Chapter 2: When the Sun Never Sets

The next morning, I was woken up by the heat. Sweat pooled at the small of my back before I’d even brushed my teeth. Derek was still snoring next to me.

I quietly went down to the first floor. Marcus and Caleb were already up, charging power banks. The four of us had played too much yesterday and totally forgot about this.

It was just past 8 a.m., and the weather app showed 86 degrees.

My heart skipped a beat. This was real—the heat apocalypse was coming.

Derek woke up and shuffled downstairs. Seeing me checking the forecast, he patted my shoulder.

“Dude, I wasn’t making this up. This is just the beginning. While it’s not too hot, grab anything else you think we need.”

Marcus and Caleb, surprised to hear this from Derek, asked me cautiously,

"Eli, did you live through this before too?"

I nodded and told them what happened. The room went quiet.

I wasn’t too emotional, just a little regretful. My friends had come back, but the me from the other timeline was gone forever in that apocalypse.

Caleb half-joked,

"Maybe the universe sent us back to save you. Trust us—this time we’ll get you through the apocalypse."

I laughed and punched him, feeling a lot better.

Over the next two days, the four of us took turns going out in the evenings to buy more supplies.

Marcus brought back a radio, figuring that after the blackout, we’d need something to get news from outside.

Derek brought back a door stopper, planning to barricade the door once the temperature hit 122 and never go out again.

Standing by the window, watching people outside in shorts and T-shirts, I felt the peaceful days were about to end.

I checked Twitter every day and always saw posts complaining about the abnormal heat.

Sometimes there’d be a post reminding everyone to stock up and stay home, but they’d quickly get deleted for “spreading panic.”

Sure enough, a few days later, the temperature shot above 104, and the authorities issued a red high temperature alert, urging everyone to take precautions.

I wondered if anyone had noticed us moving supplies in and out.

To prevent trouble, we decided to stay indoors from that day on.

We shoved the couch against the door, breathing hard, the thud echoing in the quiet hallway. We installed the door stopper and blocked the door with the sofa for double security.

To fight the heat, we took three showers a day while there was still water and power, kept the AC running nonstop, and never opened the curtains.

We even taped beach towels over the windows to keep the sun from sneaking in, and cranked the thermostat down so far the unit groaned like an old dog.

Outside, the temperature kept climbing. Every day, dozens died from heatstroke, according to news reports.

Soon it was January 8th.

I tossed and turned in the heat, unable to sleep. Even with the AC on low, it was stifling.

I cracked open the curtains, and a wave of heat slammed in.

Everything outside looked warped. The leaves on the maples below drooped and curled, the streets were empty, and only a few cars drove by. Within minutes, sweat poured down my face.

I quickly closed the curtains and washed my face in the bathroom. The water flow was much weaker—looked like a water cut was coming.

Marcus was woken by the noise. I told him we might lose water soon, so we filled every container we could and soaked towels and mats to lay on the floor for cooling.

We even filled the bathtub, every mixing bowl, every Tupperware container, and even our old Big Gulp cups from the gas station down the street. It wasn’t much, but it felt like we were doing something.

The wall thermometer showed 90 degrees inside. I checked my phone—the first news alert was an official notice.

It said the outdoor temperature had reached 122 degrees. Residents were urged not to go out unless necessary, supplies would be distributed by local authorities, and the government was working on a solution and wouldn’t give up on anyone.

I browsed the comments, which were full of complaints:

[It’s too hot. My house is next to Lake Superior, but now the shore’s dry.]

[I tried to go out for food, but after a few steps my arm got sunburned. Pic attached.]

[Old folks and kids can’t take this—even at home, they’re getting heatstroke.]

[Is this the end? I’ve read so many books like this—the temperature just keeps rising until everything burns up.]

[Shut up with the doomsday talk.]

After a while, I got bored and opened TikTok. Tons of videos showed the outside—crops withered, rivers dried up, and in some places, the heat even cracked building walls.

The more I watched, the more anxious I got. Last time, we hadn’t survived long, so I only knew what happened in January. After that, it was a blank.

I couldn’t help but worry—would our supplies last until the disaster ended?

“Bang!”

A sudden loud noise jolted us. As soon as it sounded, the AC cut out.

Panic hit instantly.

Derek tried the light switch—nothing. I ran to the window and peeked through the blinds. The power box outside was on fire.

The high temperature made the fire spread fast. Flames licked the trees around the power box, and the big maples crackled as they burned.

I felt sick. The fire was only about thirty feet away, and the area was surrounded by brush. If it kept spreading, it could reach the apartment.

Caleb realized this too and tried calling 911 several times, but the line was always busy. There were too many fires, and the firefighters couldn’t keep up.

Without power, the indoor temperature quickly soared to 104. The sealed apartment turned into a sauna.

We didn’t want to open the fridge for the ice pillows yet, hoping we could hold out. We ran to the bathroom to soak ourselves and hooked up the fans to the generator. The fans just blew hot air, but it was better than nothing.

We all collapsed on the floor, chatting to distract ourselves from the heat. I drifted in and out of sleep.

I didn’t know how long I slept. When I finally opened my eyes, the room was dark except for a candle on the nightstand.

Derek saw me wake up and joked,

“Eli, you’re built like a marshmallow—barely anything, and you get heatstroke.”

Derek’s joke fell flat, but he grinned anyway. I forced a laugh, grateful for the distraction. I realized there was something on my forehead—a cooling patch, now warm from my skin.

Marcus and Caleb brought over bread, pickles, and drinks. We sat together and ate our dry dinner.

The bread was stale, the pickles salty, but it was the best meal I’d had all week. We sat in a little circle, passing around a bottle of Powerade like communion wine.

I looked outside. It was pitch black, and the fire was out. I breathed a sigh of relief—it hadn’t reached us.

Somewhere outside, a car alarm wailed, then cut off, leaving nothing but the sizzle of fire.

A few days later, the water was cut off, leaving only the internet. The government kept sending out alerts—just red heat warnings and reassurances.

The temperature kept rising. Inside it was 126, outside nearly 140. We’d hear tires and glass exploding in the distance.

Panic spread online. People posted for help, but everyone was too busy trying to survive to care about anyone else.

After that, water, power, and internet were all gone. Life got rough. With no internet, our only entertainment was talking, sleeping, and playing cards.

We made up games, played War and Blackjack with our old battered deck. It was weirdly comforting, the familiar click of cards in sweaty hands, even as the world outside burned.

The brutal heat left me dizzy every day. My T-shirt was always soaked, and I downed half the electrolyte packets myself.

The four of us barely survived the scorching days with the generator and fans.

At night, to rest the fans, we slept on the floor with ice pillows.

We made it to the end of January. When the temperature hit 158, it finally stopped rising. This was something none of us had experienced before.

The temperature not rising was good, but 158 degrees was enough to wipe out all life on the surface, and gave desperate people opportunities.

In this situation, people out of food and ammo would go out at night to scavenge when it was bearable.

They looted and robbed at will. Every night, we heard screams and things crashing.

We lay in the dark, knives clutched to our chests, listening to footsteps and shouts echo through the halls. Even though we were four young guys, we were still on edge, moving quietly during the day and taking turns on night watch, afraid someone would break in.

We only had four folding knives. If the other side had more people, we were outmatched.

We set up a rotation, one of us by the door with a kitchen chair propped under the knob, the rest dozing fitfully. I slept with my pocketknife under my pillow, flinching at every footstep in the hall.

Soon it was early April. Maybe because there were few residents, or maybe others didn’t survive, but we hadn’t been robbed, though our food was running low.

Since late January, because we barely moved, we only ate one meal a day. Even so, the food went fast. Now we had only one and a half jugs of water, half a box of ramen, and two jars of pickles left.

We sat around the table, counting crackers, no one wanting to break the silence. The four of us stared at the little pile of supplies, silent for a long time. Marcus finally spoke:

“Damn, we miscalculated. The heat just won’t let up, and the food’s almost gone. Maybe we should...”

He didn’t finish, but we all knew what he meant. Having survived this long, we couldn’t starve to death because of food shortages—that would be too pathetic.

We came up with a plan.

The food could last seven days. We’d plan for two days, then, starting the night after, two of us would go out every other day to search for supplies. Start with this building, go to the front desk for the master key, and knock on doors one by one. If no one answered, we’d go in. If someone did, we’d hide—safety first.

But before we could put the plan into action, something big happened outside.