Chapter 3: SUPPLIES

The high-pitched chime of the bank terminal sounded almost ridiculously cheerful as I stood at the counter, waiting for the teller to finish processing my request. It was strange how ordinary everything still felt. People were going about their business, withdrawing money, paying bills, and worrying about things that wouldn't matter in a few weeks, while I stood there knowing exactly how much time they had left before the world fell apart.

"All right, Miss Mira, the wire transfer of $80,000 to your checking account has been processed," the teller said, handing back my ID with a polite smile. "The updated balance should appear on your mobile app within the hour. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"No, that'll be all. Thank you." I slipped my card into my wallet and left the bank.

The afternoon sun was bright enough to make me squint as I stepped outside, but I barely noticed it. I opened my banking app and refreshed the page until the new balance appeared on the screen: $84,110.00. I stared at the figure for a moment, relieved that the money was finally accessible. In thirty days, that amount wouldn't be enough to buy a single cup of clean water, but right now, it was my best chance of surviving what was coming.

I got into my sedan, tossed my purse onto the passenger seat, and gripped the steering wheel while I worked out what to do next. Having the money was one thing; spending it wisely was another. I needed food, medicine, weapons, generators, building materials, and enough supplies to last through the early months of the apocalypse, but I couldn't afford to buy everything from one place. If a college student suddenly ordered thousands of cans of emergency rations, several solar generators, and tons of rice to a house in the suburbs, someone was bound to become curious. I would have to spread my purchases across different stores and suppliers, buying what I could in person and arranging deliveries for the heavier items. I didn't have time to explain myself to anyone, and I certainly wasn't going to tell people I was preparing for the end of the world.

My first stop was a wholesale warehouse on the outskirts of the industrial district. The place supplied restaurants and small grocery stores, so nobody paid much attention when I walked in with an empty cart and began filling it with bulk food. The smell of cardboard, burlap, and diesel hung in the air as I moved through the aisles, checking labels and calculating how much I could carry in my car. I started with five hundred pounds of long-grain white rice, followed by four fifty-pound bags of p***o beans, rolled oats, dried pasta, and flour. Rice was one of the most useful foods to stockpile because, if stored properly in airtight containers with oxygen absorbers, it could remain edible for decades. I wasn't planning to survive for just a few weeks, and I had no intention of depending on whatever I could find in abandoned supermarkets once the apocalypse began.

After the grains, I moved on to canned food, loading crate after crate of tuna, salmon, chicken, Spam, black beans, peaches, tomatoes, and condensed milk onto my cart. I added iodized salt, honey, peanut butter, sugar, and bottles of multivitamins, checking each item off the list I had made before leaving home. Salt would be especially valuable for preserving food, while honey and peanut butter would provide calories when cooking became difficult. I also wanted enough variety to avoid living on the same few meals every day, because I knew from experience how miserable it could be to eat whatever scraps were available and still go to bed hungry.

By the time I pushed the overloaded cart toward the checkout, the clerk was looking at me with raised eyebrows. He adjusted his cap while scanning the items, occasionally glancing at the growing pile beside the register.

"Opening a new restaurant, miss?"

I gave him a polite smile, hoping he wouldn't ask anything else. "I'm helping a nonprofit youth shelter downtown. We're stocking up before winter."

"Ah, good on you," he said, apparently satisfied with my explanation. "That'll be $2,415.80."

I paid in cash, collected my receipt, and began the exhausting process of getting everything into my car. It took three trips to fit the supplies into the trunk and back seat, and by the time I finished, the rear of my sedan was sitting so low that I worried the bumper might scrape the road. I drove carefully toward my grandmother's property, keeping an eye on the weight in the back and hoping the car would make it there without any trouble.

The estate was hidden behind an old brick wall at the end of a long gravel driveway that had become overgrown from years of neglect. Oak trees leaned over the path, their branches blocking much of the view from the main road, and the house itself was almost impossible to see until I was well inside the property. It was a large, two-story stone building that my grandfather had constructed in the late seventies. The years had left the exterior weathered and dusty, but the house was still in good condition. Its heavy timber framing, storm windows, and reinforced concrete cellar had been built to last, and my grandfather had taken security seriously enough to make sure the property could withstand far more than an ordinary suburban home.

I parked beside the front porch, switched off the engine, and stepped out of the car. The quiet surrounding the house was so different from the noise of the city that I stood there for a moment, listening to the wind moving through the trees. There were no sirens, no shouting, and no sounds of people fighting over food. For now, the world was still peaceful, and I wanted to take advantage of that while I could.

I spent the next two hours carrying sacks and crates down into the cellar, arranging everything against the stone walls so I could keep track of what I had purchased. The work was harder than I had expected, especially with the heavier bags of rice and beans, and before long, my back was aching and my fingers were sore from gripping the crates. Sweat soaked through my hoodie, but I kept going until the last box was inside. I knew how quickly food could become scarce once the apocalypse began, and every bag I stored meant one less thing I would have to worry about when people started fighting over whatever remained.

By four in the afternoon, I was back on the road, heading toward a commercial hardware and energy supply outlet. I had barely finished unloading the food before moving on to the next part of my preparations, but there was still too much to do for me to waste time resting. I needed a reliable source of electricity, enough clean water to last through an extended emergency, and medical supplies that would be difficult to find once hospitals became overwhelmed. I also needed tools and protective equipment because I couldn't count on anyone coming to help me if the property was attacked.

At the hardware outlet, I purchased two portable solar generators rated at 3,000 watts each, six folding solar panels, four heavy-duty lithium batteries, and three fuel cans filled with diesel. I also arranged for two 275-gallon food-grade water containers to be delivered directly to the estate the following day. To make sure I could continue using whatever water I collected, I bought three gravity-fed filtration systems and several boxes of replacement cartridges designed to remove bacteria and heavy metals. I knew that water would become one of the biggest problems after the red rain contaminated ordinary supplies, and I wasn't willing to take chances with something so essential.

The medical and survival section took another large portion of my budget. I stocked up on first-aid supplies, tourniquets, surgical kits, burn creams, iodine tablets, tactical flashlights, thermal blankets, and heavy winter clothing. I added steel-toed boots, hatchets, crowbars, and a heavy-duty chainsaw with extra chains and oil because I would need tools to clear debris, reinforce the property, and cut firewood if necessary. Before leaving, I stopped by the gardening section and bought packets of heirloom seeds, including tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, squash, and medicinal herbs. Canned food could keep me alive during the first few months, but I couldn't depend on my stockpile forever. If I wanted to survive long-term, I would eventually need to grow some of my own food.

By eight that evening, my bank balance had fallen from more than $84,000 to just under $52,000. I sat in the driver's seat of my car in an almost empty parking lot, staring at my blistered palms while trying to decide what to prioritize next. My body was exhausted, but I couldn't stop thinking about everything I still needed to do. The estate needed steel shutters for the ground-floor windows, a reinforced security door, and cameras that could monitor the perimeter without relying on an internet connection. I also needed weapons and ammunition, although finding reliable sellers without attracting unwanted attention would take some effort.

Then I looked at the list on the passenger seat and realized I had another problem.

The cellar was large, but it wasn't endless. I had already filled a good portion of it with food, and I still had twenty-nine days to stock up on everything else I needed. If I continued buying supplies at this rate, I would eventually run out of room. Filling the house with boxes and crates wasn't a solution either, because anyone who managed to get inside would immediately realize how much I had stored. In a world where desperate people would do almost anything to survive, a house full of food and equipment would make me a target.

I also couldn't ignore the possibility that I might have to leave the estate. In my previous life, survivors were constantly ambushed while traveling between shelters because they had to carry their supplies on their backs or drag them in carts. The more they carried, the slower they moved, and the harder it became to escape when danger appeared. I had no intention of putting myself in that position if I could avoid it, but I didn't see how I could transport everything I needed without making myself vulnerable.

I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes, frustrated that I had already spent so much money and still felt unprepared. There had to be a better way to store everything, something that would allow me to keep more supplies without filling every corner of the house. I just couldn't think of what it might be.

As I sat there, I remembered the stories that had spread during the second month of the apocalypse. People had begun talking about survivors with abilities that seemed impossible, including those who could manipulate fire or electricity and others whose bodies had become far stronger than they should have been. Some could move faster than ordinary humans, while others could withstand injuries that would have killed anyone else. The rarest were the spatial users, people said to possess the ability to store objects in dimensions that existed beyond ordinary physical space.

I remembered how valuable those abilities had become. A spatial user could carry food, weapons, and other supplies without having to haul them around, making them an important asset to any group. Some survivors had even become powerful leaders because of their abilities, while others had been hunted by people who wanted to use them for their own benefit. Back then, I had never imagined that I might have the chance to possess such a power myself. As far as anyone knew, these abilities only appeared after exposure to the red rain, and nobody had discovered a reliable way to awaken them beforehand.

I opened my eyes and looked down at my hands, turning them over as though I might find some sign that they were different from the hands I remembered. Nothing seemed unusual, but I couldn't stop thinking about the possibility that the rain wasn't what created those abilities. Perhaps it only awakened something that had already existed inside certain people. If that were true, there might be a way to access such a power before the apocalypse began.

I sat there for a while, studying my palms as the parking lot lights flickered on overhead. I had no idea whether the theory was correct, and I couldn't afford to waste precious time chasing something that might not even be possible. Still, if there was a chance I could awaken a spatial ability before the red rain arrived, I needed to find out.