I felt something warm and slimy on my face.

  I reached up and peeled it off. It was Todd’s eyeball.

  “…ffffffUUUCK!”

  I flung it onto the floor, my hands shaking, fingers wet and red.

  The wet eye stared up at me from the ground. Todd’s headless body spasmed and twitched as more blood spurted from his torn stump of a neck. His Nikes and hands shuddered a few more moments before finally going limp.

  I was paralyzed with fear—frozen in place, my feet locked to the ground. My gaze returned to the shimmering hologram.

  The golden shield pulsed hypnotically in the air as if beckoning to be touched. I had seen these sort of things before in the many video games I had played since childhood. The metal trunk looked like the sort of thing football teams had on their sidelines to hold equipment. But the hologram above it, made me think of loot crates that I earned in video games by completing quests or discovering hidden parts of game maps.

  None of it made any sense.

  What was a loot crate or equipment trunk doing here in the real world? And why did it happen to fall through the roof of Rat E. Cheddar’s Pizza Parlor and crush my co-worker’s head?

  Todd was a dick, but he didn’t deserve to go out like this.

  The hologram mesmerized me. The shield glistened, its golden aura swirling like fiery embers in the air. I reached out to touch it—bloody fingertips quivering as my hand got near. The tip of my index finger pierced the image, passing straight through it.

  The icon flashed and then disappeared as a brief fanfare chimed and a pop-up window replaced it mid-air.

  It was a translucent, rounded rectangle with no dimension. It looked like a computer notification that had somehow broken through the screen. I read its words, but was equally entranced, as my fingers swiped through it like a mirage.

  Item Acquired:

  Blitz Max Protect Shield.

  Repels Enemy Attacks for 15 Seconds.

  I stumbled backwards, banging my hip on a steel sink. Pain exploded throughout the joint, snapping me out of my stupor.

  I turned and caught sight of myself in the mirror.

  I was splattered with red goo and cerebral mush. Curly, wet hair clumped to my forehead, leaking dark crimson down my face. I looked like the infamous climax scene from Carrie.

  “Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!”

  I clawed at my face, swiping at blood and brain tissue.

  The next few moments were a blur. My feet were moving and so was my body. I darted into the kitchen and scooped Count Basil into my rucksack, when—

  SHUNK!

  —another loot crate crashed through the ceiling. A new gaming hologram popped up.

  This one was some kind of futuristic rifle.

  I shouldered my rucksack and sprinted into the hallway. Blood seeped out from beneath the closed janitor’s closet. I stepped over it as the building rocked from more impacts.

  SHUNK! SHUNK! SHUNK!

  I heard blood-curdling screams. Crumbling drywall and dust rained from the ceiling. I dashed towards the exit.

  My stride was shaky. Unsteady. The walls and ceiling seemed to morph, warping diagonally as if I was inside a funhouse, tripping on acid. I was almost at the rear door when a bloody body stumbled out in front of me.

  It was Sola.

  She screamed, shivering, blood dripping down her face. She and I stared at each other, terrified.

  “J-J-Jackie,” she stammered.

  WHAM!

  The roof of the hallway behind us caved in.

  Another metal trunk smashed to the floor. Its lid popped open, revealing a futuristic helmet hologram. I grabbed Sola’s hand and made a beeline for the door, tugging her along.

  We burst through the rear door, into instant Armageddon.

  Distant sirens and car horns competed with the sounds of smashing metal and crackling fire. The street was filled with screaming people fleeing for their lives. Vehicles careened out of control, smashing into one another, plowing over people, smearing human jelly stains over the asphalt.

  Cars slammed into the sides of buildings, exploding—their drivers trapped inside, screaming, clawing through flames.

  A man ran by, warning for us to run.

  “GET THE HELL OUTTA HE—“

  KA-SPLOOSH!

  He exploded into a gush of red—a metal chest instantly burying half of his body into the sidewalk.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  More and more trunks plummeted towards the ground.

  WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

  They landed with thundering force, one after another, obliterating everything in their path.

  We ran...

  …past light poles and fire hydrants sheared from their bases. Water gushed, crackling with electrical sparks. Bodies convulsed on the ground, sizzling from electrocution.

  BOOM!

  Buildings erupted with fire, spitting flames out of broken windows. The inferno danced across the destruction, carried along by a wind so strong, it knocked people straight off their feet.

  The sky above was a dark, swirling vortex, streaked with lightning. Sola crossed herself as we ran through it all.

  “My Abuela was right. I should have gone back to church.”

  As the metal chests slammed down, they popped open, projecting sports-themed, gaming holograms. In a strange way, they served as digital tombstones for the people they killed.

  I spotted a department store down the street. People were streaming out of the large front window pane, carrying looted items.

  “Come on! This way!” I shouted.

  We picked our way through the maelstrom, leaping over dead bodies and dashing in between twisted mounds of former vehicles.

  Equipment trunks continued to tumble from the sky, crushing everything below. I yanked Sola out of the path of one just in time. The poor soul next to us wasn’t as fortunate.

  He exploded into a cloud of pink mist. His blood splattered, adding to the red stains already coating us. His jawbone and teeth slid down the front of my shirt.

  “AHHH!”

  We dashed forward and dove inside the department store.

  “What’s going on?!” Sola shouted, pointing at the metal trunks. "What the hell are those things?!”

  "I don’t know! Gear trunks? Loot crates?!"

  “What?”

  “Treasure boxes from video games.”

  “What…?” She scrunched her brow, “Like in Sonic?”

  Two looters hustled past us, carrying TVs. They leaped out of the window as—

  WHAM!

  —a trunk splattered their entrails across the pavement. A hand plopped down in front of us, twitching like a dying bug.

  “No. Not like Sonic.”

  I looked around the store. People were grabbing whatever they could, using the end of the world as an opportunity to enrich themselves.

  “Oh, hell yeah! I’ve been wanting this game!” one of them shouted.

  “It’s like Christmas! Best day of my life!” screamed another.

  I spotted a door labeled “Employees Only” in the rear corner of the store.

  We scrambled past the maddened looters and through the door. We hustled down the rear hallway, descended a flight of steps, and crammed into a small employee washroom in the basement.

  We pressed together in silence, holding each other, struggling to catch our breath. The room rocked and quaked as more loot crates pummeled the street above.

  I looked at Sola.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  She shook her head no.

  “Me neither.”

  Her eyes flooded with tears. She trembled, raising her bloody hands, looking at her blood-soaked outfit.

  “Oh my God… Jackie…”

  I thought for a minute.

  “Look, I saw some clothes up there. I think I can get us some. We’ll stay here for a minute. Wash up. Figure things out.”

  Sola nodded.

  I moved for the door, but she grabbed my hand.

  “Don’t leave.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

  I headed upstairs, back into the insanity. I peered out of the front window—more flames, more trunks, more carnage.

  Inside, people were fighting over merch. Biting, punching, clawing to grab a deal. I moved through the melee and got bulldozed by a large man in flannel, toting a charcoal grill.

  I got back to my feet and sprinted to the clothing department. I wasn’t selective. I grabbed whatever I could off the racks and ran back to the washroom. I entered without knocking and was surprised to see Sola in her bra and panties. Her bloody clothes lay in a rumpled pile on the floor. She was splashing water onto her body, washing off the gooey Jackie residue.

  Even coated in blood, her body was incredible. Her waist was slender, tapering to curvy hips. A gemstone was perfectly nestled in a belly button piercing. Her breasts were every bit as curvy and perfect as I had imagined. She glanced over and caught me staring.

  “You could take a picture and I can autograph it for you.”

  “Sorry,” I said, looking away. “Here. I got you these.”

  I extended a handful of clothes. Sola grabbed them and quickly pulled on a new shirt and shorts. They were tight and form-fitting. I did my best to resist looking at her body again, but I was failing miserably.

  I took off my rucksack, and opened it to check on Count Basil.

  “Hey, little buddy. You all good in there?”

  Sola looked at me like I was crazy. “You have a plant in your backpack? And you’re talking to it?”

  “So?”

  She shook her head with a smile.

  “It’s kind of cute, actually.”

  I closed the rucksack and peeled out of my Rat E. Cheddar’s shirt, leather holster belt, and blood-soaked slacks. I stood there, bare-chested, in my tighty-whiteys. Self-conscious, I cupped my crotch with both hands. Sola clicked her teeth, taking it all in.

  “What?” I blushed.

  “Well, if you’re gonna be a stripper—you’re gonna have to learn about these things called ‘gyms’.”

  I moved to the sink and doused water over my face and hair. Pink juice sloshed everywhere. I scrubbed my chest and forearms, then grabbed a stack of paper towels and dried myself off.

  Sola watched as I pulled on a new shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. I tugged at the shirt, but it wouldn’t reach my belt-line. My stomach was exposed.

  “Shit. It’s too short.”

  I inspected my leather belt. Both pizza cutters were still in their respective holsters. I strapped it on.

  Sola started giggling and finally broke into a full-bore laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  She pointed at my shirt. I turned and looked in the mirror. The shirt was a pink cutoff. Emblazoned across the chest in bold letters were the words: “BADASS GILF.”

  “Oh fuck!” I scowled.

  “No… no…” Sola giggled, “It really suits you.”

  Despite my embarrassment, I liked the sound of her laughter. I looked at her shirt. It was a simple, black T-shirt with a butterfly logo and the words: “Premium Bish.”

  “What? Do you wanna switch?” she grinned.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. I waved no and we got quiet again as the severity of our situation set in.

  “Sooooo, Jackie…?” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened?”

  “She was complaining, saying how I show too much cleavage. And I was like, ‘Think about it. Why do you think dads keep bringing their families here? It ain’t for the pizza or the rat.’ And then she just got—smooshed—by one of those trunk thingies.”

  “Smooshed?”

  “Smooshed.”

  We looked at each other, both fighting back guilty smiles.

  “But did she say, ‘mmmkay’ first?” I snickered.

  We cracked up in an unhinged spark of levity. Sola pointed at me.

  “What about you? What happened?”

  “I was with Todd. Poor bastard took it right in the rat head. At least it was instant… and he was high as fuck. Probably never felt a thing.”

  She nodded, pulling her hair back into a pony-tail.

  “So. What do we do now?”

  I pulled out my phone. “You got family here?”

  Sola shook her head no. I waited for her to elaborate, but it became clear she wasn’t going to.

  I dismissed a bunch of missed notifications.

  J-Dawg8: bro, what’s happening?!?!

  J-Dawg8: yo — it’s the end times

  J-Dawg8: I don’t wanna die today, bro

  J-Dawg8: can’t meet jesus like this

  J-Dawg8: I ain’t been living right

  I dialed my mom and an error message popped up:

  No Signal

  “Shit. Any luck with yours?”

  Sola showed me the same error on her screen. I looked at her, concerned.

  “I need to check on my mom.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “Died when I was three. Heart attack playing pro football.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well… I never knew him.”

  ----

  Back at the front of the store, we peered out of the shattered window pane. The metal trunk downpour had stopped, but not without taking a devastating toll. There were dead bodies everywhere… cars, burning in flaming heaps… survivors, running through carnage.

  I gripped the straps of my rucksack, “How can we get through all this?”

  “We can take my bike.”

  “Your bike?” I raised an eyebrow.