Officer James Akana believed in doing the important work, even in the face of chaos.

  It had been two weeks since the rapture that disappeared half of humanity and sent the rest of the world into a tailspin. He had barely had a chance to rest, let alone grieve, since everything happened. His wife and son didn’t make it, and he hadn’t heard word from his brother or his parents. He figured he wouldn’t, any time soon, until word was able to travel all the way up here from Hawaii.

  Luckily, he had his work to throw himself into.

  Being a police officer during the apocalypse was strange. People still hated you, and you still had to answer to your commanding officers, but you were no longer protecting the people of the city. You were a peacekeeper, maintaining order, trying to keep the tent cities and the rioters calm.

  He silently refused to use any force. They were doing what he wanted to do. Resist. Fight. Mourn.

  The Prime Minister didn’t survive. The Premier didn’t survive. The Mayor of Toronto didn’t survive. Things were being run by one of the lower Ministers who had no idea what to do or how to do it. A few unelected officials were running the city, and they came up with the Survivor Identification and Reunification Program behind closed doors.

  The SIRP was supposed to create some sense of order. Despite its suspicious origins, James believed in that program, believed that order was something they could find again. But the people… did not. The first day that his supervisors tried to sign people up, they threw spoiled fruit at the force on site. That included him. With the way the water was being rationed, he was still finding rotten tomato seeds in his curls.

  The first time a man was accidentally killed during the riots, James cried. There had been so much loss, so much death, already. He wanted to help reunite loved ones, ensure that there was enough food, that children could go to school and play. He was already seeing the way some of his management were hoarding cases of water bottles. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

  He finally had enough and slipped on whatever ill-fitting civilian clothing he could find and headed into the tent city that sprung up in Dundas Square.

  People were scared. People didn’t trust who was left in government. People didn’t want to tell those in power what magical abilities they received, assuming that mandatory conscription would follow for some people. People were more scared about what the people in power were going to do than they were about the fact that they were in the end of days.

  His foray among them changed how James talked to the people while he was in his uniform. He asked conversational questions, smiled more, and smuggled a few bottles of water when he could. It took a couple days, but the denizens of the tent city started greeting him, and greeting him politely.

  James still didn’t know if being chosen was because of this, or despite it, or in spite of it. But one day he was called into a meeting with his commanding officer and the one Minister who was practically running the city. They had gotten word of Newmarket building an organized, self-sufficient community. Not the town of Newmarket, but a subset. An independent colony. A new village.

  They were sending James to go check it out. To go undercover, get to know them, see how their little community worked and why.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  It felt like too much subterfuge to him, but he was an officer. He obeyed instructions, even when he didn’t understand them or agree with them. And after all, he’d be helping in his own little way.

  He went home. He left his badge on his dresser as he packed a bag and drove out of the city, through the mandated barricade keeping people in—or out.

  It was important work.

  ***

  Donny Crawford was starting to think that nothing was that important, after all.

  It had been two weeks since his surprise freedom, when the guards all disappeared and chaos reigned and then the power went out. The inmates from Millhaven crawled over each other to get through the broken fences and put as much distance between themselves and the prison that had housed them. At first, Donny was following the crowd, unused to freedom and choices. It had been so long since he had been able to make any of his own.

  Without the guards and the control of the structure of life inside, it was a bloodbath. As the first big rumble of the ground knocked the inmates off their feet, and the first taste of magic wove its way between them, Donny knew that he had to get away. Magic would either make them work together or fight even harder, and neither of those options sat right with him. He sought out his boys—the ones that survived, at least—and they slipped away from the crowd. They argued over where to go, if the city was better or to find some small town. Nederson worried that someone in a larger city might recognize their names or faces; Santiago pointed out that people in small towns might know them just as well.

  In the end, they opted for large city. More likely to find provisions there.

  And Donny still had some family in Toronto. He didn’t know if they survived, or if they’d want to see him, but the pull of unfinished business kept him moving forward.

  They still fought amongst themselves, of course. Learned how to use their new magical abilities, turned it on each other. Food was scarce and their shoes were shit and their patience was slim, but the seven of them pushed on. Found a deserted neighbourhood outside of Napanee and were able to get a change of clothes, some clean socks, some canned goods. They laid low there for a while, but when it was clear no one was coming after them, they continued on.

  They remained on foot, walking along with Highway 401 in view, following it west toward the city. The days were surprisingly comfortable and companionable, not too different from their time at the prison but with less supervision and less structure.

  Less food, too, which got some of them antsy.

  It took one week before the ease finally crumbled, and Anthony used his magic to produce a shiv and shoved it in Nederson’s gut.

  It was the next day that hunger got the better of Sharapova, his paranoia and magic nearly killing them all, and Donny himself had to put him down.

  Down to five, their walk turned silent and contemplative. But at least they survived.

  Otaki parted ways when they reached Oshawa, choosing to find some family that lived in the area. But it was a ghost town, and Donny had a feeling they’d never see him again. Still, they said their goodbyes and walked on.

  They idled at the crossroads where Highway 401 met the Don Valley Parkway, the sprawl of Toronto in front of them. The CN Tower was visible through the buildings, a beacon of their destination. But they had been barred, coming across a barricade that wasn’t allowing anyone from within the city to leave and from outside the city in. The barricade was monitored by military, police, government—basically, the very people must likely to recognize the escaped felons. And now they were stuck, without a plan or a place to go.

  A car made its way up the highway, slowing down once the men came into view. The driver’s window opened, showing a young man with deep, curly hair and a dark complexion.

  He asked what the group was doing, on the highway. Donny answered honestly—the barricade jilted their plans.

  The stranger told them of a thriving community up in Newmarket, one that didn’t have quite as intense of a barricade. There was room in his car for all four of them, if they wanted to join him.

  It was easy to say yes. To climb into a car—a luxury they hadn’t enjoyed in a long time. To rest their feet. To have a destination.

  “I’m James,” the driver said. “Buckle up, guys. It’s off to Newmarket.”