There was nothing but her destination. If Millie let herself believe anything else existed, she wouldn’t make it. She would surrender then and there, brought low by agony, exhaustion, or utter madness. She passed Paul, then Andrew, only to fall mere feet from the ramp. Why was she still carrying around that battered old go set? Amidst everything else she hardly noticed her face crack against the cement. Fate allowed her only half a breath of rest before Andrew, in defiance of the norns, hoisted her back to a wobbling stand as Paul overtook them. The poor man's arms had given out, with Wyetta simply clinging to Paul's shoulders as she was dragged along behind him.

“Almost there.” breathed Andrew, a sharp edge of desperation decently concealed behind a cloak of encouragement. He wouldn’t stop for her again. Lucas was still crying.

Once more she moved, this time barely at a shuffle as Andrew urged her forward. Some fragment of her perception was trying to tell her something, something important, but she didn’t have the space in her mind to acknowledge it. The pediatrics group was already inside. Paul and Wyetta too had just made it through the archway, Paul immediately collapsing to his knees. The red projection that tracked the remaining occupancy squeezed out her field of vision as she phased past it, unable to make out what it said as she fell through the archway. Her ears rang with the drop in volume as the apocalyptic tumult instantly ceased. Even more surprising, someone actually caught her this time; she wouldn't be hitting the ground three times in nine minutes.

She looked up to find the doctor from the little pediatrics squad, yet his focus wasn't on her. She followed his gaze: Andrew and Lucas were still outside, barred by some invisible force. Behind them the projection read, ‘Remaining Allowance: 0’. Andrew, Lucas still in hand, was trying to shoulder check their way inside to no avail. Any control he had over his emotions was completely gone now - brown eyes wide and bloodshot. His twisted face miming a guttural roar. She thought of the silent TV back in the ward. This time everyone was watching the show, unmoving, enraptured by the despair.

"Hey, hey are you listening!?” Millie screamed in her head, attempting to somehow think at the voice that had started all this.

No response.

“I know you can hear me! Let them in! You can make shit from nothing and talk into the whole world’s head at once but you can’t make room for two fuckin’ people!?”

No response.

“Please! Please. There’s a kid out there you motherfucker!’"

No response.

“Alright bastard. Mercy doesn’t do it for you; how about a trade? You want my memories, you can fucking have them - but in exchange you make two more spaces in this thing.”

“Exchange request: Declined. Reason: cannot fulfill stated terms.”

“Thought that’d get your attention. Fine. What will it take to make two more spaces?”

“The occupancy limitations for manifested emergency shelters cannot be altered without the assent of an Archon that has been granted directorial privileges.”

The only meaning Millie cared to glean from the voice’s response was that this line of attack wasn’t going to work. Exhaustion and agony knawing at the edges of her mind, she forced herself to explore different possibilities. There had to be options she hadn’t considered yet. Mentally stepping back, she took a good look at the board and followed the available lines.

Line one, surrender: She could just leave it, just let things play out as they were. Who were Lucas and Andrew to her, really? Two acquaintances: A kid she liked to pity because it made her feel better about her own diseased body, and some guy that had been in the ward for a month. She barely knew a thing about either of them. Why not just stop and rest, accept that she was safe… but was she? How did any of them know these ‘emergency shelters’ weren’t an elaborate trap. This whole thing could be a ploy devised by some fucked up all-powerful aliens looking for an easy way to collect a billion or so humans for whatever nefarious purposes they pleased. But then she recalled the sky: Whatever fate awaited them in here couldn’t be worse than what would happen to them out there.

Andrew had given up. He slid down the invisible barrier outside, breathing heavily, and dropped to the ground. He leaned against his unfeeling killer, taking Lucas into his thick arms - sickly, pale, barely-alive Lucas - and tried to comfort him. She couldn’t see Andrew’s face but she thought, for some reason, that he must be singing to the kid. Something sweet and kind and full of hope. Something that had made Lucas finally stop crying. Line one was out.

Line two, stalemate with good play. As far as Millie could see the ring-shaped metallic chamber was packed with people, and a single crow. The keen little survivor stood in a corner, preening its ruffled feathers. She let herself imagine it to be the same crow from the hospital windowsill - an unofficial member of their merry little band. There were doors leading deeper into the structure but if they could be opened, it wasn’t obvious how. She could try to convince, trick, or force two of these people to swap places with Andrew and Lucas. It was possible, but she’d need time, and the voice was quick to remind her that was something she didn’t have.

“Update: One minute until the surface of your planet is rendered uninhabitable. Please remain in the emergency shelter.”

Line two was out.

“It’s line three…” Millie mumbled to herself as she, despite every attempt of her body to keep her down, tried to get back on her feet. She couldn’t do it.

Paul appeared as if summoned by her desperation, thin face wet with tears and tight with a thousand waring wants.

“Lie back down Millie, rest. We... it’s done.”

But his words belied the actions of his heart - for why else, thought Millie, would he be helping her stand. As she stood Millie scooped the lanyard off of Paul’s neck with the crook of her cane.

“You know it ain't.” sighed Millie, as she stumbled back out through the archway.

Andrew fell back with a surprised grunt, Lucas still in his arms, as the wall he was leaning against vanished. Lucus collided with the barrier and was pushed out of Andrews’s grip, stunned. Millie and Andrew's eyes locked as she stood over him. The duo - practically naked, completely terrified, and utterly exhausted - came to a wordless accord. With a few quick motions Andrew was back past the barrier and Lucas was tossed inside the shelter.

Still sitting, Andrew flashed Millie a heavy smile, “Awful kin-”.

Millie barked out, “This ain't a suicide.” as she tossed Paul’s lanyard at Andrew, who caught it out of the air, “We’re going back.”

Life, tinged with mania, returned to Andrew’s eyes. With practiced precision, he scooped Millie up into a fireman’s carry as he vaulted to his feet.

“Hold on.”

Hands still full Millie scrabbled for a grip until she remembered the bag still dangling around her transport’s shoulders - slipping the go set into it as he took off at a run. Barely able to keep her balance on Andrew’s shoulders as she bounced with the pace he was hitting, she registered the shelter’s remaining occupants watching them dash towards their doom. A distant twinge of embarrassment tightened her stomach as she recalled the state of their ‘dress’. This was swiftly replaced with surprise, recrimination, and even a bit of selfish gratitude as a pale-faced Paul, legs pumping in an ambitious pursuit, dashed after them.

“Update: Thirty seconds until the surface of your planet is rendered uninhabitable. Please proceed to an emergency shelter. Emergency shelters will relocate in eighteen seconds.”

No longer having to exert everything towards flight Millie was free to take in the violence and chaos that surrounded them. There were so many bodies, it felt bizarre that she hadn’t registered them before.They were almost all victims of the explosions wrought by the Chichen Itza’s appearance, sprawled across the floor like broken dolls discarded by a capricious child. A couple closer to the Chichen Itzas were in far more gruesome condition: the putrid gobbets that remained of their innards spilling across the cement from clean horizontal amputations.

But more so than the gore, Millie was struck by the breadth of human despair. All about were scattered survivors: many fled or sought mundane shelter, others, frozen, looked toward the sky, a few even knelt in prayer. A family huddled in a car, simply wishing to be together at the end. She was a little surprised to find no one abandoning themselves to desperate debauchery, but maybe the offal was putting off the local hedonists.

It was getting hotter, much hotter - the air was thickening, sitting like burning coal in the lungs. Distantly, Millie glimpsed portions of the tallest skyscrapers that remained breaking off and floating away into space. Andrew’s gasps became wheezes, and Millie watched Paul start to pass out on his feet. It was her turn to urge them on, she screamed every sort of motivation she could think of; praise, threats, and promises. Something, at least, managed to keep them going.

The Chichen Itza vanished with a loud sucking pop, followed swiftly by a hot gust rushing to fill the sudden void. The force of it threatened to blow them off their feet; Paul grabbed Millie’s outstretched arm and Andrew the handle of the door - they weren’t done. The voice, calm and cold, started a countdown. At this point it could only qualify as torture.

It took Andrew two swipes of the security card to unlock the door. Nine. Half as alive as when they’d rushed out barely two minutes ago, they were rushing back in. Eight. Millie allowed herself a glance, perhaps her last, at the sky. A blunder.

The sun had shattered like an egg, white-hot yolk flowering from the cracks. The wound behind it disgorged a shimmering wave of force which carried a smaller sun, yellow-white, pursued by… something. It dwarfed the new sun as It reached towards it. That’s all Millie could comprehend - there were no words: Its shape impossible, Its features beyond anything Millie’s straining consciousness could describe. Whatever else filled the heavens at that moment, Millie could not know. Thought ceased.

Seven.

Six.

A familiar voice, loud but so very far away.

“Millie! WAKE UP!”

Five.

Sensation returned: The touch of skin, the scent of ozone, the taste of copper.

“Plan! Please tell me you had a plan!?” Paul knelt in front of her, why was he so frightened?

Four.

Millie blinked, looked around. They were in a hall, she saw a plaque that read “Morgue”. Right, line three - a sharp one, but the only possible win. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt like a dead slug rotting in her mouth, all that came out was an incoherent mumble. Three. She raised a shaky finger towards the plaque; difficult, so difficult, but she managed it.

Two.

“Morgue!” Cried Paul, and Millie felt herself start to move again. How? Was someone carrying her - carrying her downstairs? Right. Right - the line.

One.

“Memories for shelter. Secure this place against whatever’s happening. Enough for us to survive.”

“Exchange request: Accepted. Acquisition request for: Milicent Armstrong, memories. Grant access: Yes/No?”

Zero: Silence. Burning. Freezing. Suffocating.

“Yes. Choke on ‘em.”

Darkness.