Chapter 2: ARRANGEMENT

The tremor in my hands wouldn't stop. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone until the screen went dark, then pressed the power button to check the date again. October 12, 8:16 AM. Nothing had changed. I checked it twice more, hoping I would find some mistake that would explain why I was back in my old bedroom after being torn apart by monsters, but the date remained the same. My mind was still caught between two completely different realities, one filled with the sound of growling beasts, tearing flesh, and the cold steel door Ethan and Clara had locked behind me, and the other so peaceful that it was difficult to believe they could exist in the same world. The contrast made my stomach turn, and before I could stop myself, I jumped out of bed and hurried into the adjoining bathroom.

I gripped the edges of the sink and stared at my reflection, searching for something that would tell me I was still the woman who had died in that shopping center. The face looking back at me was younger, with full cheeks and clear skin. There were no dark circles beneath my eyes, no sunken cheeks from months of starvation, and no jagged scar running across my neck from the encounter with a feral pack during the second month of the apocalypse. I lifted my oversized pajama shirt and examined my stomach, ribs, and shoulders, touching my skin as though I expected to find the wounds at any moment. There was nothing. Not even a scratch where the creature had bitten into my shoulder while I screamed for Ethan and Clara to open the door.

A bitter laugh escaped me, but it quickly turned into a sob. I pressed my lips together and looked at myself in the mirror, trying to make sense of what had happened. "It wasn't a dream," I whispered. "I know what dying feels like. You don't dream up the smell of black blood and rotting flesh." I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over my face several times, letting it run down my cheeks before wiping it away with my hands. The shock helped me settle down, and by the time I looked into the mirror again, the panic had begun to give way to something more useful. Whatever had happened to me, I was back thirty days before the apocalypse. If I had truly been given another chance, I wasn't going to waste it sitting in my bathroom wondering why.

I returned to the bedroom, picked up my phone, and opened my banking app. My account balance was $84,320.15. The money was a combination of the inheritance my parents had left me after their car accident two years earlier and the savings I had accumulated since then. Before the apocalypse, I had been careful with every dollar, keeping most of it in high-yield savings accounts because I wanted to pay my tuition, rent an apartment after graduation, and eventually build a comfortable life with Ethan. Back then, I had believed saving money was the sensible thing to do. I had never imagined that within a few weeks, the entire financial system would become useless and the money I had worked so hard to protect would be worth practically nothing.

I remembered how quickly things had changed after the red rain fell. Within forty-eight hours of the power grids collapsing, people could no longer withdraw money or use their bank cards, and paper currency became little more than something to burn when they needed a fire. Gold and jewelry were traded for clean drinking water, while food became so valuable that people were willing to kill over a few cans of beans. By the third month, I had seen people fight over scraps that nobody would have bothered picking up before the disaster. I had spent too much of my previous life worrying about the future I thought I was building, only to watch it disappear in front of me. This time, I had thirty days to turn every dollar I owned into something that could keep me alive.

My phone suddenly began vibrating in my hand, and I nearly dropped it when I saw the name on the screen.

Ethan ❤️

I stared at his contact photo, feeling my fingers tighten around the phone. For a moment, I wanted to answer just so I could tell him exactly what I thought of him before smashing the device against the wall. His voice from the shopping center came back to me, calm and almost reasonable as he explained why I had to stay behind. You've always been strong, Mira. Hold them off just a little longer. I could still remember how desperately I had begged him to open the door, and how easily he had left me there to die. He had probably been holding Clara's hand as they walked away, reassuring her while I fought for my life on the other side of that door.

I wanted nothing more than to cut them both out of my life, but I forced myself to think carefully before acting. If I suddenly stopped answering Ethan's calls or started treating him differently, he and Clara would notice. They might come looking for me, demand explanations, or waste my time with questions I couldn't afford to answer. I didn't need either of them interfering with my preparations, and I certainly wasn't ready to let them know that anything had changed. I took a deep breath, waited until I could trust myself to speak normally, and answered the call.

"Mira? Hey, babe, did I wake you?" Ethan asked. His voice was relaxed and affectionate, carrying the same easy charm that had made me fall for him during our sophomore year. Hearing it again sent an unpleasant shiver down my spine. It was strange how someone could sound so loving while hiding the kind of cruelty I had witnessed firsthand, and I had to remind myself that the man speaking to me was the same person who had left me to be eaten alive.

"No," I replied, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. "I was just getting up."

"Cool. Listen, Clara and I were thinking about grabbing lunch around noon near campus. Do you want to join us? Clara said she found this new bistro—"

"I can't," I interrupted before he could finish.

There was a brief silence. "Oh? You have classes today?"

"No. I'm not feeling well," I lied. "I think I'm coming down with something, so I'm going to stay home and rest."

"Are you sure? I can come over and bring you some soup."

"No!" The word came out much sharper than I intended, and I immediately realized I had to be more careful. I forced a small cough and tried again, making my voice sound tired. "No, Ethan, really. Don't worry about it. I just need to sleep. I'll call you tomorrow."

"All right, if you say so. Get some rest, babe. Love you."

"Bye."

I ended the call before he could say anything else and tossed the phone onto the bed. My hands were trembling again, and I had to grip the edge of my desk while I waited for the disgust in my stomach to settle. I had loved that man enough to risk my life for him, and he had repaid me by leaving me behind without a second thought. I wanted revenge, but I knew I couldn't afford to let my anger dictate what I did next. There would be time to deal with Ethan and Clara later. For now, staying alive mattered more than anything else, because there would be no revenge if I failed to survive the first few weeks of the apocalypse.

I pulled a fresh notebook and a black pen from my desk drawer, sat down, and opened to the first page. At the top, I wrote THE RED RAIN — COUNTDOWN: 30 DAYS, pressing the pen hard enough that the words nearly showed through on the page beneath it. Then I began recording everything I could remember about the disaster. From the first twenty-five days, I recalled strange weather patterns and unusual temperature changes, along with reports of rust-colored rain that news outlets dismissed as dust carried from distant deserts. Between the twenty-sixth and twenty-ninth days, communications would begin to fail, satellites would go offline, and the power grids would become increasingly unstable. People would start panic-buying fuel and groceries, although most would still believe the problems were temporary.

On the thirtieth day, the red rain would fall across the world, continuing for forty-eight hours and contaminating water supplies. The animals exposed to it would begin changing within hours, and the first wave of human casualties would follow. During the first month after the rain, governments would struggle to maintain order, martial law would fail in many areas, and food shortages would push desperate people toward violence. The first human awakenings would begin around the same time, although I knew from experience that having an ability didn't automatically make someone capable of surviving. Some people would become stronger, while others would discover their powers too late to save themselves.

I tapped my pen against the notebook while considering what I needed most. Food, water, shelter, medicine, weapons, and a reliable source of power were the obvious priorities, but buying supplies was only part of the problem. I had $84,000, which was a decent amount of money, but I couldn't simply fill my apartment with food and expect everything to work out. I lived in a second-floor university apartment with thin walls and almost no security, and once the power failed and the supermarkets were emptied, it wouldn't take long for desperate people to start searching other people's homes. If I kept all my supplies there, I would be inviting trouble. I needed somewhere safer, preferably away from crowded residential areas where panic and violence would spread first.

As I considered my options, I suddenly remembered my grandmother's old property. It had been years since I last visited the place, but I could still picture the gated, two-story stone house standing on three acres of land near the eastern hills, just beyond the edge of the suburbs. My grandfather had built it in the late 1970s. He had been an eccentric structural engineer who believed people should be able to take care of themselves if the world ever became unstable, so he had designed the property with several features that most houses didn't have. There was a deep well, a reinforced basement, concrete walls surrounding the grounds, and thick woodland that concealed much of the property from the main road.

My grandmother had left the house to me in her will when she passed away two years ago. I had considered selling it more than once, but I could never bring myself to do so because the place held too many memories of my childhood. Eventually, I stopped visiting altogether, leaving it empty while I focused on college and the life I thought I would have after graduation. In my previous life, I had been so caught up in surviving alongside Ethan and Clara that I hadn't even thought about the property until it was too late. I had wasted time searching for temporary shelter in crowded areas when I already had a house that could have given me a much better chance of surviving.

I put the pen down and stared at the notebook, feeling a flicker of excitement for the first time since waking up. The property wasn't perfect, and I knew I would need to make improvements before the apocalypse began, but it was a far better starting point than my apartment. The location offered privacy, the structure was strong, and the surrounding woodland would give me somewhere to retreat if the house ever became unsafe. More importantly, I could begin moving supplies there without attracting the attention of everyone living around me.

"The old estate," I murmured as I wrote down its location.

I checked the time, gathered my car keys, wallet, and phone, and headed for the door. I didn't bother changing out of my sweatpants and hoodie because I had no intention of wasting time getting dressed when there was so much to do. By the time I stepped outside, the morning was already well underway, and the city looked exactly as it always had. Cars moved along the avenue, commuters hurried toward the subway with coffee in their hands, and a woman pushed a stroller along the sidewalk while laughing at something on her phone. Everyone seemed caught up in their ordinary routines, completely unaware that the world they knew had only thirty days left.

I watched them for a moment before walking toward my old sedan. In my previous life, I had been just like them, worrying about classes, relationships, and what I would do after graduation, never imagining that everything could disappear so quickly. I knew better now, and I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. I unlocked the car, climbed into the driver's seat, and started the engine before checking my reflection in the rearview mirror.

"Thirty days," I said quietly, gripping the steering wheel. "Let's get to work."