Chapter Text
They vanished at midnight. No warning. No war. No scream that reached across the sky. Just golden smoke curling in the streets, soft as fog and final as death. People disappeared in an instant – mid-step, mid-sentence, mid-prayer – drawn into the mist like threads being unspooled. I saw a woman vanish while holding her child. The infant went first, the mother a second later. Cars swerved off the road as drivers blinked out of existence, metal grinding into metal. Dogs howled and disappeared. Even the birds vanished mid-flight. The smoke didn't rise from anywhere. It simply was.
I don't remember who was next to me when it started. Someone was calling my name, I think. Their face is gone now – just a gap in my memory like a burnt photo. I wish I remembered more, but every day that passes, another detail sands down. Now, all I know is that they were there. And then they weren’t.
I ran home that night. There was no one in the building. My apartment door was wide open. The lights were still on; a fan spun lazily above the living room. The cupboard was half-open. One shoe in the hallway. Nothing looked broken or stolen, just... abandoned. Like someone had stood up to grab something and never came back. I moved through the rooms calling names, listening to my own voice echo against the walls. No answers. I didn’t know if I wanted one.
It took nearly an hour for the shock to loosen its grip. That was just enough time to hear the distant whine of a jet engine sputter into silence, followed by the thunderous crash of a plane falling somewhere nearby. A flash bloomed on the horizon – orange and violent – and moments later, the dull rumble of a gas line explosion reached me. The apartment began to smell like smoke. That's when I stopped thinking and started packing. I threw clothes, dry food, a bottle of water, and my portable music player into my bag. I unplugged my phone, stuffed the charger into a pocket, then stood at the doorway with my hand on the knob, waiting for something – a reason to stay. It never came.
And now, I’m starting to forget their faces. And can’t seem to feel too sad about it. After all, I may not remember their faces, but their voices won’t let me forget.
The roads were barely passable. Cars were abandoned mid-turn, some crumpled from fender benders that no one survived long enough to apologise for. I couldn’t drive even if I wanted to; every car I passed was either jammed in place or had its keys missing. I never learned to ride a bike either – I always meant to, never thought I'd need it. But luck was on my side for once. A scooter leaned against the curb, scratched and sun-bleached, but untouched. The key was still in the ignition. I hesitated a moment before grabbing it. It felt like stealing, but I told myself the owner wouldn’t mind – wherever they were now. Maybe the legal system had vanished along with them.
The supermarket was boarded up. I cursed myself for not thinking ahead. I turned the scooter around and rode to the nearest 24/7 corner store I could remember. The glass was intact. The lights were still flickering. I stepped inside to a silence I hadn’t known existed – not just quiet, but hollow. The kind of stillness that makes your footsteps feel too loud. I moved quickly, stuffing my bag with canned food, bottles of water, snack bars, and anything sealed. I found a stash of chocolate and dumped it in without thinking. Before leaving, I hesitated at the soft-serve machine by the counter. Then, with nothing to stop me, I made myself an ice cream. Chocolate and vanilla swirl.
I don’t know what had brought on such planned movements in me. Maybe it's all the disaster movies, or maybe I was just waiting for a chance like this. A different kind of freedom, one that makes you wander the empty streets filled with memories and empty halls with silence lingering like ghosts. But it’s freedom nevertheless.
I sat on the curb outside, eating it as I watched a building in the distance shimmer with flames. I couldn’t tell if the light in the sky was fire or sunrise. When the power died, the ice cream machine cut out mid-cycle. It was enough of a sign.
I hit the road again. I didn't know where I was going. There was no plan, just a feeling that I shouldn't stop moving. I passed a gas station, saw the puddles of oil beneath the pumps, and decided not to test fate. But a little further down the road, I saw something that made me slow down: a police car parked near a diner. The windows were intact. I circled it twice before grabbing a piece of concrete from the sidewalk and smashing the glass. The sound echoed down the empty street like a scream. I flinched. Waited. Nothing happened.
Inside the glovebox, I found a pistol. A standard issue sidearm, worn and cold. I turned it over in my hands, checked the magazine, flipped the safety on, and tucked it into the back of my jeans. There was a second magazine too, and I slipped that into my bag. I didn’t know what I expected to find – maybe flares or a radio. Maybe even another human. But all I found was a weapon.
I sat in the driver’s seat for a long time after that. Just... holding the gun.
It wasn’t about defence. Not really. I told myself it was. That was a precaution. A survival instinct. Better to be safe than sorry. But the truth was heavier. I wanted it with me in case the silence grew too much. In case I couldn’t take the weight anymore. Not the weight of the bag or the scooter or the crowbar I'd taken from another car trunk. The weight inside. And maybe part of me just wanted to know I still had control over something, even if it was just how and when things ended.
I reflected on everything that had happened so far: the explosions, the stolen scooter, the food, and the ice cream. I wondered if I should feel guilty about the scooter, but I concluded that the owner wouldn’t have too much of an issue with it wherever they were then. I also wondered if stealing the food would be judged favourably at the “pearly gates, " but I reasoned that survival could be a valid justification.
The gun? What had brought me to take that? I didn’t need a weapon. Who was I going to meet? I wondered what had brought me to do that. But, for some reason, I felt I’d rather be safe than sorry. What kind of justification was that? I wasn’t a murderer; I hadn’t killed anyone. So why?
Maybe it was a survival instinct. Maybe it was fear. I didn’t think too much about it. I stopped on the side of the road, pulled out my phone, connected my earphones, and started the whole music library from the top on shuffle.
I drove into the night, listening to the Rascal Flatts ‘Life is a Highway’, wondering if there was some irony in the situation I wasn’t seeing.
On the third day, the scooter ran out of fuel, so I walked until I found another. I managed to drive it to the closest fuel station and got lucky when I found it empty. However, with the electricity gone, I tried my best to get the backup generators working, but to no avail. So, I broke open the lock and stole a cycle. When the air in the tyres ran low, I dropped it and walked.
When the water ran low, I started breaking into cars, looking for anything I could use to break open the locks on the shutters. I found a crowbar after a few hours and started using it to raid any department store or supermarket I could find. Bottled water was my best bet, but I turned to energy drinks and other supplements. The drinks had been warm for a while, but I didn’t mind the taste as long as it gave me that energy boost.
I scoured sports stores for wearable weights, camping gear like a tent, lighter fluid and matches, and energy bars. I struck gold when I found a plastic scooter and an entire shelf of skateboards. I didn’t know how to ride one, but that didn’t stop me from rigging a brace to hang a skateboard and the scooter from my bag. The wearable weights were intended for strength training, and I noticed I felt both lighter and significantly faster whenever I removed them. I picked up a climbing axe and some camo pants, along with an additional harness to hold the axe and crowbar.
I tried to stay away from major cities and stuck to the nodes and back streets. More often than not, I would climb any hill I could find to get a view of the city before riding the scooter back down any road I could find. I raided any store that looked interesting enough and somehow managed to transfer all my songs from my phone to a portable music player when I got the chance. I listened to music all day, then let the device charge while I slept.
Every night, I found a place to sleep – empty hotels at first. But their silence was unbearable. Hallways felt like mausoleums. Since then, I started sleeping in the backseat of cars. On most nights, sleep came quickly, but on some nights, I cried myself to sleep. Others, I argued with voices that weren’t mine. Most nights, I just stared at the stars and tried not to feel anything.
The best thing, however, was the night sky. It took a while, but as the pollution faded, the sky began to clear, and the stars started to appear. Eventually, I ditched the tent and started sleeping right there under the stars, free from mosquitoes and with a cool breeze blowing by every few minutes. I managed to get my hands on an extra-soft pillow for added comfort. When the breeze was soft, and the sky was clear, I could almost pretend the world was just asleep. However, part of me always ensured that my gun was within reach at all times.
The only issues are the sounds and voices. I can still hear the engines of vehicles as I walk down the roads, even though they have been turned off due to the lack of fuel. I can still hear the hustle and bustle of people, despite the streets having been abandoned for a long time. I can still hear the voices of people I once knew – or used to know – whispering from inside buildings that were long since emptied. They weren’t kind. They weren’t angry either. They just... judged. Like ghosts with nothing better to do.
Even the animals were gone. I used to think nature would reclaim the world. Birds nesting in stoplights. Foxes on the freeway. But it seems the golden mist took them, too. No pawprints. No fur. No roadkill. Just silence. I didn’t think too hard about what that meant. Not yet. I just kept moving.
Part of me still tried to enjoy it. Skating on abandoned roads with a stolen board. Sliding down empty hills. Pretending I was the last contestant in some weird apocalypse game show. The other part of me – the quiet part – kept score. Counted the days until I gave in. Until the gun got louder than the voices. I talked out loud to myself to stay sane. Commented on my actions like a Let’s Play video no one would ever see. Narrated my life to no one in particular just to make sure I still knew how to speak. Just to remind myself, I was still here.
I hoped I’d find someone soon. For my sake.