His wake up alarm sounded like police sirens blasting in his ear.

David didn’t open his eyes but reached a hand over toward his dresser to bat at his phone. Silence the blasted alarm. Wasn’t it Saturday? He could sleep today. Track season officially ended yesterday, though he’d been out for the last two weeks with shin splints.

“You’re only a sophomore,” Coach had said. “There’s always next year.”

The smell of eggs cooking filled his room. His mom must be up.

He grabbed his phone. Seven in the morning. He pinched the side buttons, but the siren only grew louder, more piercing.

“Shut up!” he grumbled, tossing the phone at the beanbag chair in the middle of his room.

A low rumble reverberated through the walls of his bedroom. David blinked groggily and sat up as the sleep fog cleared from his brain. What the—?

The siren wasn’t coming from his phone.

The rumbling grew louder, more insistent, and was accompanied by a strange, crackling sound.

His bedroom door burst open, and his mom ran in. “David! David, wake up, we have to go—we have to go now!”

“Now?” He swung his legs over the side of his bed, his addled mind tripping in confusion. “What’s happening?”

The house shook again, and a noise like a thunderclap, or like a giant egg cracking, had him turning from his mom to the window.

His eyes widened in shock at the sight before him. The sky, usually a soft gradient of dawn colors at this hour over the gentle rolling hills of Cody, Wyoming, was an angry, swirling mass of dark gray and black. A colossal plume of ash and smoke rose rapidly in the west, its base glowing ominously with bursts of fiery orange. Streaks of lightning crackled within the plume, illuminating it in brief, terrifying flashes.

The sound was deafening now—a continuous, roaring cacophony that vibrated through every fiber of his being. It was like nothing David had ever heard, a monstrous blend of thunder, explosions, and the grinding, furious noise of the earth itself. He felt the tremors beneath his feet, each one stronger than the last, shaking the floor of his bedroom.

“Mom!” he shouted.

“I know!” she said. “Dad’s got Grace, the car is running, we have to leave!”

He grabbed his phone and jammed his feet into his running shoes, turning away from the window to follow his mom.

But he couldn’t help one more glance.

The ash plume was expanding, darkening the sky as it grew. The sun, hidden behind the thick cloud, cast an eerie twilight over the mountains. Ash began to fall like snow, a soft, persistent patter that coated the grass, the trees, and the rooftops in a thick layer of gray.

In the distance, he saw the flicker of lights—electrical discharges illuminating the darkening landscape.

His mom’s fingers slid around his wrist, and he turned and ran with her, through the house as the ground shook and the roar of the eruption filled his ears.

***

This is what the end of the world looks like.

The thought ran through David’s mind as he trudged along next to his father and sister, keeping pace with hundreds of other survivors who had escaped the wrath of Yellowstone.

Just fourteen days ago.

They’d made it just over a thousand miles before the gas stations ran out of fuel.

It hadn’t been far enough.

They’d crossed into Kentucky two days ago, but it didn’t look any different than Wyoming. Any different than Missouri four days before that. The devastation reached its fingers out here as well. The volcanic eruption had come out of nowhere, shattering the land and blanketing everything in ash. The sky was a dusky gray, the only color in this desolate landscape.

Ash rained down from the sky, a silent, relentless shroud that smothered everything in its suffocating grip. Everywhere David looked, he saw the haggard figures of those who had survived. The smell of sulfur and smoke lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the chaos and destruction that had been unleashed upon the world.

David opened his bag and pulled out a granola bar. Three days ago the group had run into a military unit handing out bags of food, urging them to keep going.

“We’re setting up camps in the south,” they’d said. “We’ll have shelter, food, everything you need until we can get back on our feet.”

So much optimism.

David didn’t feel it.

But he hadn’t turned down the bag of supplies.

He counted the bars he had left. Five. That was it.

He dropped the bar back into his bag.

David's feet dragged through the ash like freshly fallen snow, leaving deep imprints behind. The horizon was filled with ruins of buildings and broken trees, the sky a gloomy mix of gray and red as the sun attempted to peek through.

East. Go east. And then south. Get to Georgia, Alabama, Florida.

That’s what everyone around him said. Like somewhere magical and untouched by the ash existed if they just went far enough.

The gray sky seemed to press down, suffocating the earth below. His home, his entire way of life had been taken from him in an instant. He couldn't help but feel a sense of hopelessness and despair wash over him.

Don’t think about what you’ve lost.

The fabric covering his mouth was stained with soot and sweat. He trudged on, his mind numb and his body achingly tired.

Thirteen days of walking.

A river flowed just down the hill. The dam upstream kept it to a trickle. The soldiers standing by it handed out bags of MREs to anyone who ventured close.

“This hydraulic power is our future,” the kid in camo said, catching David’s eye as they passed. “Already there’s talk of a filtration system to clean the water as it goes downstream.”

“Keep going,” a thicker man with buzzed gray hair said. “We’re prepared for this. We’ve got it under control.”

David didn’t answer. But he accepted the rations and added them to the granola bars.

A few people trekked down to see if the water was good. It would be full of ash, but a good filtration system would clean it.

His family didn’t have one. They’d refilled their waters at the natural spring the day before. It might taste funny, but it hadn’t killed them.

Yet.

Grace stumbled beside him. Exhaustion etched her pale face, her eyes dull. Tracks from recent tears left lines through the soot smeared across her cheeks. Her hair, usually cascading in golden curls, now hung limp and dirty around her face. Her small hand was tightly clasped in his own, her fingers coated with a layer of ash. She sucked in a breath, the dirty fabric pressing against her mouth, and then wheezed, bending over and clutching her chest as she coughed.

David’s heart constricted. They couldn’t lose her too.

"Keep moving," his father urged, his voice a hoarse whisper amidst the muffled cries and coughs of the fleeing crowd.

David jerked his head in a sharp nod.

"Grace, we're going to make it," he said, though the words sounded as frail as the hope they tried to conjure.

"David?"

Her whisper barely reached his ears. He squeezed her hand, wishing he could shield her from the reality that had become their existence. "Yes, Gracie?"

"Mom would be proud of us, right?"

A shard of ice lodged in his throat. He swallowed hard. “Yes. She would be.”

He doubted Grace heard his response, though. She stopped walking as another violent cough racked her small frame. He exchanged a glance with their father, finding the same worry etched into his dad’s features.

"Can you walk, sweetheart?" Dad asked, voice edged with urgency.

"Trying," Grace managed between coughs.

“Come on.” Dad bent and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. “Take a little break. Just for a minute.”

Grace didn’t argue. She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, resting.

The ground cracked beneath his feet, fissures forming like a spiderweb. The trees swayed wildly, leaves and branches thrashing about in an uncontrolled dance. David's feet sank into the newly formed cracks, sending plumes of ash into the air as he struggled to regain his balance. His dad’s body crumpled against the ground, a cloud of gray dust enveloping him and Grace.