The Last Storm by Olivia Salter / Short Story / Disaster Fiction

 

The Last Storm

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 2,296

Zora Castro had always been the kind of person who thrived in chaos. As a storm chaser, she found beauty in nature's fury—how the sky darkened, the winds howled, and snow spiraled like confetti before settling into a pristine quilt over the earth. But this time would be different.

***

The weather report flashed ominously across the screen, bold red warnings cutting through the dim glow of Zora’s motel room. A massive winter storm was brewing, a collision of Arctic air and moisture that promised up to 18 inches of snow and ice. The newscaster’s voice was steady, cautionary, but Zora barely heard it over the electric thrill shooting through her veins. This was what she lived for—the pulse of possibility in the eye of the storm.

She could already picture it: the towering clouds rolling in like an unstoppable force, the winds howling through the trees, snow spiraling into a mesmerizing dance before settling into a thick, unforgiving shroud. She would be there, in the heart of it all, camera in hand, capturing nature’s fury in all its untamed beauty.

Zora moved with practiced efficiency, loading her gear into her battered Jeep, its tires caked with the remnants of past storms. Her camera bag, weather-resistant and packed with extra batteries, was placed carefully in the passenger seat. The tripod, her most trusted companion, was secured in the back. A thermos of coffee, half-full from the morning, rattled in the cup holder. Every detail was routine, every action a step closer to the moment she craved.

She could almost taste the anticipation in the air, thick and charged, like the quiet before thunder cracks the sky. Her fingers tapped against the steering wheel, a nervous energy pulsing through her. This storm could be the one—the footage that set her apart, the images that finally landed her work on the front page of the biggest publications. She had spent years chasing storms, learning their patterns, studying their moods. She was ready.

And yet, beneath the excitement, something else stirred. A lingering doubt.

It was subtle, barely more than a whisper, but it was there. A flicker of unease coiled in the back of her mind, a feeling she couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t fear—she had faced worse. But it was… something. A warning.

Maybe it was the way the wind had shifted suddenly that morning, carrying an edge colder than usual. Maybe it was the way the news anchor’s voice dipped just slightly when they spoke of “life-threatening conditions.” Or maybe it was something deeper, something she had buried long ago—the knowledge that she had always been chasing more than just storms.

She inhaled sharply, shaking off the hesitation. This was what she did. This was who she was.

With one last glance at the glowing weather map on the screen, she turned off the television, gripped the steering wheel, and pulled onto the road, heading straight for the storm.

The skies grew darker, thick with the weight of an impending storm, as Zora drove deeper into the heart of the tempest. Snow flurries swirled around her like wild spirits, flickering in her headlights before vanishing into the night. The wind howled, a rising chorus of unseen voices, rattling the Jeep’s windows as if demanding she turn back. Her heart pounded in sync with the storm’s growing intensity, each thunderous rumble in the distance a warning she refused to heed.

She navigated the winding roads with a practiced determination, finally pulling into a clearing surrounded by towering pines. Their branches sagged under the crushing weight of snow and ice, their silhouettes stark against the storm-choked sky. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, the kind that came before nature’s fury was fully unleashed. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to leave—to turn back before the storm swallowed her whole. But this was her moment. She had chased this storm for days, studying its patterns, predicting its trajectory. She was here for this. She could not turn away now.

With a deep breath, she stepped out into the cold, boots crunching against the thickening frost. The air burned her lungs, sharp and unforgiving, but she ignored the sting. Moving quickly, she unfastened her camera gear, setting up the tripod with fingers stiff from the cold. She checked the lens, adjusted the focus, and scanned the horizon for the perfect shot.

At first, the snowfall was delicate—thin, fragile flakes drifting gently, as if whispering secrets only the wind could hear. But then, the storm’s whisper became a scream. The snow thickened into a blinding whiteout, an overwhelming force that devoured the landscape. The once-distant thunder grew closer, its deep growl rolling across the sky like an oncoming stampede. The wind picked up with a vicious intensity, whipping through the clearing, rattling the trees, and nearly knocking her off balance.

Zora’s hands trembled as she fought to steady her camera. The satisfaction of capturing nature’s raw beauty began to wane, overshadowed by a creeping, insidious dread. The storm was no longer something she was merely documenting—it was something she was trapped within.

She glanced back at her Jeep, now barely visible through the swirling snow. The wind roared louder, pressing against her chest, making it harder to breathe. The darkness overhead deepened, swallowing what little light remained.

For the first time in her years of chasing storms, she wondered if this was the one that would finally catch her.

Minutes stretched like hours as Zora battled against the blizzard, each step a brutal test of endurance. The wind screamed in her ears, a relentless, unearthly wail that drowned out everything else. Snow lashed against her exposed skin like a thousand tiny needles, and the cold gnawed at her bones, threatening to sap the last of her strength. Every breath felt stolen, each inhalation razor-sharp in the frigid air.

The atmosphere crackled with something electric, something primal—a warning whispered through the storm’s fury. The tension in the air was suffocating, pressing down on her like an invisible force, making every movement feel sluggish, heavy, as if she were wading through an unseen current. Her instincts screamed at her to turn back, to seek shelter, but she pushed forward, adrenaline warring with reason.

Then, through the whiteout, she saw it. Something moving. A swirling mass in the distance, twisting and shifting like a phantom in the storm. It wasn’t just wind-driven snow—it had form, purpose, an eerie intelligence in the way it coiled and re-formed.

Heart hammering, she wrestled her frozen fingers around the camera, the lens shaking as she struggled to focus. She knew she had to capture this, had to prove to herself that what she was seeing was real. She pressed record, her breath fogging the screen as she adjusted the settings, trying to steady her trembling hands.

But then—something changed. The storm didn’t just move; it reacted. The swirling force twisted violently, as if aware of her presence, and in that instant, the ground beneath her gave a sickening lurch.

A deafening roar split the air.

The mountainside trembled, and suddenly, the world was in motion.

She barely had time to register what was happening before the avalanche came crashing down. A wall of snow, ice, and debris surged toward her, a monstrous force of nature unleashed with terrifying speed. The sheer power of it sent shockwaves through the air, a deep, guttural sound that made her bones vibrate with the force of impending doom.

Zora turned, lungs burning, legs sluggish with exhaustion, but she knew—there was no outrunning this. The storm had finally claimed her.

Zora’s breath hitched in her throat, the cold burn of fear igniting her senses like a shock to the system. Instinct overrode reason as she dropped her camera, the weight of it vanishing into the thickening snow, forgotten in the face of survival. Her eyes darted wildly, searching for her Jeep, but the world was dissolving into a swirling white abyss. She could barely see her own hands, let alone the path back to safety.

Panic surged through her veins as she sprinted forward, her boots sinking into the deepening drifts. Every step was a battle against the elements, the wind clawing at her with icy fingers, trying to pull her back into the storm’s relentless grip. The cold gnawed at her exposed skin, each breath a razor slicing through her lungs. Her heart pounded, a frantic drumbeat against the eerie silence of the snow-covered void.

Finally, the dark outline of her Jeep materialized like a ghost through the storm. With a final burst of energy, she threw herself inside, slamming the door shut just as the first wave of snow crashed against the windshield, rattling the frame like an unforgiving warning. The vehicle rocked slightly under the force, as if the storm itself was trying to pry her free, to pull her back into its chaos.

In the suffocating quiet that followed, the world seemed to shrink around her. The only sounds were the furious wail of the wind and the relentless pounding of her own heartbeat—thump, thump, thump—like a clock counting down to catastrophe.

Her hands trembled as she fumbled for her phone, her fingers stiff and clumsy from the cold. She pressed the screen, desperate for a signal, for any connection to the outside world. But the bars were gone, lost to the storm’s fury. A fresh wave of fear gripped her chest. She was alone, trapped in the heart of the blizzard, with no way to call for help.

The realization settled in like the snow blanketing the windshield—heavy, suffocating, inescapable. She had spent her life chasing storms, but now, for the first time, one had finally caught her.

In that dark moment, Zora faced herself. She had spent years racing toward chaos, chasing storms as if they held the answers she refused to seek within. The howling winds, the crackling energy of an impending tempest—those were her sanctuary, her distraction. She had convinced herself it was about the thrill, the adrenaline, the raw beauty of nature’s fury. But now, standing in the heart of the storm, she realized the truth: the thrill was hollow, an empty rush that faded as quickly as it came.

She wasn’t just drawn to the storms. She needed them. Needed the way they drowned out the silence of her own thoughts, the way they let her disappear into the roar of something greater. She had mistaken the pursuit of danger for purpose, convinced herself that if she was always moving, always pushing forward, she wouldn’t have to look back. Wouldn’t have to confront the memories she had buried beneath years of relentless motion.

But storms didn’t last forever. They raged and howled, then left behind stillness—a stillness she could no longer outrun. The fear creeping into her chest now wasn’t from the storm closing in around her; it was from the understanding that she had been running from herself. From the nights spent staring at motel ceilings, drowning in loneliness. From the echoes of a childhood filled with promises broken like tree limbs in the wind. From the version of herself she had abandoned long ago, thinking she could replace pain with pursuit.

But no storm could erase the past. And standing there, snow whipping around her like ghosts of all she tried to forget, Zora knew she had a choice: keep running, or finally, finally face the truth.

As the snow piled around her vehicle, an overwhelming sense of calm washed over Zora. In that moment, she wasn’t the chase that fulfilled her; it was the connection to the world, witnessing its power while finding peace within herself. Just then, buzzed violently—she had a signal. With trembling hands, she dialed, determined to reach out, to reconnect.

But before the call could connect, the ice beneath her Jeep cracked—a violent snap that sent the vehicle teetering. In one swift motion, Zora was thrown against the window as the Jeep tipped over, her scream lost in the howling winds.

As the storm raged on, Zora’s spirit clashed with the tempest outside, a battle of forces both external and internal. The wind howled in her ears like distant voices from her past, whispering truths she had long tried to silence. Ice and snow battered her body, but the real struggle was within—the relentless fight against the fear, the loneliness, the gnawing emptiness that had driven her to chase storms in the first place.

For years, she had mistaken movement for purpose, mistaking the pursuit of danger for a life well-lived. But now, standing in the heart of the storm, she understood: running had never been the answer. No matter how many storms she outran, she could never outrun herself. The chaos she sought was only a mirror, reflecting the turbulence she had never been ready to face.

Yet in that final moment, as the storm threatened to consume her, something within her stilled. The fear that once gripped her loosened its hold, and for the first time in years, she saw clearly. Life was not about the storms she chased, nor the fleeting rush of adrenaline. It was about what came after—the moments of calm, the connections made in the aftermath, the people who stood beside her once the skies cleared.

Zora Castro may have become a victim of the storm, but in those final moments, she was no longer lost. She had found the truth she had spent a lifetime running from: life is not measured by how fiercely we chase the storm, but by the love, the memories, and the quiet moments of understanding left in its wake.

Beneath the Blazing Sky by Olivia Salter / Flash Fiction / Science Fiction

  

Beneath the Blazing Sky

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 815

The sun glared down on Earth like an angry eye, its coronal mass ejection barreling toward the planet with unstoppable brutality. The storm was predicted to strike within 48 hours, and the world braced for an unraveling. Cities buzzed with panic. Airports shut down. Newscasters, visibly shaken, warned of the storm’s unprecedented strength: “SEVERE SOLAR STORM TO STRIKE EARTH AT 9:12 PM GMT. EXPECT GLOBAL BLACKOUTS. PREPARE IMMEDIATELY.”

In her Chicago apartment, Dr. Phoenix Hayes scrolled through images of the sun’s violent eruption. Her inbox was flooded with questions from colleagues and media outlets, all seeking answers she didn’t have. She had spent years researching solar storms, warning of their catastrophic potential, but governments hadn’t listened. Now, power grids were expected to fail, satellites would go dark, and humanity’s dependence on technology would collapse like a house of cards.

Phoenix stared at her phone. She wanted to call her father, Harold. He lived alone in rural Mississippi, far removed from modern conveniences—no internet, no cell phone. But it wasn’t just his isolation that made her hesitate. Their last conversation, four years ago, had ended in a shouting match. “You’re so caught up in the stars, you’ve forgotten where you came from,” he’d said. She’d slammed the phone down, burying her hurt in her work.

The phone buzzed with another alert. Phoenix swiped it away and grabbed her car keys. There wasn’t much time.

The highways were chaos. Horns blared. Families crammed belongings into cars as if outrunning the storm itself. Phoenix’s hybrid car hummed quietly as she navigated backroads, bypassing blocked highways and abandoned vehicles.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the auroras began. Swirling bands of green and crimson light danced across the sky, painting the world in an eerie glow. It was beautiful, yes, but also haunting—a vivid reminder of the sun’s unchecked power.

Phoenix reached her father’s house just as the first wave of electromagnetic disruption struck. Her car dashboard flickered and died. The world seemed to shudder with silence, as if holding its breath.

The small wooden house stood dark against the horizon, its only light the faint glow of candles in the window. Phoenix knocked, and after a pause, the door creaked open.

“Phoenix?” Harold stood in the doorway, his face etched with lines of age and surprise.

“Dad,” she choked out, the words catching in her throat. “I had to come.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then stepped aside. “Come on in.”

The house was filled with the comforting smell of woodsmoke and Harold’s infamous chili simmering on the wood stove. A battery-powered transistor radio buzzed faintly on the counter, broadcasting warnings that no one could heed anymore.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping coffee and listening to the fire crackle. Finally, Phoenix spoke. “I’ve spent so much time studying the stars, but I never stopped to think about the people who taught me to look up at them.”

Harold’s hand stilled over his coffee mug. “Your mother used to say you were born to fly. I guess I didn’t know how to let you go without feeling like I’d lose you.”

“I should have called,” Phoenix admitted. “I let my pride get in the way.”

He looked at her, his expression softening. “We both did.”

The storm intensified outside, the auroras casting strange shadows through the windows. The power flickered and went out, leaving them in the warm glow of the firelight.

As the hours stretched on, Harold shared stories from his childhood, tales Phoenix had long forgotten. She told him about her work, her regrets, and her dreams. When the radio finally died, they sang the hymns her mother used to hum while cooking.

The storm lasted through the night, its fury relentless, but inside the small house, time seemed to pause. When the first rays of sunlight broke through, Phoenix and Harold stepped outside. The sky was clear, and the air hummed with an uncanny stillness.

Neighbors wandered over, sharing news and supplies. An elderly woman with a flashlight told them how her husband had rigged their generator to keep their freezer running. A young man offered Harold a jar of homemade preserves.

“We’ll get through this,” Harold said, his voice steady. “We always do.”

Phoenix realized then how resilient her father was. He didn’t need the internet or electricity to survive. He had his community, his faith, and his determination.

“I think I’ll stay a while,” she said, her voice firm. “Help out. Reconnect.”

Harold smiled, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “We’d like that.”

As the world began its slow recovery, Phoenix found herself drawn to the simplicity of life in her father’s small town. Together, they helped rebuild—not just their lives, but their relationship. The storm had stripped away so much, but it had also revealed what truly mattered beneath the blazing sky.

The Silent Surge by Olivia Salter | Short Story | Disaster Fiction

 

The Silent Surge

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 2,491

The emergency alert screamed through the sun-bleached sedan speakers, cutting through the hum of the engine like a knife:

“A 7.0-magnitude tsunami has struck the California coastline. Residents must evacuate to higher ground immediately.”

Devon’s foot hovered over the gas pedal, the car coasting at a crawl as his gaze remained locked on the rearview mirror. The horizon, once a stretch of peaceful blue, had transformed into a jagged, furious wall of water. It surged toward them like an unstoppable beast, a humongous mass, swallowing everything in its path—palm trees, cars, entire buildings—all devoured by the ocean’s rage.

Simone slapped the dashboard with a force that startled him out of his trance. “What the hell are you doing?” she shouted, her voice high-pitched with panic. “Drive! Now!”

Devon's knuckles paled as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his foot remaining firmly pressed against the brake. His mind was a storm of confusion and guilt. The tsunami was right there, swallowing everything he knew. And yet—something held him back. Something gnawed at him.

“Devon!” Simone’s voice cracked, and her hand shot out to yank at his sleeve. “What are you waiting for? We need to go!”

“I can’t just—” His words trailed off, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His eyes flicked again to the rearview mirror, watching as the ocean swallowed the horizon, its dark wall reaching farther in every second.

Simone’s voice was sharp with disbelief. “What are you waiting for? The water’s already here! People are dead, Devon!”

The words stung more than he’d expected, and he jerked his head toward her. Simone’s face was a portrait of fear, but there was something else behind her eyes too—anger. Desperation.

“I can’t just leave them,” Devon muttered, his voice low, like he was trying to convince himself. His heart beat harder now, his chest tight. “There might still be someone we can help.”

Simone’s laugh was bitter, an empty sound. “Help?” she scoffed. “It’s over, Devon. You think you can just turn back time? You think you can save them? The water’s here, and you’re still trying to be some kind of damn hero.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. They weren’t just words—there was history behind them. Her voice was laced with the venom of years of anger he couldn’t quite place. She was still so young, but in that moment, Simone felt older than him. Wiser, even.

Devon looked back toward the darkening sky, the roaring ocean now so close he could almost feel the cold spray in the air. Every second counted. But in his chest, there was a knot—a twisted sense of duty, of guilt. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t make himself leave behind whatever fragments of hope still clung to his heart.

“Devon…” Simone’s voice softened, but it was a softness with an edge. “We can’t save everyone. We have to save us.”

She was right, and it sliced through him like glass. Devon’s throat tightened, the words getting stuck behind a wall of regret. But his heart—his heart wasn’t done. It didn’t know how to give up. Not yet.

“I can’t just turn my back on them,” he muttered. The truth was heavier than he wanted to admit. He wasn’t sure if he was still chasing a need to redeem himself for some past mistake or just the damn need to believe that there was something more to this life than running away when it got hard.

“Mom left us,” Simone said, the words cold and sharp. Her hands gripped the armrest with such force that her knuckles were white. “She left us because she couldn’t fix anything. You’re just like her.”

His chest tightened, a wave of heat flooding through him. He flinched as if struck, but there was no strike, just the raw truth of it sinking in. His mind reeled. His mother had left when he was just a kid, and though he’d tried to pretend it didn’t matter, there was a wound in his chest, one he could never fully close.

Simone’s eyes locked on him, and for a moment, the tension between them was unbearable. She didn’t need to say another word. She had laid it bare. He wasn’t just running from the ocean. He was running from the parts of himself he couldn’t fix. From the guilt that had lived with him for as long as he could remember.

“You think you can fix everything,” she went on, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you can’t. You didn’t fix Mom. You won’t fix this.”

Her words sliced through the air, sharp and jagged. Devon jerk back, as if struck by something solid. His hands trembled on the wheel, the guilt—a thing that had once felt small, manageable—now roiling in his gut, the tsunami at his back forgotten for a moment.

“Simone…” His voice was small. “I didn’t—I didn’t fix anything. But I can’t leave them. I can’t.”

The roar of the wave behind them grew louder. Devon turned back toward the rearview mirror, his heart beating in his throat. The wave was closer now, towering over the buildings, blotting out the sun, blotting out the world behind them. It was here.

Simone’s breath came in ragged gasps. “Devon, we’re not gonna make it.” Her voice cracked, the walls she’d built finally breaking down. “Please. You’re not going to fix it. You’re not gonna fix us.”

Her words lodged deep in him. He had always tried to be the one to fix things. Fix people. But maybe… maybe she was right. Maybe this time, there was nothing left to fix.

Devon’s foot hovered over the pedal for a second longer, time stretching, the weight of everything crashing in on him. The world was falling apart, and he didn’t know what to do. The desperate cry of his sister, the pulse of the wave pushing forward—he couldn’t escape either.

“Please,” Simone whispered, her voice raw. “Please, Devon. Just go.”

Her words hit him harder than the tsunami’s roar. The love, the frustration, the understanding between them—it all coalesced in that moment. She wasn’t just telling him to drive; she was telling him to stop trying to save something that was already lost.

His hands fell to the wheel, and for the first time, he let go.

The engine roared to life, tires squealing as he slammed his foot on the gas. The car surged forward, the world around them becoming a blur. As they tore through the streets, racing to escape the inevitable, a part of him—the part that had clung to some foolish hope—was finally, slowly, letting go.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. The sound of the wave swallowing the world behind them was a constant roar in the distance, a reminder that the world had changed forever, and they were just two people trying to outrun something they could never truly escape.

Devon’s gaze was fixed on the road ahead, but his mind was still reeling. Still trying to reconcile what he couldn’t fix. What he had never been able to fix.

But as the wave crested in the rearview mirror, the realization settled deep in his chest. He hadn’t saved anyone. But maybe—just maybe—he had saved himself.

The road ahead blurred as Devon gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles lacking color. The windshield wipers swiped at the mist that clung to the glass, but it wasn’t enough. The world outside felt distorted, a strange and frightening mirror of the chaos that had consumed their lives.

The wind howled, throwing the scent of saltwater and panic into the car. Waves of dread rushed through Devon’s chest. Every mile they put between themselves and the tsunami felt like a small, fragile victory—but it wasn’t enough. The reality kept setting in, slow and suffocating. The wave would hit soon. If it hadn’t already. The buildings, the people, the memories—they were all gone. And somehow, he was still alive.

Simone didn’t say anything. She sat with her arms crossed, her gaze out the side window, staring at nothing. Her eyes, once sharp and defiant, were now hollow. She had let out all the anger, but there was nothing left but a quiet emptiness. She wasn’t looking at him anymore. She wasn’t even looking at the road.

They were so close to the mountains now, the jagged peaks of the hills impending ahead, their dark silhouettes framed against a sky darkening by the second. It felt wrong, like the earth itself was holding its breath, waiting for the moment when it would all crash down.

Devon’s foot eased off the gas, his hands trembling on the wheel. He could feel Simone’s gaze shifting, like she was finally seeing him again, but the weight of everything between them made it hard to even breathe in the same space.

“Devon…” she whispered, her voice distant.

He didn’t answer, but his heart clenched at the sound of her voice. It wasn’t the frantic shouting from earlier, the panic that had kept her moving. This was softer. Something that barely made it past the storm of emotions they had both been battling.

“Do you think we can stop it?” She asked, her eyes narrowing toward the mountains, as if expecting an answer from the jagged peaks themselves. “Stop what’s coming?”

Devon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he thought of the tsunami crashing over everything they had ever known—the homes, the streets, the faces of strangers he could never save. He thought of their mother, gone before they had a chance to understand her, before they could fix the space she had left behind. And now, here they were—two kids still fighting for something that felt as unreachable as the safety that seemed so distant.

The weight of the question hung in the air, a slow-moving poison.

“No,” he finally said. His voice was quiet, but there was a sense of finality to it. It wasn’t just the tsunami anymore. It was everything. The past. The guilt. The anger. The memories of long-forgotten moments he could never take back.

“We can’t stop it,” he repeated, this time to himself more than to Simone. “What’s happening... it's too big. Too much.”

Simone let out a shaky breath, like the air itself had finally escaped her. For a long time, she didn’t say anything. The silence between them stretched like a taut rope, the tension so thick it could snap at any second.

“I didn’t want to be like her, you know,” Simone muttered suddenly, her voice soft and almost lost in the roar of the engine. “I didn’t want to leave. But then, I didn’t know how to stay either. She left. And I just—” Her voice broke, and for the first time, Devon saw it. The crack in her armor. He didn’t speak, but the words sat heavy in the car. Simone swallowed, her gaze shifting down to her lap. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to stay when there was nothing left.”

Her words hit him like a shockwave. For so long, he had carried his own guilt, thinking of how their mother’s departure had left them both in pieces. He had always believed it was his fault somehow. That if he’d been better—more of a man, more dependable—maybe she wouldn’t have left. But hearing Simone’s voice tremble, hearing the hurt in her words, cracked something deep inside of him.

“I didn’t know how to stay either,” Devon whispered, his voice raw. The weight of everything they had lived through together seemed to collapse around them. Their mother’s absence, the broken promises, the quiet fights. All of it. It wasn’t just that she had left them. It was the things that were left unsaid, the things that Devon never realized he had carried. He had stayed, yes, but he had never known how to stay.

Simone let out a deep breath, her shoulders slumping as if some invisible weight had lifted. “We’re not going to fix anything, are we?”

The question wasn’t meant to be answered. It was the acceptance hanging between them, like the end of a road. There was no point in pretending anymore, no point in holding on to something that couldn’t be saved.

The car kept moving forward, the tires screeching slightly as they navigated a winding road that curved sharply upward into the mountains. The distant rumble of the wave seemed to fade with every passing second, swallowed by the heavy sound of their own thoughts.

Devon’s eyes stayed focused on the road, but inside, his mind was racing. Simone’s words kept echoing through him. We’re not going to fix anything. He had thought that he could, once upon a time—fix their broken pieces, hold everything together. But now, it felt like the only thing he had control over was the next second, the next breath. And that wasn’t much.

As the car finally crested the ridge, they could see it—the full devastation of the coast behind them. In the distance, a smudge of white foam crashed against the dark silhouette of a city. The black water stretched out into the horizon, a monstrous wall of destruction that could have swallowed the world whole.

Simone shifted in her seat, her gaze distant but not as cold as it had been. “Do you think they’re all gone?”

Devon took a long breath, trying to steady his pulse. “I don’t know. But it’s over. We can’t fix it. Not anymore.”

The truth hung there, suspended in the air, as heavy as the mountains approaching around them. They had always believed they could fix the world—fix their lives, fix each other. But now, in the face of this incomprehensible destruction, they understood something deeper. Maybe that was the hardest thing to accept—that sometimes, the world just happens, and there’s no fixing it.

The silence stretched between them again. But this time, it didn’t feel heavy with blame. It felt like acceptance.

They kept driving, leaving behind the destruction. Not because they thought they could outrun it, but because it was the only thing left they could do.

They didn’t look back again.

Not for the cities. Not for the people. Not even for the shattered remnants of their own pasts.

The only thing left was the road ahead.