Apocalypse Rewound: Saving Hana

Chapter 3: The First Ripple

The obsidian-skinned Ravager let out a sound that wasn't a roar so much as the grinding of tectonic plates. The roof of The Morning Bloom didn't just collapse; it vaporized under the creature's weight, sending a plume of pulverized brick and latte foam into the violet-stained air.

"Herman! My car! I parked my car right next to that!" Lando shrieked, his voice hitting a register only dogs could hear.

"Forget the car, Lando! Move!" Herman barked, his hand locked around Hana’s wrist. He didn't wait for her to process the fact that her workplace was now a crater. He yanked her toward the heavy glass doors of a nearby department store. "Inside! Now!"

Hana stumbled, her heels clicking frantically against the pavement. "Herman, wait! Sarah was still inside! My manager, she—"

"She’s gone, Hana," Herman said, his voice flat and terrifyingly cold. He kicked the locked glass door of the store, the reinforced heel of his boot shattering the security pane in a single, practiced strike. "There is no 'wait' anymore. There is only 'keep moving' or 'stop breathing.'"

Lando scrambled in after them, nearly tripping over a display of designer handbags. "Okay, okay, I’m inside! I’m in a store! Why are we in a store? Are we looting? Is this the looting phase? Because I’ve always wanted a high-end blender, but I feel like the timing is a bit off!"

"Shut up and grab a flashlight from the camping aisle," Herman ordered, his eyes scanning the darkened interior of the store. The violet light from the sky bled through the skylights, casting long, distorted shadows across the mannequins.

Hana pulled her arm back, her chest heaving as she stared at Herman. The terror in her eyes was being rapidly overtaken by a sharp, piercing confusion. "How did you know? You told me... you told me to go to the mountains. You knew the sky would turn that color. You knew that thing would fall."

Herman paused, the machete in his hand catching a glint of purple light. "I knew a version of it. But that thing on the roof? That wasn't supposed to be here for another week. The script is bleeding, Hana."

"The script?" she whispered. "What are you talking about? Herman, you’re acting like... like you’ve done this before."

"I have," Herman muttered, mostly to himself. He turned to the racks of clothing, grabbing a pair of thick denim jackets and tossing one at her. "Put that on. It’s better than an apron if something tries to bite you."

"I’m not putting on denim! It’s itchy!" Lando yelled from three aisles over. "Also, I found the flashlights, but they don't have batteries! Who sells flashlights without batteries during an apocalypse? That’s just bad business!"

"Lando, if you don't find batteries in ten seconds, I’m leaving you here to negotiate with the Ravager!" Herman shouted back.

"Finding batteries! Finding them! I love batteries! Batteries are my favorite power source!"

Herman turned back to Hana, his expression softening just a fraction. He reached out, his thumb brushing a smudge of soot off her cheek. His hand was trembling, just a little. "I’m sorry I had to grab you like that. But if I hadn't, you’d be part of that rubble."

Hana looked at his hand, then up into his eyes. There was a raw, desperate intensity there that she’d never seen at the beach bonfire. "Why me? You barely know me, Herman. We talked about an RPG-loving dog for twenty minutes two years ago."

Herman felt a pang in his chest—a ghost of the three years he’d spent regretting his cowardice. "Because I watched you die once. I’m not doing it again."

Before she could ask what the hell that meant, a wet, slapping sound echoed from the ceiling.

Squelch. Squelch.

Herman’s head snapped up. "Lando, get over here. Now!"

"I found a four-pack of AAs! And some beef jerky! Do we like spicy habanero or—" Lando froze as he rounded the corner. He looked up at the skylight.

Three shapes were clinging to the glass. They looked like oversized, hairless greyhounds, but their limbs were too long, ending in jagged, needle-like claws. Their heads were featureless save for a massive, circular maw that dripped a glowing, neon-green fluid.

"Oh, look. Forbidden puppies," Lando whispered, his face turning a shade of grey that matched the monsters. "Herman, tell me those are friendly. Tell me they just want the jerky."

"Spitters," Herman hissed, his blood running cold. "They’re supposed to be in the industrial district. Why are they downtown?"

One of the creatures hissed, a sound like steam escaping a pipe, and launched a glob of green fluid at the skylight. The reinforced glass hissed and dissolved in seconds, melting away like sugar in hot water.

"Run!" Herman yelled, grabbing Hana’s hand again.

They bolted toward the back exit, the sound of shattering glass raining down behind them.

"This way! The service tunnel leads to the subway! It’s the fastest way to the warehouse!" Herman shouted, pivoting toward a heavy steel door marked Employees Only.

He slammed his shoulder into it, expecting it to fly open. It didn't budge.

"What? No!" Herman growled, throwing his weight against it again. "This door is supposed to be propped open for the night shift! It was open every Tuesday for three years!"

"Maybe the night shift guy called in sick because of the PURPLE SKY, Herman!" Lando yelled, glancing back as the three Spitters landed on the floor, their claws clicking on the linoleum. "They’re gaining on us! And they look like they haven't had breakfast!"

"Move aside!" Hana stepped forward, grabbing a heavy decorative brass pedestal from a nearby display. With a grunt of effort, she jammed the base of the pedestal into the door handle and used it as a lever.

The lock snapped with a loud crack.

"Nice! Beauty and the Brawn!" Lando cheered, diving through the opening.

Herman stared at Hana for a split second, impressed despite the life-threatening danger. "Where did you learn that?"

"Barista training," she panted, shoving him through the door. "You’d be surprised how many people try to lock themselves in the bathroom when we close. Move!"

They scrambled down a flight of concrete stairs, the sound of the Spitters' hissing breath echoing in the stairwell above them. Herman led them through a maze of maintenance corridors, his mind frantically recalculating.

"Okay, if the service door was locked, that means the sub-basement is probably flooded," Herman muttered, his pace slowing as they reached a junction. He pointed toward a dark, narrow hallway. "We take the ventilation shaft. It leads to the parking garage on Fourth."

"The ventilation shaft?" Lando asked, wiping sweat from his forehead with his baseball bat. "Herman, I’m a gamer. I have the upper body strength of a wet noodle. I can't crawl through a vent like Bruce Willis!"

"You can if there’s a monster behind you that spits acid, Lando!"

"Valid point! Lead the way, Mr. McClane!"

They reached the end of the hallway, but Herman stopped dead. Where there should have been a ventilation grate, there was nothing but solid, reinforced concrete. The entire layout of the building's basement had changed.

"No," Herman whispered, slamming his fist against the wall. "No, this isn't right. The Fourth Street garage is right behind this wall. There was a vent here. I used it to escape the Black Rain in '26!"

Hana stepped up beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Herman, look at me."

He turned, his eyes wide and frantic. "I had a map, Hana. I had every street, every safe house, every monster's spawn point memorized. I spent a month preparing for that world. But this... this is wrong."

She looked at him, not with the judgment he expected, but with a strange, calm intensity. "The world ended five minutes ago, Herman. Maybe the map changed with it. You can't rely on what you think you know."

A low rumble shook the floor. From the other side of the concrete wall, they heard the sound of something massive moving—something much larger than a Spitter. The wall groaned, cracks spider-webbing across the surface.

"The parking garage is gone," Herman realized, his voice trembling. "The whole block must have collapsed when the monoliths landed."

"So, what’s Plan B?" Lando asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Because Plan A seems to be currently buried under ten tons of Fourth Street."

Herman looked at Hana. She was terrified, yes, but she wasn't breaking. She was waiting for him. He looked down at his machete, then at the wall as it began to buckle.

In his previous life, he had survived by being a shadow. He had hidden in the corners of a world he understood perfectly. But that world was gone. This apocalypse was louder, faster, and far more chaotic.

"There is no Plan B," Herman said, a new kind of resolve hardening in his chest. He reached out and took Hana’s hand, his grip firm. "We’re making it up as we go."

"I hate improv," Lando groaned, though he gripped his baseball bat tighter. "I’m more of a scripted dialogue kind of guy."

The wall in front of them exploded inward.

Dust and concrete shards filled the air. Through the haze, the massive, glowing eye of a Ravager peered into the hallway. It shouldn't have been able to find them. It shouldn't have been in the sub-basement.

Herman didn't look at his notebook. He didn't think about his "inventory." He just stepped in front of Hana, raising his blade.

"Hana," he said, his voice steady.

"Yeah?"

"I told you I was a guy who doesn't want to be eaten again."

"I remember."

"I lied," Herman said, a grim smirk touching his lips as the Ravager let out a deafening roar. "I’m the guy who’s going to make sure nothing gets to eat us."

He looked out through the hole in the wall. The city beyond wasn't the grey, ash-covered wasteland he remembered. It was a neon-violet hellscape of floating structures and shifting geometry.

"This isn't my apocalypse anymore," Herman whispered, tightening his grip on Hana’s hand as they prepared to leap into the unknown. "This is... ours."

"Does 'ours' come with dental insurance?" Lando asked, following them into the ruins. "Because I feel like I’m going to be grinding my teeth for the next few years."

"Just run, Lando," Hana laughed, a sound of pure, defiant adrenaline.

"Running! It’s my best attribute!"

And together, they disappeared into the smoke of a world that was no longer following the rules.