8th Episode
“April Fools!” Linda yelled and burst out of the Samsonite bag. Prabath pretended to be startled, then laughed. He had to pretend a lot in those first months of their relationship. The connection had been spontaneous, almost intoxicating. And for the first time in his life, he felt at ease with commitment.
Linda rushed to kiss him. She felt like magic; she felt like everything. Prabath peeked into the suitcase, squinting playfully.“You messed up all we packed. We’ll be late now.”Linda pouted and smiled shyly.
He wondered what had happened to his old self — the neurotic survivalist, the mall ninja his friends teased him about. Now, instead of stockpiling gear, he was in chic boutiques with Linda, helping her pick sundresses. Months ago, he had stayed up all night comparing tactical knives. Now, he held shopping bags.
Maybe the world wasn’t going to end after all. Maybe his life was just beginning.
Linda led him by the hand. Outside, the old silver Mercedes purred like a cat, waiting to take them away.
The grey convertible threaded through traffic on the Southern Expressway.
“Babe, can we put the top down?” Linda begged. Prabath adjusted his aviators, hesitated, then smiled. “Okay, but promise me you won’t stick your hands up.”
“I promise,” she grinned.
He pressed the button, and the black vinyl top folded back with mechanical precision. Linda squealed in delight.
Then the sky split open.
A blinding flash. A cosmic bolt of lightning.
Cars skidded to a halt. Some flipped, others slammed into the barriers. The pileups formed twisted metal pyres, burning rubber and shattered glass. Inside them, motorists screamed —trapped, broken, dying.
Prabath fought to control the Benz. The moment he had spent his life preparing for had arrived.
He counter-steered, guiding the car to the shoulder. The world outside blurred into chaos. He looked at Linda. She was frozen, staring at her phone, furiously swiping. The screen was dead.
The Benz coasted to a stop.
“We need to move,” Prabath said. He jumped out, grabbed his survival bag from the trunk. Linda didn’t move. She kept pressing her phone’s power button.
“Babe?” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“No time to explain.” He unbuckled her, pulled her out.
The sky above them ripped open again. A burning Boeing spiralled down, crashing into a distant paddy field. A mushroom of fire and smoke bloomed on the horizon.
Prabath knew exactly what was happening.
A solar flare.
An insignificant event on a cosmic scale, but devastating to humanity. Electronics fried in an instant. Modernity crippled. Civilization paralyzed.
A sum of all fears.
Linda insisted they return to Colombo, despite Prabath’s protests. As they trekked through forests and paddy fields, she finally saw the world collapsing. Looting. Arson. Rape. Murder. She clung to Prabath, but she also saw him for what he really was.
Not her boyfriend. Not the man she fell in love with.
A wild man.
A man built for this world, thriving in the chaos.
One night, when he failed to start a fire, he simply ate the raw fish. Linda gagged, horrified. He barely noticed.
Over time, a hidden contempt surfaced in his voice.
“Wonder what’s happening to your posh Colombo friends,” he said with a smirk. Linda winced.
After two weeks, they reached Panadura. The town was eerily empty. Prabath decided to take Galle Road.
A lone old man shuffled past looted shops.
“Grandpa, where is everyone?” Prabath asked.
“They’ve gone to Colombo,” the old man rasped. “Heard there’s a relief ship at the harbour, taking people to Australia. My daughter and grandkids left with the rest of the town. Me? I’d rather die here than live with those white devils.”
All lies.
Prabath had seen the freighters drifting offshore, their decks abandoned. He had seen dead sailors washing ashore. International shipping was dead.
He smiled.
“Grandpa, mind if we stay a couple of nights?”
“Of course, Putha. I haven’t had company in a while.”
Linda wouldn’t stop fussing. She complained, pleaded, argued.
Prabath ignored her. He spent time with the old man, listening to his stories. He found survivors — orphans, fishermen. His war party grew.
Linda grew quieter.
She wrote in her journal at night.
Then one morning, she was gone.
A note on the pillow.
I’m going to Colombo without you. I might be able to catch that ship. Goodbye, Prabath. I loved you. But not anymore. Take care of yourself.
