Chapter Two

Nancy was not Isabel's favorite person. There was always a disconnection between them. But Nancy was a good literary agent. Derek wouldn't have kept her around his whole career if she wasn't. There was a brief period of time when Nancy and Derek ending up together as a couple seemed likely. Isabel hated that even to this day, but was good at not reflecting on it often. Nancy remained only as Derek's agent and like fine china in a will, Nancy was passed down to Isabel after Derek's death. They were civil, and that was what mattered.

Isabel waited for Nancy at the café they chose to meet at, sipping her coffee. It was quiet; peaceful. It reminded Isabel of the café she worked out when she lived in New Orleans before moving back to Los Angeles after Derek's passing.

Did she ever consider going back? Yes. There were times when Isabel considered packing up her things and going back to the Big Easy. There were times when Isabel considered going back to Miss Robichaux's. But she always found a way to stay put.

"Sorry, sorry," said Nancy as she sat down at the table across from Isabel. "Didn't think I was going to be late. So, have you got another manuscript for me?" She sounded hopeful, but Isabel would have to be the bearer of bad news.

"No manuscript, sorry." It would happen at some point, but for the time being it didn't matter. Isabel put the envelope she discovered in Derek's copy of War of the Worlds on the table and slid it over to Nancy. "What can you tell me about this?"

Nancy picked up the envelope and took out the ticket. She raised her eyebrows. "I completely forgot about this… it was a joke for Derek's birthday. A group of us pitched in. It's a ticket to a fallout shelter if the apocalypse ever happened."

It seemed like a very specific joke. Isabel didn't understand it, and she wasn't about to try. "Oh, so it isn't real then?"

"No, it's real."

There was a pause.

"But you just said it was a joke…?" Isabel said, not quite following Nancy.

"Right."

"So it's not real."

"No," Nancy corrected, handing the ticket back over to Isabel. "It's completely real. The joke was reserving him a spot at Outpost Three."

"But the ticket says this cost a hundred million dollars."

"Yes."

"So you and some friends dropped a hundred million dollars on a ticket for a fallout shelter… as a joke?" It didn't make any sense! "Why didn't you just Photoshop the ticket?!"

"Because the ticket itself isn't the joke," Nancy said, wondering why Isabel wasn't understanding this when it was so simple. "The joke was having a spot reserved in his name."

"So you spent all that money to reserve him a spot at a fallout shelter… that may not even exist?" Isabel said slowly, trying to find some ounce of sense in any of this and coming up short.

"It exists."

"So you've seen it?"

"Well, no."

Feeling like she was going to lose her goddamn mind, Isabel decided to just let the matter go. It didn't matter anymore. Derek was dead, and the ticket was useless to begin with. The apocalypse? Isabel was not a stranger to weird and catastrophic events, but even with her experience of the world, it didn't seem likely.

"Anyway," Nancy continued, "about that manuscript."

"''"""'''""''""''""""'"

With her coffee paid for, and the promise of a manuscript on her tongue, Isabel left the café. She was still holding onto the ticket to the mysterious Outpost 3. Nancy wouldn't take it back, so now it belonged to Isabel, not that she had much use for it.

As soon as she got home, Isabel went to the kitchen to throw away the ridiculous ticket. Yes, it was a waste of a hundred million dollars, but holding onto it was pointless. She wasn't ever going to use it, so it was a waste anyway.

Isabel was about to let the ticket go and let the damn thing fall into the trashcan when Constance suddenly grasped her wrist, her fingernails digging into Isabel's skin.

"Fuck!" Isabel exclaimed in both surprise and pain.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll hold onto that and keep it in a safe place," Constance warned.

"Why? It's just a stupid ticket to a fallout shelter that probably doesn't really exist." Isabel's glare softened when she looked into Constance's eyes and saw how serious she was being.

When Constance had been alive, she was gifted with the power of clairvoyance; magic passed down to the women in their family line, and it seemed the gift translated over into death.

"What did you see?" Isabel asked, not even trying to mask the fearful tone.

"Nothing good." Constance released Isabel's wrist. "Hang onto that, and start packing."

"But―"

"Hush up, and listen to your mother."

And she did. Isabel did as Constance said: she put the ticket to Outpost 3 back in Derek's copy of War of the Worlds, and packed a small bag of essentials: notebook, plethora of pens, and her father's first book The Matinee Massacre. She didn't know exactly how the apocalypse was going to go down, but it was always good to have something to read, no matter the occasion.

Days passed since Constance's warning. Those days turned into weeks, and they were the most productive weeks Isabel ever had. Every day she was in the study, typing up a first draft with reckless abandon. With the apocalypse coming, her inner critic shut up because what did it matter if what she wrote was good? Nothing mattered anymore.

There were times when she would forget. On sleepless nights, Isabel would scroll through one account on YouTube, Instagram, and Twitter: SallyThatGurl. Songs, angst-ridden tweets; the epitome of grunge. Isabel loved Sally McKenna's accounts.

Sometimes, Isabel considered DMing Sally, saying how much she loved her work, or that she missed her. But Sally was a ghost of the past. It was best to just get lost in her content to forget the horror that awaited the world. Besides, if she reached out to Sally, it would turn into a mess and Isabel didn't want to deal with that. Instead, she was content to stay in the study and write for hours on end.

"Just one more chapter," Isabel said proudly as Constance stood in the doorway of the study one day. "One more chapter and I'll be done." She was beaming, relieved and beyond pleased that she actually managed to get her shit together.

Constance smiled in return, but it was sad.

Isabel felt her heart drop. "No, no it can't be time already. I'm not done yet!" she argued, as if Constance chose when the end of the world was going to happen. "I just have to finish this one chapter. I―I'm not done yet!"

"The roads will be chaos. If you leave now, you won't run into trouble."

"But I'm not done yet!" Isabel said again as she stood up from the desk, infuriated and hurt. Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them away. She wasn't done. She wasn't ready.

"Isabel," Constance said sharply, a mother who would not be argued with. "It's time to go."