Pacing the living room and hallway of his hoard-laden apartment, Peter Adams carried a sawn-off shotgun in one hand and a near-empty bottle of bourbon in the other. Between his television, computer, and mobile devices, there was a cacophony of talking heads droning on about the election being stolen, murderers and rapists traveling with impunity, and a massive effort by the mainstream media to strip God-given rights from the average citizen, even going as far as faking a global pandemic to do it. Pete wasn’t afraid. The fear had long since passed. No, Pete was furious.

When his thoughts turned to violence, as they often did lately, Pete would fall back on the words of wisdom that had carried him through the darkest periods in his life: What would Jesus do? As much as he fantasized blowing the heads off poison peddling satanic billionaires, Pete was pretty sure that Jesus wouldn’t approve. But there must have been something that he could do while keeping his place in heaven above. And so he paced, or tried to anyway. When he was passing through the hall, he tumbled over a stack of toilet paper, losing his balance and flinging open the bedroom door.

Pete rolled around on the floor in a futile attempt to stand on his own, then crawled onto his bed, all the while refusing to lose his grip on his bottle and shotgun. When he finally balanced himself in a sitting position, he put the bottle to his lips, but it was empty. He threw the empty vessel across the room in a rage, shattering it.

He forced out a roar, letting his emotions flow in the only way he could think of. Pete yelled until his voice broke and fell back onto the bed. As he stared at the water-stained ceiling, his anger gradually gave way to a sense of despair and helplessness. Tears welled in his eyes and a tightness grew in his throat. Pete curled onto his side facing his bedside table.

Pete was happy. The happiest he had ever been, in the framed picture on his table, standing behind his gorgeous wife and their two beautiful young children, care-free and loving life. As the memories came flooding back, Pete could no longer contain himself and openly wept as he grabbed the picture. It had been over a year and a half since he last saw them, and all because of the stupid, pointless quarantine. He felt abandoned by all the people he loved. His brother, his father, his wife and kids, even Jesus didn’t seem to be on his side anymore. He sat back up at the edge of the bed and stared at the photo.

At this point, Pete began to doubt himself. Maybe it wasn’t everything else. Maybe it was him, the common denominator to all the terrible things that had happened recently in his life. Then he realized he was still gripping his shotgun. Pete thought he felt the presence of God everywhere throughout his life, at every decision he made, but recently, the Lord had been increasingly silent. Even now, as Pete repositioned his grip on the shotgun, he listened with all his being for a sign, telling him that this was not the way.

By the time the barrel was under his chin, the sign still hadn’t come. Or perhaps silence was the sign. Perhaps God’s lack of intervention was a sign that he was doing the right thing. All that Pete could do at this point is continue forward, and hope that Jesus would forgive him for what he was about to do. He fingered the trigger as tears ran down his cheeks.

From down the hall in the living room, Pete heard his phone screech out the sound of an emergency alert. The distraction was all that was needed for him to remove the gun from beneath him. He took a sharp breath and groaned as his body released its tension. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, then stood up and walked to the living room to find out what the ruckus was all about. As he was grabbing his phone, he noticed that the current events livestream on his computer and the 24-hour news broadcast on his television were both flashing their individual breaking news banners. Each of the reporters came into view appearing pale and unnerved. Pete increased the volume on his television.

“This just in... Uh... Breaking now.” The reporter was a recognized and well-respected journalist to Pete. Always professional and articulate, the man was now struggling to speak and was visibly shaking. “Coming to you live from Atlanta, we are currently witnessing what appear to be... several massive disk-shaped objects hovering in formation above the city.” The reporter motioned toward the camera operator who swiveled on the spot to bring Atlanta’s skyline into view. Just as described, directly above the jagged cityscape, 6 metallic disks were hanging silently in the air, blotting out much of the afternoon sky. Pete was breathless, looking in awe at the 4k image he was seeing. He broke his attention to the television for a moment to check the livestream on his computer. It was a similar image, but this time above the iconic New York City skyline.

“Affiliates from major cities across the nation are reporting the same thing.” The reporter paused, attempting to parse the overwhelming flow of information flooding to him. His voice cracked when he continued speaking. “There are, uh... reports from London, Hong Kong, Paris, Moscow... Is this really happening?”

The sound of tires squealing in the street outside broke Pete’s focus on the TV. He stumbled over to the most accessible window, knocking over a tower of newspapers and magazines in the process. He pulled open the curtains and immediately noticed a few of the craft poking out from behind the houses across the street. They were so large and far away that his eyes had trouble focusing on them, though his inebriation did not help. The disks were so unlike anything he had ever seen that he had to slap himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Even after the stinging sensation made its way to his brain, Pete was still unsure of whether it was a hallucination or some kind of twisted trick. That’s when he noticed the street was a chaos of his neighbors frantically packing gear into their vehicles.

“God help us all.” The television reporter’s words were able to cut through the cacophony of questions and fears consuming Pete’s mind. Then it finally dawned on him. God had not just abandoned him, he abandoned everyone. Pete felt a profound emptiness inside him, so much so that he lost his balance and stumbled backward into the coffee table, falling to a sitting position on it.

He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to. All he wanted to do was simply die, an easy enough proposition with the shotgun still in his hand. He was already going to do it only a minute ago, but now something had changed. His soul was damned, but there still might be something he could do. The empty look in his eyes gradually changed to that of angry determination. He no longer needed, nor wanted God’s help. Fuck him. Pete would do it alone.

The second wind had given Pete a moment of clarity, where he sprang to his feet and went to the front door, pulling his keys off the hook as he passed. He whipped the door open and made his way outside, toward his truck in the driveway. On the way, he watched the objects loom in the sky, and didn’t notice one of his neighbors approaching.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Pete! Oh my God, man! Do you believe this shit?” Darron had a wavering in his voice uncharacteristic of his generally chilled attitude. “We’re getting the hell out of Dodge, we could really use your-“ He trailed off as Pete ignored him, opening the truck door and climbing in after tossing the shotgun on the seat. Darron caught the door before it closed.

“Hey, man! We need to leave! Where are you going?” Darron asked pointedly.

“I’m going to save my family.” Pete said, then forced the door closed. He started the truck and pulled out of the driveway, grazing Darron and driving over his front lawn in the process.

The roads were complete anarchy, and Pete’s drunken hurry was not helping. On more than one occasion, he collided with other vehicles, signs, the curb, but so did everyone else. As he approached the city, he encountered an increasing number of roads gridlocked with angry and frightened people, completely lost for what to do about the visitors above. People were fighting in the streets, looting any and all stores, firing weapons up at the craft to no effect, and Pete wasn’t concerned enough to keep count of how many were already dead. He was sure they were the lucky ones.

Having lived in this city his entire life, Pete knew all the shortcuts and side streets like the back of his hand, and when Pete wasn’t able to go around an obstacle, his determination and unnecessarily powerful truck helped him go through or over it. Eventually, Pete made it across the city, to his wife’s sister’s house. The SUV in the driveway had its back hatch open and his wife’s brother-in-law, Chris, was cramming as much luggage and supplies into it as would fit. Pete stopped his truck in the street blocking the SUV in, then turned off his engine. Chris turned around to notice Pete, and his already pale face lost even more of its color.

“Pete!? Hey!!” Chris yelled, puffing out his chest and pointing at Pete as he came around the truck with a threatening presence. “You’ve got a restraining order, man! You can’t be here!”

As Chris approached, Pete stepped out of the truck brandishing his shotgun. Chris stumbled backward and raised his hands when he saw the gun. Pete started moving toward the house and Chris stepped in front of him.

“Listen, man, I’m not going to let you by.” Chris said, his hands’ shaking. Pete, almost a head taller, just continued walking, pushing Chris back as he did.

“Out of my way, Chris...” Pete responded with a very clear warning in his tone, but Chris didn’t back down. He tried again to step in front of Pete and pushed back against him. The shoving quickly turned to a struggle over control of the shotgun.

The men’s grunts turned to shouting as it escalated, until Pete forced his knee into Chris’s pelvis, causing him to lose his grip. Pete took advantage, using the small space to turn the gun on Chris and pulled the trigger, blowing out part of his jaw and shredding a significant portion of his neck. Pete was sprayed with viscera, and a blood-curdling scream rang out before Chris could hit the asphalt.

Jenny, Chris’s wife, stood in the open doorway watching her bloodied husband crumple to the ground. She ran to Chris and began cradling him as his squirming turned to convulsions, then to stillness in a matter of seconds. She didn’t seem immediately concerned with Pete’s presence, and vice versa. Pete walked around them and toward the house with intent. He heard a familiar voice from inside.

“Jenny? What happened?” Jessica said as she stepped into the doorway. Pete felt an extreme range of emotions. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and just seeing her made him feel as if a weight had been lifted, but it was nothing compared to the weight of what he was about to do. Tears began filling his eyes as he continued his approach. “Pete?!” His wife says with an expression of dumbfounded fear, only exasperated when she sees the couple on the ground behind him.

Jessica retreated into the house and tried to slam the door, but Pete caught it, nearly breaking his foot in the process. He barely noticed the pain due to the increasing flood of adrenaline into his brain. He pushed the door open and followed Jessica through the house. Jessica stumbled backward, her hands out, trying to placate him with a wavering voice and tears streaming down her face.

“Please!” She cried. “Please don’t do this! Don’t take them from me!” She backed into an open doorway, then stopped and gripped the frame on both sides of the door, blocking Pete’s path.

“You won’t be separated for long...” He said quietly, continuing toward her. “... And then you won’t ever see me again.” As he looked at Jessica, he thought about their life together.

He remembered the way she smiled when she looked at him when they were first dating, when they got married, and on their honeymoon. He reminisced about the way she drooled in her sleep after a rough day with the kids. And he thought about the bad parts. How he was always so dismissive. How he yelled at her and said terrible things. He hated himself for all the pain that he caused her and for driving her away. Then, Pete heard a small voice from within the room behind her.

“Mommy?” The voice said. A little girl stepped into Pete’s view. His little girl. Mary. “What’s happening?” She asked.

Pete’s legs nearly buckled at the sight of her. She had grown since he last saw her, and she was speaking so clearly with the voice of an angel. When she turned her puffy, glistening eyes toward him, Pete was petrified. She didn’t have recognition in her eyes, only fear and confusion.

“Stay back!” Jessica shouted to her. Pete regained his composure and continued his approach until he felt an intense pain shooting into his clavicle.

With Pete’s focus on Jessica, her sister Jenny had come back inside, retrieved a kitchen knife, and plunged it deep into his upper shoulder. Pete screamed in pain as he whipped around and fired a round point blank into Jenny’s gut, causing her to fall to the floor. Jessica took the opportunity to jump on Pete’s back, using the knife still stuck in him for leverage. He flailed around and she held on to him until he backed into a wall, knocking the wind out of her, and forcing her to lose her grip.

Pete flipped her to the ground, chambered another round, and shot his wife. In an instant, he watched her beautiful but horrified face become an unrecognizable mess of meat and bone. When he stood back up, he lost his balance and collapsed against a wall. He gripped the knife handle and yelled in pain as he pulled it out. The blade was followed by an unending gout of blood, and Pete immediately felt lightheaded. He quickly realized that an artery had been cut. It was a death sentence, and he could already feel himself slipping away, but his job wasn’t done.

When the sound of the struggle subsided, Pete could hear crying coming from within the room. He pushed himself off the wall, and took one step, but lost his balance and fell to his hands and knees. He couldn’t get up any longer, so he crawled. Upon entering the room, in one corner, he saw Mary, crying and looking away. In her arms was her baby brother, John, who Pete hadn’t seen since shortly after he was born.

Pete pushed himself up against the wall opposite them. He sat there staring at them for what seemed like an eternity, imagining what their lives might have been, save for their crazy, deadbeat dad, and the currently unfolding apocalypse. Now, all of that was gone, and the only thing awaiting them was a bleak existence and a painful death, followed by an eternity of torture. Pete shook his head, giving him a moment of clarity.

“I love you both.” He said with a whisper so low as to not be heard by the children. It was painful in every way, but he worked through it to pump the shotgun and fire. He let out a cry louder and more passionate than any point in his life, as he continued to chamber rounds and fire as fast as he could, until the last shell was ejected, and the chamber locked open.

Pete had completed what he set out to do, as much as it hurt him to do it. Now that it was done, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He let his tension melt away and gave in to the numbness overtaking his body. He saw the light, and he didn’t resist, giving himself a moment of quiet rest before the next part.

He knew he was damned, headed for the deepest depths of Hells pit. Perhaps he always was. But if the Lord was worth any of the lifetime of worship Pete had dedicated to him, the gates of Heaven would still be open to his wife and children. That hope was the last thing Peter felt as the storm of firing neurons in his brain gradually came to an end.