As Drake pushes deeper into the night, the transition from "long road trip" to "survival mission" begins to manifest in small, unsettling ways.
Four hours into the drive, the landscape shifted. The neon lights of gas stations became fewer and further between, and the steady hum of highway traffic began to thin out. Drake kept his eyes fixed on the pavement, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.
He reached out to tap the scan button on his radio.
Static. Static. A faint, distorted burst of a preacher talking about the end of days. Static.
Suddenly, his GPS chirped—a sharp, digital sound that made his heart skip.
"Rerouting. Significant delay ahead. Exit now."
Drake looked at the screen. The highway ahead on the map had turned from a clear blue to a deep, bruised purple—a color he had never seen the app use before.
As he rounded a long bend in the road, his headlights caught the glimmer of hundreds of red brake lights. Traffic hadn't just slowed down; it had died.
"Damn it," Drake hissed, slamming his palm against the wheel.
He rolled down his window. The night air was unusually cold, and instead of the smell of pine and asphalt, there was a faint, metallic tang in the breeze—like the smell of a penny or a coming thunderstorm.
Ahead, about a half-mile down, the blue and red flashes of police lights strobed against the underside of an overpass. But these weren't just local cops. Even from this distance, Drake could see the massive, boxy silhouettes of armored BearCats and heavy transport trucks blocking all three lanes.
People were beginning to step out of their cars, murmuring to one another in the dark.
"Hey!" a man from the SUV next to Drake shouted. "You heard anything?"
"Nothing," Drake replied, his voice low and steady. "But look at the police. They aren't letting anyone through. They're turning people back."
Drake didn't wait to be told. He knew that if he stayed in this line, he'd be forced to turn around and head home. He looked at the grassy median separating the Northbound and Southbound lanes. He checked his side mirror, shifted his truck into 4-Low, and gripped the wheel.
"What are you doing, man?" the neighbor yelled. "You'll get a ticket!"
"I'm getting my sister," Drake muttered to himself.
He cut the wheel hard, his tires tearing into the grass as he bypassed the gridlock. He wasn't going to wait for Gary's call anymore. If the main veins of the country were being pinched shut, he had to find a back way in—before they closed those, too.
The grass crunched beneath his tires as Drake's truck lurched across the median. Behind him, the man in the SUV shouted something, but the words were swallowed by the roar of Drake's engine.
He didn't look back at the sea of red brake lights or the flashing police barricade. He was officially off the grid.
He navigated the truck onto a narrow, two-lane state road that ran parallel to the interstate, flanked by thick Missouri timber and crumbling wire fences. The darkness here was absolute. Without the light of other cars, his high beams felt like two weak flashlights cutting through a wall of ink.
The GPS rerouted itself and showed a new route to Missouri that was hours longer.
The route was mostly back roads with no streetlights.
He called his wife to keep her updated as he drove, hoping Gary would call before he lost a signal.
They stayed on the phone for hours, keeping each other company until,
Beep, beep, beep.
Sounded in both their ears.
Malisa was already expecting it sooner or later, so she didn't start worrying more. She just prayed for his safety and went to sleep.
It was already the middle of the night.
Drake just sighed and played music as he continued with his drive.
.....
Morning arrived in a heavy, unnatural gray.
Ryan crept toward his mother's room, whispering, "Mom? You awake?"
No answer. He cracked the door; she was deep in a sleep that looked more like exhaustion than rest. He backed away, his own pulse thrumming with a strange, electric New Year's Eve energy.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and saw the message from Sam.
It was a grainy video. Sam held a flickering candle in a dark room. Without blowing, Sam pointed a finger. The flame didn't flicker—it stretched. It elongated toward the ceiling, turning a haunting, brilliant violet before winking out.
"It's happening, Ryan," the caption read. "The internet isn't lying. Something is changing us."
Ryan's breath hitched. He wasn't sure if it was a trick or a miracle, but he couldn't stay in this quiet house. He grabbed his backpack and slipped out. He didn't want to just watch the world rewrite itself; he wanted to be part of the new script.
Normally, he would listen and stay in the house like his mom asked, but this time he felt like staying home would be a wasted opportunity.
.....
Usually, the walk to the bus stop was a mundane routine of dodging puddles and checking social media, but today, the neighborhood felt like a stage set waiting for the curtain to rise.
Ryan felt like he was the only person with his eyes truly open and seeing things differently.
As Ryan rounded the corner toward the main road, he realized the school bus wasn't coming. Several buses were parked haphazardly near the intersection, their drivers standing in a tight circle, gesturing wildly at the sky. Ryan didn't stop to ask them what was wrong; he kept his head down and his hood up, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He was too excited to get to school, so he didn't even mind the walk. It wouldn't be the first time he walked to school; he'd just be late for his first-period class.
Ryan's walk was uneventful, and he made it to Westview High just as the first bell rang.
Instead of the usual chaos of slamming lockers and teenagers shouting, there was a localized, eerie stillness.
Then, he saw it.
In the center of the yard, a group of seniors was gathered around a concrete planter. One girl, a quiet honors student Ryan recognized from chemistry, held her hands over a dead patch of grass.
Ryan couldn't see exactly what they were doing, but he assumed it must be interesting.
She was a freshman just like him, but all these seniors were observing with curiosity.
He didn't pay it too much attention; he had more important things on his mind, so he headed to class.