After walking down the street a short distance, I came to a small open area that looked like it was once a petrol station. A couple of burnt out cars were scattered haphazardly at the front, and the huge metal canopy that covered over the pumps had collapsed at one end, forming a huge ramp-like structure, a leap to nowhere. What had once been the kiosk looked mostly intact — relatively speaking, anyway. Its windows were shattered and the door was occasionally bumping open and shut, but the building looked otherwise structurally sound.

I headed for the small building and carefully opened the door. Not carefully enough, though, it seemed, since as I pulled it it fell off its hinges and crashed to the ground with a loud thump. I started at the sound and once again instinctively looked around to see if anyone had noticed — and once again there was no-one.

Inside the small kiosk it was dark. The angle of the building meant that not much sunlight got in through the smashed windows, and the electricity here was clearly dead. Products that had once been neatly stacked on the shelves now lay scattered on the floor. There was an acrid stench in the air, but I figured this would be as good a place as any to gather some supplies.

A collapsed pile of large, flat books caught my eye. "Road Atlas, United Kingdom and Ireland," the faded cover proclaimed. While the book was battered, stained and slightly charred, the contents of the pages were still clearly visible. This could be a huge help, I thought. If I can pinpoint my own location, I can figure out where to go next and maybe even track down Evie.

It was an optimistic view of the future, I knew that. As far as I was concerned, though, optimism was the only way to go. Curling up in a corner and crying would achieve nothing — it wouldn't even get me any sympathy, since there was no-one else around to give it. Occasionally as I walked and my mind wandered, I wanted to stop and grieve for what had been lost — even though I still wasn't sure exactly what I had lost — but I worried if I started, I might never stop.

The book of maps was too big to fit in my pack normally. I folded it in half with some difficulty and stuffed it in there among the tins and other supplies I'd scavenged from the shop or storage house the previous day. It wouldn't be much use until I found something that offered a hint to my current location, anyway.

I stepped back out into the sunlight of the day. I was getting thirsty, but I really didn't want to risk any of the sealed bottles that I'd seen in the petrol station. Who knew what was in them, how long they'd been there and what state their contents were in? I certainly didn't, so I didn't take the chance.

A searing pain shot through my skull. It drove me straight to my knees and I screamed as the horrifying sensation ploughed its way through my brain. I didn't know what it was or if anyone was doing it to me, but it hurt so much. I clasped my hands to the side of my head and leaned forward on the floor, but the pain didn't subside. My vision blurred and faded, and I passed out.

My unconsciousness was troubled by restless dreams. I was angry, furious, a force of pure wrath. I roared with frustration and the very earth trembled at the sound of my voice. Clouds of dust rose up with every step I took, and solid structures crumbled at my touch. I knew nothing but the desire to destroy, to crush, to shatter. I would not rest until all lay in ruins.

When I awoke, I could feel myself sweating, though the air had become cold. I opened my eyes and could tell that a considerable amount of time had passed — the light had faded and the atmosphere was very different. I couldn't tell exactly what was different until I got to my hands and knees and raised my head, however, and what I saw chilled me to the bone.

Where once had been half-wrecked buildings, still recognisable as the signs of recent civilisation, now was simply total devastation. Buildings were flattened, flakes of walls scattered all around as if they had simply burst. The petrol station I had just come from was nowhere to be seen, though there was a pile of rubble with a thick plume of black smoke emanating from it where it had been standing what felt like just moments ago.

All around was chaos, destruction — the end of the world, come again. I stood, mouth agape, looking around, the shock of the sudden devastation rendering me incapable of rational thought.

Suddenly, the thought of the dream I had had came back to me. There was so much rage, anger, fury. The feeling that I would never be satisfied until all lay in ruins.

I couldn't have done this, could I? And if I had done this, then what if I–

This time it really was all too much. I sank back to the floor and sobbed — huge, gulping, gasps of air. I felt like I couldn't breathe, such was the feeling of anguish that gripped me. The tears ran freely, and I wailed at the wave of emotion washing over me.

The world as it once had been was no more, and I was absolutely alone. Was there any point going on? Would I ever find Evie? More to the point, would I ever find any answers?

Adam, came the voice in my head. I need you. And you need me. Come to me.

I wanted to. But I didn't know how.

It was time to get moving. I tucked the diary into a jacket pocket and resolved to read a little more the next time I stopped.

Stopped where? Get going where?

I paused for a moment, this obvious question pushing its way to the forefront of my mind. I knew that this "Evie" woman was important for some reason, and that I should find her. But how would I go about doing that, given that I had no idea where I was and no idea where she was, either?

I scratched my nose — some skin was flaking off it in the dry heat — and pondered this for a moment. Then my mind returned to the phone that I had pocketed. Perhaps something in there would offer some sort of clue? I switched it on again. The screen took a moment to respond, then lit up with what I assumed was the manufacturer's logo, as it was also present on the rear of the device. I waited for what seemed like an age for the phone to start up, and was then presented with a screen of icons.

I touched the "Mail" icon and looked over the messages I'd previously read again. I returned to the message to "Annie" from "Evie" and, curious, tapped on the name "Evelyn Anderton" at the top of the message. The message scrolled to one side, and I was conveniently presented with what looked like Evie's contact details. There was a phone number and an email address — not that those would be much good given that the phone clearly had no signal — and a listing of her birthday: January 1, 1981. A New Year child. No address though. Of course it wasn't that simple.

I frowned. Perhaps there was somewhere else I could find the information. I returned to the phone's inbox and scrolled back another level. The previous owner of the phone had kept her messages organised well, it seemed, and it wasn't long before I found the "Evie" folder, apparently containing the two women's past correspondence.

I didn't have time to read all the messages, so I skimmed over the subject headings, back through several months until a date some time in the previous year — 2013. Around that point, one message immediately jumped out at me as important: "New Address." I tapped on it to open it up and, sure enough, there was a brief note with Evie informing Annie of her new home.

The trouble was, I had absolutely no idea where this place was, or even if it was in the same country as I was in. I assumed it was, since Evie hadn't seen fit to add a country name after the postcode, but that may well have been a foolish assumption. I wasn't to know.

Equipped with a new lead, I turned the phone off again, headed back downstairs and out into the heat of the day. The sun was beating down on the street by now, and the air felt dry.

Something flashed across my mind's eye — a fleeting vision. A memory? I wasn't sure, because as quickly as it had flown across my imagination, it was gone again, out of reach, impossible to grasp. I had a sense of the colour green, and of a warm. dry day much like this one, but little else.

I shook my head. It wouldn't do to go cracking up now. Or would it? There was no-one else around, and the closest I'd come to another human being had inexplicably crumbled to dust at my touch. As I started walking along the street, I looked at my hands. They looked normal and hand-like, not like any kind of destructive force. So why had the woman's body fallen apart like it had done?

Answers weren't forthcoming. All I could do for now was to keep walking forwards until I found something that would help me in my new-found mission: to find Evie.

I didn't know why she was important, but something in the tone of her messages had convinced me that she had an idea of what was going on — and not just in the sense of what people knew through hearsay. But there was something else, too. Something at the back of my mind, out of reach, like the fleeting memory that had just passed me by. A sense, a knowledge, a feeling — Evie was important.

Given the lack of anything else to go on, I had little choice other than to trust my instincts.

I walked along the street for some time. As I continued, the size of the destroyed buildings seemed to be decreasing. Perhaps I was coming to the edge of this town. The devastation wasn't any less, but it was a different kind of devastation — these buildings looked more like small houses rather than the larger blocks I'd previously been seeing. Some had small patches of grass, yellowed in the heat, out front, and some had rusted, battered, ruined old cars. Few of the buildings looked safe, so I didn't risk heading inside.

The street was still eerily quiet. I felt a slight breeze and heard it blowing past my ears, but no other sounds — no animals, no birds, not even the sound of rubbish clattering around in the road. The sense of loneliness was palpable, like I was living in some sort of parallel existence to the rest of the world, and all I had to do was to tear down the wall of reality separating me from the people I knew and loved — whoever they were.

I knew that couldn't be the case, though. My memory may have failed me, but my sense of rational thought had not. My thoughts turned to the only possible explanation — that something terrible had happened, and that I was the only survivor.

But why me? What was so special about me? Why should I survive when everyone else disappears, or turns to dust?

It was a question that would not get an answer for some time.

The device gave a soft "click" as I slid my finger across its smooth screen. I wasn't sure how it could possibly still be working, given the devastation surrounding it, but there must have still been some power coming from that socket.

I didn't think on it further at that point; what was more important was the fact that this small device might offer some clues as to what happened, where I was and — unlikely as it might be to think — who I was.

The display blackened for a split-second then opened to presumably whatever the last holder of this phone had been doing. It looked like they'd been reading an email. Although my memories of the events leading up to this devastation — not to mention who I was — remained obscured, either the inferface was intuitive enough or I simply had a natural understanding of the technology to be able to scroll through the message and see what it had to say.

The message had been sent by an "Evelyn Anderton" to someone called "Annabelle Anderton" — the owner of the phone, presumably. I assumed the two were related, as the tone of the message was somewhat familiar in tone.

"Annie," the message read. "I know you're scared, and I wish I could be there with you. I wish I could tell you it's all going to be all right. But I'm not sure it is. I'm sorry to not be more positive with you, but with things being how the are I think the sooner we all face reality, the better. I wish I could see you one last time, but I don't think that can ever happen, Annie. I love you. Stay strong. Evie x"

I scrolled back through the message thread to see if I could glean anything from the conversation between the two women — sisters? — but they didn't mention anything specific. Of course they wouldn't have — everyone would have known what was going on, from the sound of things, so people probably didn't want reminding of what appeared to be something both disastrous and inevitable coming, creeping up on them like the end of the world.

No, not like the end of the world — it pretty much looked like it was the end of the world.

I touched the button in the corner of the screen to go back to the inbox. There were only two other messages in there — one looked like a junk promotional message for some place that sold entertainment products, and the other was short, to the point and all in capitals. It was dated after the conversation between "Evie" and "Annie" by two weeks — October 31, 2014.

"ALPHA AND OMEGA WILL UNITE," it said. There was no sender listed.

I frowned, curious as to what the strange message meant, but decided that there wouldn't be any easy answers forthcoming while I stayed here. A popup message filled the screen informing me that the server wasn't responding and the phone couldn't get new mail. I wasn't surprised — I would have been more surprised if the phone had been fully functional than I already was that it had power.

I glanced into the corner of the screen. The battery indicator read 86%. It was falling fast — I decided I should stop fiddling around with the device until I had a good reason to, and switched it off. I also pulled the white cable out of the wall and tucked it into my pocket — if this building still had some power, then chances are some other places might, too.

I looked around the rest of the room in an attempt to glean any further clues. Through the gloom, I saw that there was a desk with three drawers at one side of the bedroom, with what looked like a computer standing on it. The screen was broken, though, so I didn't hold up much hope for making use of it. A foul smell was emanating from the corner of the room and I could see that an old cup sitting atop the surface was the source. The cup had obviously once been filled with a drink which had long since turned to mould, and up close it stank so rotten that I involuntarily retched.

I picked up the cup and flung it out of the window. I heard it clatter to the street below, and then all was silent outside once more. For a moment, I had hoped that the noise would attract the attention of another person — someone who would prove that I was not alone in this world of bodies which turned to dust — but it was not to be.

I opened the first of the three drawers. Inside were a few battered-looking pens and pencils, but nothing much of note.

The next drawer down was empty save for a spindle containing what looked like optical discs of some description — CDs or DVDs. They wouldn't be much use with the computer out of action, so I left them where they were.

In the bottom drawer, I found a small black hardback book. The cover was unmarked, so I opened it up to a random page, which was blank except for a few ruled lines. I flipped backwards to the start of the book, which was less empty than the page I'd opened it up to. In fact, it was crammed with handwriting — neat and elegant, but with a few rough edges, as if the person writing normally had fine writing but was in a hurry or was under a lot of stress at the time.

I began to read.

"November 1, 2014," began the first entry. It was a diary. "The phone lines have gone down. I feel so cut off from everything. I'm scared. I don't know what to expect. I don't know what the future holds. Evie said I wouldn't see her again, and that made me cry, even though I already knew that her mission would send her far afield. I don't even know why I'm writing this — if it all happens like they say they will there'll be no-one left to read this. But no-one will listen if I talk — everyone is too wrapped up in their own little worlds to care about others. They say that a crisis brings people together, but it hasn't — it's driven them apart, every man for himself. I miss you, Evie. I hope you find what you're looking for."

I paused for a moment. This "Evie" was sounding more and more important with everything I read relating to her. I knew what I had to do.

[A word of explanation: I'm not doing NaNoWriMo, as once again I've completely forgotten it was going on until it's too late. So as a kind of halfway house sort of solution, I've decided that every day this month (except, err, yesterday) will be devoted to a section of a piece of extended creative writing. This will be largely improvisatory in nature — I'm not going to plan it in advance, just write. I will aim for a bare minimum of 1,000 words per day but reserve the right to go above that.]

I remember the bright flash, and then everything faded to black. When I awoke, I was here, surrounded by utter devastation, with no idea why. I don't remember what the flash was, just that it happened. And the sounds — awful, terrible screaming, then silence, though that may just have been my own consciousness slipping away, unable to process the horrors that were undoubtedly being inflicted before me.

I awoke, lying on the floor, outside. Dust was everywhere. The hard concrete ground on which I lay was cracked and broken. My body ached, and I groaned as I pulled myself to my feet unsteadily. My muscles were stiff, like I hadn't used them for a lifetime, and I struggled to keep myself upright. I staggered over to a nearby low, crumbling wall and propped myself up against it, breathless with the exertion.

I surveyed my surroundings. This was obviously once a built-up area but now the buildings were just hollow, gutted shells of what they once were. Windows were smashed, walls were falling down — and there was no sign of any people anywhere. Just me. Alone. Against the world, with nothing — and not even a memory of why this was happening to make it easier to deal with.

I pulled off a chunk of loose brick from the wall I was leaning on and held it between my fingers, considering it, examining it. It told me nothing, and it was so fragile that it eventually crumbled to dust between my fingers, the small grey cloud it made sweeping away from me in the gentle breeze that flowed down this deserted, ruined street.

I pushed myself off from the wall and attempted to stand unaided. This didn't look like the sort of place I should hang around by myself, even if there were no people anywhere to be seen. Ducking into a building around here looked out of the question, as most of them looked unsafe, with collapsed doorways and unstable-looking walls giving me chills.

But still, no-one.

I heard a voice in my head. Adam, it said, smooth and feminine and slightly familiar — though the second I tried to call up the repressed, lost memory, it flitted away like a bug from a child. Adam, I miss you.

"Adam". I didn't know if it really was my name or not, but I decided to adopt it if anyone asked. If indeed there was anyone else left besides me.

It didn't bear thinking about, but there was nothing I could do if it did happen to be true. Besides, the voice in my head, though I didn't know who it was, was comforting somehow — it made me feel that I was less alone, even though the silence of the empty streets was becoming increasingly oppressive.

I picked a direction and started following the shattered road. I didn't know where I was going, but anything was better than standing on that blasted corner, contemplating things that I might never know. There was doubtless a long journey ahead of me, and I wasn't sure of its final destination — knowledge, or death?

My footsteps echoed in the empty street, and crunched on the crumbling paving slabs beneath my boots. I was walking slowly, but the sound of my feet — seemingly unnaturally loud thanks to the total absence of other sound around me — gave me something to focus on, a sense of purpose. I would not be defeated by that which had stripped the life from this city. I would press onward. I would survive.

As I progressed along the road, the damage to the buildings seemed to become somewhat less severe. While their windows were still shattered and broken, many still had intact doorways and walls, piquing my curiosity as to what I might find within. I picked a large building with what had obviously once been wall-height glass windows on the front, and stepped into the relative darkness within to investigate.

Row after row of shelves presented themselves before me. Some had toppled over, spreading their contents over the floor. Others remained upright, but had been mostly picked clean. A sour smell filled the air and, looking at the mouldy piles of scattered foodstuffs, it wasn't hard to see why.

I delved deeper into the darkness, making every effort to control my gag reflex as the sour smell grew stronger. Most of the packages had faded, but the odd thing caught my attention — dog food, washing powder, bottles of various brightly-coloured liquids. One aisle was filled with various metal implements, many of which were corroded, but I found myself a serviceable-looking sharp knife and pocketed it just in case I ran into any trouble. It wasn't looking likely right now, but it certainly didn't hurt to be careful.

Down another aisle, I found myself a battered-looking pack. I hoisted it onto my back, figuring that if I was going to scavenge any supplies from here, I'd better have something to put them in.

One aisle held row after row of metallic tinned goods. Some of the labels were still legible, though some had faded and some looked scorched. Some tins looked completely sealed and impossible to open, others had a ring pull on top which meant they could be opened easily. I scooped a selection into my pack and took them with me. The additional weight of my load took some getting used to, but by the time I emerged from the building into the street again, I was accustomed to it.

The sun was setting and the light was fading. I could feel the heat fading from the air, making way to a cool night-time breeze. I'd just woken from a slumber of I didn't know how long, so I didn't feel sleepy, though a curious, unidentifiable noise I heard in the distance as the light continued to dim made me feel that settling into some sort of shelter for the night might not be a bad idea afteer all.

I ducked into another building with an intact door and closed it firmly behind me. The metallic locking mechanism was corroded, but still seemed to work, so I bolted myself inside the building. The lack of windows meant that it was completely dark inside — not that it was much better outside by now.

I sat down on the floor and breathed deeply. Something truly terrible had happened, and I didn't know what. The worst part of it, though, was not knowing if I'd lost anyone important to me. So far as my memories were concerned, I was the only person there was — had been, and always would be.

Adam, came the voice again. I miss you.

So long as I could hear her, I couldn't believe that I was the only person alive. There had to be an explanation for all this, and I was going to find it.

Sleep claimed me quickly, despite the fact I'd only awoken an hour or two earlier, and I sank into a mental darkness free of cares, worries and dreams.