"Wait, where's Sam?" I ask Ava, who's standing closest to me, as I clutch my churning stomach in protest. Ava, usually easy-going and cheerful with her dyed blonde hair and bright green eyes, now looks anything but. The usual spark in her gaze has been replaced by a shadow of worry and doubt.

  "He went to get his bike a few minutes ago and shouldn't be long." She says, shuffling from one foot to another, looking over my shoulder with a nervous gaze.

  "Let's hope so." I follow her gaze but see no sign of Sam. Not wanting to waste time worrying, I emptied my inventory onto the tarmac parking space for distribution. This raised a few eyebrows once Noah joined in and brought out the slightly rusted hooked machetes and wet stones. Mia quickly followed suit and emptied her stores of food and tools. I shot the last girl of our little group a look. She was of average height with long, dark hair, eyes, and pale white skin, her face marked with an uncharacteristically serious expression as she glanced around in fear.

  Before long, the others began following our lead. They took the items out of their inventories while Noah stood watch, as he didn't pick up as much gear. With all the loot, apart from Sam's, on the floor, we quickly began to make a pile for each member. We would each have a bat, javelin, machete, shock put, knife, screwdriver, saw, chisel, wire cutters, food, and water to try and increase our odds of survival.

  "Thanks, but why do we need shock puts?" Asks Ava.

  "Ummm, not sure yet. We could drop them on people I don't know.

  They give me a look when I mention dropping heavy ass balls on people as Sam pulls up on his red motorbike, I never bothered to remember the make of, in his leather jacket and matching red helmet.

  "Sam, could you add your things to the unsorted loot pile?" I ask

  "Umm, sure?" He gives a quick nod and adds his gains to the pile.

  I nod in thanks just as Mia, eyebrows raised in disbelief, asks, "Wait, you want to drop shot puts on people?"

  "Want to? Not really, it sounds messy. But it's probably better to have the option, no?" I respond as I shuffle around on the floor, adding Sam's ill-gotten gains to our piles.

  After a general grumbling of dissatisfied agreement, we continue to organise our gear and discuss where we should go. The original idea was to go to the local supermarket to get food and then to their homes.

  But Supermarkets would be a hotspot for everyone looking for food. Plus, splitting up is a terrible idea; it's like the first rule of horror films. 'Not to mention they would have to deal with family members' corpses.' I muse internally.

  "...Also, there might be conflict in the panic, and who knows if there are others like our good friend Logon?" I add.

  Ava gives me a blank look. "The vampire kid Jacob beat over the head with a chair." Ella helpfully supplies.

  'I wonder if he sparkled in the sun, focus dipshit.'

  "Yeah, him. Anyway, Sam, didn't you used to work at the store? Do you know where the supplies come from?" I ask, turning to look at the man in question.

  "Sadly not, no", he shakes his helmeted head.

  "Wait a minute, I did a job interview for a warehouse worker to pack car brakes last week. There were a whole bunch of warehouses, and I think the one opposite had Escos's truck outside. That could be where they keep the food and stuff." Noah tells us.

  "Where is that?" Asks Ava.

  "In Filton, about a 15 to 20 minute drive away." Supplies Noah.

  'Is there anything else in Filton we could use while we are there? What do we even need? He said it was based on spinning a wheel, so it would be random…' I see a pair of eyes looking at us from one of the windows as a pale face presses itself onto the glass with an unnerving look of panic and desperation.

  "I think we should stop off by The Rocks first. It's an extreme sports store. I can direct the way, but we need to go. Someone is watching us, and we have been here too long." I say while grabbing my completed pile and putting it into my inventory. Standing up causes my stomach to churn in protest, but I just grit my teeth and press on.

  Everyone agrees as they quickly pack up and head to Noah's small red car. He unlocks it and settles down into the driver's seat. Ella, Mia, Ava, and I follow him in, with me in the passenger seat to give directions while Ava grumbles about being squashed in the middle.

  With that, we were on the road, or we tried to be. If we thought the traffic congestion was bad before, it had nothing on the countless crashed and flipped cars that now filled the roads. It turns out that removing several billion people all at once caused a lot of accidents and gridlocked roads. Luckily, Noah's car was small enough to squeeze through the wreckage or mount the curb once he was reminded that the police had better things to deal with than shoddy driving.

  While the questionable driving meant we were making good time, it did not help my stomach, the feeling of bone-deep nausea, or our attempts to make a list of items we should pick up at The Rocks and warehouse.

  It takes a long 20 minutes of driving and weaving past crying pedestrians and the occasional bloodied corpse that I spent trying to not cause a mass evacuation of my empty stomach. To distract myself, I listened to Mia, Ava, and Ella compare what they saw on social media posts. Surprisingly, it didn't sound too bad, and some people even praised Jeremy for removing 80% of the corrupt power system in one fell swoop. Others showed off their powers, claiming to be heroes, while a few twisted individuals were on the verge of a blatant power trip. I didn't get most of the conversation happening in the back through the nausea stealing my attention, but by the time we finally reached The Rocks and got out of the cramped car to look at the shopping plaza, I was feeling more human and ready for what came next.

  It stretched out in a broad U-shape, its concrete facade sun-bleached and slightly cracked from years of exposure. Storefronts lined the perimeter, some with bold, colourful signage still intact, others faded and barely legible. Large glass windows reflected the sky, some spotless, others smudged or spiderwebbed with cracks.

  Even before the end, in-person shopping was dying as online conglomerates dominated the market. They brought out more of our lives and polluted our planet in out-of-sight, out-of-mind locations. And yet, at the end of the world, people rushed to the last physical stores to steal and plunder what little they could before the gods decided they were bored again and spun the wheels to play with our lives for the sins of our forefathers.

  As I watched our surroundings, Sam removed his helmet and jacket, revealing a clean-shaven face topped by short brown hair swept to the side. His friendly face matched his kind and social personality. He was a cheerful and social soul who actively engaged with the community and, most importantly, was training to become a scout leader after spending years in the program. This naturally put him in a knowledgeable position to know what is actually needed for outdoor survival.

  After a few minutes of discussion, Sam added a few items to our list, such as water filters and compasses, and we headed into the store as a group. The Rock itself was a chunky two-story building sitting squat in the middle of the shopping front with a faded cartoonish Image of a woman skydiving covering its front. All of its windows were intact as we rushed inside, which I took as a good sign until I got a good look at the interior. While The Rock wasn't as heaving as I feared, it still had a few scattered individuals scurrying here and there.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  It was quickly becoming a wreck of frantic energy and disarray. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting sharp, uneven shadows across the aisles. Shelves that once stood tall and orderly were being stripped bare by panicked strangers shoving everything they could into their inventories. Sleeping bags and thermal blankets were dragged open, some half-crammed into duffel bags, others torn and discarded.

  A stack of portable stoves clattered to the ground as someone brushed past too fast, barely noticing the mess they left behind. Boots and hiking shoes were scattered in mismatched pairs, as people tried them on in a rush, took whatever fit and moved onto the next section. The air reeked of rubber, synthetic fabric, and sweat, desperation hanging heavy with every breath.

  People moved like shadows, darting from one aisle to the next. A man grunted as he yanked a heavy-duty backpack off a rack, while a woman nearby shoved packs of dehydrated food into her arms without looking at the labels. In the corner, someone was ripping open a display case of survival knives, the sound of snapping plastic and clattering metal sharp and urgent.

  It was a mad dash to find the best gear and get away before the real looting began as more and more people came into the store trying to find anything that could help. It turns out The Rocks was becoming a bit of a hot spot itself as people frantically scrambled for survival gear.

  Individually, we weren't that imposing as older teens barely into adulthood, so we moved as a group with fake confidence towards the second floor past the clothes as we went to raid its stock of tents, bikes, canoes and various other miscellaneous items we may have needed. The store was quiet, we didn't talk much, and the individual looters quickly got out of our way while some of the smaller groups kept an eye on us as we finished grabbing a few of the scattered portable stoves before heading off to find practical clothes that fit.

  We tried to prioritise cold and hot weather gear and motocross protection equipment as rudimentary armour. Finding the right size clothes in the increasingly manic store became progressively nerve-wracking as people became increasingly desperate to find anything useful. The once quiet store quickly became louder as people demanded their share of the spoils.

  'I wonder if people are going to try to mug us? Might be interesting. I wonder what being stabbed feels like.'

  Despite my perfectly normal thoughts regarding the increasingly hostile looting happening around us, I quickly found the most expensive pair of steel-capped hiking boots that fit my feet. Ripping off the ￡392.50 price tag, I put them on in a hurry as I could almost feel the tension in the store rising.

  Giddiness at stealing such expensive items briefly filled my veins, but it was quickly replaced by wariness at the sounds of arguing and the occasional yell. Deciding to pick up the pace, I became a whirlwind of stealing and clothes swapping that would have made a runway model green with envy. I quickly grabbed some cargo pants and rash vests before getting cold gear from the ski section and durable waterproofs. Then, the yelling truly started in earnest.

  Initially you may think that such a large store would have plenty of stuff for the relatively low amount of people to steal, but with the introduction of inventories people, and by that I mean us, have been able to take large quantities of items in a very short amount of time leading to desperate panicking people to do desperate panicky things. Such as punching someone over a coat and leading to an all-out brawl between two men that quickly escalated when one of them caught on fire and started burning the other man alive in a bear hug, leading to horrific screaming and the smell of cooked meat to fill the air.

  This had the predicted effect of leading to other people getting a little more touchy-feely with their fists in an effort to leave the store with whatever they could grab.

  "Everyone got everything?" I calmly ask while trying to keep an eye on everything and summoning my machete as a deterrent to would-be assailants.

  After getting confirmation from the group we quickly skirt around the growing mosh pit and head out of the front door and run towards the car and even make it to the small red vehicle only to be abruptly stopped by a machete wielding skinny white man covered in distorted tattoos of various women and a dog covering his exposed arms and a teardrop under his left eye. On his left stood a butch woman holding a meat cleaver with a ferocious looking dog straining against its chains as it seamily tried to bite everything in our general direction. To their right stood a pot-bellied man wielding a metallic bat that appeared to have gears instead of elbows, who glared at us in what I imagine was meant to be threatening, but just made the poor man look like he had trapped gas.

  "So, what you got for us? That machete looks nice, would go well with my own," the man asks in a thick Bristolian accent as he raises his hand to show off the neon blue electric sparks dancing between his fingers. While it was an impressive trick, I noticed he flinched at each zap that darted across his hand.

  'Are we actually getting mugged? Am I a self-fulfilling prophecy?'

  "Hey man, you don't need to do anything rash, okay? There's still plenty to go around." Sam tried to pacify the men and the now glowing woman.

  'What are the odds, hahaha?' I glance around and notice a few weeds with the same light green glow as the woman.

  "Exactly. You kids can go in and get more after giving us what's ours." The woman's surprisingly deep voice calls out as she lets more of the lead holding the dog go, causing its gnashing teeth to come ever closer to Ella.

  "Um, we could g…" Ella starts before Noah confidently steps in front of the dog and glares at the three, making Mr Sparky's hands tense up and Miss Glow Stick give a snarl worthy of the dog she was holding back. And well, Gear boy just looked closer to shitting himself, and with how he awkwardly shuffled from one leg to another, could be a legitimate concern.

  Sighing, I looked at my panicking friends and decided it was time to improvise. So I started using my mind for more than stupid sarcastic comments and put it to work.

  The churning thoughts that make up my consciousness begin to take everything in as my eyes dart around the car park before landing on Noah's shoes. The sight causes me to grin and let out a little laugh.

  "I get the whole waiting for someone to gather all the stuff for you and wait to take it at the door, smart really, but you did choose the worst place for it," I step forward casually, hand in my pocket and machete lowered. "Well, worst for you specifically", I nod at Mr Sparky.

  "The fuck you talking about dickhead? Think I'm scared of some little cunts?" He sneers and places his methette so it rests on my shoulder, pointing at my neck, but I ignore it and wave off Noah nonchalantly. For the machete was metal. Non-organic. A dead object I could use to bluff and lie, something that I could incapacitate at the cost of a bit of nausea.

  With a thought, I found the pool of power deep in my gut and slowly, ever so slowly, began to draw it out and guide it through my body like I was giving an all-inclusive tour of the inner circuits of my flesh.

  "Nah, mate. It's because of the rubber-sole shoes it sells in abundance." I gesture at my new pair of shoes, but see the blank look on everyone's faces.

  The current within me starts becoming unruly, breaking free from my grasp and dancing into my lungs, causing micro spasms and pain to spread throughout my chest.

  "Electricity doesn't go through rubber; it's an insulator." I keep my face bored by sheer force of will as I retake control of the energy and force it through my body to sit idle in my hand.

  "That makes you the path of least resistance, you would just zap yourself," I say in a bored confidence that I did not feel.

  Even as the stream of power travels to my palm, spreading a dull ache and nausea throughout my body I turn to Miss glow stick and Gear boy "and I have no idea what your glowing plants or stronger elbows could do to help your melting flesh" I calmly take my hand out of its pockets and place it against the flat of his machete and finally let the power loose into the dead metal, making a show of turing it to liquid and breaking it half causing it clatter to the ground. Mr Sparky and Gear Boy's eyes widen as they stare at the melted metal. Not looking nearly as confident, the skinny man steps backwards and fixes his eyes on me as I continue talking.

  "Plus, everyone here could at least have looted a knife, so I don't know what the three of you would really do against them." I pause briefly and sway my machete idly from side to side, drawing their eyes to it.

  "I'd suggest the corner shop down the road, mate. It's like a two-minute walk, has a few trees by it to do whatever it is the glowing things do, and has smaller groups of people without machetes and rubber shoes." As if on cue and like we practised it countless times, Noah and Eva take out their weapons from their inventories, causing motes of blue lights to float into the air before dissipating.

  By this point, Mr Sparky was wide-eyed and didn't look nearly as sure of himself, but the woman seemed to take the olive branch, which I'm sure had nothing to do with the heavy smell of smoke in the air and more and more people rushing out of the now-on-fire store and everything to do with a change of heart and new-found kindness.

  "Yeah… Thanks for the tip." She grunts out before grabbing the skinny man and yanking the dog back so they can head off in the opposite direction. The constipated gear human quickly rushes after them, without a word or second glance.

  "Sooooo, to the car?" Noah says, causing a murmur of agreement and a hurried retreat into the car away from the burning store and evacuating looters.

  It didn't take long for us to pile into the cars and for Ella to begin questioning my moral character. "Why are you laughing? You almost got us killed," she snaps.

  "Ha, I have no idea what these shoes are made of." I grin from the front seat as Noah drives away from the soothing tune of a crackling fire, yells of panic and distant sirens.