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Chapter 5 — Cold Storage
publish date:
2026-05-19 06:25:37By the time Evelyn left the second store, rain hammered hard enough against the windshield to blur the city into streaks of red brake-lights and gray concrete.
Traffic crawled northbound.
Too many people were suddenly deciding they needed bottled water and batteries at the same time.
Instinct. Even if they didn’t understand it yet.
Another emergency broadcast crackled through the radio before dissolving into static.
“…violent incident currently under investigation…”
“…public urged to remain calm…”
Remain calm.
The world always sounded stupid right before it collapsed.
Evelyn tightened her grip on the steering wheel and took the next exit toward another warehouse store.
The parking lot was packed.
Not holiday-packed.
Wrongly packed.
People hurried through the rain, pushing overloaded carts, while employees struggled to restock bottled water near the entrance fast enough to keep up.
By the third store, people were starting to notice.
Not the apocalypse.
Not yet.
Just shortages.
The warehouse smelled like wet concrete, cardboard, freezer air, and rising tension. Shopping carts rattled sharply across polished cement while customers moved faster than normal beneath buzzing fluorescent lights.
Nobody lingered anymore. Nobody browsed. They hunted.
Evelyn pushed deeper into the store, eyes moving automatically across shelves.
Rice is running low. Painkillers thinning. Camping fuel is almost gone.
Her stomach tightened. This shouldn’t be happening yet.
The blue interface pulsed softly across her vision.
CURRENT SURVIVAL RATE: 5.9%
Still pathetic. But alive. For now.
Evelyn reached automatically for another box of medical gloves.
INVENTORY FULL.
The notification blinked softly.
All five storage slots were occupied: bottled water, canned food, batteries, antibiotics, and fuel stabilizer.
Even with the inventory system, it still didn’t feel like enough.
Food.
Medicine.
Heat.
Fuel.
Weapons.
Civilization collapsed because ordinary things disappeared first.
Water. Electricity. Insulin. Then people followed.
A child somewhere nearby started crying. The sound scraped unexpectedly against Evelyn’s nerves. In her first life, children were the first to disappear from stores.
Parents stopped bringing them once people started panicking openly.
That realization slowed her steps for half a second. Then she kept moving.
The overhead televisions near electronics flickered suddenly.
The warehouse noise softened instinctively.
BREAKING NEWS
It flashed red across every screen.
"FOUR DEAD FOLLOWING VIOLENT INCIDENT AT SEATTLE EMERGENCY CLINIC"
Shaky cellphone footage rolled beneath it.
Blood across pavement.
Paramedics screaming.
Someone convulsing violently against a stretcher while security tried holding them down.
A woman beside Evelyn grimaced. “Jesus Christ.”
Her husband barely looked up from flashlight batteries. “Drugs probably.”
The woman relaxed immediately after he said it, as if she needed the answer more than she believed she did.
“Yeah,” she muttered quickly. “Probably.”
Evelyn’s chest tightened. People always wanted explanations more than the truth. Truth required change. Most people would rather feel safe than survive.
She pushed farther down the aisle.
The camping section looked worse. Not empty. Stripped. Hooks hung bare beneath shelf labels while nervous customers compared propane tanks and lanterns nearby.
A man loaded six portable stoves into his cart while pretending not to notice the angry looks around him.
This was accelerating fast.
Her gaze landed on the final hunting knife resting beneath the fluorescent light.
Evelyn crouched slightly and reached for it.
Another hand reached the display at the same time.
Large.
Scarred.
Steady.
She looked up instantly.
The man withdrew his hand first.
“Take it.” His voice sat low and rough between them. Not aggressive. Not friendly.
Calm.
Evelyn studied him carefully.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Dark flannel jacket, dampened by rain, A faded baseball cap shadowed sharp green eyes that tracked the warehouse without appearing to.
His cart sat nearby.
Rope. Medical tape. Water purification tablets. Ammo boxes. Not random supplies. Layered supplies. Things chosen by someone who understood sequence.
Water first.
Medical second.
Defense third.
Not panic buying, preparation. Recognition settled quietly on his expression as his gaze flicked once across her own cart.
Fuel stabilizer. Freeze-dried food. Heavy-duty batteries.
Neither of them spoke.
A crash suddenly echoed near the checkout lanes.
People jumped hard enough to rattle entire shelves.
Two men were shouting over a boxed generator while employees rushed toward them nervously.
“Bullshit, I grabbed it first!”
“You walked away from it!”
No one intervened. Even now, people understand that helping strangers comes with a risk.
The stranger beside her looked toward the overhead televisions as another emergency alert interrupted the Seattle footage.
This time:
PORTLAND VIOLENT ASSAULT UNDER INVESTIGATION
Cellphone footage shook violently while someone screamed behind the camera.
A man tackled another person outside Pioneer Square.
Biting.
Blood sprayed across the concrete.
The warehouse fell silent.
A cashier whispered near electronics: “What the fuck…”
The stranger beside Evelyn watched the footage without visible shock.
Only focus. “People are getting ugly fast,” he said quietly. Not surprised. Observing.
That calmness crawled strangely beneath Evelyn’s skin. Because while everyone else still looked confused...he looked prepared.
Prepared people were usually dangerous because they expected everyone else to become desperate eventually.
The stranger crouched briefly beside his cart. Not to organize supplies. To check sightlines. His eyes moved once toward the exits. Once toward the crowd. Then toward the loading doors at the back of the warehouse.
Counting. He was counting people. Or escape routes. Or both.
That tiny realization unsettled Evelyn more than anything else had all day.
Before she could answer, shouting erupted near the entrance again. Someone screamed for security.
Fear moved visibly through the warehouse now, spreading through nervous glances and tightened shoulders.
The stranger straightened slowly. “You should avoid the interstate tonight,” he said.
Evelyn looked at him sharply.
Not advice. Assessment.
“You sound pretty sure.”
He shrugged once. “People panic predictably.”
The same sentence could have sounded paranoid from someone else. From him, it sounded experienced.
A shopping cart crashed loudly near the registers.
Everyone flinched. Not because the sound itself was frightening. because the nerves inside the warehouse had already stretched too tight.
People moved faster toward checkout now, abandoning casual shopping entirely as fear spread quietly through the store.
Instinct.
Again.
The blue interface pulsed softly across Evelyn’s vision.
CURRENT OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE DIFFERENTLY.
The stranger finally reached for another item near the shelf.
Not food. Work gloves. Practical. No wasted movements. No hesitation.
Evelyn suddenly realized he had never once looked at his phone.
Everyone else in the warehouse checked theirs constantly.
News alerts.
Texts.
Social media.
Validation.
But not him. He had already disconnected emotionally from normal life before the world officially ended.
The thought bothered her more than it should have.
The stranger glanced toward her one final time. No smile. No goodbye. Just acknowledgment.
Then he pushed his cart away and disappeared down the next aisle.
Evelyn watched him go. Something about him unsettled her. It was not because he looked dangerous. It was because, for the first time all day, she had met someone who looked like he saw the cracks forming, too.
A woman nearby suddenly grabbed two remaining propane canisters directly out of another customer’s cart.
“Hey!”
“I need them!”
“So do I!”
Employees rushed toward the shouting. Nobody looked embarrassed anymore. That was new. Fear was becoming louder. The overhead lights flickered once. Then steadied.
Several people froze anyway.
Evelyn’s pulse slowed. In her first life, the power instability started weeks later.
Not now.
Not this early.
The timeline wasn’t shifting.
It was collapsing forward.
A pallet near the front entrance sat empty now.
Not low.
Gone.
Customers circled nearby waiting for restocks that would never come fast enough.
The blue interface pulsed softly again.
OUTBREAK ACCELERATION DETECTED.
CURRENT SURVIVAL RATE: 6.8%
Then another line appeared beneath it.
SOCIAL ORDER DECLINE PROBABILITY IS INCREASING.
Evelyn tightened her grip on the shopping cart.
She then headed deeper into the camping section.
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