Deep in the vehicle graveyard that was I-95 in New Jersey, a man in a tattered tuxedo gasps for air as he runs between long dead vehicles. He rests his back against a sedan with four flat tires. Shortly thereafter he hears the squeals of his pursuers. He wipes his right hand over his bald head, slick with perspiration. Then places the now sweat covered hand onto the door of the car. The squeals are getting closer now. The heat is sweltering this far south, and it must be going into late July.

Calendars have become meaningless since every day is now a fight for survival. No more three or five pm shows for him on the small stage at the Borgata. He now runs for his life every day for a chance at something to eat. Even clean water is hard to come by in a world that carried bottles of it everywhere just a few short months ago. One of his pursuers scrambled atop a car forty feet away. It was short haired and resembled a rat, only it was the size of a great Dane. Its legs were heavily muscled. The teeth on display were no longer for herbivores. They were jagged and misshapen. Something must have gone wrong during the mana mutation that created this beast. His rest was over. Getting to his feet quickly, he broke into a sprint. A new high pitched keening came from behind him. The sounds of half a dozen of those rat things started skittering across the top of the vehicles and along the asphalt.

He ran between two tractor trailers. One used to belong to the biggest online marketplace in the world before the internet stopped working. The other was a generic shipping crate container being hauled across country. At least that’s what he imagined. While absently thinking about the containers origins a box truck slid in front of him blocking off his exit. He almost slammed into it at full speed as the first of the fiends scrabbled around the front of the trucks passing right by their cabs. The wheels on these trucks were also flat and lower to the ground than average. He remembered driving passed these kind of trucks on his daily commutes to the casino. The beast slowed its pace realizing its prey had stopped running. It growled into the air as a few more arrived around it at the end of this makeshift canyon.

“CJ! Give me your damn hand,” hollered another man atop the box truck.

He was reaching down with one hand and CJ jumped up to grab it. The problem was CJ’s patent leather shoes had no grip on the side of the box truck which read, Snap on Tools. The first of the beasts realized he was about to lose his meal and ran forward no longer willing to approach slowly. As it lunged for CJ’s leg a shotgun blast echoed through the boxcar canyon from above. The creatures head blew apart in gory display of bone and flesh. The back of CJ’s jacket was covered in gore.

“Pull harder, damn it!” cried CJ to the person above him.

“Close the trap! We’ll make do with six today,” called another man on top of the amazon vehicle.

He held the smoking barrel of a sawed off shot gun. Standing a little over six feet and wide of shoulder. The man had raven dark hair and the beginnings of an epic beard and pale skin. Several other people with firearms leaned over the tops of the shipping containers and opened fire on the large rodents, splattering the truck canyon with gore.

“Next time run faster no phone. Maybe you should learn the floating rope trick,” said the man finally pulling CJ atop the box truck.

“Thanks,” panted CJ as he collapsed on his ass.

“Jerry, get the no phone safely back to the camp. He’s too weak to carry the meat but tell Wendy he’s earned his rations. We’ll clean up here,” said the man with the shotgun.

“Sure, thing skip,” replied Jerry hurrying CJ up to his feet.

A few hops down the cab of the truck later, CJ and Jerry were back on blacktop. They headed through a cleared section of I-95 to the spot they cross over into the Pine Barrens. It was the least populated area in New Jersey comprised of thick pine woods. The Kirkwood aquafer was the only place around you could get fresh water and it was controlled by Skipper and his goons. To Skippers credit, if you did your work, he didn’t have a problem with you. Those that saw the message during the now famous mana storm were given comfortable premium spots in his growing organization. Those considered no phones got the shit jobs, lodgings, and equipment.

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CJ was lost in thought on the walk back to the camp as he passed by all the trees and unfarmable land. About how this all started. He remembered getting up that day four months ago and getting ready for his three pm show.

“Strange lights have been seen in the sky above Antarctica. Scientists are baffled…” blabbed the tv in CJ’s living room.

CJ Thompson was a stage magician who had regular shows in a local casino. His apartment wasn’t large, but he had all the necessities. A flat screen tv in the living room along with a coffee table and couch. The floor was carpeted, and his kitchen had a fridge, stove, microwave, and sink. The cabinets held about two place settings worth of dishes. The food in the white paneled refrigerator was sparse. A few cans of soda, a frozen pizza in the freezer, and some bread. CJ was often comped a dinner meal from the casino. His bedroom held a full sized bed and two changes of sheets. There was a dresser with a mirror attached to it. The bathroom had matts and a shower curtain for the tub/ shower. The man lived with the basics just like any other bachelor.

CJ turned off the television and grabbed his tuxedo jacket. He planned to try out a new trick today where a smoke pellet would reveal a winning number that corresponded to one of the seats in the audience. That person would win one hundred dollars in chips they could use at the roulette table. It was part of management’s cross activity promotion. CJ said yes to the suggestion eagerly. Anything that put more assess in seats only helped him keep his job. If this job fell through, he was back to playing kids birthday parties on the weekend.

“Who am I kidding? I’ll probably have to do that to pay rent,” CJ said aloud before picking his smartphone up off the charger. He needed to go, or he was going to be late.

As CJ locked the door behind him, he felt hands grab him and spin him around. He was roughly slammed against the wall of the hallway dropping his phone. He looked up at the assailant and recognition dawned in his mind.

“Nice to see you Thompson. Do you have Skippers money?” asked Jerry.

Jerry was a small time thug. Broad of shoulder and dull of wits. He stood about five foot nine with shaggy brown hair and pale skin. Jerry had green eyes, but CJ always thought they were duller than most green eyed people he had met. He wore a red goose down jacket and jeans. On either side of him stood two other goons CJ didn’t recognize.

“Hey, its good to see you too, Jerry. Mind letting me go. I’m on my way to work to get that money for Skipper. No worries here. If I’m late I won’t have the money. You know how it is,” pleaded CJ.

“You think pulling a rabbit out of hat twice a day is gonna get you the ten G’s you owe Skip?” sneered Jerry.

“Woah, now hold on there. I only him five grand. I should be able to get the rest of that this week. No problem,” complained CJ.

“Five grand for Skipper, three grand for making me come out to this podunk berg to find you and two more for my boys,” replied Jerry as he pressed his forearm harder into CJ’s chest.

“I didn’t know you were a CPA,” quipped CJ through gritted teeth.

“If that’s the caliber of jokes in your show, I doubt you’ll have the money by this weekend. But I think you’ll need a little incentive,” said Jerry before nodding to the phone on the ground and then back at one of his goons.

No sooner said than done, one of the goons stomped down on his phone. CJ heard a horrendous cracking sound and a spark of electricity. He frowned at that. Jerry released him but not before jabbing his index finger in CJ’s face. Then everyone with a smartphone went ridged. They all moved as one lifting their phones to their faces. CJ could see down the hall as other people milled about, they all suddenly stopped where they were and lifted their phones to their faces. Blue light shone from every phone and the people holding them were entranced. CJ took this opportunity to run to the nearby stairwell and make his exit out of the building.

What he saw when he got outside was alarming. People everywhere were just standing in the middle of crosswalks looking at their phones. Cars were at full stops in front of green lights. Each window lit up with that same eerie blue light from their phones. As CJ got out from under the walkway that stretched across the street to the parking garage, he noticed a great wall of blue sweeping across the horizon. It scared the ever loving shit out of him. He ran toward the parking garage to find cover from whatever that was. CJ made it to his car and clicked on the key fob to unlock the door. Nothing happened. He slid the key from inside the fob out and struggled with the lock. When he got in the car and pushed the button, nothing happened. He just then noticed that the light didn’t come on when he opened the door.

“Holy shit! Is my battery dead? Now of all times?” CJ shouted.

That’s when the world turned blue around him, and all he could see was a grey slate hovering in front of his eyes. The only problem was, he couldn’t read the writing.

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