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The girl collapsed on the soft earth between the bumpy roots of the oak tree. Smoky haze choked her lungs. Around her, branches crashed to the ground, sending out sparks like fireflies.

“I’m here,” she said, watching flames draw nearer to the initials she and Papa had carved into the trunk before he died.

Voices shouted her name. She looked toward them, and back at their tree. She could not leave Papa!

Suddenly, one after another, fat acorns fell, bouncing all around her. She knew it was Papa speaking. Kissing his initials, she quickly gathered them and ran for her life.

“Madam, you’re only eligible for level three support. Please step aside.”

“But please. I’m starving!”

“Please move or I’ll call security. Read the guidelines. Remaining sustenance is being prioritised for level ones. Families.”

Maria pictured her mother’s stash of bottled water, tins, and freeze-dried meals. She remembered how she’d constantly admonished her, refused her ‘ridiculous’ offers of foil blankets. It had made a great comedy bit: her crazed, apocalypse-obsessed Mum.

When she’d died, Maria cleared her house, took the survival kit to the food bank. It was only now, famished and alone, that the loss drowned her.

“Mum…I need you.”

The sudden gale hurled us towards land. Our charts showed an inlet where we could moor until the night seas calmed. We tied up our yacht and the six of us clambered ashore. We could just make each other out, our bright orange waterproofs and Sou’westers reflecting the minimal illumination. We trudged towards the village until we saw a cottage. Hoping to be offered refuge until dawn, we banged on the door. It opened slowly, light spilling into the rainstorm and over an exhausted crew.

On seeing us, the woman shouted indoors: “Hamish! It’s for you! It’s the bloody aliens again!”