Two days later found the group still alive albeit markedly disheveled. Annie grimaced as she squeezed out a small amount of hand sanitizer, smearing it over her armpits. The interstate had been too structurally unsound to either drive or walk upon, so they had kept to walking on surface streets and found refuge in the suburban "wilderness" at night. The earthquake had torn up everything, leaving gaping sink holes and collapsed buildings aplenty. Nothing was spared.
Abed stoked the morning bonfire, pensive. He adjusted his bear-pelt vest, which was crusty in spots and stinky all over. There hadn't been enough time to cure it properly. Britta held her hands out to warm them over the fire, looking at his animal-product garb disapprovingly. No matter. Who was Abed to waste a perfectly good mutant bear hide after Shirley had shot it point blank in the cranium?
Troy began to unwrap the last of his rations of faux-Elvin bread (lembas) that Abed had thoughtfully included in his backpack. He wished he were eating Let's instead, but didn't complain. His bearskin pants were starting to make him itch. They were the opposite of breathable.
Shirley was already packed and ready to continue their journey. The multiple mutant bear attacks had hampered their progress, and they still had more than 20 miles to go. As she polished her gun for the sixth time that morning, she did her best to contain her worry. Of all people, Jeff seemed to be the one who understood her best. Most importantly, he didn't pity her by constantly asking "Are you all right?" Without the crutch of baking to work off her nervous energy, she spent her evenings cleaning and maintaining everyone's weaponry by the light of her headlamp late into the night. She shouldered her purse with a fixed look of determination. "Let's go," she announced.
But fate wouldn't have it so easy. The cumulonimbus clouds that had been gathering since the earthquake had reached capacity and the ensuing downpour made coursing rivulets around their ankles. A bit of rain wasn't too much to handle, Shirley thought to herself, until she heard Annie's panicked voice ring out.
"GUYS?" They turned toward her. "The rain," she said, showing her bare forearm, "it's sizzling."
"Acid rain," Abed stated matter of factly.
"Take cover!" Jeff yelled, running east down the hillside towards civilization. Annie, Britta and Shirley followed him as they scrambled towards the nearest road, hoping to find an awning or overhang that was still standing.
"Abed, come on!" Troy yelled. Abed was standing still with a metal cup in his hand, hoping to harvest the rain for later use. He didn't realize his bear pelt and his own flesh were burning. "Abed, we don't have time for this," Troy urged in a concerned, lowered voice. His skin stung terribly. "Abed." He took his hand. "Come on."
Down on the street, Annie had found an abandoned minivan, which looked to be their best chance of survival. She took off her cardigan and began wrapping it around her right hand. "Move!" she cried, pushing aside a stunned Britta and Jeff. Screaming, she punched through the driver's side window, unlocking the doors. "Get in!" she yelled, brushing glass shards off of the seat. "Clothes off!" Their clothes were already disintegrating and soaked through with the insidious rain, which was causing their skin to blister.
Troy and Abed joined them minutes later. Troy looked grim, Abed was still in wonder. He'd always wanted to star in an apocalyptic drama. They took to the back seat and started peeling off their clothes.
There they were, the six of them, sitting in their underwear in a strange van watching acid rain destroy the forest as they tried not to itch their ravaged skin. The blotched discoloration was turning into oozing sores and the rain didn't look to be giving up any time soon. Annie was already rifling through her first aid kit to see if anything could be done.
Thunder reverberated around them.
Shirley whimpered. "I don't feel so well," she admitted. The stress, dehydration, malnutrition and skin damage was taking its toll.
"Shirley, you're fine," Jeff insisted. "We're all fine. Jesus, what is going on? And where in God's name is FEMA?!"
"Here, Shirley," Britta turned around in the passenger's seat, "Take my last water ration." She handed her a small plastic pouch.
Annie turned around, "And here's the Neosporin and gauze from the kit. It's not much, but let's start splitting them into equal parts." She winced as she handed the supplies to Jeff. The sudden movement had caused her skin to break open at the shoulder and elbow. Jeff gave her a sympathetic glance and passed the materials to Troy.
"We might be the last people we ever see," Shirley began to say, defeated. Perhaps it wasn't God's plan for her to see her husband and children one last time.
Suddenly, Abed stood straight up. Well, he tried to, but hit his head on the van ceiling. Unfazed, he straightened his posture, and placed one arm in front of him across his body with his forearm parallel to the ground, the other behind his back. He looked each of them in the eye with a measured gaze.
"My fellow countrymen," he began in a resonant, emphatic voice, "The times are indeed dire. But ask not yourself what not you can't not do." His expression was somber. He pressed his hands together as if in prayer. With each word his voice increased in volume. "Four score and many years ago—these are the voyages of the Star Trek Enterprise!"
Jeff held up a hand. "Abed, you don't have to do this." Abed broke character.
"The thing is, Jeff, I really do. In the traditional apocalyptic narrative, large scale, ever-escalating disasters serve as a means to force the protagonists to show their true colors. It's an ultimate test of the resiliency of the human spirit. Will utter catastrophe turn us into animals, or will we rise together to face and overcome the destructive forces beyond our control?"
"Morale is low, Jeff, even you can see it. We've chosen to do the noble thing in accompanying Shirley in her quest to reunite with her family, but let's face it: our supplies are out, we're injured and probably have less than a few hours until the rain eats through the car and us along with it."
"Gosh, Abed, that's really dark," Annie interjected.
"It's the truth, sugar lips. This isn't a dream, we can't travel in time, our selves from an alternate universe aren't going to come and save us." For someone so dedicated to whimsy, imagination and adventure, Abed in that moment had chosen to face what was real.
"We're going to need an opus of a speech to get us out of this one," he concluded, with a pointed look at Jeff. The rain continued to pelt the car.
Jeff turned back around in his seat to face forward, mentally drafting something charismatic and lyrical enough to turn things around.
That's when the second earthquake started. It was even worse than the first.
"You guys," Jeff started, looking grim and gripping the driver's seat in front of him. He swallowed.
"Hold on."
