Whispering a warning of imminent annihilation into the heads of everyone on earth proved a fine way to learn the extent of human self-interest. Perhaps that was the goal all along. Maybe the Chichen Itzas were just to reinforce a grand deception. Maybe, in about seven minutes, we’d all be gormlessly milling around the parking lot in front of the hospital thinking to ourselves “How could we have been so gullible? The end of the world? Really? What a lark.”. Maybe, in retrospect, shoving around cancer patients and knocking over the infirm in pursuit of an uncertain survival would be remembered as unworthy of us. Or maybe, if the world didn’t end, we’d all just be too relieved to even think about.

Andrew was the only reason Millie survived, clinging to his large frame, a ship’s mast in a roiling storm of human madness. He tried to be one of the better ones, but proved unable to avoid cruelty. Millie saw him shoulder check an orderly who froze up as the panic became too much, he shoved a doctor onto the ground when they’d tried to join Millie in clinging on to him. Millie knew that one, an OB/GYN, Dr. Avani; funny, smart - she disappeared beneath the feet of the throng. If she screamed, Millie didn’t hear it.

There was a brief, abortive, attempt to calm the crowd on the part of some of the staff - but it didn’t go anywhere. The threat was too existential, the notion of order a distant and feeble motivation in the face of the end. Paul was amongst the number that had tried, and one of the last to give up - the metal frame of Wyetta’s old wheelchair proving a welcome buffer against the crowds, and at times an effective battering ram. The old woman appeared unperturbed, hands in her lap, staring intensely forward.

The staircase was the first real obstacle. They were on the third floor and Paul was forced to abandon the wheelchair, scooping the slight old woman up into a bridal carry. Wyetta, for once, obliging despite the personal inconvenience. Andrew and Millie had caught up by that point, Andrew quickly exerting a biblical effort to part, if briefly, the sea of people already flowing down the stairwell. He managed just long enough for Millie and Paul, carrying Wyetta, to join the flow. A younger patient in nothing but a gown tried to squeeze in with them, threatening to crush or bowl over Paul and Wyetta. On some instinct Millie jabbed the poor guy in the face with the head of her cane, hard - he backed off with a bloody forehead, too frightened to respond to the assault.

Marching down the stairs proceeded at a glacial pace, eating up much of the time they had left. Millie considered trying to slip out on the second floor and look for a clearer path, but the currents wouldn’t allow it. So they had to be patient amidst the screaming, jostling bodies pressing against each other so hard some were scraping skin off on the walls. Paul had tears streaming down his face while Andrew just stared forward, jaw locked. Wyetta was the only one who hadn’t started to fall apart, impossibly placid as she dangled off Paul’s neck. Millie just focused on their breathing, ran through practiced rituals to keep themselves calm, to keep their body from tearing itself apart - what else could she do?

“Acquisition request for: Milicent Armstrong, memories - partial. Requested memories: Cultural. Interpersonal. Access granted: Yes/No?

No. Never. Not gonna happen. Stop asking.

“Acknowledged. Request denied.”

Exiting the stairwell onto the first floor it was apparent that the final stretch to the main exits would prove no quicker. Millie took a step towards an emergency exit she remembered near the stairwell only to find the entire section of wall where the exit had once been was gone, replaced by a harsh metallic facade. Dignity hadn't gotten that lucky it seemed. Before the despair set in, Andrew clapped Millie on the shoulder and directed her attention to Paul, who was gesturing with his head for them to follow him down a discreet looking hallway. They followed, trying to be subtle enough that they wouldn’t form a fresh stampede behind them.

It wasn’t long before they found another clutch of people clumped into a roadblock, but this lot was stationary. A doctor, two nurses, and about three dozen patients were crammed into the hallway, one quarter separated from the rest by a sea of broken glass formed from the shattered windows along the hall. Wouldn’t have been a problem if any of the kids were wearing shoes. They were from pediatrics, they were all crying - god damned Lucas was among them, hooked up to a wheel-around version of his keep-living machine

In lieu of forcing barefoot children to walk across glass, the adults had opted to form a bucket-brigade to ferry them across, one at a time. The kids were panicking and a good lot of them were like Lucas - requiring delicate handling. They’d managed about eleven so far.

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For a frightening moment it looked as if Andrew and Paul were hardening themselves to just… barrel through. Instead, they reached the limit of human self-interest. Andrew muttered something under his breath, strode up to the kids, grabbed one under each arm, and marched them over to the other side. Paul got Wyetta across and practically dropped her to the floor, shaking out his tired arms, trying to restore some life to the overextended muscles.

One of the nurses muttered out “Thank you.” as Andrew passed them, exhausted yet heartfelt to her core.

Millie didn’t help, no point, this would take too long and none of them would make it. They couldn’t have more than three minutes left, tops.

“Ah fuck it.”

Millie flipped her hospital gown up and over her head and threw it at a wide-eyed Andrew. Hobbling forward and gesturing wildly at the glass with her cane.

“Take your shit off and make a fuckin’ bridge! Go go go!”

Andrew reacted quickly, ripping off his own gown he folded them both out and started covering up the glass with the too-thin cloth. The doctors and nurses followed his lead shortly after - stripping off coats and scrub tops. Paul ducked into a room at the other end of the hall, but by the time he came back with an armful of linens, the nurses had already ushered most of the remaining kids over the makeshift bridge. A lot of them were crying worse than before, trailing a little blood as they walked - all the thin gowns could do was keep the damage manageable and the source of their fear out of sight.

“Good thinking.” said Andrew, keeping his gaze respectfully forward as he tied some of Paul’s linens around his waist.

Millie was barely able to muster up a “Yup.” as a sheepish-looking Paul threw one of the larger linens over her shoulders and muttered an apology. The covering implied at leat an attempt at modesty.

Moving to grab Wyetta, Andrew was roundly and loudly rejected. They’d finally found something that could aggrieve her in the form of Andrew’s nudity. Even with all that was happening Andrew seemed just a little put out by the rejection. So the task of carrying her fell once more to the visibly strained Paul. Adrenaline would only be able to bolster the twiggy man’s carrying capacity for so long.

As the quartet made it to the door, right behind the little pediatrics squad, a stray thought intruded on Millie’s adrenaline-soaked brain. She knew this spot. One foot already out into the lot behind Dignity, she glanced at the door on the other side of the hall. The plaque above it read “Morgue”, in discreet block lettering. The linens Paul had given her were meant to grant the dead some dignity.

“That’s about right…”

“Update: Two minutes until the surface of your planet is rendered uninhabitable. Please proceed to an emergency shelter.”

‘Hey, wasn’t far off.’ thought Millie, oddly pleased.

“Hurry up!” Cried a sweat-drenched, wide-eyed Paul as he jogged towards the huge alien structure that loomed in front of them.

Some luck, finally some god damned luck. One of the emergency Chichen Itzas was right there, in the lot behind the hospital. The same one that was sticking its bits through the hospital’s wall. It had a ramp leading up to an entrance demarcated by a simple open archway, one on at least both of the sides Millie could see. Each entryway was wide enough to fit two at a time and in front of them was projected ‘Remaining Allowance: 58.” It ticked down to 57 before Millie’s eyes. She tried to approximate a run.

Andrew was ahead of them, burdened by Lucas and the unwieldy machine that made him the slowest of the kids. Paul looked like his arms were about to give whilst Wyetta was looking up at the sky, frowning slightly. Even then, with all of their burdens, Millie couldn’t keep up. Her lungs heaved as she breathed in ragged gasps, heart hammering, the agony in her leg indicating the explosion had damaged it as badly as she’d feared. Her cane tapped and scraped at the ground as she struggled to keep herself on her feet. Millie slowed down, she had to, and tipped her head back as she tried to suck down some air.

The sky was breaking.

A murder of crows spun noisly through the air as the clouds whirled up into an unnatural yellow-red sea, tornadoes that reached for the sky instead of the earth. Stars were visible and growing increasingly vibrant as they moved in a lunatic’s dance through the heavens. The sun was writhing… pulsing, no - it was beating, like a heart. Arcs of purple lightning cracked the atmosphere, creeping wider, becoming purple-black wounds in space. The largest was forming behind the sun, evoking a bloodshot eye; from inside of which something was growing bigger, it was getting closer. For the first time in nearly a decade, Millie managed to sprint.