Jack slipped into the room after the others, hanging back slightly, but keeping them in sight. The party was at its peak, and the crowd was crushing in on them. They wound their way through the throng of party-goers, Chris at the front, bulldozing his way through. They reached the bar, and Chris slumped down on a stool, grinning. Sam and Ben sat too, and then I joined him.
Thing with the apocalypse, it always starts slow. It begins with the microwave not working, and ends with war. That’s what happened to us. Twenty years later, and there’s almost nothing left. Just me, Culturists, Farmers and Crazies.
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