Alone. Alone. ALONE.

The thought rebelled against denial - how could I be alone? What happened to all the people?

Why was only I spared?

I went back into my apartment, the silence too deafening for me to bear. I tried to explain it away. Realistically, it's extremely unlikely that everyone is gone. Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe it's a hallucination, or I'm dead, and this is hell.

That last thought ripped through the melancholy - what was I thinking? I needed to make plans. I thought back to my father, what he always said on our hiking trips when I was a kid.

"You need shelter, then water, then food. However, the most important thing is that you don't panic! Panic kills quickly."

And what was I doing right now? I was panicking. I took a deep breath, sat down on the carpet, and began to calm myself. No more lying to myself, no more depression or panic. I haven't got the time for those, at least not at the moment. Dimly, I was aware that this wasn't exactly the most healthy thing to do when traumatised, but I felt like I had no choice.

After a few moments, I rose from the floor a new woman. First order of business - Shelter. I was in a gigantic city, and it was early spring. No problem here for at least half a year, longer if I could find an electric heater and a power source. That thought reminded me of something - electricity won't last long. Power plants shut down without humans. Second order of business - Water. I grabbed two old canteens from my bedroom closet, and filled them with tap water. Those would keep me hydrated for a day or two. Next - Food. This is where the first problem arose.

My fridge was empty. So were the cupboards, save for half a pack of disgusting cereal, and an empty container of almond milk.

I never really went “to get groceries”, the only thing I kept on hand at any time was cereal and milk. I didn’t, and still don’t, do “grocery shopping”, which was to my detriment in this situation.

I had to bite the bullet and go out there, find something to eat. preferably something that lasts a long time, canned food, ravioli, beans, corn. That kind of thing.

So, I began making a pack. Things I couldn't go without went into my messenger bag.

My two canteens. A towel. My tooth and hairbrushes. A pack of Mentos. My phone, wallet and keys. My earphones. Second issue: how would I keep my phone charged when the power went out? If I pack my charger, I'll have the ability to charge it should I find a generator or an area where the power stays on, but it'll take up valuable space in my pack.

As I contemplated this issue, I noticed a smell that reminded me a bit of burning wood. At first I thought it was someone grilling, like they did sometimes on the balconies above or below. Then, I remembered that there isn't anyone left to do the grilling.

This could only mean one thing: There's something burning. Really, I should have realized. Stoves or ovens, if they were on and their people disappeared, were still on. The fact that I'd begun to smell smoke wasn't a good sign either.

I quickly packed the rest of the stuff I couldn't go without, and stormed out of the apartment. Or at least, I tried. Outside the door, I met a wall of smoke that drove me to a hacking cough as I slammed it shut again. I managed to clear my lungs and take some deep breaths after the coughing fit subsided.

Only one way out. The balcony, and then the fire escape ladder. Smoke had begun to penetrate around the door, and there was a thin layer of gray clinging to the ceiling already, so I ran to the balcony door and threw it open, finally stepping outside. It was there that I realized the magnitude of the apparent fires, which were fucking everywhere. Almost the entire skyline of Manhattan was obscured by thin smoke, reminiscent of fog, and I could spot an unmistakable orange glow in some of the nearby apartment buildings' windows. Small so far, but I knew from experience that fires don't tend to die on their own, especially when provided enough fuel in the form of a dry, dusty building that's been without rain for at least three weeks.

I quickly swung myself over the railing onto the little catwalk leading to the fire escape ladder, grabbed on, and began climbing down. No time to lose, not when there's a fire ravaging in the house you're currently in.

About halfway down the ladder, I spotted where the fire in my apartment building was coming from, in the form of a cloud of smoke billowing out the windows on the fourth floor. I realized that anything I did not have in my bag right now was going to be lost for good.

I shook my head, miffed at the thought, and eventually reached the backyard, where the ladder terminated in a small, gray, paved-over crevice.

It was there that I faced another problem. At this rate, the entire city would be in flames before I could get out of it on foot, and some of these older buildings would collapse as the fire ate supporting walls. I was going to need a car.

My mother always used to tell me - if I ever found myself in a situation that can only be solved by breaking the law, I should do it.

So that's exactly what I did. After a bit of searching, I found a relatively undamaged car with the keys still in the ignition, but the engine shut down to avoid wasting fuel, one of those things they apparently put into newer cars. I turned the keys, closed the doors, and began navigating down the street, around abandoned cars and damaged bikes, away from the burning skyline.

***

The sun had wandered across the sky to a noticeable degree when I finally got out of the city and entered the nearby suburbs. I'd decided to drive to my mum's house, which I hoped wasn't destroyed by fire, and check for myself if she's really not there.

Driving around the suburbia was a harrowing experience, as I drove onwards I came across the occasional burned down street or house that was still on fire. It was quite surprising how quickly everything humanity had built was falling apart in our absence.

After nearly an hour of driving I parked the car before my childhood home, and looked back once more.

I saw nothing. Well, not nothing, but nothing save for an absurdly gigantic cloud of smoke, which reminded me of one of those pictures of Shanghai I'd seen on the internet, with the entire city encased in a cloud of smog.

If I'd stayed any longer, I'd been dead for sure.

***

I spent nearly two hours rifling through the entire house, looking at first for any sign of my mum, then for something I knew I would need once the car died.

My father was an avid hiker when he was still alive, and he often took me with him. It was on one of those trips that he explained to me the importance of a good walking stick. Not a cane, more like a staff. The one he had made as a young man was as long as he was high.

"A staff," he would say "is a multi-purpose tool. It relaxes your back while walking, can serve as a chair when combined with two rocks, allows you to knock down loose apples, and is a great weapon in a pinch."

He always said that once he could trust me with a knife, he would have me make my own, because "that's just how it has to be done." That day never came.

I wanted to cry at the memory, for my father, my mother and the world, but found myself unable to shed a single tear. All I felt was a numbness, gnawing in the center of my chest.

I remembered that my mother put all of my dad's stuff in the basement after his..after his death, so I looked there. The old tent and his books were there, of which I took the paperback ones on medicinal herbs, general survival and finding food in the wild. After some searching, I found his staff leaning against the far wall.

It was mostly as I remembered, about 2 meters long and made of hardwood, banded on both ends with a steel cap. He'd removed a bit of bark slightly above the center, and wrapped some sort of soft leather around it for a firm grip.

I stood there for a moment, holding it, and contemplated my next move. Short-term goals were general survival, water, food and shelter, and long-term was finding out what the hell happened to everyone. I pocketed my father's swiss knife, and went up the stairs again.

With my immediate goals in mind, I grabbed two cans of ravioli from my mum's kitchen, ate a power bar that was lying on her counter, and went out to the car.

***

I'd decided to just drive out into the country, away from the city, to escape the smoke, which had already penetrated to the suburbs when I came out of the house.

I was acutely aware that modern buildings contained many things that weren't exactly healthy to breathe the fumes of, including plastics, paint - stuff like that, so getting as far away from the inferno as possible was a necessity.

Some time after I crossed the state border to Pennsylvania, the car died, its gas exhausted. I'd decided to go as far north as possible, in order to get to one of the great lakes for accessible, and more importantly clean, ground water.

The sun was on its last legs, almost completely subsumed by the horizon at that point. I decided to lock the doors for the night, sleep in the car, and continue my trek in the morning on foot. I did have a bedroll with me, liberated from my mum's basement, but the backseat of my stolen car appeared much more comfortable.

When I locked the doors and turned out the light, I could have sworn I saw something moving out there. I fumbled for my phone, hands cold in shock, and turned on the torch, hoping to see what could have caused a shadowy shape moving across my peripheral. Shaking slightly, I continued to pan the weak light of the torch over the darkness around me for a moment. There was nothing but empty fields, trees and rocks. Must have been the shadows playing tricks on me. I hope.

Somehow, an empty world is much scarier than one filled with monsters.

I eventually fell into an uneasy sleep, filled with monsters of smoke, ash, and living flame.