Chapter 1: The Heat Apocalypse

The end of the world. Scorching heat. Order falls apart overnight. The air in my room felt heavy, like it was pressing down on my chest.

That weird text made my stomach clench. I stared at the screen, the glow of my phone cutting through the half-darkness of my room. I gripped my phone tighter, thumbs slick with sweat I couldn’t blame on the radiator. My mind tumbled, wondering if it was just a prank, but something about the words made my skin prickle with unease.

I thought I could ride out this disaster. Minnesota gets wild weather, but hey, we’re hardy. We build snow forts and throw boiling water in the air for science. How bad could it be?

Turns out, this was just the start of the nightmare. Some things you can’t prepare for, not even with all the lists and drills and Midwest grit in the world.

1

The First Time:

This year’s weather was off the charts. People on Twitter wouldn’t stop talking about it. It was already late December, but up here in Duluth, Minnesota, it was still over fifty degrees.

Usually, this time of year, you’d see ice fishermen hauling their shacks out on Lake Superior, hockey rinks popping up in every other backyard, and families arguing about snowblower brands. Instead, students were tossing frisbees across the green and talking about how they’d never seen Christmas lights on green grass. The lake wasn’t even thinking about freezing over.

It was winter break. I was curled up in my dorm room, sprawled on my bed, mindlessly scrolling through my phone.

[Bro, you ever heard of someone getting heat rash in December?]

[Wanted to see snow up north this year, guess that’s not happening.]

[Forget snow, the river by my house isn’t even frozen.]

[No chance for that ice festival this year.]

[By the way, there’s no heating this year. Can we just skip paying the bill? @CampusHousing]

[Is this, like, a sign of an earthquake? My grandma says weird heat comes before one.]

[Like this if you think the apocalypse is coming and we’ll all get a bunker + supplies.]

[If this is global warming, Mother Nature needs to chill. Literally.]

I scrolled through the posts, letting my mind wander. If the world really did end, I’d want to try every food I never got around to—at least go out with a full belly.

I pictured myself ordering a wild rice sausage pizza and a double scoop of Honeycomb ice cream, calories be damned. I imagined ordering everything off the menu at Sammy’s Pizza or finally shelling out for a triple scoop at Love Creamery, not caring about calories or budgets for once. End times, right?

Just as I was lying there, cracking up at the comments, my phone buzzed with a Messenger notification.

It was a message from my buddy, Derek.

I lucked out in college, landing a four-person dorm with decent roommates.

Marcus, our resident library ghost, practically lived on Red Bull and highlighters. Caleb, tough as nails, always had a grease stain from the diner. Derek and I? We were basement-dwellers at heart, living off instant noodles and late-night gaming.

We’d stay up too late playing League or Mario Kart, sometimes losing track of time until sunrise peeked through the icy windows. Derek had this dry sense of humor and a knack for horror stories that always made me jump.

When I saw Derek’s message, I was thrown. What was up with him?

I opened the chat. There was just one line:

[The end of the world. Scorching heat. Order falls apart overnight. Please, you have to believe.]

Suddenly, the dorm door banged open. Derek burst in, face pale and hands shaking like he’d just seen a ghost. I turned my head and yelled down the hall,

"What’s up, Derek? You reading too many apocalypse novels? Why’d you text me something so weird?"

Derek looked rattled and asked me what day it was.

"December 28th. Why? You good, man? You look like you saw Bigfoot."

I rolled my eyes at him.

Derek didn’t answer, just urgently waved for me to get off the bed and go with him to the grocery store.

"What’s going on?"

Seeing how serious he looked, I hopped up, grabbed my jacket, and followed him out of the dorm.

The warm breeze felt like a Minnesota April, not December. Some kid skateboarded by in a Vikings jersey and gym shorts as we walked past the frozen custard shop—still open but serving malts instead of cocoa. I noticed people outside in shorts and hoodies, everyone pretending it wasn’t weird. My breath fogged just a little, but the breeze was almost balmy for Duluth in December.

On the way to the store, Derek told me something wild—he’d lived this all before.

In his last life, the apocalypse started on December 31st.

That day, temperatures everywhere shot up, rising four or five degrees every day.

At first, nobody took it seriously. Life went on. But after a week, it was over 104 degrees.

The government realized something was off, issued a heat emergency, and put out warnings for everyone to stay cool. Scientists scrambled to figure out what was causing the freakish winter heat, and people were told to stay inside as much as possible.

Derek said that was just the start. Within a couple days, it hit 122, and even at night it stayed above 104.

People working outside started collapsing from heatstroke. Panic spread.

Officials did their best to calm everyone, announcing, “Please stay indoors unless absolutely necessary. Supplies will be distributed by local authorities every evening.”

It sounded like a script from a disaster movie, but Derek’s eyes were dead serious. His voice shook a little as he spoke, like the memory was still fresh, too real. He paused, collecting himself, and I noticed his hands clenching the shopping list so hard his knuckles turned white.

I shot Marcus a look, mouthing, "Is he serious?" Marcus just shrugged, but even Caleb was listening now.

I asked Derek, curious,

“So, what were we doing then? How long did the four of us last?”

A shadow crossed Derek’s face as he went on, his voice heavy and cracking:

“We were all still at school. The heat wrecked the power grid, and the city started having blackouts. We wanted to go home, but there were no bus or train tickets. The temperature rose so fast. By January 15th, the news said it had hit 140 degrees.”

“At that point, water, electricity, and the internet were all gone. We were stuck in the dorm, roasting and out of food. The sunlight outside was like a death ray—just a few minutes would burn you.”

“One night, Marcus and I geared up and tried to hit the campus mini-mart for food. There were so many people, all coming out when it cooled off a little. We fought our way through and only got a little.”

Derek’s eyes turned red. He paused, swallowing hard.

“The food didn’t last long.”

“With the heat, tempers flared. When food ran out, riots broke out in the dorm building. Our door got smashed open. People stormed in to grab whatever they could. The four of us couldn’t hold them off and got shoved out the window.”

I wanted to laugh it off, but the way his hands clenched the shopping list made my stomach twist. It sounded straight out of a disaster movie, and I half believed him, half didn’t. Derek saw my look and said:

“Look, let’s just stock up. If nothing happens, I’ll buy you every meal for the rest of the semester. Deal?”

I grinned and rushed into the store with him to buy as much as we could.

Derek warned me not to buy too much at once, so we wouldn’t get weird looks. So we just grabbed four gallon jugs of water, three boxes of cooling patches, and two packs of ramen before heading back. We debated for five minutes over name-brand or generic ramen, and I grabbed a six-pack of Mountain Dew for morale.

I wanted to load up on more—chips, Spam, even a bag of oranges—but Derek’s glance reminded me to chill. We got our stuff and hustled out before the cashier could give us the side-eye.

When we opened the dorm door, Marcus and Caleb were already there, both looking serious. On the floor were two big bags—one of bottled water, one of bread and snacks.

We all stared at the pile, no one saying out loud what we were all thinking: How did they know, too?

Sure enough, Marcus spoke first:

“You gotta believe what I’m about to say. Caleb and I both know what’s coming. Starting the 31st, the temperature keeps rising. We figured it’s safer to stick together than go home and risk the unknown. We can’t stay in the dorm—the apartments on Maple Heights Road are better. Let’s move there.”

We all agreed.

We packed in under an hour, tossing textbooks, chargers, and half-eaten bags of chips into duffel bags. With less than three days left, we packed up and moved to the apartment that afternoon.

Forget about classes and dorm checks. If the world’s ending, who cares about credits?

We rented a place on the fourth floor. Any higher and it’d be hotter; any lower, and it’d be riskier if things got ugly.

The next day, we went through our supplies and realized we still needed power banks and cooling gear.

So we split up: Marcus would get power stuff, I’d buy cooling products, and Derek and Caleb would handle food and water.

We moved fast.

I didn’t have much cash, so I went straight to the discount shop in the mall and bought a dozen battery-powered mini fans, a bunch of batteries, a stack of handheld fans, and five boxes of cooling patches.

Still not satisfied, I haggled at an appliance store and spent $30 on four small electric fans.

After lugging everything back, I hit up a couple pharmacies, buying electrolyte packets and fever patches.

Remembering the apartment’s mini fridge, I bought ice packs, cooling mats, and ice pillows, hoping they’d help in the heat apocalypse.

I ran around all day, finally dragging myself back to the apartment at dusk, wiped out.

Derek and Caleb were already back, counting supplies.

We now had thirteen gallon jugs of water, two big bags of drinks, six cases of ramen, four giant boxes of crackers, twenty-five packs of microwaveable meals, five loaves of bread, two tubs of ice cream, three bags of canned goods, and three packs of toilet paper. Even better, they’d bought a big barrel to fill with backup water in the bathroom. They’d spent almost all their money.

With what I brought back, the fridge, entryway, and storage closet were stuffed to the brim.

As the three of us collapsed onto the beds, there was a knock at the door.

When we opened it, Marcus stood there, drenched in sweat, carrying a cardboard box in one hand, a small generator in the other, and two flashlights under his arm.

We rushed to help him. Marcus grinned at us, proud. We dove into the supplies, exclaiming together:

“Damn! Marcus thought of everything—a generator, more than ten power banks, three hand-crank flashlights, two high-power rechargeable flashlights, three packs of candles, a box of lighters, a carton of matches, two bundles of glow sticks, four folding knives, and even some basic meds!”

We went through the loot like kids on Christmas morning, passing stuff around, arguing about what would last longest and who got which knife.

With all this, the four of us could last three months if we rationed.

Knowing we’d be eating nothing but instant food after the apocalypse, we pooled our last bit of cash and went out for one last big meal.

On the 30th, we splurged at a barbecue place and each called our parents, telling them the weather was weird and they should stock up on groceries just in case. We ate enough brisket and fries to make ourselves sick, laughing too loud, pretending nothing was coming.

Hearing my mom’s voice shaky on the other end, I almost told her everything, but swallowed it down. If the end really came, my parents were the ones I’d worry about most.

Back at the apartment that night, Marcus ordered over ten takeout meals to stash in the fridge while we still had power, so we could eat well for the first few days.

The place smelled like plastic wrap and stress.