“Keep the doors locked,” he says calmly. “Just drive.”

The people, who are mostly bathed in shadow, are yelling angrily and running up to the car. They bang their fists against the windows. Even though I can’t make out one single discernable statement, it sounds to me like they’re saying, “We’re taking your car and we’re not giving it back.”

Just a guess.

“Alright, punch it!” Chris commands. “Right now.”

“I am!” I yell, coiled tight. I hit the accelerator and flip a U-turn, startled out when one of the people in the mob grabs onto the door handle and holds on as we gain speed. His shoes are scraping against the pavement.

“Don’t stop,” Chris warns. “That’s what he wants you to do.”

I look over my left shoulder and see a flash of a young man wearing a beanie in the window. His eyes are wild, desperate. And then he lets go. I hear something smack against the road. I feel bile rising in the back of my throat and urge to to stop, go back, and help him is overwhelming.

“Don’t do it,” Chris says, moving closer. There is no center console so he is right beside me. “That’s a mob out there. People are going to act like this for a long time until the power comes back on. They’ll take what you have if they can and leave you to die.”

I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. Tears spring up in my eyes. Stupid, stupid tears. “Why?” I manage to get out.

Chris studies my profile in the dark cab. Thinking.

“Because civilization as we know it is gone,” he says at last.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I’m a realist. Most people would say that’s the same thing as being a pessimist, but it’s not. Really. I just look at something and don’t expect anything great to come of it. I’m just that way. If you hope for something good, you’re going to be disappointed. I side with reality and most of the time we get along just fine.

So naturally the end of the world as we know it doesn’t come as a complete shock to me, although it does put a serious question mark on whether or not I’ll be able to go bowling next Tuesday.

“So who do you think is behind this?” I ask Chris.

It’s about four in the morning. We have tried five different roads that lead out of Los Angeles. All of them have been blocked with mobs waiting to hijack working cars. Right now we’re trying the sixth route, and pretty soon I’m going to have to refill the gas tank.

“I heard something about the Chinese on the radio before we lost the signal,” I continue, yawning. “I bet they did it.”

“I don’t know.” Chris props his boot up on the dashboard. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why? Is there a secret love fest between China and America I don’t know about?”

“Look, I was in the military for nine years,” he replies. “I’ve seen a lot of different enemies of the United States around the world. I don’t think China is behind this.”

“Then who is?” I say, exasperated. “What if it’s not an attack? What if it’s just an accident?”

“You seriously think an electromagnetic pulse is an accident?” Chris chuckles. “Yeah, it could have been caused by a solar flare, but I doubt it.”

I snort.

“You don’t know any more than I do,” I say. “You’re just spit balling.”

“Who isn’t?” He looks out the window, staring into the distance. “This could be more widespread than we think. What if LA wasn’t the only city hit with this thing?”

I shiver.

“Then there’s no place to escape to.”

“Nah.” Chris turns back towards me. “This is the last route out of here. If it’s blocked…” He lets the sentence hang in the air between us. People are starting to act like maniacal psychopaths on the streets. It’s not safe to go back into the city. If there were any working cars, the freeways would be jammed to full capacity.

“Then what?” I ask, voicing our twin concerns.

“Then we find another way.”

I yawn again, feeling exhausted. This road is a two-lane highway that was probably built during the Babylonian Empire. It’s that outdated. It winds throughout the little hills that define Hollywood, dodging the freeways and dipping close to residential areas. Off in the distance there are sparks of orange light, signifying fires, explosions and the like.

“I haven’t seen any planes for a while,” I mutter.

“Most modern passenger planes have faraday cages,” Chris replies. “You know. They’re protected from EMPs.”

“Then what about the ones that fell out of the sky in Culver City?” I ask. “Those thing were like bombs.”

“They obviously weren’t protected well enough.” Chris stretches. “I can drive. You look like you’re going to fall asleep any second.”

“I probably am.”

“I’ll take over.”

“Sorry. Nobody drives the Mustang but me.”

Chris shakes his head. After another forty-five minutes we reach the other side of the hills, signifying the break out of Hollywood. I roll to a stop at the top of a rise, looking down over the beginning of the small mountain range separating Southern California from the rest of the state: Total darkness.

I just stare at it, my heart starting to race in my chest.

Who knows what’s out there? The freeway is probably jammed with a thousand accidents. Evacuees will be attempting to find transportation.

“Cassie?” Chris says.

I snap out of it.

“Yeah?” I reply, shaky. “I’m fine.”

But I’m so not. The world is coming to an end.

Who could be fine with that?

When late morning hits, I fall asleep at the wheel.  We’ve spent the last three hours navigating some old halfway abandoned roads in the middle of nowhere in order to avoid jammed freeways and populated areas. It was a difficult thing to do, since the maps I have in the car aren’t specific when it comes to the back roads. So by the time the sun is getting warm enough to make me sleepy, I just can’t take it anymore.

My head lolls forward and hits the steering wheel. The next thing I know the whole car is jerking to the left and Chris’s hands are taking the controls as I come to my senses.

I choke on a gaspafter I realize what’s happened. Early morning sunlight is breaking over the road. It’s the kind of lighting that naturally puts you to sleep. I jerk backwards and Chris slams on the brakes, pulling the car to the side of the road.

Chris seems to realize that he’s almost sitting on top of me and draws back, flushing. “Let me drive,” is all he says. No chastisement. No lecture on how falling asleep at the wheel is worse than drinking a Frappuccino before bedtime.

As for me, my heart is beating out of my chest. I think I ruptured my nervous system. I just nod, mumbling something about having to use the restroom, and open the driver door. The air is crisp and cutting. Chris walks around the back of the car and, for the first time, I see my new traveling companion in daylight.

His skin is tanned, a thin scar trails from the inside of his wrist to his elbow. His eyes are green — electric green. I stand and stare at him for a full ten seconds with my mouth open like an idiot before realizing that he’s doing the exact same thing.

And the corner of his mouth is quirking upwards. My hands automatically fly to my face, trying to hide the blush creeping across my cheeks.

Being pale does little to hide emotions.

 “It’s all yours,” I say, avoiding eye contact. “But if you crash or scratch her, I’ll shoot you.”

Placing his hand on the door above my head, he replies, “I’ll remember that.”

For one intense moment we lock gazes. I feel like a two-ton weight is dropped on my chest, unable to breathe, unable to move. Trapped between the car door and his body.

But I’m not, so I exhale and step away.

“I have to pee,” I say quickly.

In retrospect I realize that probably wasn’t the most seductive thing to say after a hot staring contest. But hey. The truth is the truth.