Murder at the End of the World

by Akane Araki

Genres: General Fiction; Mystery; International Crime & Mystery; Science Fiction; Post-Apocalyptic sci-fi

Synopsis

An unlikely duo embarks on a road trip to find a serial killer before the apocalypse in this prize-winning Japanese murder mystery.

Perfectly blends the dystopian humor of Zombieland and the thrills of My Sister the Serial Killer!

From Japan’s most exciting new crime writer Akane Araki, this thrillingly funny, high-concept murder mystery follows a young woman and her driving instructor as they face a compelling moral dilemma: should they work to stop a serial killer before the end of the world?

A meteor is on a collision course with Earth. The entire human race has 3 months to live. Uncontrollable panic has set in across the globe, but 23-year-old Haru is still determined to finally get her driver’s license.

When Haru and her ex-cop driving instructor Isagawa open their car trunk one day to find the corpse of a murder victim inside, they feel duty-bound to investigate. Together, they set off on a road trip through the crumbling landcape around them to hunt for the killer. As more bodies start appearing, more questions surge. Why would a serial killer begin work 3 months before the end of the world? And does justice lose its meaning with humanity on the brink of extinction?

Quirky, fast-paced, and packed full of surprising heart, Murder at the End of the World  will delight fans of Stuart Turton’s audacious plots and the humorous, life-affirming bent of dystopian favorites like Zombieland and Shaun of the Dead.

Release date: August 4, 2026

Publisher: Pushkin Vertigo

Print pages: 336

Sample

It was just after eight o’clock when the snow finally let up, and now the first patches of blue were showing through the clouds. The droplets on the windscreen shimmered in the morning light. Slowly but surely, the sky was clearing.

Snow and rain were my mortal enemies. Last Friday, the Ursid meteor shower had hit its peak, and with it being a new moon, conditions had been perfect—until a thick layer of nimbostratus flattened the pre-dawn sky into a murky grey. Still, if this weather held, I might finally get another chance to observe the winter stars.

There was a jangle of cheap metal by my ear. Isagawa had leaned over from the passenger seat and was shaking the car key right by my face.

“Come on, then. Fire her up.”

The key for training car number thirty-two came, like that of all the other cars, with a ridiculously oversized keyring—a sort of monkey character with garish pink fur and bulging eyes. For the mascot of a driving school, it was a pretty wild design, and not cute in the least. I finished adjusting the rear-view mirror and gingerly took the key, taking care not to make contact with Isagawa’s hand.

“I have a soft spot for the mountains, you know,” she said abruptly. “I was in the mountaineering club at high school. There were only three of us, mind.”

“I thought you did judo.”

“Well remembered. Yeah, judo was my thing, really. I only signed up for mountaineering to fill out the numbers.”

Isagawa kept up a steady stream of chatter while I fumbled through my pre-drive safety checks. It wasn’t hard to guess why she’d mentioned mountains. This was day thirteen of stage two of the standard driving licence course, which meant I’d be learning how to drive on mountain roads.

“How about you?” she went on. “You into hiking? I guess the main places groups head to around here are Mount Homan or Mount Hiko.”

“Not really my thing.”

“Let me guess. You’re not the field trip type.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess not.”

“I wasn’t either. Where’s the fun in tramping about in a big group like that? Hiking for pleasure’s different, though. You get to pick your own route, go at your own pace…”

I let her words wash over me, only half listening as I slid the key into the ignition and turned it. Our seats shook; the speedometer jumped. I’d never really cared much for cars, or driving, but this part I liked. The feeling that, all of a sudden, you were breathing life into an inanimate object.

I released the handbrake and slipped the gear into drive. Without me even touching the accelerator, the car began to edge forward. Idle creep, they call it. A feature of most cars with automatic transmission.

I steered us across the large car park and out of the driving-school grounds. Glancing around cautiously, I inched the front bumper out onto the main road.

Dazaifu Driving School sat on Prefectural Route 35, which cut through the town of Dazaifu and connected Chikushino with Koga. It had been a popular way of bypassing the tolls on National Route 3 or the Kyushu Expressway, and traffic had always been pretty steady. The area around the driving school used to get particularly busy because of all the visitors bound for the famous Tenmangu shrine.

The town looked pretty different these days, though. Right now, there wasn’t a single car or even person in sight.

“Take a right here,” said Isagawa, gazing dead ahead.

I flicked the indicator and did as she told me, dutifully glancing left and right before making the turn.

“Stay on this road for now. I’ll tell you when to turn.”

As we drove towards the sun, the information centre at the west gate of Dazaifu Tenmangu came into view. Unlike the main approach to the shrine, which teemed with cafés and souvenir shops, this quieter side road was mainly lined with small car parks that had sprung up to cater to tourists.

Today was 30 December, which would normally have meant all sorts of school and university entrance exams were just around the corner. Students and their parents ought to have been flocking to the site in order to pray to Tenjin, the God of Learning, who was enshrined there. But, the times being what they were, all the car parks were empty.

Located in the central-western part of Fukuoka Prefecture, Dazaifu was what you’d call a tourist town, home to all sorts of historic sites—the most famous being this shrine. In the olden days, it had been known as the “Western Capital”, Kyushu’s thriving centre of political and cultural life. These days, its lack of decent shopping and a convoluted public transport system made it feel like something of a backwater. It was in this stifling little town that I’d grown up.

Isagawa pointed at the speedometer. “You’re barely doing thirty. Maybe pick it up a little?”

There was a vaguely amused edge to her voice. I sneaked a sideways glance and saw that she was giving me one of her crooked grins.

Driving alone with Isagawa always made me weirdly tense. This was partly because she was always telling me to speed up, even though she knew full well that doing so made me nervous. Then there was the fact that she loved to talk, on and on, even when I was driving. Sometimes I really couldn’t stand it.

“So… where are we headed today?” I asked.

“The Kitadani Dam. I’m guessing you know it, if you live around here?”

I did. A lonely little spot maybe ten or fifteen minutes’ drive from here, on the edges of the state-owned forest that covered Mount Homan.

“The point of today’s lesson is basically to practise engine braking. We’ll drive up to the top of a long slope, then use the engine to control our speed on the way back down. Now, what happens if you use the foot brake too much on your way down a hill?”

“Brake fade. Or vapour lock.”

“Bingo. Which is why engine braking is so important. This’ll be good for you, Haru. You’re always stamping on the brakes for no reason.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at the weirdness of all this classroom jargon. Why were the most useless facts always the ones that stayed with you? It wasn’t like I was ever actually going to take the written exam.

The Dazaifu Driving School, which had been relocated from a nearby town four years ago, was the only one in Dazaifu. A few minutes’ walk from my house, and certified by the prefectural authorities, it couldn’t have been more convenient.

My classmates had all rushed off to driving school the moment we started university, but, as I said, cars had never really been my thing. Then, with graduation looming, it had suddenly dawned on me that I should probably at least get the licence on paper, and I’d scrambled to book myself some lessons. But I’d misjudged just how slow my reflexes were, how clumsy I was behind the wheel. My lessons dragged on past graduation, and before I knew it I was a full-grown adult still stuck in driving school.

We’d passed the stretch of car parks, and I was finally getting used to the feel of the car again. Isagawa turned to me and, as casually as ever, asked, “You managing for food?”

“Uh… yeah.” I really did hate talking while I drove. I had trouble enough making conversation as it was, never mind while in control of a moving vehicle. “My, uh, parents run a convenience store. So we had plenty of food stocked up. I’ve been eating fine.”

“A convenience store, eh? You never mentioned that.”

Come to think of it, I’d never told Isagawa about my home life. Not once, in all the hours we’d spent together in that cramped car.

“Still living with your parents, then? Any siblings?”

“Just a younger brother.”

“Oh yeah? How much younger?”

“He’s seventeen. So six years younger than me.”

Isagawa paused, then asked, “You’re… all still here, then?”

I couldn’t help thinking that this was pretty direct for Isagawa. She wasn’t usually the type to pry.

I’d never liked people poking into my private life. In all honesty, I’d have preferred to leave my family out of this completely. And up until a few months ago, I’d have wondered why on earth I should have to tell a driving instructor any of this. But now, well, the situation was what it was.
“My mum ran away. Pretty early on, too. Left all her stuff. Phone, wallet, bank card, even the car keys. Just sort of… up and went.”

“Huh. She abandoned you?”

“Yeah, I think so. I think she abandoned us.”

Saying it out loud made something tear in my chest.

“How about your dad?”

“He killed himself two days ago. It’s just me and my brother now.”

Isagawa nodded slowly, like she was letting the words settle inside her, then murmured, “You, uh… could have told me.”

It was an oddly flat response. I’d been braced for something a little more dramatic.

“Sorry.”

“I wasn’t asking for an apology. This was two days ago? You seem your usual self, Haru. I had no idea.”

“…Sorry.”

“Have you buried him?”

Again, not the most sensitive question by any stretch, but I didn’t mind.

“No, I haven’t… done anything yet. I mean, I took him down from the ceiling, but he’s still there on the floor.”

“He hanged himself, then. That must have been rough for you.”

I pictured my dad’s body, still lying on the tatami where I’d left it two days ago. Thinking about him filled me with a confusing mix of grief and visceral hatred.

Getting the body down hadn’t been easy. It didn’t help that my dad was fairly tall and well built. I’d dragged the sofa from the living room into the tatami room, rested his legs on it, and just about managed to cut the rope. His body had crumpled onto the sofa, and from there onto the tatami, landing face down on his knees like he was stuck in some intense bow of apology. I’d been so exhausted afterwards that I’d simply left him where he lay.

Ten minutes had passed since we left the driving school. The apartment buildings and car parks had yielded to a procession of factories, freight compounds and storage yards.

“Listen, Haru,” murmured Isagawa, toying with her long, slightly greying hair like something was weighing on her mind. But then a sign for the Kitadani Dam came into view, and in the end all she said was, “Take a right here.”

We were close to the mountains now. This really was a desolate place.

After the turn, we began a gentle climb. Passing a sprawling, empty baseball field, we arrived at the gate that marked the entrance to the dam road. It was wide open, with a rust-eaten sign clinging to the chain-link fence. The faded characters gave the sign a weirdly ominous feel.
Road open from 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.—Kitadani Dam Management.

We ascended the winding slope. The road was paved, but enormous beech trees crowded in on both sides, their branches forming a canopy that blocked most of the daylight. It was horribly gloomy.

To make things worse, the road kept getting narrower, until eventually it was barely wide enough for one vehicle. The main part of today’s lesson was supposed to be the descent, but something told me I’d exhaust myself just getting to the top.

“Relax, Haru. These aren’t even sharp curves.”

“It’s the darkness. It’s freaking me out.”

“Then pull over when you see a good spot and we’ll practise turning the lights on… Hey, is it just me, or does something smell?”

I glanced at Isagawa. “Eyes on the road,” she snapped, before rolling down the window on her side and taking a few sharp sniffs. “Yeah, something stinks.”

“I can smell it too,” I replied. “Sort of like rotten fish.”

“Maybe someone’s been dumping their rubbish out here.”

“Really? I didn’t think anyone would still be living around here.”

The mountain air was thick with the foul scent. It seemed to be getting stronger too, thickening into a harsh odour that pricked at my nostrils.

What could be giving off a stench like that out here in the middle of nowhere? It was getting hard to breathe. I was thinking of asking Isagawa to close the window when, turning a corner, I glimpsed a dark object up ahead.

Something was blocking the road. It was a metre or two long, dangling from one of the branches that arched over the asphalt.

“Stop!” came a sharp cry from my side. But before I could even lift my foot off the accelerator, Isagawa had already slammed on the instructor’s brake.

Cars have a nasty habit of not stopping instantly, though. As the driving-school textbook explained: Even after the driver senses danger and applies the brakes, the vehicle will continue to travel. The total stopping distance consists of both the reaction distance and this braking distance. By the time we came to a halt, the car was right under the object dangling from the trees.

There was an ugly crack. The final protest of a branch giving way under the strain. Just as Isagawa leaned forward and glanced up, it snapped clean in two, and the object came crashing down.

It slammed into the windscreen, sending a spiderweb of cracks through the glass. I screamed as it tumbled onto the bonnet, bounced, and rolled onto the road.

It was the body of a young man. A single glance told me he was dead.