Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyers owns all rights - no copyright infringement intended. I also don't own any of the Saw movies or songs written by Cigarettes After Sex.

END OF US

You leapt from crumbling bridges watching cityscapes turn to dust
-Apocalypse, Cigarettes After Sex

(EPOV)

Sweat drips down into my eyes as I pump my legs faster and faster, new sneakers wet with blood and hugging my feet as they pound on the pavement with each step. The heavy duffel bag slung around my shoulders cuts into my side, making it difficult to catch a breath. My searching gaze catches a glimpse of a familiar red bridge and I urgently push my body quicker towards it. The metallic sound of gunfire from somewhere behind me echoes through my eardrums and fuels my desperate need for safety away from this fucking chaotic city.

Everything just happened so fast.

Like most of the people in San Francisco, I heard the stories but didn't believe them.

The mention of a deadly virus spreading from the heart of Argentina to surrounding countries wasn't taken seriously because most people, mainly individuals found in America, rejected the idea of it ever reaching the border. The United States stay shrouded in its bubble of safety while the extremely contagious illness that Argentinians deemed muerte negra -meaning black death- slaughtered its way through Bolivia and completely wiped out the population of Brazil before devouring Mexico whole in one, murderous gulp.

This new virus reached North America's doorstep within four days. Not many, including myself, realized just how gruesome the disease was, waving it off to be another swine-flu epidemic. Something that could and would solve itself with modern medicine.

That sort of thinking changed for everyone when a journalistic news station filmed a young woman on the side of the road in San Antonio, Texas - possibly the very same woman to spread it from Mexico to the states. At first all you see is the back of a girl's head as she writhes on the floor, face hidden behind messy and erratic blonde curls. And then as the camera zooms in, the girl shifts her head into view, shocking the rest of the world with the very first glimpse of muerte negra.

Black ooze drips from bottomless eye sockets where perhaps a pretty blue gaze should have been peering back instead. At first it looked like a rabid animal had bit mounds out of her face and left her to decay for several days in the texan heat. The only issue with that theory being the girl was alive not an hour before she was found. A gas station attendant confessed he saw her leave his store with a nosebleed, not thinking much of it, but admits he was mildly curious why the blood pouring out of her nostrils was as black as night. You can see it smeared on her face in the videos local new stations began airing, her empty eye sockets and lips layered with the same dark, sickening ooze. It even coats her neck and hair as some dribbles out of her ears onto golden colored locks.

Not once in my life had I ever seen anything so gruesome - and unfortunately I've seen all the Saw movies.

The media coverage in that town on that one girl was enough to send the entire United States into a panicked hysteria. This was not a form of swine-flu, but a cataclysm spreading with intent of human genocide. And at that point I think every person in America knew it. Riots formed across southern states, demanding the border be closed indefinitely as the disease began metastasizing from Texas to neighboring states. It was too late though as populated cities in the south were cleared out in just one day - Austin, Las Vegas, Santa Fe and Oklahoma City were the first to undergo failed quarantine procedures - and apparently everyone within those highly inhabited cities were pronounced dead on national news by that very night.

The world as we knew it spiraled into chaos. No one was safe from muerte negra.

And as it turns out, we weren't safe from ourselves either. On the second day the plague arrived on U.S. soil, massive riots bloomed across nearly every state, breaking their way through and tearing apart homes, businesses, orphanages - you name it - in desperation for supplies. People who weren't even infected were killed in cold blood for the things they had in their possession. It did not matter if you were a child or pregnant with one, if you had what they wanted, they would take it with force and murder anybody to refuse.

Though my body is warm with the energy I'm exerting, my blood runs cold as the gunshots behind me grow louder. My feet stumble but I regain my footing and push on. San Francisco went up in flames about an hour ago, every man in the city acting for himself when the news of the disease surpassing the borders of California went viral on social media websites.

That was the moment shit hit the fan in my small suburban neighborhood.

My parents had left two days ago for Sweden on a two-week vacation, leaving their seventeen year old kid alone in their giant house. It was supposed to be a kick-ass time; I was going to call up some buddies, maybe smoke some bud, definitely was gonna try to celebrate our upcoming year as seniors in high school in some form, preferably with alcohol. I was even teetering on inviting a girl over one of those nights to celebrate.

And once I was sure my parents were on the plane, I had grabbed my phone and was scrolling through my contacts with intent when the video of the curly-headed blonde on the television stopped me mid-swipe, her mangled face looping over and over again on the news. When the anchor lady explained that what the girl had was highly contagious and spreading quickly, I got my ass on the move.

I've seen enough movies to know how to prepare for an apocalypse and this seemed like one of those times. Staying here only meant death.

First though, I tried to call my parents. The line had gone straight to voicemail with every attempt. Frustrated that they were on a plane thousands of miles away and there was no way to contact them, I threw my phone onto the couch and stomped towards the garage. I'd try again later.

Inside the garage, I had found a hammer and a cordless, electric nail gun with three boxes of large nails - possible weapons to protect myself if I were forced to. Fear could make people crazy. Once I set them on the dining room table, I booked it up the stairs for a duffel bag, clothes, a sleeping bag, two towels, a flashlight, extra batteries, toothpaste and my toothbrush, along with the new sneakers my parents had gotten me before they left. I ran from room to room, grabbing random shit I think would help me in the long-run yet not slow me down. I took antibiotics and Vitamin C tablets from my mom's bathroom and grabbed a picture of the three of us from her dresser, stuffing it in my wallet on the way out. I had remembered she stowed an emergency kit underneath the stairs, and I rushed to that to see what was inside.

Gauze, medical tape, face masks, a fuck ton of band-aids, burn ointment, some more gauze, ibuprofen, and pretty much anything you could need in an emergency situation. She even put a needle and roll of suture thread inside of a baggie in the event of someone needing to be stitched up. Being married to a doctor can prepare you for the worst, I suppose.

I rounded up all my supplies to the dining room table, double checking I wasn't bringing things that were unnecessary for survival. I remember feeling a sinking pit in my stomach as the voice on the TV stated more and more people in Texas were being infected and dying at an increasingly fast rate. I promised myself I would leave the second muerta negra reached California. No way would I let myself be a sitting duck for some fucked up plague.

The next couple hours had gone by like a blur as I raided the pantry for non-perishable food. I had made a meticulous list so that the items I took with me would last more than a month. I grabbed exactly twenty packs of top ramen, fifteen granola bars, a jar of peanut butter, one box of saltine crackers, six cans of baked beans, a dozen miscellaneous soups, and ten canned fruits like crushed pineapple and peach halves. I planned to incorporate as much Vitamin C as possible into my diet; remembering from history class how pirates in the sixteenth century would get scurvy from the lack of it.

I took one last swig of the nearly empty milk jug from the fridge and then repeatedly rinsed it out in the sink, filling it to the brim with fresh water from the filtered tap before twisting the cap closed and setting it on the nearly full dining room table. I also found a small saucepan I could take to prepare the soups and baked beans and added that to the pile as well.

Opening up the large duffel bag, I arranged all the cans and hard items on the bottom, placing the squishier items like my clothes and sleeping bag on top just in case I ended up having to carry it - I didn't want pointed edges digging into my back if I'm suddenly on the run. I planned to take my parent's car, but you never know what could happen, especially in a time like this. Once I had everything in the bag situated the way I liked, I found a chain with a clasp on the end in a random kitchen drawer and used it to secure the gallon jug of water onto a shoulder strap of the duffel bag.

I slept on the couch that night with the news on mute and the subtitles on, waking every three hours to check on the status of the plague and to eat preciously cold food from the fridge. Who knows when the next time I'd eat real cheese and fresh strawberries. Around ten I try my mom's cell again, only getting a dial tone in response with no option of voicemail. And it's midnight when I wake to see muerta negra has slaughtered its way halfway through Arizona and is on a murdering streak towards California.

Sleep does not come easily after that.

At precisely four o'clock in the morning, the deadly virus claimed it's first Californian victim in San Diego. And five minutes after that, I had my sneakers on and duffel in the backseat of the SUV, the hammer in my lap and nail gun next to me in the passenger seat. Only after I've triple checked that I've locked all the car doors do I switch on the ignition and press the button above me on the visor that opens the garage door.

I stay cautious as I reverse and maneuver out onto the street, pressing the button again to seal the house once more. The sight of my suburban neighborhood immediately reminded me of multiple movies I've seen over the years and my heart thumps around wildly in my chest at the unorganized chaos. Every single house had some sort of commotion going on. People were screaming, crying, begging for salvation on each block. Parents agitatedly stuff their children into cars as a mob of homeless people walk on the sidewalks next to them. Some of the unlucky men branch off to enter abandoned homes in search of supplies, and when one mistakenly enters an unlocked yet occupied house, a fight breaks out and the homeless man is left unconscious on their front porch stoop.

My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I press on the gas slightly and move on, weaving in and out of all the frightened people crowding the road. I live only a handful of minutes away from the Golden Gate bridge but I know there's a possibility it will be too backed up to even attempt driving across. I'm sure I'm not the only one who wants to get the fuck out of dodge, but going North was my only logical option at this point and I had no other choice but to drive in that direction.

I'm forced to stop at a busy red light at the Lincoln Blvd. intersection. A lump forms in my throat when a random man steps off the sidewalk and begins beating his fists on the hood of my car. I try to ignore his gaze and the way he screams desperate pleas through the windshield, repeating to myself that there's no way I could trust a stranger during a time like this. He could take the car and all the shit I packed, or worse, he could be infected with the very thing I'm running from.

Once the light turns green, I edge forward and leave him standing there in the middle of the street with fat tears streaming down his face. My empathetic conscious battles with my will to survive, and ultimately, concern for my own well-being rules over all other thoughts. I could only hope he finds help elsewhere.

Traffic is complete fucking hell from that moment on. I managed to get underneath the 101 overpass but for the last ten minutes have been stuck bumper to bumper between impatiently honking cars, hardly moving an inch. There's a reluctant acceptance beginning to form in the back of my mind with each minute that drags on. This may be where I'm forced to part ways with my parent's car, and I was not excited about that idea at all. The bridge was almost two fucking miles long.

I let another ten agonizing minutes go by before I'm resolute with my resolve.

Taking a breath, I squeeze the car through the tight space in front of me and pull it over to the side. I exhale loudly as I reach back and grab the duffel bag, my heart stuttering with nerves once I have a grasp on it and have brought it over the center console to the front seat. Even though I know I'm stalling, I take a sip from the dangling jug of water and then raise the volume on the radio, curious to know where the the most recent plague victim was found. I get my answer almost instantly.

"Officials say that a massive HO8 outbreak happened early this morning at the San Jose Airport. They are warning-"

My blood runs cold. That's only an hour away. And they apparently gave it a new name, how fitting. It must have happened as soon as I left the house. Not sure if I have any more time to spare, I open the car door and hop out, slinging the duffel bag around my shoulders before shoving the hammer in between the slot of my jeans and belt. As I'm reaching inside the car one more time to grab the nail gun, I suddenly feel a cold pressure on my side.

"Give me your fucking car."

I catch the dangerous tone of the deeply timbered voice on my right, meanwhile trying to keep my breathing steady as a very solid, and very real gun presses harshly into my ribs. Panicking does nothing for no one, and I repeat that mantra in my head as I raise my hands slowly above my head, sans nail gun. "I don't want any trouble," I say, "please - take it."

His gun lifts from my ribs and I nearly sag in relief. Still moving slowly, I step away from the car door, watching as a kid about my age, albeit beefier and stockier, turns to get into the driver seat. In a split second decision, I lower my left hand and thumb the hammer out of my belt as he's distracted, hiding it behind the duffel bag with both hands. I'm not sure how I predicted the prick would turn around and eyeball the rest of my shit with interest. I just knew that with people like this, nothing is ever enough.

He takes a step forward, handgun pointed at my face. "Sorry kid, I'm gonna need your bag, too."

No fucking way. As he takes another step in my direction, I duck quickly underneath his arm and ram myself into his chest, forcing my left hand to the arm holding the gun and slamming it against the roof of the car. It's a beautiful sound when I hear the clatter of metal on the asphalt behind us. My right hand brings around the hammer hidden behind my back and in a moment of pure instinct, I bring the blunt end down as fast and as hard as I can on the top of his head. He immediately goes slack and I choke back the bile that rises in my throat as blood pours from the open wound in his skull. I stagger away from his limp body and cry out when his bloodied head falls on top of my shoes. This time I can't stop the strawberries and cheese I ate earlier from expelling from my stomach.

"Fuck." I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and shake my head, shivering as I pull my shoes out from underneath his head, tucking the hammer back into its slot. He would have killed me once he regained his footing. I was sure of it. I didn't see any outcome where I walked away with my bag unharmed - and this bag was life or death for me. I wasn't willingly going anywhere without it. I've never killed a person before, but I've never stared down the barrel of a gun before, either. Both were equally terrifying concepts that I just lived through, and I can feel the effect vibrating through my veins as adrenaline kicks in.

"Hey!" A voice shouts from my right and I gulp against a dry throat as three people get out of a car stopped in traffic. It looked like they had pistols in their hands, and that very thought is followed by the loud sound of a a gun firing and then a bullet hitting and shattering the back window of the SUV. Move, Edward, fucking move! The dead man lying in front of my car door is forgotten about as I bend at the waist to grab his gun, immediately sprinting down the road once the cold metal is in my grip. The bag on my back is heavy but the adrenaline coursing through my body basically eliminates any of the pressure I should be feeling.

And this is where I find myself - covered in someone else's blood and running for my life as bullets whiz by me.

I dodge in and out of stopped cars, breathing in steadily through my nose and out through my mouth. My mind had completely left the building and I leave it up to instinct as I rush faster and faster through rows of traffic, closing in on the giant red bridge directly in my line of sight. Sounds of gunshots mix in with the excessive honking emitting from three lanes of backed up cars, and I grunt when I hear heavy breathing and loud footsteps thumping on the pavement somewhere behind me.

The wind whips through my hair as I push my body quicker, using larger cars on the road to shield and deflect where my next move would be. I'm on the bridge in what feels like a couple seconds, still hearing the echo of angry shouts and being satisfied as the sound grows smaller with distance. After sprinting for another minute and making completely sure they've stopped their chase, I slow to a jog and place the gun in my waistband, continuing on the seemingly never-ending length of the bridge. There's an endless amount of honking as people try to get themselves and their families further away from the looming danger, and the urgency in the air stands the tiny hairs on the back of my neck straight up. Then reality really sets in.

I just killed someone. I think. He was definitely unconscious. The fact I might have murdered another human being was daunting but I couldn't find it in myself to feel bad about it. Of course the act itself was the most horrific thing I'd ever done but it was all in self-defense. If he hadn't shot me, he would have killed me by stealing my bag, and honestly, I would be as good as dead without it. His friends were apparently not expecting a retaliation and that thankfully gave me enough time to make an escape.

About a mile into the jog and halfway across the bridge, I decrease my speed to a brisk walk so I can catch my breath. My chest heaves with each gulp of air, and I know the adrenaline has worn off as a tight knot springs in my side - most likely due to the heaviness of the stupid bag I just risked my life over. God, it was so fucking heavy. Groaning, I take a quick swig of water from the jug and let out a silent curse. Did I over pack? How far could I possibly make it with a bag this big?

A wave of sudden doubt crashes over my body as I obsessively dissect all the decisions I've made that led me to this point.

I'm lost inside my head for a couple hundred steps. Should I have left the house to begin with? I could have boarded up all the windows and doors with the spare planks of wood my dad tossed aside in the garage, but after I was done with that.. then what? I'd be locked inside my own home and would surely suffocate or starve myself to death. And with that thought I conclude leaving the house was overall in my best interest. I'd rather fight to live than turn to dust. While taking the SUV was a smarter idea of mine, I worry leaving it on the side of the road like I did trashed every other intellectual action I've made thus far.

But as I watch hundred of cars make very little progress towards their mutual goal, I perceive the realization that I'd be stuck just like them if I had stayed behind. Who knows, maybe that guy had already scoped my wheels out and had solid intentions to take it before I even thought to pull over - perhaps choosing to leave the safety of my car actually ended up saving my life.

I would never know. And I guess there was no point dwelling over it.

My lungs seem to expand easier with each breath taken once I've made peace with my decisions. All I had to do now was keep moving forward and attempt survival as long as I can. My legs begin jogging on their own accord and I soon find myself at the curved end of the bridge. Sweat coats me likes a second skin but that doesn't stop me as I run along the bend and squeeze myself through the final cars.

What lies ahead stops me in my tracks. Men in police uniform block the highway as a crowd forms in front of them, a couple hazard signs propped up in the middle of the road read 'ROAD CLOSED'. My heart stutters. What sort of fuckery is this? They aren't letting anyone leave the city? People behind me are steadily getting out of their cars and lunging forward to harass the police officers with questions, and I creep along the edge of the chaotic mob, hoping to hear an explanation.

"Get back in your cars!" one officer shouts while another simultaneously screams, "Get the fuck back!"

More and more people flock to the blocked off end of the bridge. The mass amount of them effectively outnumber the dozen officers blocking their chance at survival and I know it's only a short while before violence is instigated. I edge further and further along the outside of the crowd, thinking that maybe if a fight does break out, I could use the distraction to make a break for it. The duffel on my back feels like bricks of gold and I heave a steady breath, adjusting the straps digging into my shoulders.

The desperate screams of the people around me rises in volume, and I flinch and hug the railing when an even louder noise in the air trumps over the mayhem happening on the street. I raise my eyes to the sky just as five jets in a 'v' formation soar ear-splittingly overhead. My throat dries when they head closer to the city and bank upwards about a mile or so after the bridge. What the fuck is going on? Why are five jets in San Francisco?

For a moment, there is silence as everyone on the street stares up at the fighter planes. I can almost imagine the collective sigh of relief from the crowd when they disappear into the clouds. I look over at the police officers to see them scratching their temples with bewildered looks on their faces and it's obvious to me that they're unaware why these jets are here, either.

It's only quiet for a blissful couple of seconds before the horde of concerned and scared citizens resume their incessant questioning.

But amidst the sounds of people shouting and cars honking, babies screaming and dogs barking, I hear the rumbling of roaring jet engines becoming louder and louder again as they lower from the clouded sky. I look upwards, my jaw popping open when I see the leading jet perfectly aligned with the Golden Gate bridge, and my eyes widen when two others branch away from the group and head towards the Oakland Bay bridge. I have a sickening thought that Interstate 80 is as blocked off as this one is, and I take two steps backwards once I put two and two together.

This is their quarantine procedure.

Hatches on the belly of the remaining jets fly open as soon as that thought passes through my mind. The three of them near closer and a horrified scream bubbles in my throat when small gray looking tic-tacs project out of their open hatches and nose-dive into the starting point of the bridge, steadily dropping them along the entire length of the structure. The ensuing dramatic explosions shock me to my core, and I feel the ground shake and move underneath my feet like a violent earthquake. Oh my fucking god, what the fuck!

Massive explosions go off with every second that passes and I force my rooted feet to move backwards though my gaze stays trained on the wires holding the bridge together as they begin snapping with the brunt force of the bomb's detonation. People next to me push and shove their way past the barricade of police officers and as one final bomb blows up, the bridge begins shaking with the effort of staying upright. A crack forms in the pavement between my feet and I watch as the road in front of me crumbles into the angry ocean below.

I swallow back a scream and twist my body to propel myself away from the disappearing bridge, gripping onto the railing next to me as I force myself through a tight opening found between the crowd. My giant bag helps me push through and as I look behind me one more time, I see the ground literally vanishing with every running step I take. Shit!

My heart leaps into my throat. I push my legs off the crackling pieces of pavement and forcefully throw myself into the air as the entire bridge gives way and collapses into the water. I land on solid ground at the last second, my face smacking against asphalt and belly immediately tenderizing upon impact. And as I roll over onto my side and stare down at my feet hanging off the ledge, I know if I had jumped even a second too late I would be sinking to the bottom of the ocean along with all the other poor souls stuck on the bridge.

A dry heave rocks through my body, but I had already emptied my stomach earlier so nothing comes out except spit and choking noises.

I can't believe that this happened - that the government would order their own jets to bomb infected cities. This is what they had to have done to Santa Fe and Las Vegas, I just know it. My body is shaking from shock, my fingers numb as they grip at the asphalt. I'm able to drag myself away from the ledge using my forearms, meanwhile slowly taking in my surroundings with unconcealed horror.

Heartbroken family members fall to their knees near the ragged edge, shrieking their pain and loss and confusion at the water below them. A man on my right limps and groans, his foot very obviously snapped at an odd angle. Seeing him wounded makes me pat myself down though I don't feel any pain other than the scratches on my stomach and a slight headache. I check my legs and arms thoroughly, fearing I may have hurt myself without knowing it.

The screams and sounds of explosions coming from the Oakland Bay bridge stops my movement and chills my bones. It's so loud, even though the distance away is nearly six miles, and I'm frozen in my spot as jets roar above and disappear into the clouds once more. I watch as the bridge on the horizon crumbles as viciously as the one I just leapt from, the screams silencing ominously once it has completely disappeared underneath the waves.

So many people... dead, just like that.

I manage to shift onto my knees and adjust the duffel on my back, reaching for the water jug and easing my aching throat with a large gulp. My fingers shake and I form them into fists once the cap is back on, squeezing my eyes shut when tears threatens to spill over. This was all so fucked.

Four words repeat in my mind on a loop and I try my best to focus on them, breathing in with each word and exhaling out with the next.

Stay calm. Go north. Stay calm. Go north.

It almost works until my eyes snap open as the now familiar sound of approaching jets fills my ears. I'm on my feet in an instant, taking wobbly steps back as the five planes from earlier come into view above me. I expect their hatches to open over our small group of survivors once they're parallel with us, however I'm thankfully wrong as they speed by us towards the city.

My relief is only short-lived.

The jets form into a straight line and open their hatches one after another, and I'm not the only one who screams when bomb after bomb begins dropping from the openings of their bellies and onto the city below. I hear the ricochet of explosions as they expel hundreds of them from the coastline to as far back as I could see. Houses and businesses are destroyed upon impact and skyscrapers plunge towards the earth when more than one explosive bomb hits them. Dozens of mushroom-like clouds erupt into the sky and my heart squeezes inside my chest, lungs gasping back sobs.

The tears I tried to hold back earlier run freely down my face as I watch the city I love and grew up in go up in smoke.

A cloud of debris forms around San Francisco, a strange silence coming from within. I couldn't pick up any sounds of jet engines but that didn't mean I was any less wary of them returning over here to finish the job. The veil around the city clears and I'm absolutely horrified to see not even one building left standing - not a single sign of life on the other side of the water.

My city was nothing but dust.

A/N: Holy apocalypse, batman! I know, I know. I'm still in the middle of writing my first story, Selcouth Cosmos, but this just had to be written. I found inspiration from the song Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex, which sadly I do not own, and each chapter will be based off consecutive lines from it. Check the song out if you have a chance, it is b-e-a-utiful. I've only been to San Fran once, went just to see Alcatraz, so I'd like to thank Google for helping me map things out and also for teaching me how to prepare for an apocalypse. Good thing E is strong and able to carry all that crap because I would have never made it across the bridge! Updates will most likely be every two weeks as they will be looong chapters, this one was 16 pages on MW lol, and SC takes up most of my attention ;) thank you for reading and Happy New Years! -sondor

muerta negra: black death