CALEN

  "Sorry, little guy, this might hurt a bit," Calen muttered. "I promise it'll be quick, though."

  Predictably, the rabbit did not reply.

  Emma’s slippers were certainly under the bed. More relevantly, they were jammed, hanging, between the bedframe of the bottom bunk and the wall where they had fallen. Probably after she had kicked them off directly into the wall above her mattress and forgotten about them. He wormed his way a little closer, fingers outstretched.

  The second rabbit was currently taunting him with just the very tip of a white felt ear while an entirely different set of bunnies threatened to force a sneeze out of him. Apparently the disorganized savage he shared a room with was allergic to vacuuming under the bed.

  With one last wriggle past a spare blanket, he wrapped the second bunny’s ear around his finger. He dragged both of his prizes past a yoga mat, pausing to scoop up a triangle that was without a doubt a four-sided die in the light, but mostly just hurt his elbow when he accidentally put his weight down on it.

  The mildly painful annoyance gave him hope that his other missing d4 might be somewhere in the room, too.

  Not that that was a priority right now, with Em freaking out.

  A distraction was far more important—or, lacking a sufficient one, several distractions.

  There were no more astronomy posters to vaguely misalign, and it always took her a few days to notice anyway. A rapid search of his desk drawers yielded a lone pencil the size of his pinky, and some hastily scribbled math about a theoretical obsidian caber tossed from atop a mountain.

  The stacked objects in the bottom drawer were no more promising. The green plastic hard-hat was useless as a prop, she wouldn't care about the lanyard, and she had already gotten bored and solved every Sudoku grid in the book a week after Calen had gotten it. The 'personally annotated' textbook Calen had forgotten to return in the rush at the end of high school was heavy enough to throw at her, if he got desperate, but he really didn't want to.

  Some of those doodles were cool enough that he didn't want to damage them, and getting beaten up afterwards was a 'last resort' kind of distraction.

  After some contemplation, he donned the slippers, and scuffed out the tripod indentations in the carpet below the window. That was a game he could keep going forever, and it would buy him a few extra seconds to manufacture the next distraction in the kitchen.

  The cake would be the third, and then he would have all morning to figure out the rest of the day while she slept.

  Slipping the die he had found into a pocket, Calen carefully lifted a plain sweatshirt off of a judo trophy tall enough that Emma really should not have put it near the door if she didn’t want it used as a coat rack. Static clung to his hair in the dry air, prickling at his skin and bringing undue buzzing tension to a moment that wasn't really all that serious.

  The world almost ended twice a year; today wasn't that big a deal.

  "Come on, something that will get her eyes off the sky," Calen muttered, his mind coming up as empty as the walls around him.

  Conspicuously absent family photos and familiar scuff marks on the floor of the hallway were almost entirely hidden in darkness as he stepped out of their room. Drumming the fingers of one hand along the wall in a familiar beat, Calen rolled the dice in his pocket back and forth between his thumb and index finger.

  Approaching the kitchen, he noticed something odd about what he could see. Moonlight wasn't usually that orange.

  Maybe Em had decided they were doing cake outside, and lit the candle.

  Except he hadn't heard her come in, and the matchbook was still on the countertop, so that couldn't be it.

  "Shhhhiiit," Calen said, stretching the word and his stride as the house rattled a little.

  Maybe it was a gust of wind.

  The soft orange glow from outside became a flood, throwing stark shadows sideways across Calen's vision.

  Something was happening.

  "EM!" He screamed.

  Emma shouted something back, too muffled to hear.

  Glass shattered and skittered over the linoleum ahead. Calen mentally tabulated where the knives in the kitchen were, just in case Em was fighting the world's dumbest burglar, or someone after something else.

  His feet slid to an almost-stop at the end of the hallway, to avoid jamming his hip on the countertop for the umpteenth time if he was somehow overre—

  There was a mushroom cloud on the horizon above the fence.

  It was still there when he put his forearm down, squinting through the light.

  People were screaming, far away. A door slammed. The air was sucked out of the kitchen, towards the blast.

  Calen moved just slowly enough to avoid falling on broken glass, trusting the stuffing under his feet for protection as he plowed his way through the shattered doors with rabbit ears flopping around his feet.

  Heat radiated up from the paving stones as he climbed through the vacated glass frames and stepped outside, squinting through the glare to look for his sister.

  She was crawling to her knees just barely at the edge of the dirt and scrubgrass, waving her hands out to feel her way through the yard in the slowly growing light. He watched her find a paper with one, and throw it aside moments later after a quick study.

  The night sky was alternating shades of orange surrounding the red-ringed cloud of a wavering aurora. The electromagnetic ripples above them gazed dispassionately at the firestorm suburbia had become in the distance.

  A gentle haze was starting to fill the air.

  "Em." He croaked in the dry air. "Em, we need to get inside."

  Instead of responding, Emma stopped moving, hunched over on her hands and knees, and began to shake. As he picked his way across the scattered patio furniture towards her until he heard hysterical giggling emanating from under her.

  At least she still had something on her feet.

  The back of his hands started to prickle—they were turning a blotchy red on the backs. When Emma sat up and threw her head back at the sky, he saw that her face was starting to turn the same shade.

  "It never mattered. All that work. None of it mattered," she screamed over the fence at the end of the world. "Why would you do it again?"

  Another flash pummeled the back of Calen's head with heat, the shockwave echoing across the sky from behind them.

  "Yeah. They really did it again. Em, we need to go." Calen voiced hollowly through the conspicuous cloying heat pressing on them from the air, shakier than he had ever heard himself. "We… we need to go inside. Inside is safer."

  There was no basement to hide in, but even the walls and roof would do something against the initial exposure. She was probably way worse off than he was right now, just because the roof had been over his head during the initial flashes.

  Pinching and halfheartedly tugging at Emma's sleeve finally got her attention. She looked up at him instead of the horizon as the barest of rattles passed over suburbia and shook the house behind them.

  "I can’t see." she whispered. "I can see you, but not you, just where you are. They're not going to keep me. I can't read anything."

  "It's temporary." Calen lied immediately, trying not to flinch at the glazed-over look of her eyes. "Come on, we need to…"

  She at least didn't make him finish, or go through the indignity of failing to drag her. There was too much broken glass in the kitchen, even if he could have lifted her alone. Shoving the scattered patio furniture out of her way made Calen feel like he was doing something, and then they were both crunching through a doorway as he stopped to make sure she didn’t trip over the threshold.

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  "Careful, the glass fell on the inside," he warned her.

  Emma froze, nodded her head, and then glass crunched delicately beneath his stolen sandals.

  Calen swept his sleeve over a chair to sit Emma down in, and cast his eyes over the flickering orange kitchen.

  Heavy breathing wasn’t quite enough to drown out the sounds of the apocalypse drifting through the room. His arms and legs started to buzz and tremble, leaving Calen fighting a wave of lightheadedness as he steadily sucked air into the bottom of his lungs and pushed it out.

  The phone would be dead. The radio had been on, until the power wasn't. The chocolate frosting on the cake was starting to sweat.

  There was nothing here that would stop the end of the world.

  They just had to stay inside for now, and survive until relief efforts started—and reached them.

  With that goal, Calen's eyes landed on something useful. More 'something' than 'useful.'

  He picked up the broom tucked between the fridge and the countertop, and began to brush the broken glass into a corner.

  "What are you doing?" Emma asked.

  "Sweeping up the glass. Sandals and slippers are only going to save our feet for so long."

  "Calen, that's not going to—" Emma cut herself off and restarted. "I think this counts as an emergency. You should take—"

  "Meds first. You're right. Priorities." Calen said, leaning the broom against a wall. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back."

  The 'readiness kit' was on the top shelf of the closet at the end of the hall. Calen could see it, lumpy in the darkness against the stark-white walls. It was one of the few things they were supposed to leave behind for the next occupants.

  It was also out of Calen's reach.

  His fingers failed to find purchase on it the first time he jumped, and his grip slipped on the too-heavy bag the second time.

  The house shook again as he hit the ground again. Not from his landing.

  "Useless. Come on. Do one thing right," Calen muttered at himself. "Fix one problem. Just one."

  After wiping his palms dry on his clothes, the wooden shelf crackled, but supported his weight. He managed to hang for long enough to pull himself up a few inches and pinch the bag by the zipper.

  Falling on his ass afterwards was still better than going back to the kitchen for a chair to stand on. Em would have mocked him for that forever.

  Which was looking pretty short, at the moment.

  Calen threw the bag's strap over his shoulder and made his way back to the light being thrown across the kitchen table, first aid in tow.

  The intentional thump jolted Emma out of whatever trance she was in, staring out at the burning sky. Another win for the tally.

  Tearing apart the inspection tag felt wrong, but the stamped, signed, and dated paper had been clipped through the zipper tongues on purpose.

  What he was looking for had been packed on top.

  "I'm dead already. That's not going to fix me." Emma protested.

  Foil popped twice, and an iodine tablet slid across the table towards her anyways.

  "It's gonna keep things from getting worse." He argued. "When the bombs stop falling, we can get you to a hospital, or a bunker. They'll have something real for you."

  The streets would be a madhouse right now. People did stupid things when they panicked. Everyone did.

  Calen threw his head back to make swallowing his own tablet easier, and to avoid looking at the broom in the corner.

  "I can't see. I can't do my job. They won't waste the—"

  "Just take it, please, Em." Calen's voice was angrier than he meant it to be. He paused to soften it. "It'll make me feel better."

  "Fine." Emma pinched the pill after some scrabbling, raising it to her mouth. "And then you go, and get help next door, find somewhere to—"

  "Stop it." Calen was actually angry now. "I'm not leaving you behind, so stop pretending that's what's going on."

  Emma slapped the pill down and leaned back over the table towards him. She was almost even looking at his face.

  "I'm pretending?" She demanded. "It's the end of the world outside and you're worried about sweeping up the—"

  Glass crunched under a boot, and a shadow fell across the table.

  "Hey kiddos. Getting kind of loud in here. You two almost ready to evac? I knocked three times."

  Calen turned towards the mostly-familiar voice of reason as Mr. Isaacson stepped inside from the backyard, wrapped in a coat and nervously jangling his keys.

  "Someone's not taking their meds." Calen tattled, ignoring the glare he knew Emma was trying to give him.

  A lightly salted goatee emanated a heavy sigh across the room. Calen almost missed the brief wink their neighbor directed his way.

  "Well, that's no good. I can probably get the both of you on board at my rally point, because of her papers, but I won't be able to get them to take just you."

  Emma had already started fumbling for the tablet again by the time Mr. Isaacson had finished. Calen made sure his relieved exhale was quiet, as he helped her find it.

  "Fine. I just—"

  Emma bent double in her chair and retched hollowly on the floor. Calen heard the pill clatter across the linoleum, lost in the dark.

  "Em. Em. Em!"

  A small, sharp pain dug into Calen's knee through his sweatpants as he knelt. It didn't matter.

  Emma retched again as he reached out. Bile plopped anticlimactically onto the floor.

  Some of her hair stuck to his sweaty palms, after she sat back up and shook him off, gulping air. It was, at least, vomit-free.

  "Let it out." Mr. Isaacson's voice bounced off the empty walls. "That's good timing and bad timing. You got more?"

  "No." Emma gasped. "See? I'm not gonna—"

  "You don't know that, and the guard's not gonna know that when they check your papers." Mr. Isaacson was still impossibly calm while Emma shook, in a way that had Calen's fists balling up below the table. "They're just gonna send you both along with me. Get her some water, kid."

  Another iodine tablet popped out of the foil bubbles while Calen twisted the faucet like he could wring happiness out of it.

  A drip of water hit the inside of the glass, then a trickle. It stopped all too soon, but there was a mouthful.

  It would be enough.

  He pinched the tablet off the table and carefully placed it in Emma's upturned palm, pressing the glass into her other hand.

  She took it.

  "There. Good job with the bag of meds." That stupid, grating voice of reason said over Emma's choked sob. "Now, where in the hell are your shoes?"

  "They're in the car. Halfway across the country. Dad packed them." Calen clarified, turning back to the countertop as the house rattled again.

  "Okay, fine. I'm driving us anyway." An exasperated voice replied behind him. "We're gonna spend the next day under cover, wait for my shortwave to chirp, and then we're moving to wherever my pickup point is set. I'll need one of you to help me lift the garage door when we go, motor's out."

  Calen nodded absentmindedly, ignoring the other instructions that followed.

  Mr. Isaacson was jabbering about moving further inside, keeping water sources covered, and some probably important things about where they were going.

  He didn't really care anymore. There was something more important happening.

  There had been far easier opportunities Emma could have gone after, thrown her hat in the ring for. Roles in the Continuity of Defense Initiative that would have let all four of them live, split between Earth's resources, and the moon.

  Faux-chocolate frosting was starting to pool around the edges of the plate when Calen set it on the table in front of Emma.

  "And definitely don't eat that." The instructions finally came to an end. "That shit's probably already got fallout on it."

  She had taken the hard route instead, lost friends, more than friends, going for the job that let all four of them live together, even if the world didn't end.

  Limited resources meant only one person in each district could qualify. Calen had taken as much of the spite thrown their way as he could with a smile, but she had made the actual sacrifices.

  "I just don't want to live in a concrete box." Emma whispered, quietly enough that Calen barely caught it.

  Absolutely everyone in the district had known she was going to be the one to get the spot. Except her.

  "I know." He replied hoarsely, fumbling with the matchbook. "We're all supposed to make it."

  "Are you two even listening to me? That's not a good idea."

  The first match scraped and failed to light against the striker panel.

  "Then don't have a slice." Calen said flippantly. "You're welcome to sing, though."

  His second attempt also failed, and he dropped the match on the ground.

  "You forgot the candle."

  Emma had leaned forwards when Calen looked up from the matchbook. She was examining the cake intently with glassy eyes as she spoke. Another tiny win.

  "I know." Calen admitted. "You'll have to think of something fast."

  The house hadn't stopped rattling at regular intervals, and the heat was cloying enough to make breathing difficult.

  They weren't getting out tomorrow, because the fires were getting closer, and the bombs were still falling.

  The second match struck easily, when Calen took his time, and flicked his wrist properly.

  Calen ignored the grumbling sigh from their neighbor and turned away from the apocalypse, back to his sister, planting the thin stick of rapidly burning cardboard askew near the center of the frosting.

  "Come on, Em, make it a good one this year. You thinking a bigger telescope, or just a replacement?" he asked, cackling just a little bit hysterically at the next idea that sprang to mind. "We can put one of your posters on the bunker wall in front of it and pretend. Actually, don't tell me, it might not come true."

  "You're such a jerk." Emma groaned.

  Her heart wasn't in the complaint, judging by the flash of teeth that accompanied the punch in the shoulder. He had to lean in a little, or she would have missed entirely.

  She sniffled and sat up, and Calen didn't bother hiding his smile. Instead, he started humming the notes to the opening lines of 'Happy birthday.'

  The match was still going to burn out into the frosting before he finished, but that was fine. One thing was going to go right today.

  Mr. Isaacson stepped closer as Emma’s face turned towards the makeshift candle.

  For a brief moment before Emma huffed air at the flame, all three of their faces were at least partially illuminated.

  Outside, close enough to cover the sky, another bright orange fireball flashed to life, and the whole rest of the world faded out of sight as it filled his vision.

  Dying was less painful than Calen had expected. As in, not painful at all. It mostly just felt like getting vertigo in the middle of crying, and having a dry mouth.

  He couldn't see, couldn't move, and the only sensation any of his limbs were giving his brain was a gentle buzz that he couldn't push past. No sound reached his ears, and even the gentle tug of gravity was missing when he relaxed his shoulders.

  If he didn't know any better, he might have suspected there was something else going on. But there was no technology or logical explanation that would have gotten rid of the nuclear detonation in the sky.

  Nothing made by humans, anyway.

  He had just enough time to consider an 'impossible' alternative before his stomach dropped, and equally impossible cool air rushed past him from behind.

  He began to fall, flailing uselessly away from the strange streaking suns in the night sky above him, and towards the sound of rushing water gurgling over something at speed.

  An inarticulate noise of panic crackled his dried-out lips painfully. Frigid water soaked his clothes and hair in an instant, and his limbs arched and curled almost by reflex at the sudden shock of the temperature change.

  Calen's head finished snapping back against something hard, plunging his world right back into darkness after the longest moment of his life.

  He was still cognizant enough to hold his breath, when the world came back an instant later.

  Birthday cake is thought to originate with the Elaphebolia festival, where cakes made from flour, honey, and sesame were offered to Artemis on the sixth day of the month Elaphebolion, as the festival supposedly took place on the goddess's birthday. However, there is no historical evidence that candles were used to decorate the cakes.

  Next chapter in a few hours!