Spencer had had his fair share of weird and strange experiences in his life, but nothing came in comparison to this; sat in a van with eight other people, being told to do what he was told or die, essentially. The atmosphere in the back of the van was sober, to say the least. Some were on the verge of tears, others had clearly already cried, their puffy cheeks already stained with crystal tears. Spark, on the other hand, was surprisingly apathetic, or in shock, he wasn't quite sure. He sat, fingers obsessively playing with the lighter that he'd found in his pocket, a nervous habit he'd picked up years ago and never really gotten round to stopping, gaze drilling into the blank metal side of the van, unwilling to stray too far in case someone thought he was looking at them, maybe even judging. Not that he really had to, he'd known most of them in high school anyway, they just weren't very good friends. In fact, by the way everyone seemed to be looking around at each other, it seemed no one really knew anyone... Not that he planned on pointing that out any time soon. Honestly, he didn't even plan on speaking unless someone specifically spoke to him first, determined that he'd probably on drop himself into more shit by doing so, if it was even possible for the situation to get worse. Shaking his head, Spark resorted to thinking back of the events that had just happened, part of him determined that this was just some messed up dream and that he'd wake up tomorrow morning perfectly fine, the entire town still intact. 

[i]"Spencer Levi Small get your lazy butt down here right this instance!" His mother's southern twang rang through the tiny house, echoing from the kitchen all the way up to Spark's room, where he sat, lazily strumming the strings of his guitar as he hummed the tune to Cold Hard Bitch by Jet. With a lazy sigh, he pulled himself off the bed, dropping the guitar back on the bed as he ran his hand through his hair, brow furrowing as he tried to figure out exactly what his mother would want. He hadn't done anything wrong, and she'd already banned him from going to prom. What more could one woman want, really? He practically stumbled down the stairs, still not used to the way the carpet was starting to curl upwards at the corners, slowly revealing the old wooden floor underneath, and entered the kitchen where his mother stood with her hands on her hips, undersized shirt revealing just a little too much of her flat stomach for Spark's liking. "I thought we established that you are not allowed to play guitar whilst you are grounded!" 

"Sorry ma," was all he could reply, not quite sure how he was expected to respond, other than to apologise and promise not to do it again. 
"Sorry?! I'm very disappointed in you, y'know. If I can't trust you to follow simple rules what can I trust you to do? It's despicable! Just wait until I tell your father-"
"Until you tell his father what?" Another voice cut her off. It was his dad, stood tall in the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded defensively across his body as he leaned against the door, raising a curious eyebrow at the woman. 
"He was playing guitar in his room again, Levi, what else I supposed to do? Can't think with that racket going on up-"
"Jesus, all this over him playing an instrument? Cut him some slack, Della, you've already grounded him on prom night."
"I am standing by what I-" Della began, face slowly going redder and redder as her husband continued to cut her off, until eventually she was as red as the lipstick she wore.

"Sparky, kiddo, why don't you go for a walk, get some air, yeah?" he paused, "this could go on for a while." He offered Spencer a small smile, which he meekly returned, slowly backing out of the kitchen before his mother could swing an insult in his direction, probably raving about how he was about as useful as tits on a bull, or something equally ridiculous. He quickly grabbed his hoodie and pulled it on, suddenly all too glad he'd never bothered to take his shoes off when he got home, and slammed the door shut behind him. Unsurprisingly, the shouting from the kitchen could still he heard from their pathetic excuse for a lawn, but what else could you expect when your walls were about as thick as paper?

Spencer shrugged it off, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets as he made his way along the uneven sidewalk, trying not to think too much about what just happened when there was a loud bang and the ground below him shook, knocking him off his feet as he tumbled to the ground, turning just in time to see a cloud of black ash coming towards him, the tiny houses surrounding him quickly turning to rubble. Exactly what happened, he didn't know, nor did he really care. He'd already pulled himself off the ground, ignoring the stinging sensation in his leg as he pegged it away from the scene, natural instincts already deciding that, whatever the hell was going on, he wanted no part of it. He was coughing and spluttering, ash of the fallen houses clogging his senses, making him not even want to open his eyes in case he ended up blinded by some sort of debris. 

It was only then that the van hurtled down the road towards him, and part of him was positive that it was just going keep driving and that he'd end up roadkill, but then it slowed down, and a man Spark didn't recognise told him to get in if he wanted to live and he didn't question it. He wanted to live, and, unfortunately, the stranger seemed like the only way to ensure it; he bailed in, only taking a second to glance around at all the other familiar faces before sinking back into a seat, the reality of what was going on only just hitting him. 
[/i]

Everyone was dead. That was the truth of it. His mother, who he'd argued constantly with since he was around five, was dead. His dad, who'd spent most of his life since Spencer was born defending him whenever he even did the slightest thing wrong, was dead. The few friends he'd actually managed to make during his time at school were, you guessed it, dead. And for some reason, he wasn't, and he intended to keep it that way. 

When they finally all bailed out of the van, the dense foliage suggesting it was some kind of forest, Spark didn't even have a phone to hand over. His mother had taken it off him when he was initially grounded, claiming he could have it back when he 'learnt to have a little more respect', which clearly he'd never managed. With a tired sigh, he picked up one of the rucksacks off the ground, swinging it onto his back as he finally looked around at everyone else, even daring to offer Lillah a reassuring smile, or, as much of one as he could muster up. He wasn't very hopeful for their odds, truth be told, but he'd learn to get over it.