Chapter 4 Countdown Three Days: Preparations and Goodbyes

Evelyn’s POV

March 19 – Three Days Left, Afternoon, 14:40 I woke at 14:40 and headed out for a run. I only got one kilometer along the track before my lungs burned and my legs shook. This body had never endured the hardships my old one had.

At 15:15, I walked to a small supply shop on the edge of campus. It catered to hikers and preppers and carried medical supplies without strict prescription checks. I spent most of my savings there, filling two suitcases with trauma kits, antibiotics, painkillers, tourniquets and splints. After I paid, less than twelve hundred dollars stayed in my wallet. I hauled everything back toward the dorm and climbed the stairs.

At 17:10, Jason Brooks waited by the front door. He had called me for two straight days, but I never answered. He reached for my bags, his face tight with hurt. I remembered the truth from the old timeline. When disaster struck, I had turned to him, and he had run. A stranger had saved me. I had once loved a man who would leave me behind.

“You’ve been distant. Is everything okay?” he asked.

“No,” I said, meeting his eyes. “It isn’t working between us. I’m sorry.”

He grabbed my wrist. “Why? What changed in a week?”

I gently pulled my arm free. “It’s not your fault. It just won’t work. Don’t make this messy.”

I left him standing in the fading afternoon light, confused and bitter, and did not look back.

By evening, I met a private lender and took out an eight-thousand-dollar short-term loan. I had no intention of repaying it once the world collapsed. This was separate from the fake story I’d spread about a house deposit and a supposed two-hundred-thousand-dollar construction payment — those were cover, never real funds. I spent nearly all the cash within an hour on heavy jackets, backpacks and hand tools, sealing bulk stock in waterproof bins under my bed for fast access.

Hannah, Zoe and Grace watched me cut open a box and pull out four matching jackets.

“One each. Grab your size,” I told them.

Zoe read the tag and her eyes widened. “These are Arc'teryx Alpha SV. They cost almost two thousand apiece, Evelyn. What the hell?”

“I know a supplier with leftover gear from cancelled expeditions. I got them cheap,” I shrugged. “Take them.”

They asked about the heavy, waterproof tactical backpacks too. I passed them out, keeping my tone casual. When Zoe held up the fifth pack and grinned, saying it was for Jason, I took it from her and put it away without a word. I could not promise I would keep them alive, but I could give them gear that might help them survive. Every task ticked away under the clock hammering in my chest: less than three days until the end of the world.

March 20 – Two Days Left, Mid-Morning The rental clerk in SoDo glanced at me, a college student with a brand-new license, and tried to push an Explorer on me. “Ma’am, I really recommend a vehicle with better — ”

“Keys,” I said.

I climbed into the H2, adjusted the seat, and tested it in the lot. I backed it one-handed, slid cleanly into a parking bay, and stopped perfectly. I leaned out the window. “What was that about a different vehicle?”

The clerk’s partner whistled. The clerk hid his red face behind a folder and finished the paperwork. I paid the full rental fee with the rest of my loan, then drove off. The H2 was for quick supply drops and short trips; the bigger truck I’d arranged would be our main escape vehicle later.

I drove straight to a storage unit by the airport highway. Tucked away from main roads, it sat along our northern escape path. I filled the trunk with compressed rations, bottled water, two five‑gallon fuel cans, a tactical axe, and a Mossberg 500 I’d legally bought at a gun show. I checked its serial number and grabbed a sealed box of buckshot, tucking the ammo into a waterproof pouch. Guns were my last resort.

I thought through the coming chaos. Streets and freeways would clog fast. The interstates would be the first routes the National Guard cleared, the only viable long-distance roads. I cached the truck at the northbound on-ramp, the critical route we needed. I hoped I would live long enough to reach it. I rubbed my sore knees and laughed quietly. This weak new body, against everything that was coming? I would need luck.

I called Tyler from the driver’s seat at noon. “Both generators are set up,” he said over the whine of a saw. “One running, one spare. The steel mesh is up, the perimeter wire’s strung, and the windows are reinforced. The basement is stacked — I counted two hundred twelve boxes. Rice, canned food, blankets. Mom’s enjoying signing for all the deliveries.”

“Good,” I said. “If anyone asks, the place belongs to a classmate’s family with military ties. That’s only a cover story. We don’t own it, and no one’s family is actually in command. Don’t say anything more. And Tyler, put Mom and Dad on the couch tonight for disaster movies. Zombies, plagues, all of it.” I kept my voice light.

He went quiet. “Evelyn. What’s coming?”

“Nothing you need to know yet,” I said softly. “Look after them for me. I’ll be home soon.”

He said he would. I hung up at 12:10. Forty-eight hours remained, and for a moment, I let myself believe it.

March 21 – One Day Left, Late Night The hours slipped by as I sorted and double-checked every cache, running through escape routes one last time. My phone buzzed. Jason, again. I blocked him without reading the message.

Tyler sent photos of the fortified house. I zoomed in on the steel framing, perimeter wire, and packed basement shelves, and released the breath I had held for three weeks. It was real. It was ready.

I stood and did fifty squat jumps, my legs burning. Hannah walked in and caught me mid-set, sweaty and hunched in workout clothes.

“Studying for the Friday calc exam,” I panted before she could ask. She rolled her eyes and went to her bed. No one questioned a stressed sophomore cramming for finals.

“Evelyn, you’ve been strange all week. What’s going on?” I stared at the ceiling, my eyes stinging.

“It’s nothing. This is just the last normal day I’m going to have for a while.”

She laughed it off, the way people did when they could not bear to believe the truth. I changed the subject to Korean barbecue and let her relax. I listened to the rumble of the bus passing outside, and I thought: this quiet, this person worrying about me — I would carry this with me into whatever came next.

At eleven that night, I stood at the dark dorm window and watched the sleeping city. Thirteen hours were left. Tomorrow at noon, the sky would tear open — and I would be ready.