Comma leans forward, clutching her chest, and vomits a steady stream of black sludge. The sludge spills out of her mouth like blood from a gaping wound. It forms a bubbling puddle on the ground. Comma swoons, and I catch her before she hits the ground. She coughs. Chokes. Gags. Spits. This goes on for some time.

     "You're alive," I say when it's over, a wave of relief washing over me. "How?"

     "Hell if I know." Comma groans and wipes her mouth on my sleeve.

     Once I'm certain she's regained enough strength to stand on her own, I crouch down next to the puddle. I prod the stuff with my finger. The consistency resembles gelatine. The stuff no longer glows. "I think you killed it."

     Comma smirks. "That'll teach 'em to mess with me." Her good mood, however, is short-lived. Her eyes widen, and she crams her fist into her pocket. Pulls out a device that's halfway between a pocket watch and a compass. Fiddles around with it for a while. "Em, you've screwed me over big time."

     "From where I was standing, it looked like I saved your life." A little gratitude would be nice, I think. It'snot like she would've done the same—she as good as left me for dead back there.

     "You ripped through," she says, inching towards me with her teeth bared. I back away instinctively. "As in to another world. You've thrown us completely off-path, is what you've done."

     "Off-path? What the hell are you...?" Something's wrong. I feel a tugging in my gut, a tenseness in my throat. "I think I need to sit down." I reach into my pocket. Pull out my phone. Please... The screen flickers on.

     "The high's wearing off," says Comma.

     "What?" My voice cracks.

     "It's like instinct. When it happens. The End, I mean. Everything goes numb. Lets you focus. Useful for staying alive. But now that it's gone, you're starting to feel things again. Right about now, you're realizing that everyone you ever knew or cared about is either stranded in the nothing or dead."

     I choke on my own breath. Feel a burning behind my eyes. My hands tremble, distorting the image on the screen. Comma leans over my shoulder and glances at the phone. "Who are they?"

     "Colby," I force out. "And... Olivia."

     "Family?"

     I nod. "Not blood. But family."

     "Yeah? Well tough luck." Comma snatches the phone out of my hands and throws it on the ground.

     "What the hell!" I grab the phone. Damn it! The screen's cracked. Heart pounding, I power it on. I fall back in the snow with a sigh. It still works.

     "You got us into this mess," she says, poking me in the chest. "You're going to get us out."

     Me? Good luck. "And how am I supposed to do that?"

     "By ripping through." Comma pockets the clockwork device and unclips a far more advanced-looking gadget from her belt. It's a bit much if you ask me. A physical manifestation of techno-babble. A techno-bauble. It beeps and whirs as she waves it around. Red and blue lights flash on the screen. I can't make any sense of it.

     "What is that?"

     "Never you mind." Comma powers off the device and clips it back onto her belt. She points behind me. "That way. There's another rip, one that'll converge with the right path."

     "Another...?" I narrow my eyes. "Who are you, really?"

     "I'm Comma," she replies, adjusting her toque. "Let's get a move on."

     For the first time since peeling through, I take in the scenery. The ground is sloped, with hills protruding every few meters, making it difficult to walk. Everything is covered in what appears at first glance to be snow. Upon further inspection, I find that the frozen flakes are formed of some substance other than water. When I scoop up a handful, it doesn't melt; it sublimates right into gas.

     We trudge up the slope, the wind biting at our faces. The wind stirs the snow-like substance, which dries out my skin wherever it comes into contact with it. I persevere, refusing to let Comma outpace me. The further up the slope we get, the more evident it becomes that we're wandering into the centre of a blizzard—or this world's equivalent, anyway.

     I stick my hands into my pockets to warm them up for a few minutes and then rub them against my cheeks, but the cold penetrates my flesh and stills the flow of my blood. This is futile, I realize. If we don't find shelter, we're going to freeze to death.

     "Comma!" I shout over the howling winds. "We need to get out of this storm!"

     "We can make it!" she shouts back. "Just another half hour's walk."

     "We won't survive another half hour!"

     "What?"

     "I said we won't—" I notice an orange flicker cutting through the flurry of white. "Over there! I think I see something!"

     Comma isn't listening. I run to catch up with her, sucking in mouthfuls of cold air that burn my lungs. I grab her by the wrist, but she wrenches free. "We have to keep going!"

     "We'll go—after the storm has passed."

     "Screw that. Let go of me."

     She pushes me, but I tighten my grip. I slip, which causes us both to tumble. We slide back down the slope, kicking and shoving each other all the way. Comma bites my hand and I scream. The orange flicker circles around and then starts to close in on us. We continue to slide until we crash into a jutting spire.

     Without any strength left to go on, I resign myself to death. When you think about it, I outlived the world—that has to count for something. Colby? Olivia? If you're still out there, I hope you're safe. If you're not... I'll be with you shortly.

     Comma loses consciousness before I do. Her body stops shivering and then goes limp. My eyes close, and I feel myself slipping away.

     And then the orange flicker finds us. A man kneels beside me and screws open a thermos. He presses it to my lips, and I gulp down something hot and bitter with the last of my strength. The beverage sets me aflame from within. I feel my strength returning. The man tries to get Comma to drink from the thermos, but she's unresponsive. He scoops her up in his arms and motions for me to follow.

     We walk a bit further, until we reach a hollowed hole in one of the hillsides. The man uses his lantern—the source of the orange flicker—to light a small fire, retrieving a bundle of dried roots from his backpack to use as kindling. He sets Comma down by the fire.

     "Thank you." My voice comes out a raspy croak.

     The blacks of the man's eyes reflect the flicker of the flame; the heat melts the icicles that have formed along his tangled black beard. He reaches down to his boots and draws a blade. Unblinking, he grabs a loose stone from the ground and uses it to sharpen the blade.

     "You did save us... right?"

     The man glares at me. Continues sharpening the blade. How reassuring.

     We sit there in silence, waiting out the storm. Eventually, Comma begins to come around. The man makes her drink from the thermos, which has been warming by the fireside. Comma coughs and sputters. The colour begins to return to her face.

     "My name is Dominik," says the man, with a hint of an accent. He studies us with weary eyes. "I will take you to my group. We are camped not far from here. Leader will decide your fate." Dominik grins, tracing his finger along the blade. "If it was up to me, I would slit your throats."

     "I dare you to try, old man," Comma snaps, flashing her canines.

     Dominik laughs heartily and then resumes sharpening his blade. When the worst of the storm has passed, Dominik stamps out the fire and orders us to follow him. We set out into the cold, marching a little further up the hill and then across an icy plane—though the ice, much like the snow, feels different than the stuff back home. Our shoes leave behind imprints in the ice, as if it were formed of some kind of foam.

     At the far end of the plains, we ford a river that runs scarlet and smells like rust. "Anyone fancy a swim?" I ask. Comma just glares at me.

     Dominik's camp awaits us on the opposite bank. He and his people have taken up residence in a hillside cavern, from the mouth of which dangle countless icicles. The interior smells of salt and sulphur, and when I realize it's coming from the meat roasting above the makeshift spits, my stomach churns and growls at the same time. There's a bucket by the spits, filled to the brim with what I can only describe as hairy fish.

     Dominik orders us to wait at the entrance and goes to fetch the one he calls Leader. Leader, apparently, is a man in his early twenties with a goatee and glasses. He licks grease off his fingers as he approaches us, the powdery snow-like substance crunching beneath his feet.

     "Hello there," he says. "My name's Topher. Please don't mind our friend Dominik here; he's got trust issues. So long as you mean us no harm, we're happy to have you." He wipes his fingers on his weather-worn jeans and extends his hand. Comma grunts and flinches away; I shake Topher's hand before he notices.

     "The name's Em. This is Comma. You're the first people we've come across since the End. Well, there was one, but the glowdarks got him."

     Topher raises an eyebrow. "I can't help but notice you're not carrying any bags. Mind if I ask how you've managed to survive for so long without any supplies?"

     "I'm not sure I follow."

     Topher inches closer. "It's just that we've thoroughly scoured the area, and this river here is the only one within walking distance that hosts aquatic life-forms. And there's nothing edible on land, at least not anything you'd be able to take down without any weapons. I'm wondering how it is you haven't starved to death out there."

     "Starved to death? But we just got here a few hours ago."

     "A few hours ago?" Topher narrows his eyes, his jaw-line straightening. "Do you seriously expect me to believe you survived for four months in the void?"

     "Four months?" What the hell is he talking about?

     A bespectacled girl of roughly sixteen joins us, her red hair done up in a ponytail. Her smile reveals dimples in her cheeks. "You'll have to pardon Topher," she says, with a bit of a Southern accent. "He don't understand much about the planes."

     Topher sighs and crosses his arms. "Meet Gail, my sister."

     "See, the void exists separate from the flow of time," Gail continues. "You can only find out how long you've been there once you leave it. From our point of view, it's been about four months since The End. How long's it been for y'all?"

     I shrug. "Maybe a day? Less?"

     "How'd you guys get here?" Comma asks, glancing around. There are only two more people in Topher's group: a large, bearded male of about nineteen; and a pale, slender girl of about twelve. "Which one of you ripped through?"

     "That would be Trisha," says Topher. "She's no longer with us. Originally, we were a group of eight. Now there's only the four of us, plus Eloise." He nods at the slender girl. "We found her out in the tundra. Doesn't speak much. God knows how long she's been here."

     "Y'all must be starvin'," says Gail. "Why don't you sit a spell? Get somethin' in your stomachs."

     I have to admit: the prospect does sound enticing. We join them by the fire and eat our fill, trying not to think too much about the fact that these "fish" look more like mutated rats. Over dinner—I'm guessing this is dinner, since the sun's going down—we learn a bit more about Topher and his group. Topher had been studying political science before the world ended. Gail worked part time at an occult shop. Crawford—the fourth member of their group—was in game design. Dominik was a carpenter.

     I tell them my story, or as much of it as I care to, anyway. Comma refuses to share anything about her past with us, threatening to knock Topher unconscious if he doesn't stop asking.

     Likewise, Eloise doesn't utter so much as a word throughout the entire meal. She barely even makes eye contact, only stealing a brief glance at us every now and then. When she yawns, Gail takes Eloise's hand and walks her over to her section of the cave. She tells Eloise stories until the girl has fallen asleep.

     Night has fallen, bringing silence to the tundra. The rest of us sit huddled by the fire, mesmerized by the flames. "So," says Crawford, breaking the silence. "I'll go ahead and say it. I think we ought to try and head for the rip again."

     "Not a chance." Topher shoots him down instantly. "It's too risky."

     "But we've got a ripper again," argues Crawford, referring to yours truly. "Why spend even one more freaking day in this crapsack world if we don't have to? He can get us out."

     "Or get us killed," mutters Dominik.

     Comma rests her hands on her lap. "Em and I are setting out for the rip in the morning, regardless. You're welcome to tag along if you like."

     "I'd strongly advise against that," says Topher.

     "And why's that?"

     Topher leans in towards us, his face almost flush with the flames. "Because of the beast."

     "The beast?" Comma frowns. "What's that?"

     "It's what got us the last time we tried to get to the rip," says Gail, returning from tucking in Eloise.

     Topher nods. "It's the reason half of us are dead."

Author's Note:

And Comma manages to pull through! Do you think Topher's group can be trusted? And what's the deal with this mysterious beast?

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