaker. Ted comments on it, a little too warily for someone of his confidence.

What does it matter? It’s raining in New York, too. Did you know that they’re forecasting snow?)

And it's there, sitting on his bed, wishing he could get the sound of rushing water out of his head, that he goes blind in an instant.

The lights don’t even flicker in warning before the world vanishes. It’s the middle of the night, which only makes the contrast worse - the electrical hum he’s learned to filter out disappears and he’s left gasping in its absence.

It’s strange.

For the first time in his life, New York is utterly silent.

Schlatt sits there for what must be an hour, he doesn’t know, he wasn’t wearing his watch when this all went down and it’s pointless to try and look for it in the dark. He can’t move - he’s known this would happen for weeks, it’s not like he’s surprised - but his brain is frozen, his limbs feel like they weigh tons.

He sits for an hour and the world stands still - he has nothing, but he hasn’t quite lost anything, and he exists peacefully in the dark and the chilly, eerie silence.

It gets cold pretty fast, what with the heating turned off. He starts to shiver. Outside, someone screams, glass shatters. It’s enough to propel him into action.

Schlatt was ready for this. It doesn’t make the catalyst any easier to handle.

He gathers all the sweatshirts he owns and layers them on. He finds every blanket in his apartment, throws them on his bed. His makeshift pantry is relocated from around his fridge to the foot of the bed frame. There’s not that much left in his fridge, but he forces himself to eat an apple - what's in there won’t last forever, not even in this cold.

He locks his door. Shoves his desk in front of it. Takes his fridge and manages to push it in front of his window. Crime was bad before the power went out - he can only imagine what will happen now.

It’s cold. It’s cold. Schlatt hunkers down under a blanket, presses into the corner, tells himself he’s shaking from the chill. He’s almost glad it’s dark, for it means he can’t see his breath misting in front of his face.

And he sits, and he waits - for what, a savior? An end? He feels -

He feels alone.

He is alone.

~

I don’t know what to do, now.

I’ve heard on the other stations Colorado is slated to be safe. The Rockies just got taller. Aftershocks aren’t reaching them. I don’t know if it’s true, but they’re alive enough to broadcast, so there’s gotta be something there, right?

I’ll become a hermit.

Live in the Rockies.

Maybe I’ll be able to get Twitter up, again, if I get there.

Set up a show. A regular show! I can tell people what’s going on, uh, I can -

…

I’m tired.

…

The Grand Canyon. Just gone. That’s kinda fucked up, don’t you think? I mean, that’s eons of - of work, of history. Compressed into a sidewalk crack.

And the Hoover Dam. Do you know how loud that was? I almost -

The ground was shaking pretty hard. I thought -

…

Hey, chat - I mean, listeners, ha. Old habits die hard.

Chat.

Anyone remember Twitch? I did that. Charlie Dalgleish. Mr. Slimecicle. I did that. Is YouTube still up? Could I watch my stuff? Imagine.

Imagine.

...

What an antediluvian pastime. Ha.

Do you get it?

Boston -

...

That wasn’t funny. I’m sorry.

...

I think I’m -

I think I’m a little too tired.

The Rockies, listeners. I’ll see you there.

…

Or I won’t.

~

Eventually, Schlatt gets restless.

There’s more noise now, shouts and things shattering. New York lurches back into a chaotic motion.

Schlatt decides he should get up.

His laptop and phone, rendered useless, are shoved into a backpack along with some chargers. For an emergency, he thinks, and throws a few granola bars in it. Some clothes, a water bottle, whatever medical supplies he can find in his bathroom.

When he’s down to the last item, he stops -

Thinks about it -

And drops in the loaded gun, to top it all off.

His hand doesn’t leave the zipper, not even when he sits back down.

He doesn’t sleep, that night.

~

(Where are we going, Connor?)

(The Rockies.)

(That’s pretty far away.)

(You heard them, on the radio. Besides. We can’t stay here. Texas is - well.)

(What if they’re wrong?)

(It’s our best bet, Ted.)

(Our best bet. Don’t you have a plan?)

(We’re alive, aren’t we? That’s my fucking plan.)

(...)

(...)

(I’m sorry. You - I’m sorry, okay?)

(Yeah.)

(Turn the radio back on?)

(Alright.)

(...)

(What program is this?)

(Don’t know.)

(Oh, God. He’s at the dam. I wonder if he saw it -)

(Fucking hell, man, he saw it go down.)

(...)

(I could swear -)

(Yeah.)

(That sounds just like Charlie.)

(...)

(...)

(Wouldn’t that be something?)

(Yeah.)

(...)

(Shit, Connor. That sounds just like Charlie.)

Chapter Text

He is in a car at the end of the world, except the world hasn’t ended.

Funny, how that works out. Funny, how things go on.

He is in a car at the end of the world, but there’s still gas stations, and there’s still money to hand to the shaking girl behind the register, and there’s plastic and neon lights and energy drinks in a broken refrigerator unit.

He is in a car at the end of the world, and there’s no one in the passenger seat, was there ever? The world is ended and there are sometimes other people, but to him they may as well be ghosts; the world is ended and he’s gone with it and time moves forward anyway.

He is in a car at the end of the world but the world hasn’t ended, there are people on the radio who say so, and there is one person in particular on the radio, and there is a new tallest mountain range in the world.

He is in a car at the end of the world, and he can scroll through Twitter but he can’t call his mom, and the world has ended except it hasn’t, except nothing will ever be the same and maybe the fact that the world is irrevocably different is the same as it ending.

He is in a car at the end of the world. California is gone. New York is a black hole. Boston is underwater. He is in a car at the end of the world, and he hasn’t felt anything but lonely in a long time. He is in a car at the end of the world and they say there’s a new one in the Rockies.

Funny, how things work out.

~

“I think we should go north,” Travis says to him.

“Point north,” Cooper grumbles, head in his arms on the diner table. After driving for almost seventeen hours straight, he’s exhausted.

Travis thinks about it and raises a finger towards the ceiling. Cooper scoffs. “Like I thought, dumbass. We need more than a vague direction.”

“Well,” Travis says, “maybe we can ask the waitress.”

“If she knew a place to go, she wouldn’t be here.” Cooper raises his head long enough to stare around the deserted Nevada diner.

Theirs is the only car in the parking lot. There’s only three people working, but Travis and Cooper are the only customers they’ve had in four days, they said. Too many fucking ‘only’s. Their eyes are all dark and hopeless. It reminds Cooper of the end of the world video games had talked about, and he thinks they’d vastly overestimated humanity’s resolve.

But, hey. At least the food was good.

“You don’t know that,” Travis points out. “Maybe they don’t want to leave.”

Like you, he doesn’t say. Cooper thinks it over.

“Maybe,” he relents. “But you’re doing the talking. And get better directions than ‘north’.”

“Excuse me,” Travis calls. Cooper doesn’t know how he manages to sound so normal. He buries his face back into his arms, leaving one eye open to judge the interaction.

The waitress makes a beeline for them, smile almost relieved. “What can I do for you boys?”

“We’re wondering if you know anywhere safe,” Travis says. “We need a place to go.”

Her expression falters. “I see.”

“I told him I thought we should go north,” Travis says.

“Stop fucking saying north,” Cooper mutters into his hoodie sleeve, too tired to care what the waitress thinks of him. He knows he must look pitiful, what with his hair greasy and too long and sprawling himself practically asleep on the table.

“North is right, in a way,” she says. “We listen to the radio - they’re saying there are safe places in Colorado. I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything more specific.”

“No problem, that helps,” Travis says, and then after a moment, “would you ever go to Colorado?”

Cooper watches her think it over and recognizes the sad, resigned set of her eyes. “No, dear. I don’t think I would.”

“Okay,” Travis says, sounding sad this time. “Thanks. I hope you have a good day.”

Cooper digs in his pocket for his wallet, trying to sniff the tired out of his lungs as he pulls out a ten dollar bill. “‘S’all I’ve got,” he mumbles to the waitress, hoping she takes it, hoping it’s enough.

“Plenty.” She takes it gently, staring one second too long at the shaking in Cooper’s hands. “Safe drive, dears,” she says, and like she absolutely cannot take it anymore, bolts into the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Travis calls again, futilely.

“We should go,” Cooper says.

“I’m driving “ Travis says.

“You’re not,” Cooper says. He yawns. He’s so tired.

“You’re already asleep,” Travis says, stupidly waving his hands in front of Cooper’s face. “Oooooooo. You’ll let me drive.”

“No,” Cooper says. Travis refuses to listen and hauls him out of the booth; in the blink of an eye, Cooper finds himself stretched out in the backseat of the car. “The fuck?”

“We’ll be fine! I know enough about how to make it move.”

“It’s stopping I’m worried about,” Cooper protests.

“Ooooooo,” Travis says, and turns the key. “You’re shutting up and letting me concentrate, now.”

“I’m going to die,” Cooper mutters. At least he’ll go out in his sleep.

~

Noah’s always been good at going unnoticed. This is useful in New York.

It’s freezing, despite being the middle of the day. Snow filters down on his head. He clutches his inadequate jacket tighter to him and keeps his back straight, head up. Around him, a mere fraction of New York’s usual population bustles aimlessly by. The smart ones hold their keys between their fingers. The desperate ones cling to worse.

Noah’s hands are empty, clenched in his pockets. Nobody bothers him. This is a mercy, and he knows better than to question it.

Schlatt’s apartment building is dark, the front door standing wide open, and Noah wonders if he has the wrong address. He knows better than to try calling. Instead, he wastes precious phone battery by flicking on the flashlight and steps over the threshold.

Three flights of stairs later, he’s in front of Schlatt’s door. He almost doesn’t knock.

What are the odds? What are the chances he’s still here? Anyone with any common sense would’ve skipped the fuck out of New York - hell, out of North America - months ago.

Well, Noah lies to himself, Schlatt’s never been one for common sense. And neither is he, apparently. He’s driven across the state line, walked into the heart of a city that seems keen on letting no one leave it, all on the off chance Schlatt’s somehow still here. What else can he do? Boston’s underwater. California shakes in its socket. The Earth rips itself to pieces, and no one picks up the phone anymore.

So Noah raises a fist to the wood that’s already splintering, and raps three times in short succession.

Nothing answers him, save a scuffle so soft he almost misses it. It spikes the hair on the back of his neck. He thinks it came from inside, but he turns his head to look behind him anyway.

“Schlatt,” he calls, wincing at how loud his own voice sounds in the empty hall. “It’s Noah.”

Again, nothing, but - is he hallucinating? Are the walls creaking? Was that the click of a lock?

“It’s Noah,” he says again. “Open up.”

Someone else’s breathing echoes in the hallway. Noah clamps his lips shut and doesn’t dare inhale. Someone else is here. Someone else is here. It’s everything he can do to stay rooted to the floor.

“Schlatt,” he says, too quietly to be of any use.

Third time’s the charm, sneers something with no good intentions, and the door in front of him flies open.

For one second, Noah’s afraid. The sudden movement startles him. His hands start to leave his sides. The next second he registers that someone’s behind the door - he can see their white hoodie and jeans, bare feet against the wood grain. Disconnectedly, Noah wonders what the chances are that he’d run into a stranger wearing Slimecicle merch.

But what really catches his attention, after three whole seconds of standing with his hands hovering in the air, is the gun aimed directly between his eyes.

“Don’t,” comes a voice rusty with disuse, low and scraping, horribly familiar.

“Woah,” Noah stutters impulsively, and backs up into the opposite wall.

The gun lowers just enough for the man’s face to come into view. His eyes are dark and wild, tangled hair kept down by a baseball cap, badly trimmed facial hair, bony, crooked fingers around the trigger, mouth open halfway through a threat.

Noah’s just as frozen as the guy looks. He thinks he must be really out of it, because despite the fact that common sense makes it pretty plausible Schlatt would be the one to inhabit his own apartment, it still feels like a miracle to see him standing here.

“No,” Schlatt says, almost a question.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot,” Noah says, feeling lightheaded.

The gun clatters to the floor. Schlatt takes a step out of the apartment for what must be the first time since July, and another, and another, until he’s almost nose to nose with Noah.

“How the hell,” Schlatt breathes, hand coming up to poke his chest.

“I walked a long way,” Noah says.

“You fucking bastard,” Schlatt says, and then he collapses into Noah’s arms and starts to cry.

~

(Hey, cheer up. We’re almost there.)

(No, we’re not.)

(...)

(...)

(Turn on the headlights, would you?)

(No, I won’t.)

(...)

(...)

(Why’re you bitchy today, Ted?)

(I’m not bitchy.)

(If you’re worried about another sinkhole -)

(I’m not.)

(Listen, I know you’re tired, I am too -)

(Shut up, would you, Connor? Shut up.)

(...)

(...)

(Do you want the radio?)

(What did I just fucking say?)

(…)

(…)

(…)

(Yes.)

~

Good...Mythical Morning, listeners! It’s your host, Charlie, coming at you from day two of holing up in New Denver.

Everyone here was nice enough to let me stay in this old cabin. Some people even recognized me from the radio. This little project of mine made it further than I thought, huh? It was strange. I was so sure nothing was getting out.

Anyway, my cabin’s a little far from the town itself, but that’s alright. They’re planning to expand once they make sure they have a way to regrow their lumber supply. There’s running water and food left over, plus some buildings still have electricity, even. Things are looking up.

I’m continuing the show, despite having people to talk to now. They told me other stations are playing it back. It’s weird to think about, that people are so desperate for stuff like this, still.

Or maybe it makes sense. Yeah, no, never mind. It makes sense.

The Rockies, listeners. Next time I’ll try to give out a list of safe places. I guess some people heard me talking, and it helped.

Further than I thought, huh?

~

There is a ghost on his radio at the end of the world, except it hasn’t ended, and Josh thinks for the first time in a long time maybe he hasn’t, either.

Chapter Text

Here’s what happens.

~

Charlie’s in Colorado.

Well, what used to be Colorado. If the government manages to scrape together again, there are undoubtedly going to be some issues with state lines.

Charlie vaguely entertains the idea of a group of haggard Congressmen grouped around a wooden crate, arguing over a map of the United States that’s half its previous landmass and calling up Canada to see if they could borrow some land for “New Florida” and “Replacement California” and “Texas-well-we-know-it’s-technically-still-there-but-we’d-just-like-to-try-again-with-that-one-y’know?”

He should write that down, shit as it is. He’s been low on jokes lately.

To be fair, it’s much harder to be funny in these circumstances. The wind is cold, so far up in the mountains, and this cabin has to be from at least the nineteen-eighties. The worn wooden slats do a shit job at keeping out the chill. Charlie doesn’t think he should be blamed for the lack of good puns when some days he’s shivering so bad he can barely speak.

There’s also barely enough food to go around here, let alone luxuries like blankets. Charlie has the carpeting he’d cut from the floor of his van covering his computer and various equipment like a tarp, but he’s worried someday it won’t be enough and he’ll wake up to his only thread of normalcy frozen irreparably on his desk.

He’s lucky to have this cabin at all, though. He’s lucky to be alive.

The people here had welcomed him with wary but warm arms, some of them even recognizing him from his stints across the country. Apparently, a chain of people with a better grasp of current radio technology had thought the same as he - talking is the only thing keeping me sane - and spread his feeble broadcasts much farther than he’d thought possible.

In exchange for food and board, he helps build walls and shelters and clean up what buildings survived and then trucks back up the mountain to sit in the cabin for two hours a day in front of a mic and talk to himself. It’s a lot like streaming, except the only chat he has is whoever’s still got access to Twitter and happens to be tuned in.

It makes for a few good interactions, he supposes. He has fun, most times, laughing at the few stupid stories he can find to tell. But mostly, he’s tired. Mostly, he’s hungry.

And mostly, Charlie thinks, he’s just cold, and he’s just lonely.

~

Here’s what happens - Josh makes a plan, and it doesn’t work.

The miraculous streak he’s been keeping up shatters a few hours after he crosses the state border to Colorado. He didn’t expect it to last forever, but goddamit, the circumstances could have been a little better.

The first thing he notices is the fact that his car stops working in the middle of the worst fucking blizzard he’s ever seen. He sits in the front seat as it slowly stops moving, and keeps sitting there long after it refuses to start again. Maybe he’s run out of gas. Maybe there’s something wrong with it. Maybe both.

The second thing he notices, though, is the sign he’s stopped by.

Welcome to De_ver!

It’s rusted. It’s faded. But it’s a fucking miracle.

Josh thinks: I am not going to die here.

He can’t just sit here forever, as appealing as that is. He shoves what he thinks he’ll need into a bag, covers every inch of skin that he can, and pops open the locks on his car door.

It’s freezing. Whatever. Josh hasn’t felt anything but cold in a very long time.

He starts walking. He follows a row of flickering streetlights, the snow floating around him like a fucking planned painting. He stumbles on what’s accumulated on the ground, but never once falls.

He doesn’t stop, even when his muscles scream for him to just lay down and never move again, even when the feeling leaches out of his fingers and his face. He can’t stop. He doesn’t.

He follows the streetlights.

Josh thinks: I am not going to die.

~

Good afternoon, everyone, how are we holding up? It’s your favorite apocapodcast host, Charlie!

Yeah, no, thanks to Twitter user FishyBoii for that little phrase. I used to be fucking funny, man. Gotta get back on the grind. I’m sure I will. Eventually.

You may notice that I sound a little better! I soundproofed my cabin as best as I could. It looks like shit, I’m glad you can’t see it, but I’m really happy to be stationary again.

I wanna go through the Twitter tag again today, I didn’t do much yesterday - show was cut short, the guys down the mountain wanted my help with building something. Needed all the hands they could get. They’re working on better connecting the neighborhood, yknow? There’s a bunch of secluded little cabins that are pretty hard to access as of now - I’m in one of ‘em - so they wanna make paths and shit. It’s good.

I’m really impressed with this group of people. Complete strangers, most of us, yet...they’ve got a water source and they’re working on a sustainable farm...there’s even a little housing development growing again. If people come by, they help as much as they can, give them shelter, valuable resources.

It’s - I can say from firsthand experience that it’s lifesaving. Thank you, anyone who’s made those kinds of sacrifices for others, anywhere, anytime - thank you. We need people like that, now more than ever.

Well.

Before we get into it, you know the half hour drill.

If you’re looking for help or resources in the Colorado area, let me point you in the direction of 103.3, they track disasters, from upcoming predictions to the fallout of past ones, uh...95.4, food distribution and temporary shelter locations...

~

Here’s what happens - Travis and Cooper, by some fucking miracle, make it to Colorado in their two perfectly shattered pieces.

They have no concrete directions. It’s not like they can just look it up, anymore, and the mountain range in question spans much more than it used to. Because of this, they spend a few days completely lost on winding, broken roads before they finally give up and turn on the radio.

There are more stations, now. Travis gets quiet when it’s on. Cooper flicks the tuner idly and feels the lines on his face get deeper.

They don’t listen to the radio very much.

One of the few stations Cooper deems acceptable is dedicated to announcing safe places in the immediate vicinity, along with the best directions anyone can offer via radio. Cooper likes to swear at it like they’re his GPS and pretend they can hear. Travis tells the host jokes with shitty punchlines, and laughs when they don’t respond.

As it turns out, one of the towns they announce one night almost directly crosses their path. Travis brightens at the prospect of seeing another human being again, begging silently with his stupid eyes. And maybe Cooper snaps a little too loud when he sees the exit sign, but that’s just how it is these days.

In turn, Travis responds to his snide attitude by somehow playing the license plate game without any license plates in sight until Cooper caves, does a u-turn in a no u-turn zone, and takes the fucking exit.

The town is inhabited by an impressively armed group worried about being caught up in a new government. They’re reserved enough to feel hostile, so Cooper pinches his lips shut in a polite smile and Travis charms them into giving up a set of directions to another town, a safe distance away from their camp.

(“We are never doing that again,” Cooper says when they get back, locking the car doors with a tense exhale.

“Turn on the radio, then,” Travis says.)

Cooper starts taking more exits.

There are more good people than bad ones, surprisingly. Most are content to let them refuel or hide from the snowstorms for fair labor - helping out in the farm the next day or cleaning up or, in Travis’s case, killing an entire nest of spiders in under 30 minutes.

Every place they ask mentions Denver. Some safe fucking haven, some miracle of human connection - Cooper doesn’t trust it. Travis doesn’t seem to believe it either, but it gets harder and harder to ignore when all they hear in their pleas for help is, “find Denver.”

Urban myth, Cooper thinks, and says so, but the thought of civilization and ensured protection nags at the back of his head stronger and stronger with every passing day.

(“Like,” Travis says after one of their stops, chewing on the last bits of beef jerky they had in the glove box, “it’s not a bad idea.”

Cooper grumbles. “I don’t like high altitude. And it’s only gotten higher, hasn’t it?”

“It’s not bad. They’ve got a ton of weed up there, right?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I dunno.”

“Stop chewing with your fucking mouth open.”

“So we can go?”

“I don’t -”

“Look, Cooper, I’m tired of this, okay? I wanna settle down.” Travis makes air quotes around the last two words.

It’s an opinion. A clear one. Travis has been doing that more and more, ever since - since.

Cooper frowns, settling back in his seat. “What, living out of a car isn’t good enough for you?”

Travis gets the sarcasm, thank God. Cooper doesn’t feel like fighting today. “Yep.”

“I don’t know,” Cooper says, rubbing his hands over his forehead. “I guess it would be nice.”

Travis exhales something that sounds suspiciously like fuck yeah - the bastard always did know when he’s won.

“But the minute they start looking at us weird, we’re out,” Cooper says.

“Assuming we can actually find it,” Travis jokes. “But yeah. Okay.”

He looks more hopeful than he has in weeks. Cooper admits that it’s nice to have a goal.

“Yeah,” Cooper says. “Okay.”)

It’s a rough journey, in the end.

The Rockies are wild, and there’s a point where they’re both convinced the car is going to have to be abandoned or that they’re going to slide backwards down the side of a hill. But the mountain roads were always built for accessibility in bad circumstances, so they keep going, somehow.

They keep going.

Cooper wonders what the fuck he’s going to do when he finally has to stop.

~

Josh Allen has a very distinctive face.

Somehow, Charlie hasn’t yet forgotten what the people from his past looked like.

He runs through their faces every now and then, pulling up his twitter and scrolling through the images there. Looking at the photographs on Ted’s side Instagram account is a favorite pastime of his.

None of them have been updated in several months. Charlie finds himself checking every platform he can think of. One particularly low moment sees him logging into Facebook.

YouTube helps, too. His friends’ voices are preserved there. The past at his fingertips, if he can ignore the terrible internet connection that sometimes turns their faces into three pixels.

Sometimes, though, it’s too much. The divide between Slimecicle and Charlie is growing ever wider. There’s a Before and there’s an After, and it’s so fucking hard to exist in the After with his head in the sand of Before. It makes his chest hurt when he remembers the way he lost them all - slowly, sometimes, or suddenly, others - all of them leaving a pit in his stomach and giving him the beginnings of a headache.

He won’t forget them, though. Josh, Ted, Connor, Cooper, Travis, Schlatt, Noah. Countless others. His family, his friends. Every night they flash behind his eyelids, a pointless little slideshow that does nothing but make it harder to sleep.

Which is why, the next time he goes to work his shift in the medical tent, he stops short and wonders when he started hallucinating.

On the bed closest to the space heater sits a man, maybe twenty, dark hair plastered to his forehead with snow or sweat or both. He’s wrapped head to toe in blankets, hands shaking around a plain white mug. Someone’s talking to him, but he looks like he’s miles away. Poor thing - probably hypothermic. Denver’s snowstorms were never kind, and they’ve only gotten worse.

The man looks up to the nurse and nods, jerky. Charlie gets his first good look at him.

Charlie’s heart stutters in his chest.

Charlie thinks: Josh Allen has a very distinctive face, and then he’s ducking behind the closest supply bin to rub at his eyes.

It’s not. It can’t be. He just hasn’t gotten enough sleep. He just hasn’t -

The nurse taps him on the shoulder. He jumps, shoving his glasses back on.

“Get him another cup of tea, please,” she says, sounding exhausted. “He walked from the city limit, all through last night’s snowstorm. It’s a miracle he’s not worse.”

Charlie nods on autopilot. He straightens his spine on autopilot, and straightens his shirt on autopilot, and walks on autopilot until he’s standing just a few feet away from the bed.

The man on it looks up at him, blinking slowly. Charlie watches his expression melt into a mirror of his own, all disbelief and confusion and something in the eyes.

“Hey,” Charlie says awkwardly, petrified, thinking one last maybe it’s not -

“No shit,” the man says. His voice is weak, it grates against his throat, but it’s so fucking familiar Charlie has to laugh. “Charlie.”

Josh - and it is Josh, it is, Charlie can see it everywhere, in the cracks of his smile, in the way he slouches, in the color of his wide eyes - says his name like an impossibility.

“Uh,” Charlie says, and laughs again. He feels a little light-headed, actually. “Hey. I -”

“I haven’t, like, died, right?” Josh interrupts, reaching up an icy hand to poke at Charlie’s arm. “This is - it’s you?”

“As far as I know,” Charlie says. “Holy shit, Josh - Josh fucking Allen.”

Josh starts to smile, shifting to look Charlie in the eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I - Charlie, I heard you. I heard you on the radio, dude.”

“Yeah?” Charlie croaks. “Really? Where? I mean - how - she said you walked?”

Josh wheezes out something between a laugh and a whine, looking down. “Car broke down just at the border. But I knew you were here. I just - I had to find you.”

“God,” Charlie says. “Josh. God.”

Charlie can’t tear his gaze away. Josh’s hair is longer, and he’s sporting a few new scrapes and there’s bags under his eyes that somehow outdo those he always got during exam season, and Charlie -

“Well.” Josh’s knuckles are clenched white around Charlie’s arm. Despite how cold his skin is, it burns like fire. “I found you. I found you.”

- thinks that he’s forgotten how to breathe, and his chest’s starting to hurt, and Josh is still holding onto his arm and it all -

“Charlie,” Josh says one last time. “I heard you on the radio.”

- comes crashing down in the way his voice trembles with familiarity, and Charlie decides that nothing can ever really be the same but this is fucking good enough.

“Okay,” is the only thing Charlie thinks he can say; somehow, when he finally pulls Josh into his arms, it feels like a new beginning.

Chapter Text

(He’s in a car with the ocean at his back and it’s taller than the sun. It hits him, this time, and the car slowly and surely fills with water. He starts to drown.)

(He’s in a river. The current rips at his feet suddenly and violently, and he goes down face first in the riverbed. He can’t move, can’t get up. He starts to drown.)

(He’s underwater. So is everything. There’s never been anything but water, he thinks, and he starts to drown.)

“Hey, Ted. Hey. Woah -”

“Fuck.”

“Hey, man, hey. It’s okay.”

“Fucking dammit, don’t - I’m fine. Eyes on the road.”

“Alright, dude. Just thought I’d wake you up. We crossed the border a few minutes ago.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

The world blurs.

Ted fumbles for his glasses in the cup holder, rubbing his eyes one more time before shoving them on. It helps, just barely. His eyes are still watering.

Connor doesn’t turn from the driver’s seat, but does give Ted a head tilt as he lifts back into a sitting position. “Better?”

“Little bit.” Ted clears his throat, skin feeling uncomfortably stretched across his face. “Not so tired anymore.”

Connor nods. “You talk in your sleep.”

“Okay,” Ted says, choosing not to look into that. “Got any water?”

“It’s out,” Connor says grimly. “Sorry.”

Isn’t that ironic?

“God.” Ted drops his head into his hands again. “How close are we, again?”

Connor doesn’t answer him for a while. Ted lets it be, focusing on waking up fully.

He’d been dreaming, he thinks, before Connor had shaken him awake. He doesn’t remember, but there’s a cold film of sweat over his forehead and his mouth tastes like something crawled between his teeth and died there. Typical, these days.

God. He’s fucking thirsty. But maybe this is what he wanted - maybe this is what he asked for.

“I don’t know,” Connor says. “Radio didn’t come on last night. I don’t know.”

Ted narrows his eyes. “The - it didn’t?”

“No. But I’m sure he’s fine. Either way - uh, he said there were several towns all over. We’ll be okay.”

“We’ll be okay,” Ted repeats, dry in more ways than one.

Connor nods again. How long has he been driving, now?

“Want me to take over?”

“No. I’m good. You, uh, see if the radio’s back. Keep an eye out for a river, or something.”

Connor looks worn out, but somehow still fucking determined. Ted can’t understand that. He feels drained.

“Okay,” Ted says. “Thanks, Connor.”

“Yep.”

The landscape around them is flat and the sky is the most unholy shade Ted’s ever seen. The shadow of the mountains begins to loom just in their field of view.

In another world, Ted would take a picture, or stop the car to look at the plants on the side of the road, or keep his eyes fixed in awe on the sky.

There are clouds dotted in a straight line over the horizon. His eyes burn with the light of the sun. Everything is the color of dirty, raging water.

And, God - Ted Nivison is sick of water.

~

Here’s what happens - Schlatt and Noah spend a week in New Denver before they realize where they are.

The cross country journey was...rough, to say the least. Once they’d escaped the epicenter, Noah hotwired a car (to which Schlatt had erupted in laughter, for some reason - why’s that’s funny, Schlatt? What do you mean, “you would know how to do that?”) and booked them as far as possible out of the wreck of New York. His own car was nowhere to be found, so. It’s not really stealing anymore, is it?

Whoever had owned this car had been prepared, at least. There were gas cans in the trunk, as well as dried fruit and bottled water. They picked hesitantly at the rations and drove until the car spluttered out of gas for the final time, miraculously close to a small fuel station slash convenience store.

There was no one in the convenience store. There was no one around for miles, probably. Schlatt insisted on taking his gun inside anyway.

By the time Noah had filled the gas cans, wondering why the fuck the pumps still worked, Schlatt was slinking back with whatever goods hadn’t already been taken. They got back into the car and drove in silence; out of the corner of his eye, Noah watched Schlatt systematically reload the magazine of his gun and shove it into the glove compartment.

He never brings it up, but it sticks with him for a while.

Things happen weirdly normally after that. They move from pit stop to pit stop, avoiding large crowds or developing areas or the parts of the country still wracked by disaster.

Most of the time, Schlatt’s miles more irritable than he really has the space to be. He complains about everything, from being hungry to being sore to picking at Noah’s driving skills.

Noah hadn’t taken anyone’s bullshit before the end of the world and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. He snaps back at Schlatt, equally loud. There’s only room for one angry East Coast-er in this car. Often times, their squabbles end in a stony silence that’s left to hang until Schlatt starts to get desperate again.

Little pieces drop every so often, filling in a dismal picture. Schlatt mentions nearly starving a few times, nearly freezing with the power outage, listening to the skyscrapers fall somewhere in the city. He mentions his shitty neighbors, but once and only once when he’s high off of a sole-surviving can of monster energy. Noah doesn’t ask about it. He sees the way Schlatt flinches, now.

As for Noah, he keeps it cut and dry when Schlatt asks about his story. It’s simple - he’d been in his house in New Jersey, and then New Jersey had set on fucking fire, so he left. He’d been well prepared for a very long time. He had kept up with Charlie until he vanished across the Mississippi, Cooper and Travis are probably dead, and he has no fucking clue if Josh or Ted had survived past August.

“And, uh, Connor?” Schlatt asks, clutching a family-size bag of stale Doritos to his chest like a teddy bear.

Noah grips the steering wheel tight. “Dunno. Boston’s underwater.”

“Fuck you,” Schlatt says; he shoves a chip into his mouth and pulls his knees to his chest, banging his leg on the door. He’s too big for this car - they both are. “Fuck you.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know, Schlatt?” Noah grits, and he doesn’t tell Schlatt how much he regrets not keeping in contact with - with fucking everyone. Maybe if he’d been more focused on something other than saving his own ass, he wouldn’t be stuck alone with Schlatt in a car for the nineteenth day in a row.

“You’re swerving outside the lines,” Schlatt says, and picks at the lettering on his sweater.

Eventually, they hit Colorado. Not their first choice of state by far, but it’s far enough from the fault line and remote enough that no crazy asshole can fuck them over. Which, Noah assures Schlatt, there are plenty of. The end of the world tends to leave a power vacuum for delusional people to jump down.

Living outside of humanity brings its own problems. Supplies are scarce in solitary, having been consolidated long ago by the various safe havens that dot the mountains like ants. It’s fucking cold, too, which neither Schlatt nor Noah are strangers to but which both are vastly underprepared for. The nights are spent layered in whatever sweatshirts Schlatt had insisted on bringing, shivering uncomfortably in the backseat of the car.

It’s not a fulfilling existence, but it’s existence, and Noah doesn’t think either of them are going to take that for granted ever again.

~

And sorry, listeners, I was - some good news, guys, and a good excuse as to why I’ve been MIA for a bit.

I’ve got a friend!

That sounded very sad. I have - I have friends. More than one. But this - this is an old friend. From before. He showed up out of the blizzard last weekend.

It’s honestly a miracle, really. I’m still not quite sure it’s real. Seeing a familiar face after so long, it’s like, too good to be true, you know?

Ha. He’s - he’s giving me a look from across the room. Come say hi, fucker.

No?

Coward. There’s no one on the other end, anyway.

Oh. Well, I guess I’ve been wrong about that, huh? You guys really are hearing me. Twitter isn’t some big hellish hallucination.

Listeners. All you real, alive people out there. I have - I have hope today, which is either a promising sign or a really, really bad one.

What?

…

What? Um, oh, God. Josh, there’s a baseball bat by the door. I’ll -

Sorry, guys. I’m sure I’ll be okay, just - there’s someone outside the cabin. Gotta make sure everything’s okay. I’ll be back.

See you. Josh, stay -

~

Denver is, in fact, real.

A little too real, in Travis’s opinion. After so many days - weeks - months? No - of floating through vast expanses of nothing, seeing a town with some actual, functioning buildings and actual, functioning people gives a little fuzzy tint to Travis’s eyes.

This is what he wanted. Finally, finally, settling down, sitting down, living in one place again.

Still, though. Something feels - bright, inside, the further they drive into the fledgling town.

No one gives them anything but a passing glance as they drive up to the main building, following hand-painted signs stuck crookedly in the ground. There’s someone in front of City Hall - a big, weathered but still powerful cement structure, dying ivy covering the sides and no front door to speak of. They jog forward, and Cooper rolls down his window with an air of awkwardness.

The conversation filters through Travis’s brain with an air of detachment. There’s something about work to be done, expectations, contributing, cabins in the woods.

Cooper looks tired. Travis feels tired. Their car is close to falling apart, and there is a trunk full of things that they haven’t looked at since they left.

Travis blinks; they’re driving again. Cooper’s talking. “She said there’s an empty one up here we could have. Jesus, this road is shit.”

“Just - just to have?” Travis asks.

“Sure. We gotta, like, be contributing members of society, but we’re in. They take just about anyone.”

“Oh,” Travis says. The sun is setting, beautiful through the trees. “Hey, I think you took a wrong turn.”

“Huh?” Cooper says, frowning. “No, she said -”

“Left, left, pass the big rock, right,” Travis repeats. “You took the right too early.”

“You weren’t even listening,” Cooper says. “I’m fine, okay? Look, I see something up there.”

Travis looks. There’s a break in the trees further up and away, surrounding the silhouette a small wooden cabin surrounded by patches of snow and a few stumps.

“Um,” he says. “You still turned too early.”

“Whatever, dude. It’s getting dark. I’m not driving around here in the dark.”

In all honesty, soon they’re not gonna be driving much of anywhere, anymore. Travis isn’t stupid. The last gas station they found hadn’t had any fuel left. There’s a scary rattling noise from the undercarriage.

“We can walk,” Travis says. Cooper just sighs.

When they finally make it to the cabin, it’s late evening, and something in Travis’s stomach is starting to hurt. Maybe he’s hungry.

He’s not hungry. It’s unease. Or not unease - anticipation.

Cooper turns off the car. The headlights go off for the last time, and the silence is something like a funeral. “Alright.”

“Uh huh,” Travis says.

“Time to get out.” Cooper’s face is twisted into a grimace.

“There’s a light on in there,” Travis says suddenly.

The cabin’s window emanates a soft, orange glow. A shadowy figure is peering out of the panes.

“Shit,” Cooper says.

He doesn’t even try to turn the car back on. Doesn’t even try to drive away.

“Maybe they’re friendly,” Travis says.

“Shit,” Cooper says.

They don’t have anything to defend themselves with, not really. Just fingernails bitten down to a manageable length but jagged all the same, and nerves spiking with long-seated desperation.

The door opens. A shadowy man steps out. He carries a baseball bat in one hand, and holds the other over his eyes like he’s squinting at them.

“We should get out of the car,” Travis says.

Cooper looks tired.

“Come on,” Travis says, reaching over to jostle him. “Please.”

“Fine,” Cooper says tightly. “If he swings, just - run.”

“Okay,” Travis says. With his heart in his chest, he pushes open the door, and on shaky legs, he steps out and stands up.

“Hey,” calls the man lightly, though there’s a clear wary undercurrent. “Can I help you?”

Travis hesitates. “Uh…”

Cooper slams the car door, loud, and brushes his hair out of his eyes. “I think we took a wrong turn. Our - we’re out of gas, but we can stay in our car and be out of your hair in the morning.”

There’s a weird sort of silence. The man doesn’t move, nor acknowledge that he’d heard anything at all.

“Um,” Cooper says.

“Who - who are you?” the man asks.

“Cooper,” Cooper says, then points at Travis. “Travis.”

“Fuck,” the man says, and Travis feels a lot like screaming.

“Charlie,” Travis says.

“What?” Cooper snaps.

“Hey,” the man says, and steps out of the shadow of the cabin.

Red shirt, longer hair, glasses slightly broken. Jeans, sandals. The baseball bat drops to the ground.

“It’s - hey,” Charlie says, and Cooper’s eyes widen almost comically.

“Fuck off,” he says. “That’s not funny.”

“Charlie,” Travis says again, pointing, like Cooper can’t see it.

Charlie laughs, that high-pitched thing he always did when nervous. He holds a hand to his forehead and takes another step. “No fucking way. I’m - this isn’t -”

Cooper breathes out. “You’re - what are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Charlie yells, echoing through the forest. “Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!”

“We took a wrong turn,” Travis says, feeling light-headed.

“Charlie,” Cooper finally says.

“Come in, God, please,” Charlie says; Travis hears him, and moves, and feels the ground under his feet for the first time in longer than he can remember.

~

Hi, folks. I’m back. Everything is fine, we’re all good - oh, God.

A lot just happened.

Sorry about the noise in the back. There are three people back there who won’t - shut the fuck up, guys - I’m -

Yes, I have a -

Yes! It’s a radio -

You’re -

Shut up! Shut up, you know about it now!

How is this my fault?

Okay. I’m sorry. I’m ignoring them now.

There’s a lot of energy in here. I’m vibrating a little. If I thought things felt too good to be true earlier, well.

Two more friends of old, if you will, showed up at my cabin out of nowhere just a few minutes ago. Friends I thought - thought were dead, actually.

Yeah. You know. We all heard about California, and -

What were we supposed to think, Cooper?

Yeah. I’m sorry, by the way.

Um. Sorry. Trying to talk to two different people at once. I’ll catch up with my friends once I shut this down for the night.

I’m glad they’re okay. This is - unreal. We’re together again, after what, months?

God.

They look a little shell-shocked. I can’t blame them. Apparently, their car gave out just as they got here. And they came from - from California, and we all know, uh, what happened with that.

They’ve been getting by on incredible timing, huh? Left just in time to make it out, got here just in time.

How long -

That’s a long time to be running.

But we’re here now. We’re here, and I don’t think any of us will be going anywhere anytime soon.

Sorry to cut the show a little short, but - I missed my friends, listeners. I’ll be back. This gig is something I’ll be doing for a while, I think. If it helps anyone the way - the way it’s helped me, well -

Well.

Thank you. For everything.

~

“No way this is the right one,” Connor says, knuckles tight around his backpack straps.

“There’s the car,” Ted says. He feels numb, petrified, electrified all at once. “It’s - maybe.”

“It’ll be awkward,” Connor says, “if we knock and it’s just some guy.”

“Hope they don’t shoot us,” Ted says.

“We have to actually get to the door to get within shooting range.”

“My legs hurt,” Ted says.

“Shut up,” Connor says. He starts to walk again; groaning, Ted puts his ass in gear and follows him.

The cabin looks occupied. There are several pairs of shoes outside the door, and a welcome mat that looks like it’s made out of old car floor carpeting. On the window, a cracked plant pot is attempting to hold a small, green plant.

“Cute,” Ted says, stopping right in front of the door. “Real - real nice.”

Connor looks pained, almost. “God, I hope this is -”

“I know,” Ted mumbles.

There are voices coming from inside. Quite a few, if Ted’s ears aren’t failing him.

“Well?” Connor mumbles. “You gonna knock, or me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ted says. “You do it, actually.”

Connor shrugs. His hand comes up, fingers flexing once like he’s forgotten how to use them, and then he raps three times on the door. Loud.

The voices inside fall silent.

Footsteps.

Ted holds his breath.

The door cracks open, one eye poking out and then looking up and up at Ted, and then it’s thrown wide open with a feral kind of yell.

Charlie.

Behind him, Cooper, Travis, and Josh are sat around a table in the corner. Mats are laid haphazardly on the floor in the other corner, various blankets and pillows scattered around.

Everyone’s eyes are blown wide. Ted knows he’s no exception.

“Hey-o,” Ted says weakly. Connor raises a hand.

“God,” Charlie says, and then all hell breaks loose.

There’s a lot of yelling. There’s a lot of grabbing hands and arms, staring down at people, studying faces and barely taking things in. There’s a lot of explanations - yes, they drove from Boston - no, he doesn’t want to talk about it - yes, their car broke down at the bottom of the mountain - yes, the heard the radio, yes, it’s how they found their way here.

It’s a blur, but Ted drinks it all in like a man dying in the desert. Which, maybe he has been.

He’s face to face with Charlie, now, and Charlie’s pulling him into a hug. Charlie’s solid beneath his worn out hands, Charlie’s letting him bury his sunburned face in the crook of his neck, and Ted just has to ask - “this is, uh, real?”

Charlie makes a weird kinda sobbing laugh. “Yeah, Ted. This is real.”

“Okay,” Ted says. “Sorry it took so long. Thank you, for - thank you.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Charlie says for what’s maybe the seventh time. “I’m - so glad. I thought - you know.”

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Ted says. “Charlie, man -”

They’re still holding on. Ted doesn’t really want to let go. He’s so tired.

“You made it,” Charlie mutters, clinging tighter. “It’s alright. You made it. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Thanks,” Ted says, both meaningless and the most important thing he’s ever said, and his heart feels ready to burst.

~

Oh, listeners.

This past month has been crazy. You all have been so nice, and - thanks for the support. Encouragement and the like.

I’ve been thinking about it all, recently. How everything fell apart. How it kept going, after that. How we kept going, after.

I’ve never wanted to live more than I do now. I’ve never felt more alive. You know? Yeah. And I’m lucky, I know. I have more than I deserve. But I feel - I feel hopeful, and I feel stable. I feel stable, haha - for the first time in, in - a good long time.

There are unknowns. Of course there are. The world is turned upside down and we’ve all lost - we’re all still losing. But we’re going, moving on, and it’s never too late. You never know what you’ll find in the future.

I thought, once, that I was going to end, and that I’d be alone forever. I didn’t know. How could I know? But I was - I was alive. I am alive.

If anyone else is out there feeling like I did, know that you’re here. Alive, after everything. That itself is worth so, so much.

We’re still here. It’s been a while. We’re still here.

And maybe things don’t settle down. Maybe they do. Maybe tomorrow, we wake up and everything’s changed again; maybe we wake up to a mundane, monotonous life for the rest of time. Maybe. I don’t know. But I do know that I’ll never take anything for granted again. I know that I have people, and there’s no shame in wanting them. I needed them, now I have them, and whatever happens, I don’t plan to lose them.

So remember, anyone out there - you heard this first right here. Charlie. You heard it first from me:

Good luck, everybody. We’re going to be okay.

~

Noah turns off the radio; he breathes out, once, and then stays frozen like that.

“Oh,” Schlatt says. “That’s Charlie.”

“We’re nearby,” Noah says. He sounds vaguely awed. “Denver, yeah? Fuckin’ Denver. It’s the closest place to us.”

“Goddamn,” Schlatt whispers. “You - we - they don’t know we’re okay, do they?”

Noah shakes his head. “No.”

Schlatt swallows. Something sticks in his throat. His hands are paler than ever, clenched into fists on his thighs. “You got enough gas to get us there?”

“Uh.” Noah turns the key in the ignition. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“We’ll walk,” Schlatt says. “If we have to.”

“We’re going?” Noah asks, turning to give him a look Schlatt can’t decipher. “You - you think they’ll want us?”

Schlatt laughs, and then takes in another breath and keeps laughing. It’s been forever. He’s lived in a city he was born in and died with the power grid, and -

“I wanna live,” he says between breaths. “For God’s sake, Noah. Let’s go back.”

Noah bites at his cheek, eyes hollowed and leg bouncing just in front of the gas pedal. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Schlatt says. “Come on, dude. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Noah says. “Okay,” he says, and puts the car in gear. “Let’s go.”

~

”For the first time on our journey, we'll have clear skies and moderate-to-good air quality. As you know, our passenger count is way over capacity. So please be careful when you step out and of course, enjoy the fresh air.”