"That, my friend, is the million dollar question," Magic Al said. "How are we going to stop an immensely powerful witch from doing as she pleases?"

"Are you guys asking me?" Antony looked bewildered. "Because I have no idea."

"Aren't the two of you supposed to be some sort of creative geniuses?" Magic Al asked.

"Well, obviously I am," Antony said.

"Uh, me too," I raised my hand.

"Then let's brainstorm some ideas," Magic Al stroked his beard. "Perhaps for starters we should ascertain what sort of skill set we possess between us. I have some magical abilities and can cast some spells of my own, which may prove to be of some use. But I can hardly go toe to toe with a witch of this level."

"I'm an awesome lyricist, singer, and all around rock and roll frontman," Antony said. "I have great charisma and stage presence. I can also shred a bit on a guitar, although I usually just like to stick to singing. I feel like I can work the crowd better when my hands are free, you know what I mean?"

"I'm a brilliant writer of prose," I said. "I can string words together in a manner that can take you to great emotional highs and lows. I can also transport you to worlds the likes of which you've never imagined. For instance, in my newest novel I will make you feel as if you are an actual melting scoop of ice cream on a hot sidewalk. You will absolutely believe that you have become an inanimate object that is completely foreign to your current existence, and yet you will emerge from the experience with a deeper understanding of the human condition. And you will never, ever be the same again."

"Dude, you can save the sales pitch," Antony said. "None of us are going to read your novel, even if we do get out of this alive and save the world."

"I was just giving you an example of the skills I bring to the table," I sniffed.

"These are all well and good, but I'm not quite sure how they help us in this situation," Magic Al said. "Although, there is great power to be found in words. They are the basis of most incantations, after all. Similarly music can be immensely powerful as well. But how do we harness this power? I'm going to need to ponder on this."

"Frankie Prescott the Third," Antony said out of nowhere.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Frankie Prescott the Third. He must still be out there somewhere."

"I haven't the foggiest notion what you're prattling on about right now," I said.

"You guys said that only my enemies would be left alive and Frankie Prescott the Third was my arch-nemesis in eighth grade. I hated that guy. Smarmy prissy little know-it-all. He thought he could sing better than me, but I sure as hell showed him up at the school talent show. He went home that night in tears, I'll tell you what. Yeah, that guy definitely didn't get wiped out by the witch's spell."

"Do you suppose we could recruit him to our cause?" I asked.

"Old Wanky Frankie?" Antony laughed. "I have no idea where he lives these days. I didn't bother to keep up with him once I became successful and world famous. Well, that's not entirely true. I did go out of my way to drop by his house and rub my good fortune in his face right when our first single went to number one on the charts. But that was ten years ago and he was living with his parents. Actually, knowing that guy he might still be living with his parents. But we don't want his help anyway. He was a useless little twit."

"I'm just saying we could probably use all the help we can get," I said. "Maybe he had some odd hobbies you weren't aware of since you weren't close friends with him. Perhaps he was an expert on witch lore and knows all of their weaknesses and methods of defeating them."

"Even if he did, which I highly doubt, I still wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking for his help. Nah, Wanky Frankie is not an option. Although I do hope he's majorly freaking out right now."

"Awk! Major freakout!" Chaucer squawked. "Get these ants off of me stat!"

"Whoa, does he have ants crawling on him?" Antony asked. "How? I thought all the ants were gone along with everything else."

"No ants," I confirmed. "I think it's something he heard somewhere. He says weird things sometimes, if you hadn't noticed."

"Awk! Here comes trouble!" Chaucer squawked.

I glanced over my shoulder, just in case Chaucer had seen something, but all I saw was the quiet, empty street filled with boarded up shops. "Say, who closed up all the stores anyway and put boards in all the windows? I thought everybody just had their life forces snuffed out or something?"

"Hmm?" Magic Al had looked like he was deep in contemplation, but he stopped to look around at my question. "I don't know. It could be that not everyone vanished at once. Maybe there were some stragglers who attempted to evacuate once the carnage started. Or maybe this is a far future version of the town that got sucked back here through the time vortex."

"Actually, I did it," a high pitched voice said from behind us.

I whirled around to see a woman in a leather jacket emerging from an alleyway. Her hair was covered by a cap with large aviator goggles on it. In a rare moment for me, I found myself speechless.

"I've been bored as sin for the past two months and it didn't seem like anyone was coming back, so I took it upon myself to shutter all the shops. I've got to say, it's good to finally see some other people. Who are you people anyway?"

"I'm Shannon Meadows, and this is Antony and Magic Al. The parrot is named Chaucer."

"Pleasure to meet the lot of you," the woman gave a little bow. "Amelia Earhart at your service. Have any of you guys happened to see a small plane anywhere around here?"