Until now, I really believed that we could pull this off. It sounded good in my head. But now that the sun is setting and things are coming together, I’m freaked out by all these people who believed me when I said this was a good idea. Why would anybody listen to me anyway? Don’t they know I can’t plan worth two pennies?

There are far more people here than there should be, and they continue to swell the ranks as ships continue to ferry them to our broken bridge. We don’t need them all, just enough to make the angels believe that coming here instead of the Golden Gate Bridge is worth their time. But we put the call out, and more and more people are arriving. It never occurred to us to put a limit on the size of the audience, because we thought it would be a miracle if we had three people who showed.

They know the angels are coming. They know this is our last stand. They know we will most likely be massacred.

And yet they keep coming. In droves.

Not just the able-bodied – the injured, the children, the old, the sick – they’re all here, crowded onto our little island of broken concrete and steel. There are too many of them.

This is a death trap. I can feel it in my bones. The noise, the lights, a talent show for chrissake, at the apocalyptic End of Days. What was I thinking?

Despite the crowded conditions, the audience maintains a respectful distance from the curtains and dividers that have been set up as a makeshift dressing area beside the stage.

Dee thunks onto the stage and bounces on it. ‘Good job, guys. I think it’ll hold for a few hours. Good enough.’ He cups his hands over his mouth and calls out to the crowd. ‘The show starts in ten, people!’

It’s a little odd that he doesn’t yell to the dressing area but rather to the crowd at large. But I guess he’s right – everyone here is performing tonight.

I work my way up to the makeshift stage, feeling the panic. The last time I was on a stage, the angels went berserk and decided they were going to kill everyone and feel righteous about it.

This time, I’m in front of an equally charged crowd of humans. But the emotion they’re charged with is fear and barely contained panic, not bloodlust like the angels.

In front of me is a standing-room-only crowd with hardly enough room to maneuver. The only thing that limits the number of people is the dimensions of the concrete island we chose.