In some ways, it wasn't as bad as I thought I was going to be. There'd been a public transport strike in Sydney a few years back; during peak hour, the roads were clogged and everyone was honking and aggravated. The streets around us looked a bit like that now - cars bumper to bumper, people yelling at each other and revving their engines pointlessly. There were people wandering the footpaths, some crying, some running, most talking feverishly into their phones, the invisible countdown hanging over everyone.

But the sky was terrifying. With our office so close to Sydney Airport, we were used to hearing planes coming in to land, but nothing like this. The air was filled with a constant roar as if a giant bonfire was burning, and planes of all sizes hung around us. I'd read somewhere that a plane landed every 90 seconds at major airports, but I watched at least three planes in a minute hurtle towards the runways, desperate to get wheels on the tarmac. Others circled in tight loops, waiting their turn anxiously, reluctant to come too close to the land and hovering over the ocean, just in case.

At least ten helicopters buzzed to the ground. Some lurked over the city, a few fleeing south and north, other medical choppers skimming low, searching for emergencies. One passed directly overhead, causing the three of us to duck as immense loud speakers bellowed, "It is safest to stay inside. Food and water will be available at Olympic Park. Looters will be prosecuted. Emergency management protocols have now been enacted."

Rueben shook himself, as if trying to wake from a dream. "My car is over there. Do you want a lift to the warehouse?"

"No," I murmured, struggling to focus, feeling the weight of this hour in history. "It's the wrong way, and you'll struggle to get to Coogee as it is. We'll walk."

"I will be back," he said, reaching for my shoulder hesitantly. "Please wait for me."

My needy single self cried, Forever, you sort-of-attractive-man I just met! I managed a toned-down response. "Until two."

He nodded, jaw squared. "See you soon."

Simon and I watched him cross the road and slide into an Audi. He pulled the car into the traffic stream that inched along, and I felt a pang that the last time possibly ever that he'd get a chance to drive such a gorgeous vehicle, he'd be doing five k's an hour.

What else would we miss? Cars, of course. What about lifts? People on the fiftieth floor of an apartment building, having to relocate from the sheer logistics. Electric toothbrushes. Vines. PlayStations. Hair straighteners. I always let my hair dry naturally, but someone like Nev would be in for very nasty shock the next time they showered.

Showers. Omg. Hot water was out – would pump systems still work? I wasn't a plumber, and I had no idea whether water would still run when everything else didn't. What did that mean for washing clothes? For drinking water?

Overwhelmed, I turned to Simon. "We have to get moving. If I keep standing here, I'm going to freak out."

I walked off in the direction of the camping warehouse, with Simon grumbling behind me. "No one said there would be walking..."

"We're literally cycling to Melbourne, and you're bitching about walking twenty minutes to the shops?" I sassed.

But ten minutes later, I wasn't feeling very sassy. My boots were not made for walking, and they cut into my heels with every step, the balls of my feet in agony. My thighs rubbed together, sweating beneath the non-breathable fabric of my suck-in panties, and my long shirt kept tucking itself between my legs and pulling my neck forward.

Simon had been observing my struggles, in silence and in judgement. "Maybe you can get some clothes from the store that aren't completely impractical," he said, looking smug in his regular uniform of jeans and sneakers.

I didn't bother responding. It was a good idea though. I'd been rapidly compiling a list of stuff to buy on my phone, but I paused to send an urgent text to Nev: Pack some comfy clothes for me from my room!!! I could pick up some footwear and other outdoorsy gear at the warehouse, since I didn't own anything even vaguely suitable to wear for a cross-country bike-ride/sail/god-knows-what-else.

In my head, I caught a vision of my future self: cruising into my brother's farm on a shiny bicycle, my thighs toned, my belly flat, and my hair catching in the wind. My skin glows with health as I run towards Dean, and he says, "God, baby girl, you look incredible..."

A large belch interrupted my reverie. Simon was capping his empty water bottle and tossing it in a curb side garbage can. "Must get a refill..." he muttered, brightening when he saw the large bottle shop sign appearing on the horizon. "That place is next door to the outdoors joint. Perfect."

"Simon..." I hesitated. Simon was touchy about his drinking at the best of times, and this definitely didn't qualify for anything close to best. I tried an empathetic tact. "You know, I'm actually looking forward to finding a new me on the road. I know that I don't prioritise my health the way I should, and now, I'll have to."

"Good for you," he said sunnily.

"And maybe that's something you might think about too?"

"Nope." He turned his age-pitted face to the sky. "I'm already who I want to be. A high-functioning alcoholic."

Now I was irritated. I'd heard this justification before, that he still functioned while drinking – functioned better because of drinking. Maybe I could appeal to his practical side. "Listen, everything we need, we'll have to carry with us. We may not have room for extra bottles that aren't filled with water."

"Actually, in a world where money and gold holds no value, alcohol will become one of societies best bartering tools. Helps you forget your troubles and holds medicinal value. Easy to transport, easy to trade."

"There's no way that's true."

"Google it," he said daringly, knowing that I couldn't resist.

Sure enough, three results all confirmed Simon's theory; beer economy was totally a thing in a post-apocalyptic world. With a sigh, I slid my phone into my pocket. "How are we going to solve our arguments without the Googles?" I reflected.

"With rocks," said Simon, his voice steely.

The warm spring sun danced on our shoulders as we turned the corner into the homewares shopping complex. The chaos we'd seen so far had been contained to the street and the sky; here, it was rampant and unbridled.

The shopping complex was crowded with people and vehicles, screams and yells the soundtrack, breaking glass and car door slams for accents. The electronics store had been the hardest hit; people ran in and out of the sliding doors, carrying Apple product bags, wide-screen TVs, laptops and game consoles.

"I wonder how many of those products were paid for."

"I wonder if any of those idiots realise all of those devices are about to turn into expensive paperweights," said Simon. "Come on."

The outdoors warehouse sat tucked at the back of the complex as if it was trying to hide – a mental picture helped by the camouflage paint covering the exterior. Unlike the electronics store, the furniture place and the bottle shop, there appeared to be no one inside.

Simon held the door for me, and we wandered in. "Hello?" My voice rebounded off the bare metal ceiling high above our heads. No one at the registers. Dad-rock played from hidden speakers. "Hey, are you guys open?"

Faint grunts caught our attention. "Stay behind me," said Simon, gallant and gruff. We edged our way down the ski gear aisle, following the soft sounds to the inflatable mattress section.

Two staff members were interlocked on an InflatorRaptor 3000, which according to the sign, was the best blow up mattress money could buy. I was more distracted by the doggy-style sex happening on the mattress that the combination of memory foam and 3000 individual air cells inside it.

"Oi!" Simon yelled, and I expected the young people to bolt upright.

Instead, they slowed but didn't stop. The girl, her camo singlet dangerously low around her cleavage, said, "Hey guys. Don't mind us. Carpe diem, you know?"

Her co-worker gripped her hips tighter, grinning like he couldn't believe his luck. To be honest, neither could I. She was several Tinder castes above him. "Grab what you need, and God bless."

A rumble of dissent began in Simon's chest, but the pair had already resumed their thrusting, and we didn't have time to waste. "Come on," I said. "Grab a trolley."

I'd always considered myself a good shopper; I compared prices, weighed quality against quantity, didn't waste time or get distracted. This was different. This was the most important shop of my life, and I fought paralysis as I tugged my own trolley free from the line.

"I've sent you a list, all the stuff Google says you'll need if civilisation fails. I can't believe the crazy people who made those websites turned out to be right." I said, pulling my phone out. "Grab what you can, then we'll finish with the bikes."

It took twenty minutes; like playing beat-the-bomb for real, we raced from aisle to aisle, loading up with backpacks, water purifying tablets, canned and dehydrated food. I wasn't sure if a gas burner would still work but we took one anyway, and so many boxes of matches. Tarps, first aid kits, bug spray. Sleeping bags and tents – my searches indicated that one-person tents were lightest and easiest to carry, so I grabbed five, and a two-person tent for Rueben and his girl. You're welcome, Mischa.

"Please, don't let me have forgotten anything..." I hurried back to the air mattresses, finding the section now empty, thank god, and chose lightweight sleeping rolls. Next, towels, soap, toilet paper. By sheer fluke, I passed the women's clothing section on the way to the registers and remembered to grab a pair of soft leather shoes, thick socks, cargo pants, a merino sweater, and thermal underwear. When I noticed weather-proof jackets in bright colours, I guessed at sizes and picked one up for each person. Six hats. Sunscreen.

A glint of metal caught my eye and I turned towards a display rack filled with items I never would have dreamed of purchasing when I'd woken up that morning. Weapons. Every search I'd seen so far had advocated the need for arms when civilisation fell – hell, even my mum had mentioned guns. Shuddering, I analysed the offerings before snatching up two items and hiding them at the bottom of my pile.

"Let's do the bikes now," I head Simon holler. My trolley awkward and full, I manoeuvred in his direction.

"God, I can barely push this stuff in a trolley. How are we going to carry it all on the road?"

"With six of those." Simon pointed at line of green bike trailers, which looked like small, covered pods on wheels. "Here, choose bikes for you and Neveah. I'll pick for Bailey." The male store clerk wandered past, a slightly dazed grin on his face. "Hey, you! Help us hook these trailers up, kid."

His acne-pocked face creased. "Uh, we're not supposed to sell display bikes. You're meant to buy them in a box and put them together yourself."

Simon bellowed in laughter. "Buddy, I just caught you stuffing it in little missy over there on display stock. Let's agree that you're not exactly enforcing company policy today."

Everything finally organised, we dragged it in loads to the registers, leaning the bikes haphazardly against one another. "I'll pay for this on my card," I said, grimacing.

"Dude," said our helpful shop clerk, "I don't think head office is going to send the cops after you if you just take the stuff and go."

"No." Adamant, I waved my card at him, gesturing with it as I spoke. "Society isn't about having lights or cars. Society is people. We are the ones who must hold ourselves to account, to be enlightened in a dark world. If we steal from this place, we're looters. Plus this might be the last purchase I ever make using my card. I want to do it."

Simon nodded his approval, which I might have ruined by saying, "Besides, that money is for my rent, and I don't think PayPal is going to be operational when the 30th rolls around this month."

The clerk swiped my card. "Uh... It says, 'insufficient funds.'"

"Oh. Shit."

With a weak smile, the clerk typed on his screen. "There. I gave you my company discount – 40% off. Try again, maybe?"

This time, the sale processed. "Thanks, man."

"You're welcome."

A voice hailed him from the beanbag aisle. "Oh, Davo! I'm ready to go again if you are!"

"Gotta run," said Davo, our clerk and hero. He scampered, undoing his belt as he ran.

"We should get on the other side of the electric doors," I said, pushing the trolley with my elbows while dragging a bike. "When the power goes, they may not open again."

"Also, that," said Simon, indicating with his eyebrows to the grunts and squeals emanating from the direction of the beanbags.

On our way out, we passed a book rack. "Ha," said Simon humourlessly, flipping a book to show me its cover.

"What To Do When The World Ends," I read. "That's apt."

Simon added the book to his pile, along with some other titles. He caught my questioning stare. "What? I don't care about enlightenment and society. Consciences are for people who aren't living in the dark ages."

Outside, we hid the gear and ourselves behind a low wall next to the carpark. Simon left to 'check out' the bottle shop, which looked like an old-timey Western salon, with people being thrown out windows and bottles being smashed. Since dissuading him would have been pointless and I knew he could fend for himself, I slid to the ground and pulled out my phone for the last time.

What should my last ever interaction on my phone be? A final Insta session, or check in on Twitter? 9Gag might be good for hilariously irreverent memes about Armageddon, or maybe I should send a Facebook shout-out to old school mates and my weird cousins.

Instead, I sent my mum and dad a text to tell them I loved them and I was on my way, and settled on a Google search – and from the autofill that popped up, I clearly wasn't the only person looking for comfort in Google's dying arms.

How to...

...Tell someone you love them before the world ends

...Find someone without GPS

...Travel overseas without power

...Survive

I asked a simple question: How to get through this.

Google replied, using quotes with sunset backgrounds. "If you're going through hell, just keep going. Tough times don't last: tough people do."

The last image I ever saw on my phone was a simple quote that felt like it was written for me.

"Just for the record, darling – not all positive change feels positive in the beginning."

I smiled, the comforting weight of my phone in my hand, the sun shining - and just for a beat, it felt like everything was going to be okay.

Then the nanobots arrived.

The world is ending and you have time to collect any three items to help you survive - what do you grab? I struggle with this question so much, because I can't even walk out my front door without myriad items involved, from toothpaste to tampons. Having said that, I'd choose a book on survival, a tent, and a hunting knife. Leave yours in the comments :)

I hope you like this new tale as much as I'm enjoying writing it - I wrote this chapter on my bus commute to and from work today, hunched up in my seat and oblivious to anything for two hours except the words on my screen. Please vote if you'd like to read more, and consider adding the title to one of your reading lists.

Much love, Kate