“Terrific,” Gary muttered as the service station was plunged into darkness. Everyone convened outside his van again.

“They said this would happen on the radio,” Peter said, “Power outages.”

Gary looked at the dark buildings. Far from being the welcoming places of a few seconds ago, they now looked foreboding.

“I don’t know about this,” Fran said, “There could be anything in there.”

“I don’t think there’ll be any undead this far away from any graveyards,” Jonathan said. “Okay, let’s split into two groups. I’ll check the petrol station and supermarket with Gary. The rest of you check the burger bar and the Happy Traveller.”

“What are we looking for?”

“Anyone who is alive, and who might know any more about what is going on. If there’s no-one here, we take any food we can find.”

“What, so you’re just going to steal stuff?” Chantelle looked disconcerted.

“A couple of hours ago you were quite happy to murder me,” Gary said. “Now you have a problem with petty theft?”

Chantelle scowled, “That was different.”

“Look, I mean the lass has a point, though, doesn’t she? Isn’t this, you know, looting?”

“They shoot you for that in America,” Fran commented.

Jonathan held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Usually,” the teacher muttered to Gary, “I have to make sure everyone isn’t breaking the rules...”

He raised his voice. “Look, I don’t think anyone is going to begrudge us a few sandwiches at this point. We need whatever we can gather. Ah, Mrs Rain, would you mind accompanying the other group to make sure they’re safe?”

Rain looked at Jonathan’s attempt to corral her into the group with bemusement.

“I’m staying with Gary,” she said, “And it’s just Rain.”

“Right, right, fair enough,” Jonathan said, deflated. He was trying to treat this like it a school outing, and it wasn’t working out as he’d intended.

“I’ve got a couple of torches,” Gary said, producing them from the van. “I guess the rest of us will have to use our phone torches.”

He handed one torch to Peter and kept one for himself.

“Why does he get the torch?” Fran asked, “Is it just because he’s the man and that?”

Peter handed the torch to Fran, “Here, you can have it.”

Fran looked mollified.

“Okay,” Jonathan said, “well, I guess if we all just meet back here in, ah, twenty minutes. Keep close to each other and keep your weapons with you.”

There were vague grumbles from certain quarters, wondering who had put Jonathan in charge, but the second group did as they were told and split up. Half of them headed towards the Big Burger Bar, the other half towards the Happy Traveller.

“Twenty minutes!” Jonathan reminded them.

He turned to Gary. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I think you’re doing fine,” Gary said. “It’s just what everyone needs right now. A voice of authority and so on. Sure, they’re grumbling about it, but I think they’d be lost without someone telling them what to do right now. Let’s check out the station.”

Jonathan nodded and gripped his sword. Gary had taken Simon from the back of the van. He perched the shovel over his shoulder and held on with his right hand, holding the torch in his left hand. The three of them walked towards the darkened petrol station.

“What is this place for?” Rain asked.

“Fuel,” Gary said, pointing to the petrol pumps. “To keep our vehicles running. Or electricity, if they run on that.”

“I wonder how long electric vehicles are going to last in these conditions,” Jonathan said.

The interior of the service station was pitch black.

“Hello?” Gary called out as they entered. “Is there anyone here? We’re friendly.”

There was no response.

A cursory search of the place revealed it was empty, and that some looting had already taken place. The shelves had been relieved of over half of their products.

“Well, so much for no-one panicking,” Jonathan said. “Looks like someone already did a number on this place.”

“I guess we just take what we can,” Gary said.

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Jonathan retrieved a handful of plastic bags from behind the register, and the pair of them filled the bags with whatever they could find. A few sandwiches had been left in the fridge, a dozen bags of crisps, some chocolate bars and microwaveable pastries. The grocery section had a few bags of pasta and some tinned vegetables, and not much else. The alcohol section had been reduced to three bottles of cheap red wine and a four pack of even cheaper beer. Jonathan grabbed the lot as Gary scavenged what few remaining bathroom products remained. There were a couple of bottles of engine oil, which they took as well. All in all, they ended up with half a dozen plastic bags filled with a variety of supplies.

“Not what I was hoping for,” Gary said. “Still, better than nothing.”

They took the bags to the van and dumped them inside.

Rain hadn’t taken part in the looting spree, preferring to keep her eyes focussed on the surrounding area. That was fair enough, Gary thought. She probably had no idea what half the stuff in the petrol station was, and they needed a lookout.

On the road beyond the service station, Gary noticed a couple of cars driving along the motorway, visible only by their headlights.

He felt uneasy about meeting other people. It was less than half a day since everything had happened, and already people had been looting.

Was that all it took for society to collapse? Less than a full day?

And if that was the case, then how were other people likely to behave? He presumed they’d be scared, angry. Perhaps even willing to fight over a few packets of pasta and a couple of tins of beans.

The darkness seemed to press in around him.

“Okay, I think that’s everything,” Jonathan said. “I’m going to see if the others have found anything. You coming?”

Gary shook his head, “I’ll mind the van.”

He pointed at the headlights moving along the motorway.

Jonathan nodded, understanding. Like Gary, the reality of the situation was sinking in. Decades of apocalyptic films and television shows had taught them that the most deadly thing in an apocalypse was often the survivors themselves.

The headlights drove on, missing the turning into the service station.

Gary breathed a sigh of relief. Either they hadn’t seen the turning or the fact that the lights were now off had made it seem too foreboding.

“How far is the farmhouse of yours?” Rain asked. Gary jerked in surprise. The woman moved silently and had a habit of appearing by his side.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack if you keep doing that,” he muttered. Then he noticed something. “Hey, wait... I can’t sense you like I can the others. Why is that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can feel the other living people around me. Like their general direction and numbers, you know? It’s part of the zombie thing, I guess. But with you, it’s there, but it’s faint. Why is that?”

“Training,” Rain said.

Gary gritted his teeth. “You know, it would be nice if I could get more than monosyllables, doom mongering and sarcastic asides out of you!”

It was Rain’s turn to look startled.

“Why are you raising your voice at me?”

Gary winced. He hadn’t meant to let his frustration spill out, but it had been a long day. He’d nearly died, what, three times already? Between that and the end of the world, his tension levels were high.

But it’s not fair to take it out on Rain, he reminded himself.

He reminded himself that Rain was facing her own challenges right now, the main one being an identity crisis provoked by his existence.

Can’t be fun, he thought, turning your back on the religion you grew up in, only to have it thrown back in your face.

He lowered his voice and tried again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I’m just tired. It’s just I feel you’re holding things back, like... look, I know this is all just an average Tuesday for you. You hop from reality to reality, you’re used to magic, the idea of the dead coming back to life is normal. But for me, for us, we’re all new to this. We barely have any idea what is going on, or how any of this works.”

“You’re frustrated,” Rain said.

“Yes, you could say that. It just feels like there are a lot of things you know you could tell me, tell us, but you aren’t doing.”

Rain frowned.

“I think I understand. I am not used to being with people who are incompetent.”

Gary groaned. “I think incompetent is unfair. How about just new to all of this?”

Rain considered, then nodded.

“It is not in my nature to be forthcoming. My training is the complete opposite. I was raised to conceal everything. Myself, information, speech. It is part of who I am.”

She was struggling to put the words in order. But she was trying.

“You were trained to withhold everything,” he said, “It’s like a vow of silence or something.”

“For the first nine years of my life I was not allowed to speak.”

“Oh. Wow. Right.”

“It’s normal for the Shiranti.”

“Right. I’m... sorry, I guess?”

Gary felt like he was getting a better understanding of the strange, blue-skinned assassin. Her evasiveness and indifference was not an attitude she was putting on. It was taught behaviour.

Rain frowned. “Your apology makes no sense. You didn’t raise me that way, and I haven’t complained about it.”

“It’s just something we say,” Gary replied, “Sorr... never mind.”

“I have been told that people find me difficult,” Rain said, “Although I did not know it until I left the order. Most of the other living people I knew I either killed or they were of the same mind as me. My brothers and sisters. We rarely spoke to each other. It wasn’t necessary, or considered wise. ‘Giving someone knowledge is as dangerous as giving them a weapon.’ One of our scriptures.”

“But you gave me a knife,” Gary said.

Rain nodded. “As a test.”

Okay, Gary thought, I’m making some progress here.

Rain’s face scrunched up, her lips going sideways and her nose wrinkling. It was such an unexpected, almost child-like expression of thinking that Gary almost laughed.

“If you ask me a question, I will do my best to give you all the information,” she said. “What do you want to know?”

The offer and the question caught Gary off-guard.

“Uh, right, thanks, uh...”

He hesitated. There were so many questions to ask, he wasn’t sure where to begin. He wanted to know more about how the system worked, the levelling up, what he could expect it the future. He wanted to know more about the Shiranti and the messiah that he might be. He wanted to know more about the war, who was behind it, if there was any way of stopping it. There was so much he wanted to know it was overwhelming.

He concentrated, working through the priorities.

“Okay, if I understand this correctly, there’s some kind of administration that is responsible for making sure everything – the system- runs smoothly. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“They won’t interfere with whatever is going on here, at all. No matter how many people are killed?”

“No. That is not their job. Their function is to make sure...”

“…. everything works as it should, okay. But sometimes mistakes happen. Things don’t work in the correct way. The glitches that you and the others were hunting.”

“Yes.”

“Right, so, what if you found a glitch, and you wanted to report it to the administration? Like there was a mistake made? Is there some way of contacting them to tell them there has been a mistake?”

“You are talking about your own situation.”

“Yes I am. I’m not thrilled about being undead, and I don’t like the idea of possibly being your religion’s messiah meant to bring about the end of times and so on. So is there any way to contact the administrators and tell them there’s been a mistake?”