There was something absurd about it all. This odd, fear-laced calm that had settled over everything once it had become clear that the virus wasn't going away.

Hordes of people with that edge of near-panic in their eyes squabbling over the scraps of what remained in the department store in which he worked.

Will hadn't felt overly worried. His girlfriend had left him after she'd confessed to messaging other men, and she'd told him flat out that she just didn't feel like he was all there.

Will hardly disagreed with her so they'd left it at that.

Regardless, Will worked eight hours a day, plus overtime; so when the mandatory mask order came in and he sheathed himself in plastic like some sort of insect it didn't bother him that much.

They were chronically understaffed, having so many people hospitalized tended to do that so he worked double shifts; relishing the time it took off his hands if not the money. College had been something of a theoretical concept for him once he'd amassed enough money but now it seemed a moot point as most of the colleges were closed.

"Will" a voice said, interrupting his zen-like, meditative thoughts. "they need help unloading a truck out back, and Abby is out sick. Could you take care of that?"

It was his manager, a middle-aged, walking disappointment with a hairline that mirrored his diminishing prospects in life. He liked to affect a sort of friendship or family-based environment among the staff, but that hollow, corporate platitude lay exposed like a raw nerve as the Flu claimed more and more of Will's coworkers.

"Yeah" Will said, "No problem. I was done anyway."

--

As he marched his way towards the backroom he passed dozens of shoppers, their hollow, scared eyes peering at him from behind layers of plastic. Early accounts had said it was airborn and although it wasn't confirmed, many treated it like the rebirth of the black death. Still, there was still the very brave or the very stupid who came, bare-faced and bold; their unshakeable faith in their own immortality a sort of protective shield.

Will liked masks. He liked them a lot. He spent every day of his life putting on the mask of the attentive student or the concerned coworker. The more literal, plastic shield simply removed the pretense.

As he neared the back of the store, he heard a curse, followed by the slapping of flesh on tile floor. He turned to see a pair of shoppers, -- no, valued customers -- he corrected himself, wrestling over a camping set that had a dolefully smiling woman on the front. The first contestant, a heavy-set man with a bald spot pushed the other, a woman in an expensive coat with fuck-me glasses, off him and across the aisle. The man, having claimed his prize, made eye-contact with Will briefly, before shuffling off in the other direction. The woman, cursing bitterly looked at Will,

"He attacked me, where the fuck were you?" she spat.

Her voice had a quality with the emotional resonance of a table saw.

"Sorry Ma'am, it all happened so fast." Will replied, keeping his voice a level monotone.

"Fuck! Whatever, just tell your manager. I'm leaving."

The woman attempted to piece her dignity together before she marched off in the same direction as the man.

Around Will, the store churned onward, the quiet only interrupted by quiet, royalty-free covers of aging, pop songs.

Will hurried on his way, suddenly uneasy with this insular little world.

--

The dock in comparison to the main store was a jungle of exposed welds and unpainted metal. Lines and lines of unstocked merchandise hung everywhere like the cobwebs of some giant spider. Several teenagers, the freshest of the store's dwindling new hires tried to sort through the mess but it was a tedious effort.

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The truck man, keys jingling was apparent by his full gas mask and cheap plastic overalls. Here was a man who'd taken the President's warning to heart and Will immediately felt inferior in his flimsy, plastic shielding.

"You're it?" the man said.

Will nodded, "We're short staffed at the moment, let me get the ramps."

The man joined him as Will started wheeling over a set of banged up, metal rolling ramps designed to assist in the unloading of trucks.

"Have you heard the latest?" the man said. Will noticed he wore no nametag.

Will would've preferred silence.

"No, what's there to hear? I know they're working on a vaccine but people are dying too quickly." Will didn't much care. When he wasn't working he was either sleeping or trying to reconcile the empty walls of his apartment with childhood delusions of adulthood.

"The president shuttered congress. Enough Republicans died that the Dems have a majority and the Republicans are accusing the Dems of misleading them on the lethality factor of the virus." The man had an ironic lilt to his voice.

"Apparently its gotten more deadly." he finished lamely.

Will wasn't impressed. People had been claiming this was the fall of civilization for months now and he'd grown innured to the fact that society would churn ever onward.

"Yeah, whatever man." he said. Will wasn't sure why this guy wanted to talk so much; usually they just unloaded their trucks and left. This conversation had already gone on uncomfortably long and his social algorithms were exhausted.

"I' just don't care anymore, you know? Shit, some days I just want to sleep here."

The man laughed, his breaht momentarily fogging his gas mask as he helped Will to push the cart into place. Will took the keys from a lanyard he hung around his neck. They'd started only unlocking trucks once they'd reached the store to cut down on highwayman and armed robberies.

"Why are you sitll working, dude" the man asked. Will noticed he still hadn't surrendered his name.

"I mean, it's not like they're paying you enough to risk your life. I don't know about you but I've certainly heard rumors of mass graves out in the countryside. I don't want to stick around any longer than I have to."

It was an odd question.

"I could ask you the same thing," Will replied.

He slid the key into the lock before turning to reply:

"It's something to do, you know? Shit, at least things are interesting now -- I couldn't stand the way things were before. Years and years of the same shit, grinding towards a retirement with never enough money and grandchildren that hate me."

The man looked taken aback at Will's honesty, he laughe then.

"Fuck man, I feel that. You're alright."

The man took the keys from WIll before he could remove the lock from the latch.

"Here, I'll take those."

Will turned in confusion, although he half suspected what would come next.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Will asked.

The man removed a gun from the baggy folds of his suit, tapping it against the side of the trailer.

"I figure, civilization's on its way out and I fucking can't stand my fellow man enough to go dig body pits any longer." the man said.

The man's voice had lost its ironic lilt, being replaced by a grave tone full up with naked honesty: he wouldn't hesitate to shoot Will.

"The way I figure it is one -- maybe a couple guys could live a lot longer on these than a bunch of stupid, fucking suburbanites or libertarian fuck-heads." The man hadn't shifted and his finger wasn't yet on the trigger.

Will found his heart hammering in his chest. He hadn't felt this alive in what felt like months and he was perversely relishing every second.

"Wait, what about the cops? The government? Fuck man, this is like Grand Larceny, isn't it?" Will said.

He distantly remembered something from the barrage of introductory material he'd been subjected to when getting hired onto this job.

The man laughed,

"Fuck, my man; congress is fucked and there's more deaths a day now then fucking D-Day. I'm getting out before shit gets any worse and I'll bet I'm the least of the Fed's problems."

Will knew there were food riots in DC and the surrounding states; taxing the attention of the American people beyond all reasonable measure.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Will asked.

"Just take it all man, I'm certainly not paid enough to stop you."

The man laughed once more; this time without humor.

"I've had a thought and hear me out before saying no. You seem the pragmatic sort and, frankly, my buddy died last week and I can't exactly find a new partner on EBay. You wanna come with me? I won't shoot you if you say no, mind; I just know what it's like to work a trash, fucking job."

Will found that he hardly needed to think about it. He was twenty three and living a state away from his aging parents. His brother, the pretentious fuck was attending an ivy-league college a whole continent away and his life was vector bound into meaninglessness. The world was ending and the man made some good points.

Will pulled his cellphone from his pocket and even though it hadn't worked in weeks, flung it across the room.

"Fuck it, man; I'll come. Please don't fucking shoot me."

The man put the gun away, already turning to exit through the door parallel to the truck bay.

"I'd have already shot you if I was gonna." He said, "Name's Robert by the way; Rob, really. Thanks for not making me shoot you."

Will stepped through the door after him, almost tripping over the bleeding corpse of the man in trucker's overalls. He looked up, making eye contact and shrugging to Rob before dragging the body behind a concrete pier.

Ten minutes later the truck was moving and throughout the surrounding city there were no sirens. Nothing at all, really.

--