"I'm not doing this again," Evelyn groaned, "there should be a law."

"Hmm?" David looked up from the book he was reading, "And what would that law say?"

Evelyn was a blonde twenty-something, several years into medical school, and attractive-ish in an unremarkable way. David was ten years older than her, always looked like he needed a haircut, and years ago had started listing his occupation as "Hopeless Adventurer" when he had to fill out forms. If he was never sure what he actually did for a living, his reasoning went, then he couldn't see why others should be either.

Evelyn got up and walked over to the adjoining kitchen as she continued her complaining. David stayed on the couch with his feet up, but he put his book down to listen.

"There should be a maximum of one apocalypse per week," she insisted, rummaging through the fridge. "No new disasters allowed until you've finished the one on your plate."

"That wouldn't work," David observed flatly. "We're still continuing the same apocalypse as yesterday."

"Ok, then," she countered, undeterred, "the end of the world must arrive within eight hours of its scheduled appointment."

"Or it loses its spot in line?"

"Exactly. And it has to pay the missed-appointment fee."

"You mean the missed-apocalypse fee," he corrected.

"Right," she agreed, "and there's a minimum 90-day waiting period before it's allowed to schedule a new world-ending disaster."

"Has to attend the remedial training course for inconsiderate cataclysms?" David suggested.

"Which is only offered at 7am on the second Tuesday following a full moon, or whatever the thing is with driving school," said Evelyn with an eye roll.

"Speaking of school, how long are you staying?"

"Oh," Evelyn blinked at the sudden change in topic. "They decided to go full remote for the rest of the semester, just in case. So I'll be home through Christmas at least."

"Oh, cool, I always enjoyed having you around."

"Aw, thanks," she blushed, "how about you? Are you staying with us for a while?"

"Well... I suppose that depends on what happens, right? My apartment is a lot closer to the office. But I like it here a lot more."

"Yeah, Dad's got a nice little cabin, doesn't he."

The cabin was, indeed, pretty damn nice. But it wasn't "little" by any standard. Built on the side of the mountain, it had a distinctly outdoorsy motif: lots of natural wood and large windows, showing off the view of the gigantic trees all around. Though they had always called it "the cabin," it felt more like an old-timey inn or a vacation rental property. It included a large common area and living space, an adjoining commercial-grade kitchen, and enough sleeping space for everyone to bring friends.

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However, it was the surrounding property that was truly special about this place. Since the location was so remote, the home could be entirely self-sufficient. Maintaining rural infrastructure is never the priority of any local officials, so the power went out so often that living off-grid was practically routine. Plus, the other critical utilities were sourced entirely on-site. It was the perfect place to ride out a world-ending disaster of unknown origin, which was precisely why they'd all chosen to come here.

Yet despite their preparation and protections, the situation was growing increasingly unsustainable. The problem, it turned out, wasn't the supplies or the shelter. Rather, the world had been on high alert for weeks already. Though the calamity had a due date, it could theoretically have arrived early. So for almost a month, everyone in the world had been living with a sort of low-grade background fear that never went away.

This fear and anxiety was amplified a thousand-fold once the day of the predicted disaster arrived. The world sat huddled with their loved ones, listening, watching, waiting for the hammer to fall. And then the end never came. The announcements trickled out over news outlets worldwide that they, the reporters, had misinterpreted the numbers. "Oops," they said, "Sorry for making you wait all day for the end of the world. Now, please do it again tomorrow."

"That's it," Evelyn huffed, "I'm going to the store. I'm not going another day like this. If the world is going to hell then it might as well happen with some damn chocolate."

David looked both surprised and confused. "Is anything actually open?"

"Safeway is staying open. It's only about 15 miles from here."

It was a solid ten seconds before David replied. Evelyn got the feeling that he wanted to tell her not to go. David was by far the expert. He had survival down to a science and had defied death more times than everyone else in her life combined. David survived on solid plans and calculated risk. But how do you estimate risk for an event like this? Finally, he settled on a response.

"Alright," he acknowledged. "But then what if it goes all wrong while you're out?"

"Then I stick with the plan from yesterday. I'll take one of the backpacks with me just in case."

There was a difference between being careful and being overprotective, and David was clearly trying his best to find that balance. But they had done some solid planning the day before, back when the fear was fresh. Nearly every contingency had a response. There was probably no better plan today than to stick with the one they already had.

"OK, stay safe," David said, his tone quiet and serious. "Oh, and be sure to tell Gary before you head out."

"Yeah," Evelyn replied in the same quiet, serious tone. "Will do."

Then she cocked her head to the side and took a huge breath. "DAAAAD!" she yelled, "I'M GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE."

"Ev, I swear you're still fourteen."

"Thank you!" she grinned, "I'll take that as a compliment." And she traipsed out of the room to grab her car keys.

As Evelyn was picking up her keys, a necklace caught her eye. It was a gift from years ago that she'd left at home when she went off to college, a simple, durable chain with a bright red pendant. It was huge by gemstone standards, cut in the shape of a heart. She hadn't worn serious jewelry in ages, and something about this necklace spoke to her. More importantly, it went well with her outfit. On a whim, she put it on before heading out.

Of all the equipment Evelyn could have brought with her on the day the world was to end, this necklace was clearly the least useful item in the house. But the nature of this apocalypse was not something that anyone could have predicted. In retrospect, this necklace turned out to be the most useful piece of survival equipment she owned. Without it, she wouldn't have lived to see the sunset.