Five

Willow exchanged twelve million dollars at the historic apothecary and cautiously slipped out the back exit, her instincts warning her that she was being watched.

It seemed her second major liquidation had drawn unwanted attention. After all, unloading multiple pristine, five-hundred-year-old wild reishi mushrooms in the modern era was bound to raise eyebrows and attract opportunistic eyes.

However, she wasn't panicked. Maintaining her middle-aged male disguise, she kept her head down and navigated the bustling city grid until she successfully shook her tail.

Swinging back to her secure commercial storage bay, she stowed her disguise kit and hopped back into her box truck.

Next stop, a sprawling wilderness expedition and tactical surplus center, stocked to the brim with hardcore outdoor survival gear.

"Afternoon, what can I help you find today?"

The floor associate didn't grovel, greeting her with a straightforward, professional retail smile.

Using her glamour-shifted posture, Willow consciously pitched her voice lower to cement her masculine disguise; though she was slightly built, the dim lighting and baggy tactical jacket kept suspicion at bay.

"My crew and I are prepping for an extended backcountry deep-woods expedition. I need twenty full sets of heavy-duty survival gear."

She ticked off the list, multi-season waterproof shell jackets, professional-grade inflatable rafts, high-tensile climbing ropes, portable water-purification rigs, and multi-fuel camp stoves.

Seeing a massive corporate-level sale unfolding, the associate's enthusiasm skyrocketed.

"Sir, since you're gearing up for extreme environments, have you looked at our specialized temperature-regulating tactical suits? They're our latest patented inventory."

Temperature-regulating suits?

Now that was a brilliant asset. Thinking ahead to the scorching three-month heatwave followed by the brutal, deep-freeze ice age, Willow realized her current wardrobe was entirely inadequate for apocalyptic weather extremes.

She nodded briskly. "Show me."

The associate led Willow through a secure, reinforced back corridor into a high-security display room. In the center of the vault stood a sleek, matte-grey, utilitarian suit.

"The tactical climate suit maintains an internal micro-climate body temperature of twenty-six degrees Celsius, completely insulating the wearer against both hyperthermia and sub-zero frostbite."

Detailed stress-test and thermal-regulation data logs were displayed on a nearby monitor.

Willow scanned the metrics, immediately impressed. "I'll take twenty sets."

It wasn't that she didn't want more; the store had strict bulk-purchase allocation limits on experimental tech. Even so, twenty sets would be more than enough for her long-term needs.

The total bill for the tactical gear and thermal suits came out to a cool eight million dollars.

A massive chunk of the cash she had just earned vanished in an instant, leaving a slight, sharp ache in Willow's chest. Money really does disappear like water when you're preparing for the end of the world.

Needing a change of pace, Willow drove toward a massive downtown upscale lifestyle mall to go on a comprehensive clothing spree.

Before walking through the glass doors, she ducked into a quiet parking garage stairwell, popped a counter-elixir to wash away the glamour disguise, and transformed back into her natural self.

She slipped into a breezy white floral summer dress before stepping out into the bright mall corridor.

Like a swarm of locusts sweeping through the concourse, leaving nothing behind.

Willow started from the very first anchor store, snapping up dozens of versatile clothing pieces, men's and women's apparel across a wide spectrum of sizes, though heavily weighted toward her own precise measurements.

In just a single retail outlet, she cleared out over a hundred items of durable, high-density cotton and wool garments.

She wasn't chasing fragile, over-priced luxury designer labels; instead, she focused on rugged, lesser-known outdoor brands that offered superior stitching and heavy-duty fabric at a fraction of the cost.

Because her purchase volume was so staggering, the store happily arranged complimentary white-glove home delivery.

Willow gave them the address of her leased commercial warehouse and scheduled the drop-off for the following morning.

She repeated the exact same ruthless process down the entire row of department stores.

To the floor managers and sales associates, Willow looked like a walking guardian angel, a literal multi-millionaire goddess of wealth who single-handedly crushed their annual regional sales quotas in a single afternoon.

By the time she finished, she had accumulated thousands of garments covering every imaginable weather condition from scorching summer heat to freezing winter blizzards.

Spotting the bedding displays, she couldn't resist grabbing twenty industrial-grade feather down comforters, cooling bamboo sheets, and heavy thermal blankets.

Checking her mobile banking app, she saw her balance had dwindled from $6.915 million down to $6.415 million.

Confirming that her survival checklist was virtually complete, Willow decided to head back to the warehouse. The bulk food and water deliveries she had scheduled were due to arrive soon, and she needed to be on-site to sign off on the manifests.

"Willow? What are you doing shopping out here?"

Hearing her name called out, Willow paused and turned around.

There stood Chloe, clinging possessively to the arm of a tall, immaculately dressed man, both of them radiating a sickeningly affectionate air.

Willow’s gaze swept past Chloe and locked directly onto the man's face.

In a split second, the suppressed hatred and trauma from her descendant's memories surged to a white-hot peak.

Tyler Brooks.

This was the exact scumbag who had mentally terrorized and ultimately driven her terrified descendant to a miserable, panic-induced death in the ruined timeline.

In the original dark future, Chloe had wormed her way into dragging Willow into Tyler’s violent scavenging faction.

But the moment food supplies collapsed and rations ran dry, Tyler had immediately targeted a starving, weakened Willow as dead weight, plotting to cast her out to the wolves.

And Chloe? Chloe had merely shed a few fake, hypocritical tears before turning a blind eye and helping them lock the door.

Looking at them now, Willow felt zero warmth, only cold, lethal disgust.

She deliberately suppressed the murderous intent blazing in her eyes, lowered her gaze, and let out a faint, mocking smirk. This is still a civilized society bound by laws. Let them play their little games.

In exactly two and a half months, when the sky burned and the dead rose, karma would ensure these two paid a horrific price.

Deciding that breathing the same air as them was a waste of precious time, Willow turned on her heel and started walking away.

Seeing herself completely ignored, Chloe flew into an indignant rage. She cast a desperate, calculating look up at Tyler, her eyes instantly welling up with pathetic, manufactured tears.

She leaned heavily into Tyler’s arm, sniffling like a tragic heroine.

"Tyler, babe... why is Willow acting like this toward me?" Chloe whimpered softly. "I only ever considered her my closest sister. No matter how coldly she treats me, in my heart, she'll always be my best friend..."

Tyler’s expression instantly darkened with protective fury.

"Chloe, you're just too soft-hearted. It's obvious that ungrateful psycho never viewed you as a friend in the first place. Why do you even waste your tears on trash like that?"

"But Tyler... my heart just hurts so much seeing us like this..."

"Silly girl, aren't you satisfied having me right here by your side?"

Chloe blushed deeply, burying her face into Tyler’s chest while speaking in an unbearably saccharine, cloying tone. "Oh, Tyler, you're the absolute best..."

Ugh! Absolute barf.

Willow winced inwardly, mentally cursing her own sensitive hearing. She almost felt sick listening to their high-school-level melodrama.

Damn it, if only I had one of those nuisance curses handy right now, I'd slap a permanent itching hex on both of them just to shut them up.

Flicking away the lingering annoyance, Willow climbed back into her truck and drove back toward the warehouse, eager to oversee her growing prepper empire.