My Revenge Begins 14 Days Before Apocalypse

"Zora! Are you even listening to me?"

The loud voice cut through my head like a knife. I blinked hard. My grandmother stood in front of me, her finger pointed at my face. Her cheeks were red with anger.

I looked around. This was my living room, the same gray couch, the same white curtains. My eyes moved to the calendar on the wall.

October 3rd.

My heart started to pound. Two weeks before the apocalypse. Two weeks before the world ended.

I died. I remember it. The zombies tore into me, and the pain was everywhere. How am I back here?

"Zora!" Grandma Ashworth slapped the coffee table. "Don't just sit there like a statue!"

"Mom, calm down." My father, Gordon, rubbed his forehead. "She heard you."

"Did she?" Grandma folded her arms. "Your stepmother has treated you like her own daughter for fifteen years. Your brother just got a new job downtown. The whole family is moving to Pittsburgh. This apartment is perfect for us. And you dare to refuse?"

My stepmother, Lorraine, moved closer and put a soft hand on my shoulder. Her smile was sweet, but her eyes were cold.

"Mom, please. Zora isn't an ungrateful child." She patted me gently. "She'll understand. We're only doing this for her own good."

"Her own good?" Grandma snorted. "Move out now, Zora! Helping your brother is your responsibility!"

I stared at them. Their faces were the same faces I had seen in my last moments.

I remembered everything. I gave them my apartment, my money, and my food. When the dead started walking, I shared every can of beans I had with them.

Then the zombies broke through our door.

My father grabbed my arm. Lorraine pushed my back. Trent held the door open, and they threw me straight into the crowd of zombies so they could run away.

I was so stupid. I gave them everything, and they fed me to the monsters to save themselves.

"Hey!" Trent's voice snapped me back. My stepbrother stood by the kitchen with his face twisted in anger. "Are you crazy, Zora? My mom bought those imported apples for you. Why did you throw them in the trash?"

I looked at the trash can. A bag of shiny red apples sat on top.

"I don't want them," I said quietly.

"You don't want them?" Trent laughed. "Do you know how much they cost?"

"I didn't ask for them." I turned to my father. "Let me ask you something, Dad. If Trent just wants to live here because it's close to his job, why do I need to sign a gift deed? Why can't he just rent it from me?"

The room went quiet.

Lorraine's smile froze. My father's jaw tightened.

"Because family doesn't charge family," Dad said.

"Then why does the house need to be in his name?"

"Enough!" Dad stood up. His face turned dark red. "Zora, I'm done wasting words on you. This is my last warning. Hand over the apartment, or get ready to be thrown out."

I almost laughed. *Thrown out of my own apartment?*

I looked at Trent. Then I looked at my father. For the first time, I really saw them side by side.

Same nose. Same thick eyebrows. Same angry way of standing with their hands on their hips.

Something cold settled in my chest.

That's rich. All those years, I never understood why Dad loved his stepson more than his own daughter. He bought Trent a car on his eighteenth birthday. He paid for his college. He never missed one of his football games.

He missed every one of my school plays.

Trent isn't his stepson. He's his real son, with Lorraine. They were together before Mom died. I was never his family. I was just a pawn.

I took a slow breath. My hands were steady now.

"Two million," I said.

Dad blinked. "What?"

"Two million dollars." I crossed my legs and leaned back on the couch. "You want my apartment? Buy it."

"Zora, what are you talking about?" Lorraine's sweet voice cracked.

"You have five seconds to decide." I pulled out my phone. "Or I'll call a real estate agent and sell it to someone else."

"Have you lost your mind?" Grandma screamed.

"Five."

"Zora!" Dad shouted. "We're your elders! How dare you bring money into this?"

"Four."

"You ungrateful girl!" Dad stormed toward me. "I'm throwing you out of this house today!"

"Three. Two."

He raised his hand to slap me.

"One."

I moved first. My palm cracked hard across his face.

The sound echoed through the room. Dad stumbled back, holding his cheek. His eyes were wide with shock.

"Zora!" Lorraine gasped. "Are you insane? How dare you hit your own father?"

I didn't answer. I tapped my phone and pressed it to my ear.

"Hello, Mr. Pruitt? This is Zora Ashworth." I kept my eyes on my father. "I'm selling my downtown apartment. Two million, cash."

Trent's face went pale. He rushed forward and grabbed his mother's arm.

"Mom! We can't lose this place!"

Lorraine looked at Dad. Dad looked at Grandma. For a long moment, nobody spoke.

Then Dad lowered his hand from his red cheek.

"We'll buy it," he said through his teeth.

"Zora, sell it to us!" Lorraine cried.

I smiled slowly and hung up the phone.

Two million dollars is every cent they have saved. Their whole life savings.

I looked at the calendar again. In three days, the government would send out the emergency stockpiling alert. Food prices would explode. Water would vanish from the shelves.

Let's see how they buy supplies then.