Chapter 1: End of Days

“It’s not what you know but who you know.”

The world was ending. Best I figured, I had a day or two until “The Big One”. Most people, given the ultimatum that everything they knew was about to end, were reacting as you would expect. The cars full of frantic refugees on the highway a few miles away produced a constant drone occasionally interspersed with the thin, high wail of an emergency vehicle’s siren or the loud ‘crack’ of gunfire. Hopeless, I knew, but at least it gave everybody something to focus on besides the world crumbling around them.

I wasn’t out there with them, desperate to go somewhere, anywhere, to get away from the Hell that surrounded them. I had been living with my own personal Hell for six years now and I knew that running was pointless. Instead of their pathetic panic, I was doing something truly important: mowing my yard.

It was a nice yard, big with plenty of green grass and with a dozen trees scattered here and there. Abby would have loved it; visiting my grandparents on “great grandpa’s farm” was the highlight of her summers all those years ago. I pushed that thought away and focused back on my work. Ever since the accident, yardwork had been a refuge. Losing my wife soon after my daughter left a hole of sorrow and depression that was much easier to tune out when all you could hear was the whir of mower blades.

As the past weeks’ shocking revelations delved further into chaos and despair, and as people started dying by the billions, here I was in my yard, on my garden tractor going back and forth, up and down, persistently avoiding my thoughts and ignoring the world around me. Occasionally I would glance up at the sky, instinctively trying to tell the time or check the weather. It was about as useless of an exercise as mowing your yard for the end of the world.

Clouds that had once stuck close to the horizon in the direction of the city had transformed over the last week into a pervasive haze of dust which had an almost eerie effect on the bits of sunlight that filtered through, rendering objects flat and without shadows. As I finished up another row, the ground shook with a low rumble. It had been doing that for a while now, but I wasn’t too concerned. What was the point of worrying? I turned to head back up the yard and stopped for a moment beside the house.

I had lived alone on this small acreage a short dozen miles west of Sioux Falls, South Dakota for over six years now. The acreage, my retreat and refuge, had been my grandparents’ home for decades. When they had passed, it was left to my father who had rented it out to various tenants over the following few years until, all too soon, he also passed. After inheriting it upon his death, I left the property empty and ignored for over a year. I had no intention of living out there among all the happy family memories when my wife and I had no happiness left.

She seemed to agree—not with the “not living out there” part but simply with the “not living” at all. Losing my daughter and losing my wife left me with nothing. I had sold our home in the city, quit my daily job as a designer, cashed out our investments and savings and fled in pain and sorrow to this acreage, my last retreat. Now, I was just another tired, middle aged loner with a tragic past and no future, just living day to day.

I had finished cutting the grass on the back half of the acreage and had moved onto the front portion when I noticed a cloud of dust moving towards the property. Barely slowing enough to make the turn, my neighbor’s white Sprinter van skidded into his driveway and raced up into the garage, just barely missing the still opening overhead door with the van’s tall roof. Had it been anybody else I would have been surprised at their reckless driving, but honestly, this was nothing new for Picket. I had seen too many strange things living next to that guy.

I was surprised to see him at all—he had left in a rush a few weeks ago and I wasn’t expecting to see him again before THE END, which the news was estimating would come sometime tonight or maybe tomorrow. I returned to my task, hoping to finish well before dark so I could enjoy the final evening on my porch with my only remaining companion, a bucket of iced beers.

I never got to see the sun set that evening through the cloudy reddish haze, but I finished my yardwork about that time it would have been setting. I had just parked the riding mower in my garage when suddenly there was another tremor, this one fairly strong. I held onto the doorframe as the ground swayed and a few moments later, a shockwave hit. “Whoomph!” I found myself on the ground, dazed. I had been knocked back into the garage and showered with shattered glass from the side windows and the overhead lights. Luckily the windows had been a tempered safety glass and the debris was not sharp shards, just gravelly annoying bits.

I got up, brushing the glass off and out of my shirt, when the power went out causing what lights remained to go dark. For a moment I debated heading to the basement to “Duck and Cover” before I remembered that it was pointless and that I did not really care. I grabbed the cordless flashlight from my workbench and went into the house. The tremors continued occasionally though not as bad as before. In the house, there was broken glass everywhere and only the heavy furniture remained anywhere close to where it had originally been sitting.

Cautiously stepping over broken window glass and ignoring the picture frames now scattered on the floor, I made my way to the kitchen where I grabbed a bucket of ice and the six pack of bottled pilsners from the fridge. As one last “Fuck You” to the universe I left the door open on the refrigerator and freezer. The power was out anyway, and I wasn’t going to be around to care about the spoiling food soon. Wary of more tremors I carefully made my way to the porch. As little as there was left in the world, breaking a bottle of beer that I had prudently hoarded through the looting and chaos these last weeks would have been the final straw.

“Christ,” I murmured, surveying the debris and branches now strewn over my freshly mowed yard. My porch was also a mess and I had to retrieve the cushions for my favorite chair from the nearby bushes but once those lost items were restored, I sat and popped open the first of the cold brews. I allowed myself to think back to how this week was supposed to go, had things been happier. Abby would be turning 18. There would probably have been some kind of party, and maybe even a fancy new car with one of those obnoxious ribbons from the commercials, parked in the driveway. We would be celebrating her going off to college in a few months.

Mary and I would have been celebrating our 25th year of marriage. She had always wanted to travel the country, and with our kid out of the house we finally could have. Hoisting the beer, I gave a toast to Abby and Mary. “I miss you both so much, but for the first time I am glad you are gone and not here with me to face what’s to come tonight!” I paused before continuing. “I guess I’ll be seeing you soon. I wish things could have been different.”

I wanted to say more, but the words just wouldn’t come. Abby had only been ten when that drunk idiot had blown through that stop sign. My wife and our marriage had never recovered from the grief—I don’t know if the relationship would have lasted even if she hadn’t found the bottom of a bottle of pills. As the words stopped and the tears began to flow, I silently finished my beer and stared out at the darkening horizon.

It was full twilight and the red skies continued even into the looming darkness but now were more intense towards the city. The fires must be spreading. A steady breeze was blowing towards the north, back to where the shockwave had originated. I was into my second beer when in the gloom I noticed Picket standing near the fence line between our properties. He had his hand up signaling me to come towards him.

“What does he want?” I muttered. I could not imagine him wanting to spend this last night with me anymore then I would want to spend it with him. I debated whether to ignore him and continue my solo vigil or to go see what he wanted. Finally, curiosity and responsibility won out and I got up and headed over to the fence.

As I approached, I noticed he was wearing stranger clothing then normal. It was like a pair of coveralls or a one-piece uniform like a mechanic would wear, which was odd because Picket was the last thing from being handy. He even hired out his yard work, for Christ’s sake. Adding to his unusual attire, the suit was made of a strange silvery material, and was covered with fittings and connections that reminded me of something out of a sci-fi story.

“John,” he said, “You are still here ... good.”

“Where the hell else would I be Picket?” I replied.

“I did not know how you would handle the current events. I had hoped you would remain rather than attempt to flee the coming destruction and chaos.”

“Not much point in that, Picket. From what I have heard there is no point or safe place to flee to and I am too old and out of shape to fight the panicked hordes for scraps ... or to go find some hole in the ground to hide out and probably be buried alive in.”

My comment brought a decidedly shocked expression to Picket’s normally unreadable face.

“That is remarkably close to what I offer, John. Well, not the fighting hordes part. If you want to live to see another day, then come to my dwelling and descend into the sublevel basement. There I will leave you a chance for your survival.”

What the hell? I thought. “What, do you have a bunker of some sort down there?” wondering if he was a Prepper. It would certainly help explain some of his odd behavior, if not his strange clothing.

“I do not have time to explain as I will be leaving shortly and there is much to do. After I leave, go to my dwelling as I have instructed, and you may survive.”

Now I was even more confused. He was leaving but wanted me to go to his basement or something. “What the hell Picket!? You are not making any sense! Why would I want to go die in your basement? I have my own if I want to hide out! Where are you running off to tonight anyway?”

“John, there is no time to explain. My pod still must be prepped, and I must leave. You have helped me over the past few years many times and you have kept to yourself and not betrayed my activities to others of your kind. For this, I offer you a chance for survival”

I just stood there staring trying to digest what I had just heard. ‘My pod’... ‘others of your kind’ ... What the hell!?

“Picket, thanks but no thanks.” I turned to leave. I did not have time for his craziness.

“John wait!”

I paused.

“John, you have little more than an hour before the spreading flame fronts reach this place and consume you. Please heed my request and take refuge in my sublevel.”

I resumed the walk back to my house and porch, staggering as another tremor shook the ground.

“John!” he yelled. “Abby would not have wanted you to give up ... just as she would not have wanted you to retreat from the living as you have in recent years!”

I stopped and spun around. “Just how the FUCK do you know about Abby and what she would think!” I yelled back.

“I know all about you, John. If you change your mind, heed my instructions. You have less than an hour.” At that, he turned and ran into his house.

I stood there watching him go, my heart thumping and temples throbbing. After I got control of myself, I turned to return to my porch. It was dark enough that I needed the flashlight to avoid the branches and debris in the yard. Now the sky to the north had a red glow to match the one coming from the city, and its fires, to the East. I also noticed a few new fires off in the distance, some towards the highway and some towards a few of the nearby farms and small towns. The distant highway must be one big mass of people fleeing the city. What a sad, sad hopeless mess.

Back on the porch and with a fresh beer, I thought of Picket and his offer. What a strange bird Picket was. I remembered the first time I met him, back almost six years, around a month after I had moved in. He was standing by his large white van in his driveway looking at the left rear tire. I was mowing (of course) and after considering ignoring him, I stopped by the fence and shut off the rider.

“Ahoy neighbor, tire problems?”

He turned to me and replied “John! Good! I was unable to reach my garage before progress was halted. If I obtain replacement parts, would you be willing to install them on this vehicle? I will provide payment.”

“Uh...” How the fuck did he know my name and by ‘replacement parts’ did he mean a new tire?

“I guess ... When will you have a new tire?” I yelled back.

Instead of answering, he walked around to the other side of the van, got out his cell phone and took a picture of the opposite rear tire. Maybe he’s taking a video? I wondered, as the process took at least 10 seconds. He then came back around the van and started towards the fence where I was waiting. As he approached, I got my first good look at him.

My first impression of him was that he was ... different. Probably twenty years younger than me, maybe in his early thirties? Taller than me by a few inches, probably around 6 foot 2 or even 6 foot 3. Skinny with bones showing, especially around his face, the opposite of my pudgy and out of shape overweight frame. He was completely bald where I was just balding. His expression was strange as if he weren’t sure what emotion he was supposed to be feeling at any given time. No matter the weather he was always wearing a big bulky pair of sunglasses. They reminded me of those smart glasses I saw in the news years ago, the high-tech ones with a built-in computer and camera or whatnot that everyone had been excited about. I could not see his eyes through the lenses, but by the way he turned his head, I knew he was taking in everything around him as he approached.

Arriving at the fence he said. “I shall return in two hours with the required parts.” He then turned and left without another word, I just watched as he entered his garage and shut the overhead door behind him.

“Wow! That is one strange guy.” I muttered and drove my riding mower over to my garage to get my car jack and tire changing tools. I attached my small yard trailer to the mower, loaded the jack, tire iron and a towel to kneel on, and headed down the driveway and over to the neighbors. As I parked next to his van, I noticed that not only was the tire shredded, but the rim was worn down and ruined also. It looked like the hub and brakes were ok though, which meant that he had probably only driven a few miles on the flat before reaching his home.

Shaking my head, I got out the jack, cracked the wheel nuts loose with the wrench and proceeded to raise the rear corner of the van. I then fully removed the nuts and kicked the tire loose from the hub. It was stubborn but finally broke loose. I looked at the house and seeing no sign of the strange guy, unhooked my trailer, leaving it and my tools and headed back home to finish my mowing. Almost exactly two hours after he entered the house, his garage door opened and he came walking out, rolling a new tire and rim towards the van. If he had left the house, I certainly hadn’t seen it—did he have a spare in his garage the entire time? What the hell? Why did it take him two hours to retrieve it?

I rode my mower back over to the parked van where he was now standing. He pointed at the new rim and tire and asked, “John, will this be satisfactory?”

“Look’s good” I replied while maneuvering the tire onto the hub’s protruding studs. I quickly spun on the lug nuts and wrenched them snug. After lowering the jack a bit to let the wheel grab the ground, I finished fully tightening the nuts. I reattached my trailer to my rider, loaded the jack, wrenches and towel and then did one last check overall including checking the pressure. It was as I was pocketing my tire gauge that I noticed what was bugging me. The new tire and rim were not new. In fact, the dirt, scuffs, and wear on the tire were similar to what was on the other tires.