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Chapter 8: Together as a Team
publish date:
2026-10-20 16:18:18
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Apocalypse Reborn: This Time, I Lock the Door Chapter 8: Together as a Team
The pitch-black hallway outside my door remained silent for three minutes after the woman and her crying child shuffled away down the dark stairs.I didn't move. I stood in the center of my living room, wrapped in a wool blanket, listening to the building begin its slow death.Without electricity, the apartment complex was an artificial cavern of reinforced concrete and brick. Down in the basement, the industrial electric pumps had died when the solar superflare detonated the regional substations. The cast-iron steam radiators—the pulsing arteries that kept three hundred tenants from freezing every winter—had let out their final, wheezing sigh twenty minutes ago.The temperature outside sat right at thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Inside my apartment, the air held steady at sixty-five degrees, kept there by a single propane heater and sealed behind eight-mil anti-shatter window film, triple-layer thermal blackout curtains, and expanding foam insulation along the baseboards.Through the
Apocalypse Reborn: This Time, I Lock the Door Chapter 7: Goodnight, Preston
Monday morning, October 26.11:30 AM.The apartment was completely still.I sat at the kitchen counter under the warm yellow beam of a battery lantern. In front of me sat a stainless-steel bowl of spicy beef noodle soup, pulled straight from the void behind my forehead. The broth bubbled faintly along the metal rim, venting a rich steam of roasted chili oil, scallions, and tender braised beef.Not a single degree of heat had bled off.I ate with measured, steady bites, letting the hot calories settle into my core.Outside the blackout curtains, the day was overcast and gray. My outdoor window thermometer hovered right at thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit, held in place by the brisk northern front pushing down from the border.I rinsed my bowl with water from a plastic jug, dried it with a clean cloth, and set it on the rack.Behind me, the front entrance stood like a bank vault. The three-hundred-pound steel slab was anchored eight inches deep into solid cinderblock. Two forty-pound pig-i
Apocalypse Reborn: This Time, I Lock the Door Chapter 6: Let the Loan Sharks Have Him
Sunday morning, October 25.The radio emergency bulletin had cut my runway in half.Thirty hours remained until Monday noon. Thirty at best before the first solar shockwave hit the upper atmosphere.There was no time to second-guess.At 6:00 AM, I drove my pickup on my final trip to River Road Self-Storage under a freezing, spitting drizzle.I unlocked Unit 108 for the last time.Inside sat the final supplies: ten indoor propane heaters, forty cases of butane fuel cans, forty boxes of wooden matches, six battery lanterns with spare cells, twenty sub-zero sleeping bags, and stacks of wool blankets. Next to them were four duffel bags packed with antibiotics, painkillers, burn ointment, and sterile gauze from local pharmacies.I stripped off my gloves and laid my bare palms against the boxes.Store. Store. Store.The supplies vanished into the quiet void behind my eyes. The space tightened another degree around my temples, sitting at seventy percent capacity. Unit 108 was now empty concr
Apocalypse Reborn: This Time, I Lock the Door Chapter 5: Eight Hundred Hot Meals
Saturday morning, October 24.Five days remained until Thursday noon.The fifteen thousand pounds of grain and water already secured in the stasis of my mental void were my survival foundation. But dry goods had one fatal flaw: they required heat, clean water, and time to cook.In a sub-zero urban collapse, cooking was suicide.I had seen it happen in my last life. Three weeks into the freeze, a family on the fourth floor of my apartment building boiled a pot of white rice on a camp stove. The savory steam drifted through the ventilation shafts like a beacon. By morning, their door was splintered off its hinges and their apartment was stripped bare. No bodies, no blood—just gone.When temperatures plunge below zero, high-rise buildings act like giant chimneys. Warm cooking smells vent through window seams and hallway cracks. To starving men roaming the corridors with tire irons, the aroma of boiling stew is an open invitation. Lighting a burner in a dark building would paint a target
Apocalypse Reborn: This Time, I Lock the Door Chapter 4: Pay Your Own Rent
Terminal Way was an ugly stretch of asphalt between the railroad tracks and the industrial canal.I locked the heavy padlock on Unit 108, pocketed the brass keys, and walked toward the gate.Right on time, a yellow city cab skidded to the curb, throwing a spray of muddy slush across the sidewalk.The back door swung open before the cab stopped rolling.Delphine stepped out into the damp cold. She was wearing her expensive white puffer coat, designer leggings, and four-inch leather boots. Her makeup was ruined—black mascara streaked down her cheeks, and her face was blotchy with rage.She slammed the taxi door so hard the window rattled, then marched straight toward me."Wren!" she yelled, her voice echoing off the corrugated metal garages. Two mechanics working under an open truck hood across the lot stopped to watch. "You selfish bitch! How dare you leave me stranded like that?!"I stopped five feet away, keeping my hands resting loosely in the pockets of my field jacket."Keep your
Apocalypse Reborn: This Time, I Lock the Door Chapter 3: Twelve Pallets, Not a Dime for You
Before ordering bulk supplies, I needed cash.When the power grid dies, credit cards are just useless pieces of plastic. Paper money is the only thing that talks.At 9:15 AM, I walked into the First National Bank branch on 4th Street. The lobby was quiet, smelling of cold air and floor wax.I stepped up to the counter and pushed my ID, debit card, and withdrawal slip under the glass window: $18,000.00.The teller frowned. She looked at the paper, then up at me."Eighteen thousand in cash?" she asked, keeping her voice down. "We usually issue cashier's checks for anything over five thousand.""I need cash," I said calmly. "Hundred-dollar bills."She didn't open her drawer. Instead, she picked up her desk phone, whispered a few words, and hung up."Mr. Miller, our assistant manager, has to approve large cash withdrawals," she said, pointing to a glass office behind her. "Please take a seat inside."My jaw tightened.I had never pulled more than $800 from an ATM. Now, trying to take out
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