All is dark. All is black. The first to return is the ringing.

  She notices the pattering sound of the rainfall onto metal scraps while her hearing clears through the tinnitus. The next thing she senses is the smell of oil burning and tar, and the feeling of debris covering her clothes.

  Her eyes open slowly to a throbbing headache. She can't make out much even as her vision clears. Yet as it does, she can see shattered glass, sparks, trees and exposed metal.

  Her neck crunches as she looks to her right, seeing her friend missing. His door is open, its glass shattered, some blood soaked into his seat and on the dashboard. Her head is booming and she is barely lucid beyond what she sees.

  Due no less to the dimness of daytime, or the blur the world has become. She looks down at herself to see she is still intact. She also notices John’s old clothes placed on her lap.

  “John.” She thinks. “John? John!” Her mind echoes, her vision clearing as she looks around more distraught.

  She undoes her belt and kicks open her loose door. She stands up but tumbles onto a tree from fatigue and her haste.

  She clenches it to move back to the autocab, inspecting the damage while her mind races. The entire bonnet and motor are nowhere to be seen. She looks up and sees it impaled on one of the trees. She tries to inspect the glovebox and sees that her digiphone was destroyed in the crash. She takes shelter under one of the trees behind her.

  She puts on his old clothes; the rain soaked everything in sight.

  “John! John!” She yells, her echoes made mute in the rain. “JOHN!” She cries to no answer.

  Her body is shaky. Shocked, as she limps to the sedan's boot.

  She sees the door already open, and with a huge dent towards the latch. The sight of emergency supplies is pleasant; only one ration and some band aids are missing.

  But it is so disorienting. As she turns around, she is met only by the dim twilight of the penetrated canopy, and the unfamiliarity of dread.

  She stumbles back around into her seat, away from the scary forest, trying in vain to get her digiphone to work. She tries to turn the device on, only for the screen to fall off.

  John is missing. She is cold. She wraps her arms around her legs and buries her face against her knees. And she stays there. Just like that. Alone. For a while.

  Over time, her headache subsides. Her emotions towards the situation begin to numb, and her belly aches worst of all. She goes outside and sits in the boot, eating a tasteless, high-calorie nutrient cubes stowed among the rations. As she eats, she looks into the twilight forest, staring at what looks like a rock ridge on the other side.

  Lightening briefly illuminates the passage, with thunder soon to follow. She notices what looks like a bloody hand print on one of the trees, and a trail going into the clearing. The thunder strikes her ears as she eats the rest of the cube.

  With an anesthetic courage, she decides to venture deeper into the woods towards the ridge. The thought of John front and center in her head.

  Her shoes become waterlogged in the tarry, filthy dirt. Each step brings her deeper into the thing that nature has become. It is oddly… pleasing? She looks around at the trees, lamenting their current form; unnaturally hard and bone silver in appearance.

  Yet, at the same time, there are no lights here. There is no neon. No ads. No degenerates. No people. And that… despite the misery… is rather nice, she finds. Just thunder. Rain. Rustles. And the corpse of the elements.

  She arrives at the other end of the passage, the thick ridge extending far to her left and right, occluded only by its own bends.

  She follows it to the right for a moment, finding nothing of note. She turns around and follows it to the left, noticing a faint white glow from around one of its corners.

  She peeks around, seeing a bunch of white dots illuminating the roof and walls. It looks like a cave— sorta. It leads deep into the depths of the Earth. She walks inside, cautiously. She observes the tiny bugs on the roof which seem to be emitting the glow.

  “Hey.” She hears from behind, scaring the absolute shit out of her.

  “AHHHH! JOHN! YOU FUCKING CUNT!” She yells, marching towards him to slap his face. He lies on the ground against the rock walls. It was harder than she intended.

  “YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T FUCKING LEAVE ME THERE!”

  John looks at her unamused, pointing to his tattered leg.

  “Yeah, well, I didn't. You can thank that thing for dragging me here.”

  She looks behind towards where he points, seeing the body of a hairy creature with black fur, glowing eyes and many disfigured limbs. She comes to her senses.

  “Oh… Oh— Oh my God! Are you okay?! What happened?!”

  John answers amused, almost nonchalant as he tells her.

  “Yeah, no, uh I'm fine honestly. I woke up and my leg was broken up pretty badly. I saw you there and tried to hop around the back to get us some food. But then that thing crept up on me, and it started yanking on my broken leg and dragged me away to here.”

  “Jesus Christ. That must've hurt.” Amy interjects, observing his right leg. Lumps poked out through the torn fabric of his pants in opposite directions, likely where fractures took place.

  “What are we going to do? I can go grab some stu—” She tried asking, before he interjects. “Hang on, I haven't finished my story yet.” He says.

  “And so that thing dragged me in here and left me alone for a while. Oh, and yeah, it did hurt. I'm surprised you didn't wake up from my yelling!”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  He chuckles at the thought somehow; his mind getting back on track.

  “But… yeah, when it came back I had already crawled to the other side of this place, and when it got close, little did it know I had pulled that shard of glass out of my hand.”

  Amy watches him speak, almost unsettled by how he recounts this so casually while also being mangled so bad.

  “And so I started jamming it into that thing wherever I could stab. It made a weird yelp sound and tried biting me but I shoved it back with my good leg. It jumped, but I managed to roll it under me, and then I just started going, and stabbing it. And then when I lost the glass I snapped all its legs to make sure it couldn't move.”

  Amy sits on the ground as he continues. It was so surreal, yet… there they are, in the flesh.

  “And so after that I kept punching and punching until it stopped breathing. Then, after all that was said and done, I crawled back here to try and relax… After all of that… Now uh… say, I don't suppose you brought some pain relief with you?” He asks breathlessly.

  Amy, immersed in his story, is taken aback at his question, snapped back to reality realizing that, oh, yeah, this is real.

  “Uhh… no. I'll go back and get you some.” She gets to her feet, John showing gratitude. “Thanks Amy, you're a lifesaver. And bring everything else too, we're gonna need it here until help arrives.”

  As she leaves the cave into the cold and undying weather, she contemplates the past couple hours. The clouds are gray now instead of red, which doesn't happen often. She picks up the food and med kits, questioning why it always seems she’s reacting, yet never pro-acting. As she gets back to the cave, she drops the supplies next to John.

  “Here's most of it, I'll go back for some more in a minute.” She tells him. But John extends his hand. “No, Amy, it's alright. We can go back and get the rest later.”

  “No.” Amy insists. “I'll go get the rest now and then give you some medicine. It won't take long I promise.”

  “Well if you're so hellbent on bringing it all right now, can you at least give me some pain relief before you go?” John asks.

  Amy sighs, feeling slight embarrassment at the attempt to take the initiative. “Yeah okay. That makes sense too. Open up then.”

  She unzips a medipack and pulls out a small vial of opaque fluid. She mixes it around and opens the lid, bringing it to John's mouth. “Say ahhhhh.” She teased, her brain too occupied to dwell on the situation any longer.

  “Aaaaghh— ughh—” John says, coughing and choking on the substance as it goes down. It tasted awful, or at least, she assumes it does as John struggles to swallow.

  “Alright, I hope that helps. I'm gonna grab the rest now.” She informs, heading back into the howling dark and rain.

  John lies there, his head hazy, his right leg both sensitive, numb and throbbing. Each breath feels like huffing in a sandstorm, and each exhale feels as if he’s blowing out a snowstorm.

  He lies there with hooded eyes, lost in the many dots igniting the cave ceiling. He can't help but have a stupid smile on his face, for these little bug creatures are just… majestic.

  Imagine if the night sky ever looked like that? It would be amazing. Despite it all, he looks down over the corpse of the beast he bested, and feels a feeling unknown to him; true accomplishment.

  “Here's the rest.” Amy informs, dumping the supplies on the slippery floor next to him. “Do you have any idea when we might be rescued?” She asks, sitting to his right, further away from the outside.

  “I have no idea Amy.” He admits without fuss.

  “I have no idea if anyone's even coming. BUT…”

  He adds, before Amy has time to worry.

  “...Datsun just had one of their fancy machines trashed. Someone will be sure to send a search party after it. Wouldn't want all that scrap money going to waste.”

  “Phew.” Amy sighs, lying down to his side, trusting his word.

  “Well, I guess it's just a matter of waiting then.” She says, which makes John giggle again. “Hahaha— OW, FUCK!” He shouts, accidentally moving his leg. He lies back against the rock after jolting forward in pain.

  “Oh… the irony of still waiting even in a situation like this is amazing.”

  “Irony? What's so ironic?” Amy asks.

  “The irony is that, even when we are placed in a situation like this, we still end up waiting for other people to do things out of our control.”

  She looks at him, bells ringing in her head, yet she doesn't quite get it. “I'm not too sure what you're talking about John.”

  “Don't worry.” He replies. “This experience answered a lot of questions for me. I would tell you about it… but honestly I'm too fucked right now. I'll talk to you about it… later.”

  “Okay.” She says, trying to understand before changing the conversation. “You didn't ask, but my SERaMACs has died in the car crash. So I can't talk to him now.”

  John looks to her, asking gently. “Honestly, at this point, would you even want to talk to him?” He faces towards the cave and the outside, looking around with the wonder of an unimpeded child.

  His pain relief working it’s full magic.

  “I mean, looking around… the ceiling with all those little bugs. And it's so quiet too. The rain. And the trees… it's pretty good, right?”

  Amy considers his question for a full minute, introspecting on the events of the past twenty four hours.

  She considers the autocab, the hyperrailer, their concrete room, and all of the change that has been occurring. The advertisements, the city, the lifestyle, their direction. And then, she slowly looks down at John, answering his question. “You know what? No. I don't think I do.”

  Lightning thunders outside once more as the pair idle in silence. The cave sounds haunted by rogue gusts blowing in, then throughout its deeper cavities.

  The rain forms a gully which flows even deeper towards a steep drop off illuminated by the fading light of the more distant glow bugs.

  The pair remain silent for hours now. Their subconscious meditate in the sounds of battered nature. And the mutual assurance of each other's company.

  Ideas flowing through their minds, able to pass all the same. Their bruises and pain, able to be accepted all the same.

  For once, there are no mechanical whirs.

  No deep, unknowable bass. No liminal feigns, no advertisements, no neon lights, no forced platitudes or existential tolerance. No stream of media, no news, no fake outrage. For once, they’ve left the sights and sounds and numbing of this society.

  More hours pass; John sound asleep, and Amy for once able to be lost in her own imagination. For once, she can just… daydream. And accept her fantasies for all they are; fantasies.

  Perhaps, sometimes, the best thing may just be to stare blankly at the walls. And, before long, the chopping of a medicopter blares in the distance; a bright light shines over the canopy. With it, so too their rescue is assured.

  Grateful, she is. As John is lifted up into the medibay.

  Grateful, she is. As she takes a seat with a heater blanket wrapped around her.

  Grateful, as this medicopter finally departs to what will be North Platte City. Yet as she sits there, part of her has already changed.

  Because she is grateful, yet at the same time… wary…