CHAPTER 5: The End Comes

FREYA’S POV,

Two weeks after I handed Griffin the papers, the divorce went through. Griffin tried calling me, but I kept ignoring his calls because there was nothing else to say. James noticed something was wrong and tried having a conversation with me, but I found excuses or changed the topic completely. I couldn't afford to tell him the truth and have him break down when the apocalypse was a week away.

Priyanka sent me a photo of the signed papers with three exclamation marks and a text about taking myself out for a drink. I didn't have the time for that. I was too busy watching the shelter turn into something I could actually survive in. The farm rooms were producing real food now: lettuce, beans and tomatoes under the lights. It was enough to matter even if it wasn't enough yet to feed everyone.

The armoury was full of weapons, courtesy of James' old contacts from the military. The trucks were fuelled and ready in the basement lot. For the first time since I'd woken up in that bed with Griffin screaming about a tie-clip, I let myself believe we might actually be ready.

James and I fell into a rhythm I wasn't expecting from him this early. We spent our mornings in the stripped-out loading bay, him correcting my moves and me trying to learn as much as possible from him. Both of us were sweating through our clothes. Afternoons included planting the seeds, checking the cameras and arguing whether we needed a second safety room or a third water tank.

He touched my shoulder more than he used to, and there were times I felt like he was going to kiss me. Though that never happened. Maybe he didn't want to cheat on his wife, even though she was never loyal to him. I haven't told him about Selena yet. Some mornings I caught him looking at his phone a bit too long before putting it away, and I knew exactly what he was thinking about.

“I really hope she isn't cheating on me,” he said once. He was teaching me to use a gun. “She looks at me weird nowadays. Ask me questions about you, and whether I have seen you recently.”

I knew why she was worried about him seeing me, but I held back from telling him the truth and played dumb. Telling him meant dealing with his heartbreak when the zombies were less than ten days away. It wasn't the right time for confessions. I needed him at his best, to survive the apocalypse.

On what would have been day twenty-three, I drove into town for more canned goods. The shelves at the shelter were full of the things that mattered: rice, beans, pasta, ramen, but I wanted the small stuff too, the comfort stuff. Canned peaches and pineapples. Instant coffee, cakes and sugar. Things that would make the next few months feel less like survival and more like living.

I was in the third aisle of the corner store when I heard the helicopters. Not one or two. Several of them, low and fast, cutting toward the hills outside Spring Falls. Through the front window, I watched three cars zoom across the street at once, tyres screaming, like they were in a race. My stomach dropped before I made sense of what was happening.

“A week early. It's seven days early.” I said to myself and grabbed what I had before running for my car. “It can't happen. Not today.”

I gave two hundred to the shopkeeper and didn't wait for them to bill the items. She called after me, but stopped when she saw the cars driving in the opposite direction. A lot of people were on the streets now, trying to stop the cars to ask what happened, but no one stopped to explain. My hands were shaking so badly I fumbled the keys twice.

I was reaching for my phone and called James. He picked up on the first ring. “Freya—”

“It's happening. It's happening now, James.” My voice cracked, but I forced myself to stay calm. “I'm at the corner store on St. Pierce. Get to the shelter. Don't wait for me, don't come get me, just get there and start locking it down, do you understand me?”

“Freya, where exactly—”

“St. Pierce and Fifth. Go, James. Now. We don't have enough time.” I hung up before he could argue.

I was about to open the door when something slammed into the side of the car.

I spun, and for half a second my mind refused to process what I was looking at. There was a man, or what used to be one. His face was split, and his eyes were the colour of spoiled milk. I jumped inside the car, and he lunged for the gap where the door hadn't fully closed. I tried punching him in the face, and his teeth snapped shut a second later. He stumbled back.

My hand found the gun in the glove compartment before I'd consciously decided to reach for it. I fired three times. The first missed because I was panicking. The second caught him in the shoulder, but barely slowed him down. However, the third took him straight through the skull. He dropped against the car door and didn't move again. I shot him one more time in the head, just to be sure.

My ears were ringing. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

“What in Jesus' name was that?” The store owner stood frozen in front of her store, staring at the zombie on the ground.

“You need to come with me.” I was already moving toward her, pulling her by the arm. “Right now. It's not safe here. There might be more of him.”

“My kids are at home.” She pulled her arm away. “I'm not going anywhere without my kids.”

In the distance, a missile went off, and the impact rattled the store windows in their frames. Smoke started climbing somewhere near the highway. I didn't have time to argue with her. I didn't have time for anything.

“Then go get them and bring your family to the old factory on Route 6. Whoever you can find along the way, bring them too.” She looked at me, then at the zombie bleeding out on the asphalt behind me. “Hurry! You don't have much time.”

I didn't wait to see if she listened. I got in the car, locked every door, and pulled out of the lot, going faster than I'd driven in my entire life. The smoke in the rearview mirror started getting smaller and smaller as I drove towards the shelter.