Chapter 1: Tactical retreat

Intellectually, I knew that everything in the universe had a finite existence. People succumbed to old age, stars depleted their fuel and either collapsed into black holes or erupted into nova’s. Even the vast expanse of the universe itself was finite, destined for eventual heat death. However, all these profound thoughts felt irrelevant in that moment. Like any other clueless individual in his early 30s, I was dutifully playing the expected role on a Friday night—sitting in my favorite bar, attempting to persuade a woman who was far out of my league to engage in sexual activity. Whether it was through lies, deception, or pretending to be a left-wing vegan, as Gunny used to say, "results speak for themselves."

I'm not particularly proud of resorting to deceit, but a man does what he must, you know? I wasn't a complete jerk about it; I simply concealed my rough edges and a slight addiction to cocaine. However, none of that mattered anymore once I snorted the first line of coke. Just as the dopamine rush hit me, strange occurrences unfolded before my eyes. The phrase "Initializing integration" flashed in front of me, reminiscent of the sci-fi jargon Air Force pilots used to discuss—something they referred to as a HUD, I believe. Now, I may have been in an altered state from the cocaine and alcohol, but hallucinations had never been part of my experience. So, either this batch of cocaine was unexpectedly adulterated (which I knew for a fact it wasn't, thanks to my habit of testing my drugs), or some apocalyptic event was on the verge of unfolding. Considering my responsible drug use, I leaned toward the latter conclusion.

"Integration... Done." Well, that was swift—I didn't even have a chance to process what was happening before it apparently concluded. Or so I thought. You know what a normal person would do in this situation? They would probably exit the bathroom stall and confirm if they were the only one witnessing this bizarre phenomenon. But not me. No, I decided it would be prudent to snort another line, just in case things were about to go seriously FUBAR.

Emerging from the stall, I hastily washed my hands and made my way back to the bar. Being a veteran had its perks, after all. We didn't easily succumb to panic over significant events. Bullets whizzing past us? Just another ordinary day. Mortars raining down while you were using the toilet? Well, you finished your business with resolute determination and went on to fight the good fight. However, as I stepped into the bar area, I was greeted by a scene of rampant chaos and mass hysteria. My assumption had proven correct—the impending apocalypse was indeed upon us.      Time for a tactical retreat. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to get the hell out of there. Even the kindest person has the potential to become a bellicose jerk under the right circumstances, and mass hysteria epitomized such circumstances.

"You have 24 hours until activation. Be prepared for evaluation and introduction." As the words materialized and then vanished, a small timer replaced them in the upper right corner of my field of vision: 23:59. I made a mental note of the time and checked my watch to ensure accuracy. It was 9:45 PM.

Slipping out through the back door of that fine establishment, I conducted a swift inventory check. I had my pistol holstered, along with two spare magazines, and a baggie of cocaine. Classic American preparedness, I suppose.

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I don't consider myself an apocalypse prepper, but my ten years in the Marines taught me the value of being prepared and having a plan when chaos strikes. Holding your "dick in your hand" is never a desirable situation. Personally, I entertained the idea of an alien invasion, but something felt off about it. Aliens would likely obliterate us with a barrage of nuclear weapons and be done with it. Additionally, the message I received carried a glimmer of hope for survival. The terms "introduction" and "evaluation" don't sound fatal; rather, they imply that whoever sent the message has some sort of purpose or agenda. Given the circumstances, my immediate priority was to get myself to a safe place.

As I observed the panicked atmosphere in the bar, it was evident that everyone had received the same message simultaneously. With the clock ticking down, displaying "23:56," I knew time was of the essence. Returning to the city was out of the question. If everyone else had reached the same conclusion as me, the roads would undoubtedly be congested, resulting in a nightmarish traffic jam. That was the last thing I needed. Instead, I decided that venturing into a rural environment, far away from the city, was my best bet.

Hoofing it on foot seemed like the most viable solution. With my basic survival training and the more advanced skills I acquired during SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape) training, I was confident in my ability to endure and survive for a significant period. Fortunately, the bar was located on the outskirts of the city, allowing me to make a swift exit. I jogged in that direction, taking advantage of the hikers' trail frequented by those hippie fucks. It provided a convenient escape route, keeping me hidden from prying eyes.

While jogging, my mind raced to formulate a plan. I realized that my 9mm pistol was suitable for self-defense, but it wouldn't be of much help against larger threats like bears. I needed to address that vulnerability. Additionally, securing a source of drinkable water and finding a way to carry it became crucial. While food wasn't an immediate concern, dehydration could wreak havoc on my well-being, particularly considering my current state of intoxication. Therefore, obtaining water became my top priority.

I scanned my surroundings for any potential water sources. It would be essential to have a method of purifying the water, either through filtration or boiling, to ensure it was safe for consumption.

Continuing along the trail, I scoured my surroundings for any suitable containers or vessels that could serve as makeshift water carriers. The trail if mostly used by hippies but littering is a human condition so finding some plastic trash was inevitable. Spotting a discarded plastic bottle a short distance away, I quickly retrieved it and assessed its condition. It appeared to be intact and clean enough for my purposes.

The need to find a safe haven until the impending evaluation became paramount. Surviving would be pointless if I didn't make it to the evaluation in a good condition. While the likelihood of death or injury might not be high, it was certainly a possibility. My life experiences had taught me that in times of uncertainty, people would go to great lengths to ensure their survival, and acts of violence were not out of the question.

To minimize the risks and potential encounters with desperate individuals, I made the decision to isolate myself for the immediate future. Safety in numbers is nice and all but I don’t trust no one in this town at this moment. Finding a secluded spot away from the main trails and human activity became my prime objective. It was crucial to maintain a low profile and minimize the chances of confrontation, as staying alive and navigating this uncertain situation took precedence above all else.

With this in mind I slowed my pace to keep it sustainable for a while and started to move north parallel to the trail. If I kept this pace for a hour I might hit the river before midnight.