The Fallout Begins

Day 1 – The Moment Everything Changed

Daniel Holt knew this was coming.

Not this exact catastrophe—he hadn't expected a virus would be what finally broke the world—but he'd always known something would.

Economic collapse, nuclear war, government failure. It didn’t matter what form the apocalypse took. It was inevitable.

But knowing didn’t make it any easier to watch.

Daniel stood in the middle of a grocery store when the announcement came. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, half the shelves were already understocked—supply chain issues had been getting worse for months—and a radio played somewhere near the checkout lanes.

Then the Emergency Broadcast System took over.

"This is an official message from the United States Government. Please remain calm and listen carefully."

The store fell silent. Cashiers froze at their registers. An old man gripping a basket of canned beans went pale. A woman holding a toddler pulled out her phone, her hands shaking.

Daniel stopped in the middle of the aisle, a case of bottled water in one hand, a bag of rice in the other.

He didn’t need to hear the rest.

He already knew.

"HNV-37 is now classified as an unstoppable global pandemic. There is no cure. There will be no vaccine. All nations are affected. Infection is inevitable. Projected human extinction: 365 days."

A strangled sound escaped from the store manager. One of the cashiers let out a choked sob.

Then—nothing.

A moment of stunned, disbelieving silence.

The radio crackled again.

"Law enforcement and emergency services will remain operational as long as possible. Please stay indoors. Do not panic. Further instructions will be provided—"

The transmission cut off.

And just like that, the world broke.

A man near the entrance shouted, grabbing an armful of canned goods and running. Someone else followed. The spell of shock shattered as primal instincts kicked in—take, run, survive.

A woman near the dairy section started screaming. An elderly couple tried to push their cart toward the door, but a younger man shoved them aside, reaching for their bottled water.

Daniel dropped the bag of rice and moved.

This was only the first hour, and people were already turning on each other.

The store erupted into chaos.

Daniel navigated the aisles like a man wading through a battlefield.

Fights broke out as people scrambled for supplies. A stockboy tried to stop a group from looting the backroom—he got knocked to the ground for his trouble. A woman begged someone to let her pay, as if money meant anything anymore.

Daniel had planned for this. He had six months’ worth of food in his apartment and another stash up in the Appalachian Mountains. His truck was already fueled, the go-bag was packed, the route was mapped.

But he’d lingered too long. He thought he had more time.

The shelves were emptying faster than he’d expected. The exit was already jammed—too many people trying to shove their way through at once.

He adjusted his grip on his bag. Think. Move. Act.

A teenage boy—maybe seventeen—sprinted past him, arms full of whatever he could carry. He tripped near the cereal aisle, dropping some of his haul. A man three times his size grabbed a box from the ground and punched him in the stomach before running off.

Daniel clenched his jaw.

Don’t get involved. Not yet.

He slipped down another aisle, grabbing what little was left—energy bars, powdered milk, a few cans of soup. He stuffed them into his backpack. No hesitation. No wasted movement.

Another shout rang out near the entrance. Gunfire.

The mob scattered.

Daniel didn’t wait to see what happened. He pushed forward, weaving through the panicked crowd until he slipped out a side exit, stepping into the suffocating heat of a late August evening.

The world outside wasn’t any better.

By the time Daniel got back to his truck, the city was crumbling.

Traffic had turned into a nightmare—cars stuck in endless gridlock, horns blaring, people abandoning their vehicles when they realized they weren’t moving. Smoke curled in the distance, fires already breaking out.

Gunshots echoed through the streets.

Daniel threw his bag into the passenger seat, started the engine, and gripped the wheel.

The plan was simple: Get out of the city. Get to the mountains. Stay alive.

He had a cabin stocked with supplies deep in the Appalachian wilderness, far from the chaos that would consume urban areas. He’d spent years preparing for something like this.

But preparation meant nothing when faced with reality.

The world wasn't collapsing in slow motion.

It was imploding.

A car sped past, nearly clipping his truck. A man stood in the middle of the road, holding a sign that read REPENT—THE END IS HERE.

Daniel pulled onto a backroad, avoiding the highway. No stopping. No distractions. No looking back.

Until he saw them.

A minivan sat abandoned on the side of the road, hazard lights flashing.

A family stood beside it—a man, a woman, and a little girl no older than six. The father waved frantically as cars sped past.

Daniel's grip tightened on the wheel.

He should keep driving.

He knew better than to stop.

People would kill for food soon enough. Trust would get you killed.

But then he saw the girl clutching a stuffed rabbit, crying as her mother tried to shield her from the horror unfolding around them.

And something in him hesitated.

He cursed under his breath, pulling over. This is a mistake.

The father ran up, relief flooding his face. “Oh God, thank you! Our car—it just stopped working. We were trying to get to my parents' place in Asheville, but—”

Daniel cut him off. “How much gas do you have?”

The man blinked. “Uh—less than a quarter tank.”

That settled it. They weren’t making it out.

Daniel exhaled. This was stupid. But he couldn’t just leave them.

“I can take you as far as Boone,” he said. “That’s it.”

The mother clutched her daughter closer. “That’s fine. Anything. Please.”

He motioned for them to get in.

As they climbed into the truck, Daniel couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the last good deed he’d allow himself.

Tomorrow, survival would take priority.

And kindness would become a luxury no one could afford.