At the End of the World, Meet Me By the Vending Machines by Catherine Tavares
800 words, ~1 minute reading time
Issue 9 (Winter 2025)
03 Nov 2048 / Ashland, OR / Cheetle Flavored Kisses
I met you two years after the outbreak by a vending machine in Idaho. Only one bag of Cheetos was left, and we both wanted it. You suggested splitting it.
Vending machines became our thing—the bar for romance is low during the apocalypse—but cheetle flavored kisses weren’t so bad.
I lost you in Oregon. A horde swarmed the area and separated us. I was forced to run one way, you another, an impassable sea of Zs between us.
Logic says you are dead, but logic died alongside Patient Zero. So, I stop every time I see a vending machine, looking for signs of Cheetos and the love of my life.
07 Nov 2048 / Coffee Creek, CA / Nacho Cheese Salvation
We had a pact, you and I, to make it to the Pacific. You being from Iowa, me from Montana, neither of us had seen the ocean before and didn’t want to die until we did.
So, that’s where I’m headed.
But first I have to eat a vending machine’s worth of Nacho Cheese Doritos.
Which is entirely your fault! You said the chemicals, especially Red Dye #40, repelled zombies.
Bullshit obviously, otherwise half the US wouldn’t be a shambling, decaying mess right now, but those dusty orange triangles made you feel safe.
God, I hope you’re safe.
09 Nov 2048 / Redding, CA / You Get a Little Cannibalistic When You’re Hungry
As a general rule, never eat chocolate during the apocalypse. Old candy bars--old sugary, gooey, chocolatey candy bars--not worth the risk.
Whoever smashed in this machine and left only Snickers behind knows that.
You know that.
Zombies don’t though. Including the one that was pressed to the hood of a nearby truck that may be my best bet on finding you.
I grabbed a Snickers, tore off the wrapper, and hurled it to the side. Truck zombie perked up and limped over to that rancid, death-by-dysentery bar and went to town while I went to the truck and tried desperately to remember everything I ever learned from crime dramas about hot-wiring cars. Two minutes and a grateful prayer to MacGyver later, truck zombie barely had time to glance up at the sound of the engine before its head was bursting under all-weather tires.
11 Nov 2048 / Stockton, CA / A Baja Blast of Hope
You’re alive!
I must’ve spent thirty solid minutes kneeling in front of that machine, clutching that soda and bawling my eyes out so loud I had to use three bullets to take out a couple of Zs that came to investigate.
You were here, cleaned out the machine, but left a Mountain Dew Baja Blast, two little stick figures drawn in the teal waves and the words “Pigeon Point Lighthouse” scrawled down the side.
I’m leaving soon as I finish this entry. I’ll drive all night, fueled by a tropical lime storm of caffeine and hope because you are alive!
13 Nov 2048 / Portola Valley, CA / Heart Full of Hostess
I mapped the path to the lighthouse based on where I thought you would go, and I followed it religiously. Driving til the gas ran out, then walking and skateboarding clear across the Dumbarton Bridge!
I was rewarded. I found messages from you at three more vending machines, written on nut mixes and jerky bags, even spelled out in melted gummy bears stuck to the machine’s glass. (Seriously?)
Back in Woodside, I found a package of those Hostess powdered sugar donuts, the ones that taste like chalk and gum up your mouth. Your favorites. I held onto them. For you. For luck.
So, naturally, that’s when the horde came.
14 Nov 2048 / Pescadero, CA / Out of the Frying Pan and into the Flamin’ Hots
I should’ve walked away. Or ran away. I didn’t have enough bullets to take on the seven zombies crowding that little restaurant on HWY 1, but I could see the vending machine from outside, and I couldn’t resist. What if you left a note, calling for help via Flamin’ Hot Cheetos?
I tried to lure the Zs away, but it only took one. One to look back, see me, and garble a war cry to the others.
One bite to infect me.
But I got the Hot Cheetos, saw your note to keep going.
It was worth it.
I’m coming.
14 Nov 2048 / Pigeon Point Lighthouse, CA / At the End of the World…
I made it.
We made it. I can see you, standing on that balcony overlooking the Pacific.
Is it awesome? I didn’t look. Won’t.
Can’t.
I’m leaving this journal and all the snacks here in the gift shop, by the vending machine. Then I’ll go behind the counter and do what needs doing.
But when you hear the shot…don’t look, please.
Just grab a soda, chips, donuts, all the Red Dye #40 you want, and go fill your eyes with that ocean, the edge of the world here at the end of the world.
And I’ll meet you there.
