Trey Burnett

Intro The world didn’t end with fire. It didn’t end with bombs. It ended with rain. Not the kind that tears roofs off or drowns cities in a night. No. This was slower. Meaner. A drizzle that never quit. Day after day. Week after week. Sometimes a mist so fine it clung to the body like sweat. Sometimes heavier, hammering at metal and asphalt.  It soaked into the earth, crept into the cracks of roads and sidewalks, filled gutters and drains until they overflowed. The rivers swelled, then swallowed bridges, until streets became rivers. Basements became tombs. Entire neighborhoods drowned in silence. There was no panic at first—just… inconvenience. Sandbags. Detours. Talks of disaster relief. But the rain continued. It got into everything — boots, food… guns. Rust on metal, mold on walls. Drowning the world with every breath. The rain never stopped until it turned into ice. The cold crept in while the world was distracted by disaster relief and the newest viral bacteria, both caused by the unceasing rain. Winter coming in early. Breath fogging in the morning air. Frost on windows. A nip in the air that had coffee shops pulling out their pumpkin pie spice two months early. But like the rain, the cold lingered. Skin splitting. Knuckles bleeding. Knees cracking like fracturing ice. The sky turned white. Then gray. The cold in the air grew sharper, needles stabbing at the throat and lungs with every breath. At night, the wind howled like it was mourning, and the rain turned ice, tapped and scratched at glass like skeletal fingers. Puddles hardened into sheets of ice, and rivers froze at the edges. Doors and windows were sealed tight by ice. Buildings turned into mausoleums while inside, pipes burst. Water was everywhere, but undrinkable. You wake up in your room from another nightmare. The same one that had been repeating for three months now. The rain started a little over a month ago. In front of you, the glowing red screen reads: -28 DAYS