We arrived at the barn before dusk. It was creepy, dilapidated and seemingly abandoned, with a pitched roof like a shark’s dorsal riding the hilltop wave on the horizon.

It was cold. We were cold, despite walking a hundred miles since leaving home. Vehicles were a thing of the past, a recent memory like horse-drawn carts and carriages.

No-one knew much about that fluorescent blue light in the sky, the one the world witnessed a mere 46 hours ago. All we knew, all anyone knew, is that it destroyed all things electrical, and disrupted all known wave frequencies to end remote communication.

At first I saw it as a blessing, as did Carmel. Our smart-phone zombie nation was at a brink of a revolution. People had to go out, socialise, and speak to one another to find out what the hell was going on. It wasn’t long before panic ensued and enslaved us all. The hysteria was one thing, unjustified in my opinion. The disappearances however, they left a ghastly chill down my spine.

There were no bodies, no blood, absolutely no clue as to where people had been taken, but Carmel could feel it. Every time we passed through an area where humanity once lived and thrived, she could feel the souls of the missing people, like ghosts wandering on a fixed track, an ectoplasmic footprint of those that once lived. Perhaps we never lived at all. Perhaps our existence was just on loan, and that the ominous debt-collecting blue fluorescent light had come to repossess all life on Earth, all human life at least.

As night fell, Carmel and I lay on our backs staring through the gaping hole in the roof of the barn. The blue light had faded, and we could see more stars than I’d ever seen in my life.

We lay hand-in-hand. It didn’t take long until we were praying. At first praying that it was all a dream, but by the time morning came, we were praying for the fluorescent light to return.

Praying for the blue light to take us too.