Atlas’s mouth opened slightly, as if to say something, but only little peeps of what might’ve been words came out. His eyes were wide in disbelief, and for a moment, he seemed frozen in time. Every noise became a distant hum, and he could only hear the echo of the insult ringing in his ears. 

  A hot flush crept up his neck as he stood there, dumbfounded. “I.. I uh. Why don’t we get that arm fixed up.” Atlas stammered, trying to ignore what he had said, still somewhat confused.

   Ivory grabbed Atlas’ hand and helped himself down. The rest of the walk to the old rusted up convenience store was filled with an uncomfortable silence. I’d say that the boys were tense but that means plural and it was mainly     

   Atlas since Ivory didn’t really seem to give a single shit. 

  “Hey,  you got water?” Ivory dragged out his words tiredly. “Uh… I  think the store might have some?’ “Yea sure I’ll drink some bottled water that will give you meningitis and Sepsis.” “Se…Seps-” “It’s a disease, dumbass. Jeez, haven't people taught you this in what, 1st grade? Board of Education my ass.”  

Something you probably didn’t know was Atlas was homeschooled and Ivory really despises society(and with a repulsive gut wrenching type of despise.) Because of Atlas’s home school situation he decided not to say anything until they came across the store. 

   The store, which would’ve been a five minute walk turned into ten minutes of struggling with the whole possibly broken arm and leg problem, was now in front of the duo. 

   Atlas pushed the door to the convenience store open with his open arm, the rusted hinges letting out a loud, creaking groan that echoed far too much for comfort. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, as if expecting to see a mob of shambling corpses emerging from the foggy street behind them. Ivory, on the other hand, strolled inside without a care, his hands stuffed into his pockets like they weren’t in the middle of the apocalypse.

   “Careful,” Atlas muttered, stepping in cautiously, his eyes scanning the dimly lit aisles. Broken glass crunched beneath his sneakers, and the smell of mildew mixed with something metallic and sour filled the air. 

 

  “I’m always careful,” Ivory replied, though his tone dripped with sarcasm. He walked toward a cooler with shattered glass doors, glancing down at the empty shelves inside. “No water here. Guess I’ll just have to die of dehydration. What a tragedy.”

   Atlas ignored him, his heart thudding in his chest. Something about the store felt... off. The silence wasn’t just heavy; it was suffocating. He could feel it pressing down on him, his instincts screaming that they weren’t alone.

 

  “Let’s grab what we can and get out,” Atlas said, keeping his voice low. He moved toward the counter, hoping to find a first-aid kit or something useful to splint Ivory’s arm.

   Ivory didn’t respond, but Atlas could hear him rifling through shelves further down the aisle. The sound was oddly sharp against the eerie quiet. As Atlas reached behind the counter, his fingers brushed something cold and metallic. A wave of relief washed over him as he pulled out a small, dented first-aid box.

But then he froze.

 

  Underneath the counter, nestled against the baseboard, was a hand-scrawled note pinned to the wood with a knife. The paper was yellowed and damp, the ink smeared but still legible.

   “Don’t stay here after dark. They come when the lights go out.”

   Atlas’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at the note, his mind racing. Who had left it? And more importantly, who—or what—were they? “Hey, Atlas,” Ivory called out, startling him. “Look at this.”

 

  Atlas turned to see Ivory holding something up—a dusty old radio. Its casing was cracked, and it looked like it hadn’t been touched in years, but when Ivory twisted the dial, static crackled faintly to life.

   “Think it still works?” Ivory asked, raising an eyebrow.

   Before Atlas could answer, the static shifted. A voice, faint and distorted, broke through.

  

 “...shelter… horde... two miles west… repeat, do not stay… they’re watching…”

 

  The transmission fizzled, then cut out completely.

   Atlas stared at the radio in disbelief, the note still clutched in his hand.

   “I don’t like this,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “We need to go. Now.”

   Ivory smirked, though his eyes flicked toward the note in Atlas’s hand. “Relax, it’s just someone’s paranoid ramblings. Probably an old prank.” But as he spoke, the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead began to flicker. 

And then, in unison, all the lights went out.