Chapter 3: The Supplies Were Swallowed

chloe

I lay sprawled on the floor where the invisible barrier had thrown me, staring at the pocket watch in my hand, my heart nearly bursting from my chest. Damn it, all my supplies were inside—if the space failed, all seventy-two hours of preparation would be for nothing.

I closed my eyes and swept my mind through the interior. The space was there. The supplies were there. I tried to retrieve something with my thoughts, and a potato materialized in my palm. I exhaled, then kept scanning. When my attention landed on the translucent light timer near the entrance, I froze—it had hit zero. 00:00:00.

It all clicked. The space wasn't broken. I'd simply used up my two hours for the day.

Two hours... well, better than nothing. At least everything was intact, and I could still store and withdraw items with my mind. I just couldn't step inside to organize.

I pushed myself up, drenched in cold sweat. The flash of panic had nearly dragged me back into that old despair. I took a shower, letting the hot water run over my skin, but it couldn't wash the chill out of my bones. By the time I finished, it was past two in the morning.

Lying in bed, I checked the space again with my mind. When I saw the timer had reset to 02:00:00, I almost cried out in surprise. It refreshed every day! Two hours daily—not much, but enough to organize and plan.

I stared at the ceiling as the past life flickered behind my eyes. Ice-cold water flooding my lungs through a shattered surface. Derek and Isabella's indifferent gazes. I fumbled for melatonin on the nightstand and swallowed two pills. Sleep still came shattered. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the people chasing me, heard the ice cracking. I'd jerk awake drenched in sweat, heart pounding like it would explode. After several rounds of this, I gave up on sleep entirely.

At five in the morning, with the sky still dark, I entered the space. Standing before the neatly stacked medical boxes and fuel canisters, my heartbeat finally steadied. I ran my hand over each crate, confirming they were real. This was what I'd live on.

Exiting, I opened my tablet and went down the checklist. Medicine, fuel, cold-weather gear, defensive materials—done. But food, seeds, weapons, and planting equipment were still blank. I checked my banking app: $230,000. I'd have to be careful.

After waking up, I didn't go back to sleep.I drove the rented Ford F-150 toward the city's edge, dawn just breaking. I pulled into Riverside Wholesale Hub, the city's largest produce distribution center. For the next few hours, I moved like a well-oiled machine through each district—produce, grains, seasonings, frozen goods. Everywhere, I used "family gathering" or "company event" to explain bulk purchases. Squash, potatoes, rice, flour, cooking oil—truckload after truckload filled and emptied. The vendors went from surprised to accustomed, ending with nothing but satisfaction at the cash register.

Only in the seasoning district did I linger. When I ordered three thousand pounds of salt, the clerk froze. "Are you sure you've got the unit right?"

"Sure. One-pound bags. Three thousand of them."

I stared at the salt stacked into a small mountain, and a memory surfaced from year three of the old world: a man traded one bag of salt for thirty pounds of cornmeal, and three days later, the salt's owner was beaten to death with an iron bar in a shelter stairwell. Salt wasn't just a necessity—it was the hard currency of the apocalypse.

Loading done, I moved to the meat section. At one stall I met a familiar face: George, the bald man in a greasy cap who supplied high-end Wall Street restaurants. "Chloe! What are you doing here yourself?"

"Company party. Need a lot of meat," I said flatly. I ordered two hundred pounds each of pork belly, brisket, lamb leg, and rabbit; a hundred whole chickens and ducks; fifty geese. George's eyes bulged. "You can't be serious. That's over thirty grand!"

As I swiped my card, I added casually, "Can you get me two boning knives and a butcher's cleaver? Professional grade."

He hesitated, voice dropping. "What do you need those for?"

"Relax, I'm not killing anyone. But I need something for self-defense."

He thought it over, then nodded. "Fine. I'll fold it into the bill."

At noon, I ordered cold-water fish from the seafood stall and thousands of eggs from the poultry vendor, plus two trays each of fertilized eggs. When the vendor asked if I planned to hatch them, I admitted I'd bought a small incubator. I didn't know how long the disaster would last, but if it ever ended, those eggs could be the seed of rebuilding.

By two in the afternoon, I reached a gardening supply center. I picked fast-growing vegetable seeds—lettuce, arugula, spinach, kale, dozens of varieties, multiple packs each. Five hundred dollars filled two cartons, enough for decades. I added planting pots, hand tools, potting soil, plus a few apple, grape, and lemon saplings.

Leaving the garden center, I bought a breeding pair of rabbits at a pet market. In my past life, I'd seen people raise them on vegetable scraps—they multiplied fast and provided steady meat. There was also something I needed to confirm: whether the space could hold other living creatures.

At four, I drove the now-empty pickup out of the wholesale hub. My banking app showed $23,000. I'd burned two hundred grand in a single day—my chest tightened—but picturing the mountains of supplies in the space, a strange satisfaction and confidence swelled instead. Passing a Mexican restaurant, I stopped on impulse: ribs, burritos, and tacos, a proper meal. Sitting in my car, I watched the evening crowd stream toward restaurants and bars, laughing, utterly indifferent to the storm coming. An unnameable sorrow rose in me—they had no idea the best days of this city were down to the last forty-eight hours.

Back on the 45th floor of Apex Tower, I spent two hours organizing the space. The main storage bay was jammed with flour, and oil drums. Vegetables and saplings sat along the entrance corridor; the rabbits were caged at the far end. I'd planned it deliberately—I exited with ten minutes left on the timer. The instant I stepped out, the two rabbits, cage and all, were spat back out, thudding onto the floor, squealing in terror.

I froze, then elation hit me. The space limited not only my own time inside—if I wasn't in it, no other living thing could remain either! That meant no one could steal it, and no one could use it as a hideout. I crouched, scooped up the frightened rabbits, and soothed them, a smile tugging at my lips.

Settled on the sofa afterward, I opened my laptop and checked the list line by line. Medicine, fuel, food, seeds, defensive gear—all in place. Only one small storage section and the hydroponic bay remained. No more bulky items. I opened a food delivery app instead and went on a frenzy: Michelin desserts, eel from the sushi place, Korean pork belly, Italian seafood pasta—ten portions each. Plus the fancy cakes, artisanal ice cream, and specialty coffee I'd never allowed myself. All scheduled pickup, so everything stayed fresh. Fifteen thousand dollars, gone. I stared at the cart, thinking of the strangers who'd starved in my past life, my fingers trembling slightly. I hit "Confirm Payment" anyway.

From eight to eleven that night, I raced around the city as if running a marathon, all just to pick up the food I'd reserved Elysium still blazed with light, the bar district packed. I sat on a curb, watching drunk kids sing with their arms around each other. I felt tired—not physically, but soul-deep. I wanted to watch this city's last glory, even if only as a bystander.

At eleven, I hauled the final batch of takeout into the apartment and tucked it all into the space. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window. Storm clouds pressed low on the horizon, and the wind was beginning to howl.

Everything was ready. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something important was missing. I stared into the darkening sky, brow furrowed, the answer hovering just out of reach.