To the Midwest
“The facility is meant to create a permanent network to house the mind, making your body optional.”
— Dr. Ellis Ryne, 24 hours before the Eventide Incident.
The world didn’t end in flames. It ended in silence, and a fog spread through the middle of the United States. It moved slowly, like a patient beast close to the ground, scouring it for prey. People thought they could outrun it until they learned they couldn’t. Towns vanished inside it, entire cities were left empty. Crossing paths with other travelers, they said it whispered or called to you. Or the creatures that came from it did.
Fern Raine drove west with her hands white knuckling the wheel, her eyes fixed on the patchy, broken highway ahead. The sky stretched above in a dull gray. Dead trees lined the shoulders, bare of any leaves, and patches of snow clung stubbornly to the frozen ground. Driving her battered red Silverado that had rust holes scattered all over it. The air was dry, but it carried the faint whiff of something sterile. In the truck bed, her sons rode in silence. Miles, who had just turned eighteen, sat with a bolt-action rifle across his lap, his eyes forever on the tree line. He seemed to talk less and less every day, and it wore on Fern, knowing everyone his own age was gone or in hiding.
Tate turned fourteen a few months ago and leaned against a crate, his worn book open across his lap. His chin resting on his hand, brown eyes hidden under unbrushed brunette hair. He was pretending to read, as he always did. He was glancing up every so often, like he could feel something moving in the woods, Following them in the tree line.
The only sound in the cab was the low hum of static from the old truck radio. Fern kept it on, waiting to catch a radio station to get the latest update. Sometimes, they would play songs, music they remembered, often she could see Miles smile when he heard it. Other times they would shed a tear or two for a life they lost to the facility. It also provided a warning when the fog stretched further. If it got too close the Eventide corporate towns radio stations would start to play. As if on cue a soft, feminine voice crackled through the radio’s web of static. Catching her breath, Fern listened.
"Isn’t it time you stopped worrying about death? At Eventide, we believe life doesn’t end... it links in...”
Fern took a deep breath, remembering the last part of the advertisement. A jingle that followed, several women’s voices overlapping in tune:
“Eventide... where forever begins today...”
Miles poked his head through the rear window, his hazel eyes locked onto the radio as if he was trying to bore a hole in it.
“I could never stand those advertisements,” he stated, voice low.
She smiled while nodding. “The fog’s moving.”
Miles cursed under his breath. “I thought it stayed near the epicenter during the day.”
“It’s changing.” Fern turned the radio off. “We’ll have to change our course”
They weren’t close enough to see the fog yet, but the radio never lied. You only heard the Eventide broadcast when the boundary shifted. Lately, it had been shifting constantly. Something inside it was restless and hungry.
They passed a half-collapsed billboard, once upon a time it would have been bright and colorful. Now it was a ghost of itself peeling paint but you could still make out the old slogan:
EVENTIDE: MAKING YOUR BODY OPTIONAL.
Spray-painted over it in dripping bright red letters was a single word: RUN.
Fern glimpsed through the review mirror, Tate was watching the billboard as it vanished behind them.
“What do you think it was like?” he asked quietly. “Before it all fell apart?”
Fern didn’t know how to answer. She remembered Eventide had promised immortality through neural preservation. A digital paradise where minds could live forever, free from disease, war, hunger, or even death. The rich and the famous line up to be first. In the end, there were whispers, that the research had gone too far, crossing lines no one could uncross. Everyone blew it off though as conspiracy theories, something in Eventide blew up though. The last news reports showed the fog leaking out, cameras caught it taking over, and the reporters just stood in it. It was so thick you eventually couldn’t see through it, you could only hear the screams.
They crested a hill, and a town came into view or what was left of one. Just a scatter of rooftops and the burned-out steeple of a church. A few houses stood strong though and they could use them. Barricade themselves in for the night and collect supplies as soon as the morning hits. Fern pulled the truck to a stop beneath the blackened branches of a dead tree.
“We’ll search fast for something the eat tonight and a change of clothes,” she said. “One hour. Then we meet up here in this house.”
She pointed to a greenish house with a tin roof.
Miles nodded. “Tate and I’ll take the right side.”
“Stay in sight. If you hear anything weird, you get back to the truck. Don’t try any stupid shit.”
Fern slid from the driver’s seat, her boots crunching on the frost-hardened ground. Her hand brushed the revolver at her hip it was empty. She kept it anyways just in case she came across the bullets.
She glanced at the sky, pale, cold daylight overhead. The fog wouldn’t reach them for a bit, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. Not with the kids, there has to be safety somewhere.
