A light flickered briefly in the dark, illuminating nothing. Over an unbroken line of distant buildings, all empty, seething storm clouds advanced. Walls turned to dust and were whipped away by the wind, yet the air was still. I could hear nothing, but felt a horrible pressure; a creeping sense of dread. I had to get out.
A field of dead grass sloped down to a fast-flowing river of black water. To touch the water was surely a mistake but I ran towards it anyway. Though I was going downhill I felt as if I were fighting against gravity. The river receded to the horizon and I was between two razor-wire fences. Still, I ran.
I was in a cabin on the top of a hill. Meager grey daylight found its way into the single window, but brought no warmth. The door hung weakly in its frame; I tried to barricade it but I couldn’t move anything. I cowered in the corner. It was too late to escape. The light faded and the sky remained a solid mass of grey. I couldn’t stop the end now.
They were coming.