* * *
Winter's icy grip had descended upon Phoenix, shrouding the city in darkness and despair.
The once-thriving metropolis lay in ruins, buildings shattered, houses reduced to rubble.
Survival was a daily struggle.
A young boy huddled under a collapsed building, fragile sanctuary from the monsters roaming the streets.
Breath visible in the chill air, he rubbed his cold hands together, desperate for warmth.
The night was alive with terrors: growling beasts, screams of the doomed.
Time lost meaning.
Days blurred.
The boy's refuge was a bombed-out parking lot, concrete chunks shielding him from the horrors outside.
Narrow gaps between the rubble provided a lifeline, a temporary haven.
A nearby supermarket beckoned, promise of sustenance.
But for how long?
Would he survive the night?
He had run out of food two days ago, with only water sustaining him. Hunger gnawed at his belly, a relentless ache that threatened to consume him. Tonight was colder than usual, but quieter too, a small mercy. He had to seize every opportunity, no matter how slim.
Silently, he approached the rubble's exit, scanning for signs of life. Monsters lurked everywhere, and people could attract them, making any encounter deadly. He checked everywhere, his heart racing with anticipation. The coast was clear.
He removed his shoes, securing them to his backpack. Steadying his breathing, he calmed his racing heart, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Then, he sprinted toward the market, his socks cushioning his steps, making him all but invisible.
Despite his calm exterior, his heart pounded. Concentration sharpened his senses, ready to detect any movement or noise. At the first sign of trouble, he'd retreat instantly.
He reached the market and found the familiar crack in the wall, his entrance of choice. Peering inside, he slipped in cautiously, enveloped by deadly silence.
Releasing his held breath, he cleaned the rocks and pebbles from his socks, ignoring the pulsing pain. He moved low and close to the wall, navigating through the shadows toward the food aisles.
Cans and sealed goods were his target, the only edible options in this ravaged world. Previous visits had yielded a bounty, but he couldn't carry much. Tonight would be no different.
Reaching his desired aisle, he froze. A woman and child stood before him, wide-eyed and startled. He raised his index finger to his lips, signaling silence. They nodded in unison.
No need to compete for food; the shelves were stocked. He filled his backpack with cans, his movements swift.
"Anyone else with you?" he whispered.
The woman shook her head.
He nodded and continued packing.
With their silent understanding, they exchanged nods – a simple good luck gesture – and parted ways.
He made his way to the cashiers, seeking warmth. Lighters and matches were his target. Grabbing handfuls, he stuffed them into his pockets.
Food and fire secured, but fuel was next. Lighters wouldn't last long; he needed something to burn.
He ventured to the store's rear, seeking paperboard boxes or any combustible material.
As he navigated the dimly lit aisles, the silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the soft creaking of twisted metal and shattered glass.
Would he find what he needed?
Would he make it through the night?
He had been bolder this time, staying longer than his previous two visits. After many days of running, he had found a temporary haven in the rubble. His worn-out body and mind had welcomed the rest.
Behind the market, he discovered a metallic door leading to the storage room. Inside, he found what he was looking for and more: food, water, and various supplies.
However, the room's back wall had collapsed, exposing it to the street. A monster, distant but visible, feasted on its latest victim.
There was no way he would risk exposure to grab the boxes. The monster's presence erased his boldness.
Getting back to his shelter became his sole priority. Other ideas vanished.
He swiftly retreated, abandoning his plans.
"NOOOOOO!!!" BOOM!!! "RUUUUN!!!!"
The panicked cries echoed through the market, sending his senses on high alert. Adrenaline surged through his veins.
He turned toward the sound, his priority shifting to escape.
That's when he saw her – the little girl from earlier, running toward him with desperation in her eyes.
"Damn!" His heart sank.
Every instinct screamed at him to flee, but their eyes met, and he hesitated.
Her pleading gaze stayed his flight.
"Hurry! Hurry!" He gestured wildly, fear clawing up his spine.
Not a hero, but he couldn't abandon her.
Together, they sprinted toward the broken wall.
Glancing back, he saw the monster, its relentless pursuit striking dread in his heart.
Reaching the crack, he scanned the outside area frantically.
Time was running out.
The monster couldn't fit through the crack, but it would circle around.
Spotting no immediate danger, he pointed to a nearby opening in the rubble.
"There," he whispered.
The little girl nodded and took off, with him close behind.
Barefoot and weighed down by his backpack, he pushed through the pain.
Every step counted.
They had to make it.
Growls echoed behind, but he didn't look back. Reaching the shelter was his only goal.
They were almost safe, just steps away from the opening.
Whoosh!
A force slammed into his back, sending him crashing into the wall.
"Ugh!" Pain fogged his mind.
Glancing back, he saw cans scattered everywhere.
The little girl lay pinned under the monster's claws, blood trickling from her lips.
Her crying eyes locked onto his, pleading for help.
Her small hand reached out.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Tears streamed down his face.
The monster ripped her apart, her eyes never leaving his.
It happened too fast.
He crawled deeper into the rubble, escaping the horror.
Growls and scratches echoed outside, but the concrete held.
Huddled in the darkness, lighter trembling in his hand, he whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
The little girl's pleading eyes haunted him.
Powerless, he relived the moment.
"Rawwwr!" The monster's cry outside seemed distant.
Cold seeped into his bones, the small flame offering no comfort.
He sat, frozen, lost in the memory of their shared glance.
* * *
"Son?" Dad's voice shattered the reverie.
The flashback faded, a distant memory buried for years.
"What do you mean the world will end?" Dad asked, his eyes searching.
"That's exactly what I mean," I replied, my gaze firm.
"All we know will cease to exist. Soon."
Mom's confusion was palpable. "But how...?"
Dad's piercing stare assessed my sanity.
"Let me explain," I continued. "Dimensional rifts will appear worldwide."
Monsters will emerge from these rifts."
My grave tone conveyed the horror.
"Monsters?!" Mom's shock was evident.
"From the rifts?" she began.
Dad interrupted, "Let him finish. We'll ask questions later."
Mom nodded, silence descending.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself.
"The monsters will bring destruction on a catastrophic scale."
Their eyes locked onto mine, anticipation and fear mingling.
"Millions will die," I continued, my voice heavy with the weight of memory. "Cities will burn, and chaos will reign supreme. The military will struggle to defend themselves, and their bases will become shelters – but even they will fall when provisions run out."
Mom's shock deepened, while Dad's composure began to crack.
Allison, however, remained serene, her eyes locked onto mine with a deep understanding.
"How do you know all this?" Dad asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
I nodded, acknowledging the validity of his question.
"It sounds ridiculous, but..." I paused, steeling myself.
Closing my eyes, I let the facade drop.
Memories long buried resurfaced – crawling for survival, scavenging for food, fleeing monsters.
My emotions, once hidden, now simmered just below the surface.
I opened my eyes, and Dad's gaze met mine.
He recoiled, sensing the depth of my pain.
The boy he thought he knew was gone.
A stranger, forged in the fire of apocalypse, sat before him.
"I fought those monsters for decades," I said, my gaze locked on Dad. "Friends fell beside me, year after year. We gave everything, but it wasn't enough." My sigh weighed heavy with sorrow.
"When my time came, when I thought I'd finally rest alongside the fallen..." My voice cracked.
"But instead, I woke up here."
The room fell silent, digesting the unimaginable.
"Was that why you collapsed?" Allison asked, recalling my episode.
I nodded. "Moments before, I was in battle. Everyone was gone."
Mom's hands cradled her head. "This is unbelievable..."
Dad nodded.
"I know. I'd doubt myself too."
"I believe you," Allison said, beaming.
I smiled back, grateful.
"How long did you fight?" Dad asked.
"Twenty years, at least," I replied.
We lost track of time; estimates were all I had.
"Twenty years..." Dad whispered.
The weight of those years settled upon them.
"Where were we?" Dad asked, incredulous.
All three stared, seeking answers in my eyes.
Mom's persistence broke the silence. "Where were we, Anthony?"
I closed my eyes, a heavy sigh escaping. "You all died on the first day."
The room plummeted into silence.
"I was at school when they came," I began, the memories resurfacing.
Dad's voice was laced with pain. "Did you see us die?"
My gaze met Allison's, a piercing ache in my heart.
"She died in my arms, from blood loss."
Allison's eyes widened, unprepared for such a revelation.
"I never saw you two again," I said, glancing at Mom and Dad.
Silence enveloped them once more, lost in thoughts of their own mortality.
Dad spoke up, "This is hard to believe..."
Mom and Allison nodded in agreement.
"But," Dad continued, his eyes locked onto mine, "the rifts are real. They're worldwide, and people are investigating. Many are dying."
Nods around the room acknowledged the truth.
News coverage and investigations flooded the media.
Reality began to set in.
"Assuming the end is real, what do you expect us to do?" Dad asked, his gaze intense.
"Get physically ready," I replied.
Mom's eyes widened. "Is that why you're always exercising?"
I nodded.
Dad's expression turned grave. "We're older, it won't be as effective."
I held their gaze firmly. "You must try. You'll need to run for hours, days, without food or water. No rest, no help."
Silence.
Dad's face set in determination. "How long do we have?"
I raised four fingers. "Four months. November 27th is D-Day."
The weight of those words hung in the air.