Where I come from the world stopped spinning. It was a lot like this world before it stopped spinning. There were schools and stores and cars and cities and highways and open space.

Then on Winter's Night the world stopped turning. Tidally locked with the Sun is what the radio said. It wasn't till like 8:30 in the morning that we started to notice anything was wrong. But it was still pitch black and it wasn't getting lighter.

It got in the news pretty quick that the east coast was still lit, with a sunrise that didn't go away. But at least it was sun. And the temperature was dropping fast.

So we joined the traffic jam over the frozen ground heading east. Every kind of car, camper, truck and motorcycle in a caravan as long as the eye could see. People breaking off the road and going over fields and side roads, looking for the next gas station that wasn't drained dry. Driving past the bonfires and the Freezing Parties, where people decided to drink away the degrees till there was nothing left.

Somehow we always found just enough gas to keep going, through nameless country roads and forgotten small towns in the dark and the cold and the ice, onward, ever onward, towards the light.