Deus Ex Diluvium (Ryden)

The Train

There was something special about Brendon. Ryan realised that early on and it made him feel... something.

It was later that he realised that that feeling was fear. Power of any kind is intimidating, especially a power like Brendon's, which he couldn't understand or explain away. It was unstable. Unpredictable. It may not even exist at all. As Brendon said, he may just be lucky.

It became obvious that Brendon had no honed survival instincts. He couldn't light a fire with just sticks and he certainly couldn't catch food himself; not that he'd want to. His knowledge of geography was poor and he lacked any semblance of common sense. Yet he persistently refused to die.

Every day he knew exactly where to walk to avoid the unstoppable, though now slower, onslaught of the flood. In the middle of the night he would wake up just in time to get them both out of harm's way. When Ryan pressed him about how he'd known, he was greeted with a 'dunno man', a shrug, and a 'I just had a feeling'. But the feeling was always right. Always.

One night they'd settled down between some rocks, sure of their safety. They hadn't seen a trace of the wave for days and had, in fact, begun to hope that it had given up. The evening was quiet save for the uplifting, familiar chattering of birds and the stars twinkled warmly, their dance guiding Ryan to a deep, contented sleep. A sleep which had been ripped apart by the violent shaking of his shoulder. Brendon had looked distraught, eyes wide and restless, trying to pull Ryan away. He'd resisted, having not yet learned that trusting Brendon blindly was a prerequisite to survival. He could hear nothing unusual, see nothing wrong. Nothing was amiss.

As soon as Brendon had successfully dragged him away, the rocks beneath them burst open, releasing a barrage of gritty water which drowned their peaceful camp, washing away their sleeping bags and a good portion of their food.

That might have been the night Ryan realised he was afraid of what Brendon knew. They didn't talk about it again.

Over the course of their journey they passed through many ghost towns, so many that their emptiness had stopped bothering Ryan, though he always avoided entering stranger's houses.

They took what they needed from the shops, which became emptier the further they walked, as the locals had more time to pack everything up and take it with them. Completely understandable, of course, but worrying.

They hadn't seen a single person for weeks, always seeming to stay one step behind the crowd. If the supply of leftovers dried up entirely then... then they'd worry about it when it happened. Ryan had become accustomed to living in the moment, and he found it invigorating.

Once they'd stumbled across a TV in the back of a newsagents and Ryan had persuaded it to work. The latest news was already a few days old, which only meant the situation was now even worse that the picture showed.

On the small, grainy screen was an image of an Earth more blue than green. That was hardly new though. What was new, however, was that the shapes of the countries had shifted and shrunk beyond recognition. It looked more like a dystopian drawing than a satellite image, and Ryan couldn't tell if it was terrifying or fascinating.

He'd long ago accepted that even if it didn't end, the world would never be the same, and that acceptance gave him the strength to revel in the progress of the wave he thought would eventually kill him. Know thy enemy.

"That'll keep recording," Ryan pointed to the screen. "Even when we're all gone. The satellite will keep transmitting until it breaks down too."

Brendon nodded thoughtfully. "I heard about a theory that nothing exists when you're not looking at it. Do you think the rest of the world will exist when you're dead? Does it exist now? Does anything outside this room exist?"