Apocalypse: Last Production

Lunch was a pot of soup.Diane set the pot down on the table with a dull thud of metal against wood.The soup was murky, gray-tinged, a thin film of motor oil floating on top.The water came from a drainage ditch in the basement — Gerald Grant said it ran off from the factory floors above, that it wouldn't kill anyone.Three years in, we'd drunk plenty of things that wouldn't kill us."Go easy. Make it last."Diane stirred the pot with a ladle. Metal scraped against metal at the bottom, a grating, gritty sound.Today, I stared at the film of oil on the surface of my bowl, my throat tightening.What drainage ditch could keep producing water for three straight years — an endless supply, enough for a full pot every single meal?I set my bowl down on the table.Beside me, Jake set his down too, a little too loudly.His mouth opened. The first syllable was already rising in his throat.I pinned his foot under the table with mine.He turned to look at me. I didn't look back.I

Chunks of concrete piled at my feet, dust still hanging in the air.I stepped over the threshold.The moment my shoe hit the ground, the sole didn't melt.The air didn't scorch my throat.The hallway beyond was white. The walls were cool.Jake followed behind me, reached out, and pressed his fingers to the wall."It's cold."Three years since he'd touched anything cold.He pressed his whole palm flat against it and just stood there, not moving.At the end of the hallway was a glass door, a snake emblem set into the wall above the handle. Platinum. Not branded — inlaid. The same coiled shape as the snake on the boxes, biting its own tail.Gerald stared at it for a long moment. His eyes were still red-rimmed, and the last words he'd spoken still hadn't fully cleared his throat.Then he pushed the door open and walked through first.Inside was an entire wall of monitors.Dozens of screens, arranged edge to edge, a camera angle for every corner.The kitchen. The bunks. The ha

There was no excitement in it now."I got eliminated earliest in Season 3. The audience vote drove my numbers to the top, and the show announced I'd 'died of dehydration.'"In reality, two people carried me out, gave me a change of clothes, and let me watch the rest of that season play out from backstage."After it wrapped, the showrunner came over and told me I could come back next season — playing a technician, in charge of handing out props."He looked at me, the corner of his mouth twitching."That temperature control module you held in your hands — I planted it."The ink-blue paint over the serial number — I painted that on."That first stripped wire in the crawlspace, the one you pulled loose — I ran that wire. Every single one of them."I stood at the bottom of that ladder for three years. Just waiting for that one second.""Which second?""The moment you touched that new wire, your fingers were shaking. I was down there watching your hand."He fell silent. After a mo