Apocalypse, Day Five.

It takes five days to feel real. It is the first time they go outside, the afternoon of January tenth.

Before that, though, the day stretches out, unfurling itself like a waking cat. The Capitol building has been on fire since last night, a shock of orange in distant concrete sky, a swell of blood from a too-fast razor.

Alex is bent into the rectangle of the window frame, one foot on the ground to balance herself, fingers against cool glass. There’s snow coming today, if the weather report from four days ago is to be believed. It’s hard to fathom that a week ago, she was shivering on a rooftop with a cheap cigarette in one hand and an expensive craft beer in the other, welcoming a new turn round the sun. Sounds of downtown disquiet echo through the streets, arriving to her like a rattling breath.

Her phone chimes, cuts through the uneasy hum of the city. Networks are down, but it’s still keeping time, a clock inside an otherwise useless brick, alerting her to meetings starting in fifteen minutes that she has no way of joining; reminders of take pill and dry cleaning like vases behind glass made by ancient Egyptians. Another life.

in 10m: Peloton

She laughs, surprising herself.

“What’s so funny?”

Jake is eating tinned fish and reading a newspaper from three days ago. There hasn’t been one since. Every big news outlet had been stormed at the same time as DC, and the phone towers, and the servers thrumming in the desert that keep the country ticking; synchronised swimming. No one knows what has happened to the journalists yet. There is no internet. The newsagent across the street was open until this morning, with a sign in the window written by the owner, Amrita, hanging for the last few days: NO POST TODAY. Earlier, Amrita’s husband had gone into the store, their voices crawling up the building like ice. By one, the shop was dark, boards haphazardly knocked against the glass. As they’d hurried away, they’d looked up, and Alex and Amrita had locked eyes for a moment. Neither had smiled. It was the first time Alex had felt panic, properly, and she’d swallowed it like a secret.

“Alex.”

“What?”

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just wish my phone would stop reminding me I’ve wasted most of my life savings on a gym membership I can’t use. Do you think they have a 'violent government overthrow' clause in the contract?”

Jake raises an eyebrow. They’ve been living together for five months. He’s new in town and looking to make it as a lobbyist. They’re a weird match, but he pays rent and is clean and for the most part, not insufferable. He’s also not bad looking in the sinking sunlight, she thinks absently, before shaking her head as he stands up and yawns. Societal downfall is not going to end in her sleeping with her roommate. She almost says that out loud, then decides against it.

“How’s that fish going?” she asks instead, as he pulls a particularly unhappy grimace around a mouthful.

“Pretty disgusting, actually,” Jake says, “but it’s not exactly a Postmates situation, is it?”

She laughs. It’s not funny, but it helps.

“We’re gonna have to go out there at some point.”

“Yeah. I can go, though. Y’know, if you want.” They haven’t talked about it yet. It feels like an absurd conversation to be having.

“As charming as that is,” she says, standing with a stretch, back sore from window watching, “you really don’t need to be so chivalrous. Besides, I don’t trust guys buying groceries anyway, so.”

He shrugs. “We should probably go before dark.”

“Should go now, then,” she says, calculatedly calm and anxiety blooming. She twists her locket round her index finger absentmindedly, round and round till she hits her neck and then back. Round and back.

“You shouldn’t wear that,” he says, “seriously, leave it here. One of the neighbours told me they’re after anything valuable.”

She rolls her eyes. “I think everyone’s a bit preoccupied to be caring about my necklace.”

It’s an old gold locket from her grandmother, a kitschy heart with a photo of them inside from when she was a child, maybe five. She otherwise wouldn’t be caught dead in heart-shaped jewellery, but it’s only been a year, and she misses her.

He shrugs. “Don’t know why you want to risk it, but whatever.”

She smiles, obnoxious, kisses three fingers and raises her arm dramatically with a four-toned whistle. “It’s called the rebellion, baby. Besides, I’ve worked, like, seven Black Fridays. How bad could it be?”

He sighs like he wants to say something meaningful, then remembers they’re fastidiously keeping it light, so laughs instead.

“Alright, fearless leader. Let’s go.”

*

In the cocoon of their apartment, it’s been easy to soothe each other into a light dusting of jokes and distraction. Outside is different. There’s a sharp smell in the air; acrid, burnt. There are footsteps and shouts echoing through the street, spinning towards them as they walk. Otherwise, it’s quiet. She counts fourteen smoldering cars. They walk past all the sleek chrome buildings reaching high, unlit like blackened trees, trading tickers wrapping through lobbies frozen in time. Markets haven’t been open since the sixth. Big televisions crackle on and off intermittently, like dispatches from old war movies. They stop, peering through glass spider webs to watch, the first sign of life they’ve seen. Flashes of governors, mayors, presidents of far away places. A few seconds of looting in Chicago. People screaming in the streets just blocks away. The signal keeps scrambling, minutes of static.

“C’mon,” Jake says, “before it gets dark.”

They walk, heartbeats rising in throats, heads down against the cold. There’s a siren wailing in the distance. Maybe several.

“So, seen any good movies lately?” she asks conversationally. He huffs a laugh, goes to reply, but then they round the corner to the supermarket and all is forgotten.

The siren is coming from the store, automatic door propped open for too long and tripping the alarm. It’s dark inside, and there are people loitering out front, keeping lookout and sprinting away when others return with full carts. It makes her flinch, that there are already systems. People are learning how to do this.

“Jesus,” Jake says, “Jesus Christ.”

Wordlessly, they walk forward, crunching glass underfoot until they reach the checkouts. She’d never thought about how big a supermarket really was before. Now it spreads out in front of them like a cave, disturbed.

“We should split up. We’ll get out faster.”

“No,” Jake says, walking forward, “c’mon.”

The shelves are mostly empty already, tug-of-war panic leaving a mess on the floor. They pick up a basket each and collect what they can. The alarm keeps ringing, a pathetic request for order going unheard. When they reach the back wall, the stockroom has been cracked open, more fruitful than the store itself. There’s nothing fresh, so they grab as many tins as they’re able to carry, vegetables and sauce and soup in forms Alex has never really thought too much about before. Jake finds a box of pasta underneath a stack of shelves, forgotten; hoists a small carton of bottled water onto his shoulder. They nod silently when they’re done; go to leave. As they step towards the light, two men thunder into the room, eyes a touch too wild, looking for supplies. Jake pulls her back against a shelf, into the shadows, breath shallow. When the men turn right, heading for the furthest end of the space, they take their chance and duck out, taking the long way to avoid the middle aisles where they can hear people scrapping over loose sheets of Tylenol and soap and toilet paper.

When they reach the front of the store, Jake stops.

“What do we do?” he says dumbly, frowning like a child trying lemon for the first time; unfamiliar.

“We go, Jake.”

“So what, we’re thieves now?”

“Guess so,” she hisses, “who knows, by next week maybe we’ll graduate to an actual felony.”

He doesn’t laugh, but they leave.

The evening chill hits like an uppercut, so harsh that she bows her head reflexively. As she’s readjusting her load and pulling her scarf up, she collides with a stranger as though he is air.

“Sorry,” she stammers, breath knocked out of her. She looks up at his face. It’s unfriendly, cracked in deep, sun-dug lines radiating from an unkempt gray beard. With slightly better teeth and shorter hair, he could be her Uncle John.

His mouth moves into a leering grin. She can see Jake in her periphery, just beyond them, looking back with panicked eyes.

“Well isn’t that a beautiful necklace,” he murmurs. He smells like sweat, adrenaline. He looks like he’s about to rip it from her throat. He must be one of them. “Y’know everyone’s looking for gold, don’t you? No dollars anymore, they’re saying. Just gold.”

She freezes, a statue glued to ground.

They’re after anything valuable.

Before she can react, his large hand comes into view, dirt under nails, reaching towards the locket. Towards her.

“Silly girl,” he grins, hand close, “didn’t anyone ever tell you--”

“Hey!”, and Jake is suddenly there, feet no longer stone like her own. “Fuck off,” he spits, and then he’s grabbing her arm and they’re running. They run in an animal way, gazelles without grace, buffalo with no herd; flight or fight, instinct. There is a commotion behind them for a few moments, so close it makes her eyes sting, and then it is quiet again not long after; youthful legs, maybe, on their side. When they’re four blocks away, they slow down, breathing hard and eyes bright; in terror, she thinks, no longer just panic. Terror.

Jake is walking impossibly fast, an urgent thud in every footstep and breath. The sun is almost gone, closing in, dangerous.

“You need to be more careful,” is all he finally gets out, voice in slight tremors.

“I didn’t need your help,” she shoots back, unthinking. He glances over at her, huffs a laugh that’s more a scoff.

“Right.”

It’s cold, and embarrassingly fair, and she feels small. Unfamiliar to her, but that seems to be a recurring theme.

They say nothing for the rest of the walk, and get home unscathed.

*

Alex goes to her room, takes a million small breaths that she tries to make a single deep one. When she emerges two hours later, Jake is plating up something that approximates bolognese.

“Smells good,” she says quietly. He smiles, uncharacteristically soft and genuine.

“Want some?”

“Yeah, please. If there’s enough.”

It’s more carbs than she’d usually eat in a week, and she finishes the whole thing. Full and warm, her heartbeat starts to quiet. They haven’t spoken about earlier, the we good? left unsaid. And suddenly, that feels ridiculous. In a pride-swallowing rush, she closes her eyes for a moment.

“So I think I’m officially scared,” she declares, like she’s calling it a night after one drink too many.

Jake hums a laugh, but it’s not unkind. “‘Bout time,” he says, “been worrying you were completely fucking deranged.”

“Nah. Just stubborn, I think.”

He smiles at her from across the couch. “Me too,” he says, “scared, I mean. We just...we’ve gotta help each other. Be smart. Be a team.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Clear eyes, full hearts, and all that?”

“I’m serious!”

“I know,” she laughs, and then quieter, “sorry. We’ll figure it out. Thanks. Y’know, for today.”

That night, she takes the necklace off. Slips it into a jewellery pouch and tucks it under her mattress. She thinks of the Princess and the Pea before she falls asleep.

*

When they wake the next morning, the lights don’t come on. The Capitol still burns impossibly bright, even as the snow falls, swallowing the weak winter sun whole. It is January eleventh.

Six days later, they leave DC at nightfall.

*