The first thing Etzel Deymar remembered about the end of the world was his mother telling him not to look outside.
Naturally, he looked outside.
He was thirteen. At thirteen, don't look was less an instruction and more an invitation.
The street below their apartment was almost empty. A delivery van sat crooked across two lanes, its driver's door hanging open. Someone had abandoned a bicycle beside the curb. Farther down the road, a man stood beneath a traffic light that had been red for so long it no longer seemed to matter.
The man wasn't moving. Neither were the cars.
Etzel slowly pulled the curtain closed.
"Mostly sorry," he said.
"Completely sorry," his mother's voice came from behind him.
Ismera Deymar stood in the middle of the living room wearing clothes that didn't belong there. Hospital clothes. There was dried blood on one sleeve. Not hers. At least Etzel hoped it wasn't hers.
A scream came from outside. Everyone stopped.
It wasn't the kind of scream Etzel knew. Not anger. Not surprise. Not even ordinary fear. It went on too long. Then it stopped too quickly.
Neris, his twelve-year-old sister, looked toward the window. "Mom?"
Ismera crossed the room immediately and crouched in front of her daughter. "Don't look outside."
Neris nodded. Unlike her brother, she actually listened.
Veydan entered from the kitchen carrying a toolbox in one hand. "Power's unstable."
"Hospital lost backup twice before I left," Ismera said. "Communications?"
"Overloaded."
"Government?"
"No useful statement."
Etzel watched the exchange. They were trying not to scare the children. They were doing a terrible job.
His phone vibrated. For half a second, Etzel felt relief. Then every phone in the apartment vibrated at once. A national emergency notification filled the screen.
EMERGENCY PUBLIC SAFETY NOTICE
Remain indoors. Avoid physical contact with individuals displaying severe aggression, abnormal growths, skin discoloration, uncontrolled bleeding, or neurological symptoms. Do not approach injured animals.