by Kip Nelson
Tillman leaned his head back and enjoyed the music. The car was comfortable, and life was good. For all of Tillman's brooding and regrets he couldn't deny that everything was going pretty smoothly. There were a few things missing, but overall he couldn't complain, and it was important that he relax when he needed to. He let himself breathe deeply and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the darkness engulf him before he opened them again. He was coming to a crossroads and there was a truck coming up. He nodded, glad to see he wasn't the only one who was out on the roads and started pressing his brakes. In the distance he saw a golden streak lance through the sky, almost as though a spear had pierced the heavens. It rippled like a ribbon, and then it was gone in a flash.
Its beauty had lasted an instant. The horror it caused would reverberate through a lifetime. Tillman spent a moment wondering about the streak in the sky when he suddenly realized that pressing his brakes was having minimal effect. There wasn't enough distance for the car to stop safely. He slammed his foot down, but all the lights were out on the car and its momentum was carrying it forward.
Then he realized the same was true of the truck.
Chapter One
The air was filled with the smell of smoke and burned flesh. Somewhere behind him he could hear oil dripping. Tillman's body ached all over. His clothes were torn and pulled over his head. There were no lights. Everything was black. His car had been tossed on its side and he had to wriggle himself out of the windshield, which had come loose. He had just about enough space to kick it out, and was glad that he had the strength to do so. Smoke wafted in the air as he staggered out of the car, trying to clear his dazed head. His car was dented and damaged. The truck had slammed into it, and Tillman instantly knew how fortunate he had been to come out with all his bones intact.
He breathed deeply and felt all around, making the regular checks. The various survival training courses he had been through also had included medical training. So far, so good.
Then he heard a huge crash and an explosion, and his gaze turned toward the horizon, back toward the airport. A plane had been coming in and had hurtled to the ground. Plumes of smoke rose into the air, blotting out the stars. Tillman staggered back, aghast at the destruction and devastation. No wonder the authorities had stopped planes from taking off, but there still were planes that were in the air when the announcement had been made. This one almost had made it, but it was just a few moments too late. He spared a thought for all the people at the airport, and the ones in the planes. They all must have died instantly. Then he thought about the other planes that undoubtedly had crashed all across the country, some into cities, others into fields, and others into bodies of water.
The death toll was too high to process.
It all was too much.
And Tillman had escaped that fate by the skin of his teeth.
He wondered if the man he had spoken to at the airport had made it out of there to safety, or the woman who so badly had wanted to get to her kid.
Then he turned toward the city. His mouth hung open in shock. What was usually a vivid array of lights and sounds was the complete opposite. A deathly silence hung over the city. The lights had gone dark, and the skyscrapers were just shadows blotting out the stars. People were beginning to pour out of the buildings --, screaming, pleading, praying, asking what was happening. Tillman was alone on the road. He'd spent most of his life alone, but this was the kind of loneliness that seeped right into his bones, the kind that fed fear and made him wonder if he would make it through the night.
This was no game.
This actually was happening, and Tillman was freaking out.
Chapter Two
He took a moment to close his eyes and compose himself. He had thought through moments like these before. In high intensity moments it was important to keep a clear head and work through the problem until a solution presented itself.
But the planes had fallen.
The city had gone dark.
How could anything have prepared them for this?
Tillman's mind raced with grim possibilities. It was quite likely that most of the people he knew were dead. This initial flurry of activity was going to take a lot of lives, and Tillman had to ensure that his was not going to be among them. He staggered toward the car, barely registering the pain that was causing him to limp. Sweat stung his eyes and rolled down his temples, biting at his wounds. He caught a glimpse of himself in the side mirror and almost didn't recognize himself, all scratched up and dirty.
He thought about Greg and Penelope, then about his sister and niece. All of them needed his help, and although he hadn't been home in a long time he knew his parents would be in danger. But how was he going to get to them?
He moved around to the back of the car, trying to ignore the heat that was sizzling through the air. His gaze caught the truck and he realized he was an idiot. He ran around the side of it as fast as he could, although he had to drag his foot behind him because putting any weight on it hurt, and banged on the truck window. The driver was slumped over the wheel. Tillman heaved open the door and shook the driver, but he already was dead. The body fell out of the truck and its lifeless eyes stared up at Tillman. He shook his head and backed away from the dead body, trying to ignore the picture of the man’s wife and kid that was sitting on the dashboard. There would be time to grieve and mourn those who had died later.
As callous as it seemed, Tillman had to focus on survival.
On his way back to his car he looked around and noticed there were other cars on the road, cars that had come to a stop just as abruptly as his had done. He knew he had to work quickly because there were other people out there, people who he could save. Fiddling with the lock, he managed to pop open the trunk and a couple of backpacks spilled out. He picked up the smaller one, which had medical supplies inside, along with a couple of bottles of water. He took a swig from one and was glad that he had attended all these different survival courses. This feeling of relief was also tempered with pity, though, pity for the people who didn't have the same skills he had. But that was why he was there. He could help them when nobody else could.
Time was of the essence, but Tillman still was groggy. His head throbbed and there were moments when he felt as though he was going to lose his balance. He took another swig of water and coughed, feeling as though he was going to throw up. He leaned against the car and hung his head, breathing in deeply, trying to compose himself.
In many ways this was just like the games he'd spent a lifetime playing. There were challenges. People were in danger. But there was one important difference.
This wasn't a game.
Any mistake he made could cost him his life, and once he lost this life there would be no second chances. He summoned all the strength and courage he could muster, reached deep inside himself to remember all he had learned, and then vowed he would do all he could to help people. He knew what he was doing. He could sense the weakness in the world, and in this fractured place there were so many weaknesses.
Tillman knew this wasn't some regular power outage. Planes wouldn't have fallen from the sky if that had been the case, nor would his car suddenly have stopped working. Color drained from his face as he realized that Penelope's worst fears had been realized. This was the result of a solar flare. Tillman knew enough about these things to know the effect, he just hadn't expected that it actually would happen.
The flare must have caused an EMP to flood the country, perhaps the world, rendering all electronic devices useless and irreparable. There were probably millions of people out there waiting for everything to be fixed, but nothing would be fixed. Nothing could be fixed.
Lines of communication were broken. People were isolated, stranded from their families. The age of electricity was over. The age of peace was over. Faced with such a devastating, crippling effect to the country's infrastructure there would be utter chaos and panic. Nobody would know what to do with themselves, and there was nothing standing in the way of the
mselves and death.
As Tillman stood there he realized he was witnessing the end of the world. A cold shiver ran down his spine and his stomach clenched. He licked his lips and tried blinking away the tears. Then he turned around, knowing that it was time for him to be a hero. This was no game, but there were still rules, there were still ways to play, and he was going to do his damnedest to make sure nobody suffered more than they had to.
He picked up the pack and walked as quickly as he could to the nearest car, trying not to feel too much sorrow when he heard the plaintive cries for help, or when he saw the body slumped over the wheel.
Chapter Three
Tillman wiped the sweat from his brow. The air sizzled with a stifling heat, and he felt suffocated. He staggered and stumbled over to where he heard the cries and grimaced, hating the thought of people in so much pain and agony.
What had they all done to deserve this? he asked himself.
The grim reality was almost too much for him to bear. Nobody deserved this. They hadn't done anything. This was just an instance of chaos, a twist of fate that had forced humanity to stare into the abyss. All of a sudden Tillman knew how small he really was. In the grand scheme of the cosmos human lives didn't matter. A burst of nature was all it took to eradicate everything they had worked for.
How arrogant, how filled with hubris they had been to think they were the superior race, when in reality they were no more powerful than ants, and a huge boot was coming to crush them.
Tillman grunted as he grabbed the car door handle and pulled. Nothing would budge. Shrapnel still was falling around him and, on more than one occasion, he raised his hands instinctively, trying to protect himself from the barrage of debris that was falling from the sky.
Whenever he looked up it was as though he was faced with a scene from hell. The sky was on fire. The air was alive with distant screams. Trails of smoke lanced through the sky from where the planes had fallen, smashing into the ground, dashed into smithereens. His mind was open to the suffering of the world. There were so many people in pain, so many people who needed help. It was all so overwhelming.
Tillman's breathing was getting heavier every time he inhaled. His limbs moved slowly. He blinked sweat out of his eyes, and it stung at his vision. How was he going to cope with this? How were any of them going to cope?
He thought of Greg and Penelope at the store. He thought of his family. He needed to get to them, to all of them. He couldn't be alone now. He was perhaps the only one who could help them.
In some perverse way, it felt as though Tillman's life had been building toward this moment. He'd been on survival weekends, he'd read and planned for such eventualities, and he'd honed reflexes and skills during his career as a professional gamer.
This was just the kind of situation that would present itself in a game. He imagined himself at the beginning of the narrative, watching the world collapse around him. It would be up to one man, one hero to make a difference. Usually he'd run into the open world and know exactly what to do, but real life was more chaotic than games, and he wouldn't have a chance to pause. Every decision had to be made in a split-second, and if he made a mistake, there was no chance to redo anything.
Every decision he made mattered, and any mistake could cost a life.
With that in mind, he continued yanking on the car door, but when that clearly wasn't working he moved around to the front of the car and hit the windshield. There was someone battering on the car’s rear window, so he didn't want to try back there in case the person was wounded by the flying shards of glass. Tillman couldn't pry open the windshield. He clubbed his fists together and slammed them on the window, hoping to crush it, but they bounced off.
Damn the safety protocols installed in new cars. They made everything too safe. In moments like these destruction was required. He looked around, afraid that something else would fall from the sky and destroy the car, or that something would ignite the gasoline and it all would go up in flames. His eyes searched the nearby area and then he cursed at his stupidity. Reaching into his pack, he rummaged around and pulled out a flashlight. He clicked it on, just to check, but to his dismay he couldn't tell if it would work or not. It had been thrown around the pack during the impact and the bulb had been smashed.
His throat ran dry as he held the butt away from him and slammed it down again and again onto the car windshield. The entire car seemed to shake, and he could feel the reverberations all the way up his arm, but he wasn't about to relent until he heard the crack of glass.
Eventually the pressure began building and then, with one final blow, the glass shattered to smithereens. It fell apart like rain, and dropped into the car. Tillman reached in and checked the driver, but he had been killed upon impact, his neck broken. In the passenger seat was a woman, leaning back, blood down her face. Tillman called to her, but there was no response. He crawled onto the dashboard and reached to feel her neck.
There was no pulse.
Tillman hung his head. Then, a face peeked up through the seats.
“Honey, it's okay, come to me,” Tillman said as he looked at the girl. She was no more than five or so, and was absolutely terrified. Tillman tried his best to reassure her, but when she saw her parents she screamed and cried.
“Honey, come with me, I'll keep you safe now,” he said, but she moved so that she was sitting in her mom's lap, holding on for dear life. Tillman knew he couldn't leave her there. He reached in and grabbed at her, trying to pull her away, hating that he had to tear a child away from her dead parents, but she wouldn't survive otherwise.
However, the girl clung to her mother with all the strength she could muster, and eventually Tillman had to admit defeat. Another call for help rang through the air. Tillman knew he was needed elsewhere. At least the girl was safe for now.
“I'll come back for you,” he gasped, then turned to try getting his bearings and seeing where the cry for help was coming from. Someone was attempting to drag someone else out of a car, struggling in the same way that Tillman had with the child. Tillman looked with anguish at the girl, but knew that he could not stay there while she grieved.
While the world was grieving, people were dying, and Tillman couldn't let that happen. He dragged his pack across the ground with him, still ignoring the pain in his ankle that was causing him to limp. He ran up to the car and looked at the man who was calling for help.
“I'm here, I'm here,” Tillman said. The man seemed surprised that anyone actually had responded to his call for help. He had a shock of blonde hair that was dirty and charred. He looked dazed.
“I need to get her out,” the man said, and crouched down again to reach into the car.
Tillman surveyed the scene for a few moments. This car had been in a collision and had been upturned, resting on another car. They were standing facing the rear of the car, the pipes and metal twisting around in a maze. The man was trying to get around to the other side to open the door, but it was proving difficult. Tillman noticed oil dripping from the car. He walked around it, noting there was nobody else in the other car. The person had run away, and that didn't give Tillman much faith in humanity. If people still were going to be selfish in a situation like this, then how were they ever going to rebuild the world?
Those were questions for later, though. Tillman didn't have the focus or concentration to think about those big issues.
He crouched down next to the man and reached inside, feeling for the woman they were searching for. Tillman clamped his hands around the body. They took a leg each and pulled. Tillman hoped it would be enough to bring the woman out of the car. Her body was twisted around the seats and the gear stick. The man beside him was jubilant, almost weeping with relief as the woman came closer to them.
“Come back to me, Baby. Come back to me,” he said.
Then there was a jerk. The body stopped. The man beside him heaved with all his might. Tillman had to drag him away as he feared that the harder the man tugged, the more damage it would d
o to the person they were trying to rescue. The man was desperate to get back to her, though, and clawed at Tillman. Tillman had to put his body in between the man and the car just to ensure the safety of the woman inside. Thankfully, he was stronger than the man, and broader in the shoulders.
“I'm taking care of it,” Tillman said, trying to stop the man from struggling against him.
Tillman reached over and grabbed his pack, bringing it toward him. He reached in and pulled out a knife.
That made the man freeze.
Tillman took hold of the safety belt and cut through it with the knife. It snapped away and Tillman took a good hold of the woman, getting hold of her pants. He grunted as he pulled, hoping the body would find a way to work its way through the car. He glanced up. There was no room for the other man to get in and help. Tillman placed his hand behind her head, slowly guiding it through the gap between the two front seats.
When she was halfway through the car Tillman stepped back and allowed the man to help him. With the two of them, they were able to free the woman from the car. They pulled with such force that both of them fell back on their asses. Tillman wiped his brow and breathed a sigh of relief, smiling because he actually had triumphed.
His relief was short-lived.
“No! No! No! No! No!” the man wailed.
Tillman's smile fell from his face. He shifted himself forward to look at the woman, whose head lolled. She was pretty and a calm expression was frozen on her face. The man’s tears fell upon her cheeks. He swept the hair away from her face and lifted her head up. Tillman wanted to tell him to be careful, but it was clear it didn't matter any longer. The man pressed his forehead to the woman's and lamented his loss, trying to make sense of a senseless thing.