《John's Apocalypse》 Part 1: Inevitability Part 1: Inevitability John stared up at the vast sky. It was choked with clouds, filled with vapor, and greyer than stone. A normal day in Chiquita city. A normal day in Southwest Texas. Some people might even call it beautiful. But it wasn¡¯t normal or beautiful. It was the beginning of something horrible. John was relaxing alone on the roof of his apartment building when his phone rang. He picked it up and heard a familiar, friendly, but tired voice. ¡°Hey John, you there?¡± The phone asked. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s me, Lenny. What are you calling for?¡± Lenny was John¡¯s best bud. They¡¯d known each other for years. ¡°I just¡­ I just had to tell you man. We¡¯re best friends, and I wouldn¡¯t feel right without telling you. There''s important stuff I want you to know. Before everyone else does, and everything goes to hell.¡± John frowned. This didn¡¯t sound like Lenny. The guy was always happy and upbeat, even back when the two were in college, functioning off of caffeine and less than three hours of sleep. Now, the man just sounded tired and defeated. ¡°Tell it to me Lenny. You¡¯re breaking my heart here.¡± Said John. ¡°Yeah, sure, sure¡­ so¡­ where do I start?... So John, you know how I¡¯m working with NASA these days?¡± ¡°Yeah. Some alphabet agency or other, right? Lending you over to NASA to make rockets or something?¡± ¡°You¡¯re kinda on the right track.¡± Said Lenny. ¡°I wasn¡¯t making rockets though. I was researching Floatstone structures, and how frequently they appeared in the planet¡¯s crust. It was geology, not physics.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Said John. ¡°So why does this matter?¡± ¡°It matters because, well¡­ the world is ending. Literally.¡± John just stared at the phone incredulously. ¡°You¡¯re not pulling my leg, are you? ¡®Cause that sounds like a prank to me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not. This is serious. And I¡¯m trying to stay calm.¡± Lenny¡¯s tone was flat. Flatter than John had ever heard him. So this was serious, John accepted. ¡°So the world is ending.¡± Said John, not quite accepting it, but willing to consider it. ¡°Why? And how can we stop it?¡± ¡°No.¡± John could almost hear Lenny shaking his head. ¡°There won¡¯t be any stopping it. Not without making it worse. See, the planet¡¯s going through a cooling period. Too much use of ice-magic, see. Corporations, consumers¡­ human activity, y¡¯know?¡± ¡°Hold on, this isn¡¯t one of your Global Cooling pitches, is it?¡± Lenny laughed. It was a slow, mirthless one. ¡°No, this isn¡¯t a conservation pitch. The planet¡¯s way past the point where those pitches would matter anyway. Even if all humans came together now and acted in unison to solve the problem, we¡¯d still all¡­ it wouldn¡¯t work.¡± John frowned. This wasn¡¯t like Lenny. ¡°In fact,¡± continued the other man, ¡°it never did matter. What¡¯s happening now would still happen even if we¡¯d started mass conservation centuries ago. Even if humans didn¡¯t exist, this would still happen. We were screwed the moment the planet was formed.¡± ¡°What would still happen, Lenny?¡± Lenny sighed. ¡°Floatstone-Induced Continental Fracturing. FCF for short. That¡¯s what the NASA eggheads have been calling it.¡±Stolen story; please report. A feeling of unease gathered in John¡¯s stomach. He knew what Floatstone was. It was a strange, naturally occurring material that possessed a weak property known as negative mass. It was basically the opposite of normal mass, and interacted with spacetime oddly, moving away from points of gravity rather than towards them. In large enough quantities, it could be used alongside normal mass to balance out their properties and create levitation technology, though that was rather high-tech stuff. John had learned this in his engineering courses back in college, right alongside Lenny. ¡°So what is FCF?¡± He asked, nervously. ¡°Well¡­ Floatstone doesn¡¯t gain the property of negative mass when it''s in its liquid state. But thanks to the natural and artificial cooling of the planet¡­ more and more of the mantle is becoming solid, and it just so happens that a large portion of it is Floatstone.¡± John could see where this was going. ¡°So more and more of the planet is moving away from the Earth¡¯s center of gravity.¡± He stated. ¡°That means those Earthquakes the other day were¡­¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Confirmed Lenny. ¡°And we only just noticed. We¡¯ve got a week at most, before it comes apart. It¡¯s too late to do anything meaningful now.¡± ¡°Damn.¡± Said John, feeling numb. ¡°There¡¯s really nothing we can do?¡± ¡°Nothing. I guess you can grab a shovel and start digging out Floatstone, if you wanna delay it by a few microseconds.¡± Neither man laughed at Lenny¡¯s dark joke. There was silence after that. The call hadn¡¯t ended; the two men were just thinking. ¡°John, I¡¯ve gotta go.¡± Said Lenny. ¡°You should hunker down somewhere. I can¡¯t say you¡¯ll make it out, but¡­ well, hopefully it¡¯ll be quick and painless. Same for me¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t talk like that, man. Please.¡± ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m really sorry.¡± Then the call ended. --------- Over the next few days, John paid rapt attention to the news, which was covering the increasingly frequent, increasingly violent earthquakes that had been happening all over the world. Europe, China, Australia, North and South America¡­ nowhere was spared. Everywhere shook, as the planet began tearing itself apart. Lenny had been telling the truth. During the past week, John had moved all his belongings off of shelves and tables, and into cabinets, boxes, bins, and drawers. He¡¯d put hand-rails in place on his walls, in case things shook too hard and he fell over. He was always worried about the apartment building coming down on him, folding in under the pressure of the quaking. On TV, the news loudly played. There was a Federal message to the citizens, telling them to do this or that in order to stay safe from the earthquakes. There were empty promises made to the people, saying that the Government was working with scientists from around the globe to find a solution to the quaking. John felt depressed each time he heard it. But despite the sadness it caused, he still listened, as he needed to know when things would ¡®go to hell¡¯, as Lenny put it. And that day was today, apparently. Over the past few days, the news also reported on crime. Murder rates had skyrocketed, as had rape, forceful entry, and theft. Outside on the streets, John could see rioters. People who had figured out what was happening to the planet were running around like headless chickens, doing whatever they wanted because it wouldn¡¯t matter anyway. Torches, molotovs, pillaging, gunshots in the street¡­ the city was slowly but surely becoming a no-man¡¯s-land. He hadn¡¯t gone outside in days. The power had cut off a few hours ago, and so had the water. The newscasters had also stopped casting. And at that moment, he heard banging on his door. ¡°Open up, old man! I wanna see ya!¡± The voice was angry and fearful. Through the peephole, John could see a stranger, armed with a crowbar and a sack, looking for all the world like a common robber. The man¡¯s face and knuckles were a conspicuous red, and he was giving a maniacal, toothy grin. John wouldn¡¯t be opening his door. But as it turned out, there was no need. *THWACK* *THWACK* ¡°Come on! Come out!¡± The man outside screamed as he swung his crowbar into John¡¯s door, over and over again. ¡°Open the f*cking door!¡± *THWACK* *CRASH* Noises of wood splintering and cracking reached John¡¯s ears. He hid behind the couch. The bloody man stepped into John¡¯s home, through the shattered doorway. ¡°Where are you? Come out! I won¡¯t hurt you much, if you just give me your food!¡± John made no noise as he hid, clutching a vase in his arms. Booted feet slowly clumped past the couch. John could almost feel the man¡¯s eyes sweeping across his living room. The boots moved onwards. Seeing his chance, John jumped out of his spot as the man passed, positioning himself behind the maniac and bringing the vase down as hard as he could. It shattered against the man¡¯s skull with a crash, and the maniac screamed. But the man wasn¡¯t dead, or even knocked out. He just turned to face John, blood streaming down his face and a hateful, baleful gleam in his eye. ¡°You,¡± he growled. ¡°YOU F*CKING BETTER RUN!¡± He shouted, raising his crowbar above his head, and John sprinted for the front door. He was slow though. At age sixty, mobility was heavily limited. John only made it to the doorway before he felt an impact over the crown of his head, and blacked out. --------- When John woke back up, he felt pain. Dark purple bruises lined his body and a welt had risen on his head, slowly bleeding pus and blood. ¡°Guh-¡± He yelped as he got to his feet. His legs hadn¡¯t been spared the abuse, and they screamed through his nerves at the slightest motion. He still stood. The maniac was gone. His home was trashed though. Countertops were shattered, ripped and torn clothes littered the floor, as did sawdust and pieces of glass. There were gashes in the walls and burn-marks on the stove. The refrigerator was wide open, food haphazardly thrown around, spilled, and stolen. His mother¡¯s urn was tipped over, ashes had spilled out and spread across the room. Footprints could be seen in the dusk-film it had left behind. The old, battered man fell to his knees and sobbed. The earth trembled uncaringly. --------- Part 2: Anarchy Part 2: Anarchy John laid on his apartment floor for an unknown length of time, unable to cope. It was only when he smelled smoke, did he return to his senses. From an old safety course, he knew that smoke was bad. It meant combustion, toxic chemicals, and fire. He trudged over to the window and looked outside. Thick black smoke crawled up the side of the building, Flames licked at the third floor from their place on the second. Hooded people stalked the building¡¯s surroundings, pointing and laughing at the burning apartment. One of them took out a canister of something and threw it. It splashed against the brick walls, and the flames grew higher than before. Gasoline. John pulled his head back into his window. There were arsonists outside his home, and they had already started burning it. He needed to move. Move or die. Was death preferable? After all, the world was ending. He would die soon anyway¡­ He shook his head to clear his mind. He couldn¡¯t fall into the mentality of those maniacs outside. But he did know that burning to death was one of the most painful ways to die. Heat affected nerves in a relatively uniform way, so compared to other forms of death, burn wounds were the most painful inch-for-inch. What was it Lenny had said all those days ago? ¡®I can¡¯t say you¡¯ll make it out, but¡­ well, hopefully it¡¯ll be quick and painless.¡¯ John didn¡¯t want to die quite yet. He got to his feet and began running out of his apartment, into the hallway. He took the stairs down to the fourth floor, wincing at the increasingly-intense musk of smoke. The fire escape was his last bet. He sprinted down another hallway, passing random units, until he found the fire escape, obscured by smoke. With no other choice, he put his shirt over his mouth and nose and plunged into the smog. Down the steps he went, blinded by the smoke¡¯s thickness. He kept moving, hands on guardrails to keep track of where he was. Faster and faster, until his feet touched concrete. He opened his eyes and found himself in the alleyway behind his apartment. He was covered in soot. His legs felt heavier and heavier as he limped away from the burning building. A glance back showed it to still be in flames, the fire having reached the sixth floor. He watched as the incandescence consumed the floor he used to live on. Wiping his eyes, John turned around and kept moving. The streets were horrible now, like a vision from some deranged man¡¯s nightmare. Smells of rotting, burning flesh were prominent and corpses haphazardly lined the sidewalk. Some had obviously thrown themselves off the rooftops of their apartment buildings in a suicidal bid for a cleaner, more numb death than the one the impending apocalypse promised. Their crushed bodies littered the areas around tall buildings, creating a river of blood that streamed into the nearest storm-drain. Others had been murdered by the more hedonistic people. Gashes in their throats, bloody fountains streaming from their chests, intestines spilling out from where their abdomens had been sliced open¡­ some were still fresh, with knife-marks and cigarette burns littering their graying faces. Apparently their murderers thought they were better as ashtrays than people. At least before their deaths. John averted his eyes, trying not to hurl. Before today, he¡¯d never even seen a corpse before. It was horrible. It was disgusting and horrible, what people were capable of when they had nothing left to lose. He needed to leave before a murderer found him too. In the corner of his vision, metal glinted. A bicycle caught his eye. --------- He felt ridiculous as he pumped the pedals, but that feeling was overshadowed by the physical pain, and not-so-physical grief. His home was lost. He was beaten black and blue. The whole apartment had burned down, and now he was pedaling out of the burning, screaming city he once called home. The world was in anarchy because everyone was now faced with the fact that by next week, they¡¯d all be dead. Bodies littered the streets, and murderers roamed around like hyenas in a jungle. On his cycling, he¡¯d see gangs roving around, banging on doors and screaming at each other. They laughed, cried, and prayed as they committed the worst of atrocities.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Naturally, John avoided them. They had guns, after all, and he did not. The earth shook occasionally, as more of the planet¡¯s surface came loose. Biking to the West End of Chiquita was a chore. Not for the act of biking itself, but seeing how the place had changed after the apocalypse became imminent. Less than a month ago, it had been a quickly developing suburb, filled with families and workers. Now, it was a depopulated graveyard. Likely a cult-gang had passed through. Crosses were dumped in the streets, nailed to doors, and thrown onto rooftops. Christian paraphernalia had become litter, things that the gang had left behind in their religious fervor. There were bodies too, as expected. Ones he didn¡¯t look at. He just continued his biking, confident that the gang had left the neighborhood after killing everyone in it. He was relatively safe. The ground trembled again. So did his stomach. Hunger. One of the houses nearby had their front door unlocked and opened wide. Hoping to find food, John carefully made his way in. Immediately, the stink of iron and meat filled his nose. His appetite waned, but he still walked. ¡®Kitchen. Just gotta find the kitchen.¡¯ He hurriedly thought. He didn¡¯t want to spend another second in that horrible place. He found a refrigerator that had childish drawings stuck on its doors with magnets. His stomach sank. The fridge turned out to be empty. His search bore no fruit, so he took it upstairs. A bedroom door opened, and he found¡­ More bodies. A woman, unclothed and spread-eagle on the bed, skin torn to shreds and a scalped skull showing. The murderer had taken his time with her. There was also a man¡¯s body with piercing wounds in his torso and dark, shadowy holes remaining where his eyes once were. John didn¡¯t look any longer than he had to. He was even more disgusted than before. Was this the city he once loved and called home? Was humanity so depraved that when they lost everything, this was how they responded? Was this how people acted when there was no one to enforce justice? Did justice even exist anymore? He knew the answer now, and it saddened him. Life before Lenny¡¯s call felt so far away. Eventually, his search led him to the house¡¯s pantry. He didn¡¯t even bother checking the child¡¯s room. He just took whatever food he found and left. --------- Once outside the house, back in the bright sunlight, he threw up on the front lawn. His orange vomit swirled in the grass as he blankly stared. A moment passed. He wiped his mouth and kept moving. He didn¡¯t know what for though. Not anymore. The West End suburb was dangerous, so he decided to leave and go to the very edge of the city where the wilderness was. People weren¡¯t likely to be found there. As he rode away from that bloody neighborhood, a voice called out from behind him. ¡°You! Step off the bike, or I''ll shoot!¡± Heart beating like a jackhammer, John began pedaling faster. A gunshot rang out, but missed him. John dove behind a car, pulling the bike along with him. ¡°Hey, what the hell are you doing?!¡± He shouted. ¡°Just gimme the bike!¡± The gunman shouted back. ¡°It won¡¯t even matter, so do it!¡± He was just another person lashing out at the world. Acting crazy, maniacal, hysteric, yet somehow, not unreasonable. ¡°Screw you!¡± Called John, taking out his own weapon. The ensuing fight was loud and painful. A shot fired from behind one car, another from behind a fence. It continued until another earthquake began. John was fine, as he was hiding behind a car, and low to the ground. His opponent was not so lucky, having lost his balance. John¡¯s attacker stumbled, briefly coming out from behind his cover. John took the opportunity and fired once more He was lucky. A red hole was blasted through the area above his attacker¡¯s eye, and the man slumped to the shaking ground. John had won. He¡¯d live a little longer. He¡¯d killed someone. Like the ground, his hands shook. --------- Before John stood the St. McCarthy Hospital, one of Chiquita City¡¯s premier healthcare centers. It was dark now, as electricity was no longer being supplied. Still, John headed inside. ¡°Freeze!¡± Called a voice, as John stepped inside the place¡¯s waiting room. He put his hands up. ¡°I¡¯m friendly.¡± He said. ¡°I¡¯m just here for some food. If there¡¯s any.¡± ¡°Weapons?¡± Asked the voice. ¡°A gun.¡± ¡°Throw it away.¡± John hesitated, remembering how the weapon had saved him earlier. But he eventually complied, and tossed the gun out of his reach. It clattered to the hospital¡¯s hard, cold floors. ¡°Alright. You¡¯re good.¡± Said the voice. A new person stepped into John¡¯s line of vision. It was a dark-skinned doctor with a graying beard. ¡°Not gonna pat me down?¡± Asked John. ¡°I could¡¯ve been lying, and had another gun.¡± The doctor shook his head. ¡°Not much point. You wanted food?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Follow me. We have plenty to spare, even if we can¡¯t distribute it all as well as we¡¯d like.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± John asked as he began following after the doctor. The bearded man¡¯s fist clenched. ¡°Not enough personnel. After the announcement told us the planet was coming apart, most everyone either left, or¡­ well, they¡¯re gone either way. And now there¡¯s too few people to look after all of the patients.¡± Oh. ¡°Those b*stards¡­ leaving us like that. I bet they ran off to join those gangs.¡± Finished the spiteful, angry doctor. John said nothing. The pair of old men made their way down the hospital¡¯s darkened hallways, past wards and care units. Despite his better judgement, John peered inside each. In some rooms, sick men slowly suffered, immobile. The electricity had shut off many hours ago, which didn¡¯t bode well for those on life-support. Their slow fate was less kind than the apocalypse would have been. Some of the rooms did have doctors. They hung from ceiling fans, chairs laying on their sides beneath them. John stopped looking, and just followed the doctor in front of him. He didn¡¯t bother looking when they passed the maternity wards. Would this nightmare ever end? ¡°Hey, what¡¯s your name?¡± He asked, as the earth lightly quaked. ¡°Caleb.¡± Said the doctor. ¡°What made you stay behind?¡± John asked. Immediately, he knew it was a bad question. Caleb seemed to age more in that moment, the old doctor deflating as more and more hope left him. ¡°I¡­ I wanted to help people. I wanted to save lives, heal people, make them happier¡­¡± Said Caleb, staring at nothing with a haunted look in his eyes. ¡°That''s why I became a doctor in the first place. But this¡­ thing happened, and now I can¡¯t save anyone. They¡¯re all dying left and right. People offing themselves if they can, people running off to kill whoever they want and steal whatever they want, getting their licks in on the world before they die. It¡¯s madness.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± John quietly agreed. ¡°And you know the worst part? My work was for nothing. It never mattered. No matter how many people I saved in the past, they were all going to die. I suppose they were going to die anyways, but not like this!... It never mattered. I was deluding myself.¡± ¡°Then why stay?¡± ¡°Because what else do I have? This work is all I¡¯ve ever known. Even if the world is ending tomorrow, I¡¯ll still do it because there¡¯s nothing left.¡± There was silence after that, as the two men finally made it to the food-storage. John didn¡¯t speak again except to thank Caleb for the food he was given. The gratitude felt hollow. Part 3: Fragmentation Part 3: Fragmentation John rode the bike down the now-desolate roads. Behind him, Chiquita City burned. Civilization broke down so quickly when no one cared about living anymore. People just did whatever they wanted, flailing around as the world slowly came apart. The entire world. The physical, and social worlds. People were splitting, going crazy and becoming nihilists. Some prayed to God for a miracle that would never come. Some didn¡¯t pray, and decided to meet with God more personally. John just pedaled his stolen bike. Soon, he found the place he was looking for. He took the bike off the road and into the nearby forest, where a hidden pathway revealed itself among the roots, leaves, and shrubbery. The path was followed for at least a kilometer before it opened into a vast clearing on a cliff, overlooking the vast Southwest-Texas wastelands. The sky was slowly getting brighter, and orange-green plateaus loomed on the horizon. John got off the bike and sat down at the ledge. Out here, there were no sounds of screaming, laughing, or burning buildings. There was no smell of smoke and burning flesh. There was no fractured civilization in view. No corpses to look away from. Instead, he saw a marred landscape. The planet¡¯s upheaval became obvious, when seen from so high up.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Giant jagged lines rent across the land, widening a little more with each quake of the earth. He couldn¡¯t see where they stopped or ended, but they were numerous and they were prominent. At least half a kilometer wide. And they hadn¡¯t been there last month. They were the preview of the world¡¯s end. The cracks that inevitably appeared just before the whole thing broke apart. The quaking became more and more intense. Wind buffeted John¡¯s face. A great sense of defeat crashed down on him, weighing down his shoulders and hunching his spine. This was it. It was over. Civilization was gone and the planet itself would soon follow. He was attacked in his home by a maniac with a crowbar and beaten black-and-blue. Arsonists set fire to his apartment, burning it to the ground, laughing all the way. He traveled out to the suburbs for food and only found corpses. While leaving, he fought and killed a man who wanted to kill him for his bike. He stopped by the hospital on his way to the forest and met the doctor, Caleb, who no longer had anything left to live for. A man who only survived thus far because nothing had tried to kill him yet. And then he¡¯d come out here, and seen what the Earthquakes were doing to the world. The mile-wide, incomprehensibly-long cracks on the planet¡¯s surface. The prelude to the End. He contemplated ending it right there and then. He had a gun. He had a bullet. He had nothing left to do that mattered. It would be so simple and easy. But he didn¡¯t. His hands didn¡¯t reach for the cold steel. Why not? A sense of responsibility? A desire to live as long as possible? Curiosity as to what the End looked like? He didn¡¯t know, and at this point, he didn¡¯t care either. But he¡¯d decided. He tossed the gun off the cliff and observed with a heavy heart as it made the long drop to the bottom. Despair. Resolve. Grim understanding. He sat at the edge of the cliff and watched as chunks of the Earth began tearing themselves from the ground and floating into the sky. It was over.