CHAPTER 2 — I'M BUYING EVERYTHING

At 8:03 that morning, Nora put a steaming cup of coffee inside the Survival Space.

At 8:33, she took it back out.

Steam still curled from the surface.

Nora touched the cup.

Hot.

Exactly as hot as before.

She took a cautious sip.

Perfect.

Her pulse quickened.

just to be sure Next came ice.

She dropped three cubes into a bowl and stored it.

Thirty minutes later, she retrieved the bowl.

The cubes hadn't melted.

Not even slightly.

Nora stared at them.

Time didn't pass for stored items.

That single discovery changed everything.

In her previous life, people had wasted enormous amounts of food during the first week of the apocalypse. Refrigerators stopped working when the grid collapsed. Meat spoiled. Milk soured. Frozen food became garbage.

But inside her space?

Nothing would expire.

Nothing would rot.

She could store fresh meat, vegetables, medicine—anything she wanted.

Nora grabbed her purse.

She had twenty-nine days.

There was no reason to waste another minute.

By nine, she was pushing two shopping carts through the largest wholesale supermarket in the city.

Rice.

Twenty bags.

Flour.

Twenty bags.

Sugar.

Salt.

Cooking oil.

Instant noodles.

Pasta.

Beans.

Oats.

Powdered milk.

Canned beef.

Canned fish.

Canned vegetables.

Crackers.

Chocolate.

Coffee.

Tea.

She didn't choose brands.

She chose quantities.

Other customers stared as she pushed one overloaded cart toward the checkout and returned for another.

Nora ignored them.

After food came toiletries.

Toilet paper.

Soap.

Shampoo.

Toothpaste.

Sanitary products.

Laundry detergent.

Disinfectant.

Trash bags.

Wet wipes.

Razors.

Then medicine.

Painkillers.

Antiseptic.

Bandages.

Cold medicine.

Vitamins.

Electrolyte powder.

Anything she could legally buy without a prescription went into the carts.

Her first bill was enormous.

Nora didn't blink.

Money has an expiration date now.

July 3.

After that, the numbers in her bank account wouldn't buy a mouthful of rice.

The cashier hesitated when Nora handed over her card.

“Big family?”

“You could say that.”

The payment cleared.

Twenty minutes later, Nora drove into the underground garage of an empty property she owned across town.

No cameras.

No curious neighbors.

Perfect.

She unloaded the first box.

“Store.”

It disappeared.

Then the second.

The third.

Soon Nora didn't need to speak.

A thought was enough.

Boxes vanished one after another.

Rice.

Oil.

Medicine.

Toiletries.

Everything appeared neatly inside the storage room.

There was another useful discovery.

The room organized supplies by category.

Food appeared together. Medicine occupied another section. Toiletries went elsewhere.

Nora almost wanted to kiss the shelves.

Almost.

Instead, she returned to her car.

One supermarket wasn't enough.

By noon, Nora had placed bulk orders with three wholesalers.

By two, she'd contacted restaurant suppliers.

At three, she found a distributor willing to sell her several pallets of canned food directly from its warehouse.

That was where someone finally asked the obvious question.

The warehouse manager was a round man named Patrick. He stared at Nora's order sheet, then at Nora.

Then back at the sheet.

“Five hundred kilograms of rice.”

“Yes.”

“Two hundred kilograms of flour.”

“Yes.”

“Sixty cases of cooking oil. A hundred cases of canned meat. Eighty cases of beans. Fifty cases of powdered milk…”

“Yes.”

Patrick removed his glasses.

“Ma'am, are you opening a supermarket?”

“No.”

He waited.

Nora signed the invoice.

“I'm preparing for something bigger.”

Patrick stared.

Nora smiled politely.

“Can you deliver tomorrow?”

His business instincts defeated his curiosity.

“If payment clears today.”

“It will.”

She paid immediately.

Then she saw the bottled water stacked against the warehouse wall.

Nora stopped.

A memory struck her.

Not Ethan.

Not Clara.

A child.

Maybe six years old.

On Day Twenty-One, Nora had watched the boy's mother remove a gold wedding ring from her finger and offer it to a man guarding a water truck.

The man laughed.

Gold?

What was he supposed to do with gold?

The woman had begged.

Her son hadn't had clean water in two days.

The guard eventually traded her one bottle.

Not for the ring.

For the antibiotics in her bag.

Nora's gaze sharpened.

She'd been thinking about food first because hunger had killed her.

That was a mistake.

People could survive weeks without food.

Without water?

Days.

“Patrick.”

The manager turned.

“I want the water too.”

He blinked. “How much?”

“All of it.”

“All…?”

Nora pointed at the pallets.

“All of it.”

Patrick laughed until he realized she wasn't joking.

Nora spent the next hour calling additional beverage suppliers.

Bottled water.

Large water jugs.

Collapsible containers.

Food-grade barrels.

Water purification tablets.

Portable filters.

If it could hold or clean drinking water, Nora bought it.

Her phone rang as she finished another payment.

Ethan.

Nora considered ignoring him.

Then answered.

“What?”

Silence.

Apparently Ethan wasn't accustomed to that greeting.

“Where were you last night?”

So he hadn't even noticed she had missed dinner yet.

Nora glanced at the date.

Of course.

The dinner was tonight.

Her memories were still tangled with another life.

“I was busy.”

“Nora, Mom is expecting you tonight.”

“I won't be there.”

Another pause.

“What's wrong with you?”

Nothing.

For the first time in three years, absolutely nothing.

“Is that why you called?”

“No. Dad found an investment opportunity. We're moving money today. Transfer two hundred thousand to the joint investment account.”

Nora went completely still.

Two hundred thousand.

The same amount she'd transferred in her previous life.

Ethan had called it an investment.

Later, Nora discovered it had paid for reinforced doors, generators and ventilation equipment for the Cross family's shelter.

Her shelter.

Bought with her money.

Built without a place for her.

Nora almost admired the audacity.

“No.”

Ethan chuckled.

“Nora.”

“No.”

“Since when do you say no to me?”

She looked around.

Pallets of water surrounded her.

Boxes of food filled the warehouse.

More supplies waited in her space, untouched by time and inaccessible to everyone except her.

For an instant, she could almost feel the pavement beneath her knees again.

The vehicle door slammed.

There's no room for you.

“Since I died.”

Silence.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Nora, stop being dramatic.”

Of course.

Even when she told Ethan the truth, he couldn't recognize it.

His voice hardened.

“We'll discuss this at dinner.”

“No, you will.”

She hung up.

Then she opened their banking account.

There.

A pending transfer request.

$200,000.

Nora pressed DECLINE.

A strange satisfaction settled over her.

It wasn't enough.

Not remotely.

But it was a beginning.

She worked until evening.

More purchases.

More deliveries.

More money converted into things that would actually matter.

By the time Nora returned home, exhaustion had settled into her bones.

She entered the space.

Rows of supplies greeted her.

Rice.

Flour.

Oil.

Medicine.

Water.

Not enough.

Nowhere near enough.

There will be no rest tomorrow.

She needed generators.

Fuel.

Solar equipment.

Medical supplies.

Seeds.

Tools.

Weapons.

And she still had to deal with Ethan's bunker.

A blue screen suddenly flashed before her.

[Basic supply threshold reached.]

[Survival Space Level 1 completed.]

Nora straightened.

[New function unlocked.]

[10,000-liter water storage reservoir activated.]

Her exhaustion vanished.

Ten thousand liters?

Before she could investigate, another message appeared.

This one was red.

[WARNING.]

[Time until global catastrophe:]

[29 days remaining.]

Nora stared at the number.

Yesterday, she had thirty.

Now she had twenty-nine.

For everyone else, tomorrow was just another day.

For Nora, it was something different.

One less day to prepare for the end of the world.