Five hours before initial detonation.

KANE

Jay watches Brice in awe as he puffs on a cannabis joint, breathing the smoke from his mouth and immediately inhaling through his nose. At sixteen he's a year younger than me, and I'm a year younger than Brice. People always think it's odd that we're friends, since we weren't in the same years at school - and Jay's significantly less of a teenage delinquent - but somehow it just works.

It's lucky Jay's parents agreed to let him go on the four hour flight alone to visit us, I guess that's what being a golden child gets you.

"That's classy," he laughs, shaking his head mockingly.

"I call it the Brice Cook loop de loop," the older boy looks down at Jay from the couch, his signature dopey smile dimpling his cheeks.

"French inhale."

They both look over to the corner of the small dark lounge where I sit in a saggy armchair, repetitively throwing my prized hunting knife into the wall, which is imprinted with hundreds of stab wounds already.

Previous tenants of the flat have treated it in a similar way, so I don't hold a whole lot of respect for the place. The curtains are stained with nicotine, the windows are cracked and there's massive patches missing from the carpet from non-cleanable spillages. Not exactly the beachfront party house we had been hoping to score when Brice and I hauled ass out here six months ago.

Brice shifts around on the couch to look behind at me, pushing his light brown fringe away from his eyes, "a what?"

"The smoking trick," I finally look over to them, my face passive with boredom, "it's already a thing, French inhale."

Brice taps the joint thoughtfully against his lip, "Damn French, I'll think of another."

I turn my stare back to the wall as Brice proceeds to exhale smoke from his mouth, eyes narrowed in concentration as he tries to manipulate it into circles.

Brice eventually declares he's hungry, but the kitchen shelves are barren, so Jay is nominated to go downstairs to the closed corner store to steal some food. He's been gone for a couple of minutes when the wailing of police sirens sounds in the distance, I jump up from my seat and share an 'oh shit' look with Brice as he mutes the TV. 

There's hardly any security unless you come in through the front door of the shop, so we've crafted a hidden trap door that we occasionally slip through when we need something from the store beneath our apartment. Just for, like, emergencies; when we run out of cigarettes or food that we don't feel like paying for. 

I move the curtain and squint into the daylight through the grimy window. Brice stands next to me and we watch as a police car speeds past, then another, and another.

Jay walks into the room and dumps a bag of frozen meals and chocolate bars in the kitchen, joining us with wide eyes, his tan skin a little paler than normal.

"Thought the piggies were after you," Brice nods to the road below where police cars are still flying past, along with the occasional fire engine.

"So did I."

Since the cops aren't after us (for once) we settle back into our comfortable silence. Shafts of light from the mostly obscured windows cut through the smoke, letting me know just how hazy Brice is making the room. I stretch my long legs out in front of me and cradle my knife, mindlessly glancing my thumb over the leather hilt as I sink into my thoughts.

We took Jay sightseeing yesterday, driving the whole four hours to New York City for a day trip. Somehow, that turned into us staying the night in some sleazy motel because we got too drunk to drive, despite being underage. We'd treated ourselves to a fine dinner at a restaurant in Manhattan. It had a killer view of central park, but of course we couldn't pay for it, so it had been a dine-and-ditch situation. 

Still obviously tired from the previous night's adventures, Brice smokes away our stash of weed until he sprawls himself across the couch to sleep, forcing Jay and I to retreat to the other rooms to get some rest away from his obnoxious snoring. He better be paying for the next baggie.

My eyes fling open just for me to screw them shut as the small window above my bed shatters. Adrenaline makes me kick away the blankets that are entangled around my legs and lunge up to gawp out the window. My thoughts are muddled from sleep but it's clear to see several explosions tearing apart the neighborhood. Well, that's not something you see every day. I fumble around trying to pull my jeans on as I go into the lounge, Brice is already at the  now glass-less window, recording the chaos with his phone. Jay grabs him roughly and pulls me to the ground as they fall.

"Planes!" he screams, seconds before a volley of explosions that sound like they're hitting the roof above us pelt the ground like hail, but all that rains upon us is dust while the building shivers. It feels like hours before the sounds of the banging stops. I'm the first to stand, heading straight to the window overlooking the street. Several house near ours are burning and dozens of people stand in front lawns and on the sidewalk, staring around themselves in a daze. Jet planes disappear into the distance, they look like black metal paper planes sailing through the blue sky.

"Dude, let's kick it, there might be more," Brice runs his fingers through his hair, using the light from his phone to find his jacket in the dim room.

"No shit, it's freezing in here."

Going into Brice's room, I push the floor boards and ceiling panel out of the way, deciding to exit via the shop rather than the external stairs, "get your shit and get down there!" I call out and storm back into my room, stuffing clothes into my backpack and pulling on the thickest hoodie I can find as my brain works overtime. I feel hyped, like I'm about to step into the boxing ring, "get some food, and whatever else is useful from the shop."

I head back to the trapdoor to see Jay pause after Brice jumps down, watching me shove my knife in a sheath and clip it onto my belt.

We meet eyes and I shrug, casually pulling my top over the protruding hilt. "Let's go."

My feet hit the counter and I immediately jump off it to go to the shop door. There's not much damage that I can see from here but there's a downed power line shooting sparks a little down the road and cars jamming the way.

"Fuck, I've wanted to do this my whole life!" Brice grins, stuffing his pockets with chocolate bars after already filling his backpack. Usually we just take little bits every now and then so the shop owner doesn't suspect us, though in this neighborhood he's already used to casual theft.

Jay has plastic bags filled with stuff and is struggling to hold them all so I grab one from his hands, adding items to my own as I do so.

The front window suddenly shatters and a rock thuds into a magazine rack, scattering Kim Kardashian's pouting face all over the floor. I drop my bags at Jay's feet and whirl around, ready to defend our territory.

Someone's foot kicks away larger shards of glass and half a dozen young teenagers jump through.

"Do you work here?" the leading boy stops as soon as he sees us, looking like he's torn between trying to fight us and making a run for it.

There's no point in trying to stop them, it's not like we can take it all. I wave my hand around the measly store, "help yourself."

The kids scatter, tearing down the short aisles, but one girl stays. Her face is lit up with a manic grin and her bottom lip is bloody, "you hear about the blast?"

"About it? I'm pretty sure we heard it."

"No," she giggles, "the blast. New York. Kaboom!"

I exchange a look with the others, Brice frowns and Jay's face has once again drained of colour.

"What, you losers don't have internet or somethin'?"

"Watch your mouth," I snap, grabbing my phone from my pocket, but there's no service. "Just tell us, yea?"

"It's been nuked," she says sweetly, tearing open a packet of candy, "my daddy says this is the end of the world." She turns on her heel and walks toward the other kids ransacking the shop, without another word.

"Let's get out of here," Brice says incredulously, and we don't object.

"Are we not coming back, then?" Jay asks as I lead them out the door toward Brice's car.

There's a low thrumming of plane engines pulsing through the bitter, smoke scented air. "Na. I don't think so."