Just as the sun begins to touch the horizon...

You arrive back at the AirBnB with your narrative anchor, Jackie. You just finished a five-day hike up and down Mt. Whitney, a place Jackie frequented as a youth, and holds dear. You were grateful to her for letting you in on this part of herself, though it is hard to appreciate it at the moment. Your legs curse her very name. Flopping down onto the living room couch, you take off your boots to inspect the fresh blister swelling from your Achilles tendon. Jackie goes to the bedroom to grab a fresh set of clothing for the shower she had called dibs on during the ride back.

Not being used to so much nature, you revel in being surrounded by technology once again. You turn on the TV, hoping to catch up on the latest Steven Universe, only to be confronted with a white house press briefing stating the U.S. has launched an all-out invasion of a handful of countries in the Middle-East, including Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Israel, Pakistan, and Jordan, seemingly without reason. It feels much less surprising than it should. You change the channel; another news report of a massive viral outbreak on the east coast as well as eastern Europe. You change the channel again; North Korea has launched two nuclear missiles upon Japan. You can't believe what's happening.

You beckon Jackie, but she isn't listening. You jump off the couch and head down the hallway, raising your voice to emphasize the severity of the moment. The wall slams into you, knocking you to the floor. For a moment, neither your body nor mind can make sense of the sudden inertia. You try to stabalize yourself, but the ground beneath you won't cooperate. It dawns on you that you might be experiencing a massive earthquake, and you stumble-crawl to the nearest doorway where you brace yourself as best you can. Amongst the thunderous rumblings of destruction all around, you can hear Jackie shouting your name from the bedroom. You shout back, but the cacophony of devestation drown out any meaningful communication, other than the fact that neither of you are dead yet. Drywall collapses from the ceiling, and your doorway sways tenuously.

After what seems an impossibly long time, fearing you'll never get to taste cake ever again, the shaking subsides. You bolt towards the bedroom. As you step into the doorway, you see her crawling out from underneath the bed. You both check each other for injuries, remaining in the doorway in fear of any possible aftershocks. Luckily, Jackie was sitting on the bed removing her socks when the initial jolt hit, so the bed moved with her. You both grab your bags and climb over the rubble towards safe egress.

Stepping outside, you notice what once was a sunset a few minutes ago is now a pitch black sky. The stars have all disappeared, leaving only an ominous, crimson moon hanging overhead.

After freaking out at each other, you fill Jackie in on the news, and freak out even more. At a loss for any logical explinations, you both decide to scan the radio in the Wrangler for emergency broadcast signals.

Scrolling through mostly static, two signals come through: a National Guard base in Fresno calling for volunteers to help with the disaster, and an catholic church in Visalia declaring that the end of times has finally visited humanity.