CHAPTER 3

By the time I returned to my apartment, the sun was beginning to set.

My feet hurt, my shoulders ached, and my mind was crowded with things I needed to do. I had secured a house, but I hadn't signed the tenancy agreement or confirmed when I could move in. My supplies were still sitting in the back of a delivery van, waiting to be transported.

I had planned to spend the evening organizing everything.

Instead, I found a message from Daniel waiting on my phone.

Daniel: We need to talk. Call me when you get home.

I deleted the notification without replying.

There were more important things to worry about than a man who believed my money belonged to him.

I was about to call the property agent when another notification appeared.

BREAKING NEWS: SECOND VIOLENT INCIDENT REPORTED AT A PRIVATE MEDICAL FACILITY.

My stomach tightened.

I opened the article.

A patient had attacked two security officers before escaping from a treatment room. According to witnesses, the man had been suffering from a high fever and had become unusually aggressive. Authorities were investigating whether the incident was connected to the earlier hospital attack.

I lowered my phone.

In my previous life, the first reports had been dismissed as isolated incidents. By the following morning, videos of people attacking strangers had begun circulating online.

Within forty-eight hours, hospitals were overwhelmed.

Within seventy-two, the government announced emergency restrictions.

I had expected the infection to begin spreading in three days.

It was already happening.

I opened my notes and changed the heading from THREE DAYS to FORTY-EIGHT HOURS.

Then I added another item to my list.

Find out what happened before the authorities announce it.

I couldn't depend on official announcements alone. In my previous life, the information had always arrived too late.

I needed to know which areas were affected, which roads were becoming dangerous, and whether the infection spread through bites, bodily fluids, or something else entirely.

Until I knew more, I would treat every encounter with an infected person as potentially fatal.

A knock sounded at my door.

I froze.

Nobody was supposed to visit me.

I approached quietly and looked through the peephole.

A man stood outside, holding a small brown envelope.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His expression was serious, and he kept glancing toward the stairwell as though he expected someone to appear.

I didn't recognize him.

"Who is it?" I called through the door.

"Adrian Blackwell. I live across the street."

I frowned.

Across the street was a row of apartment buildings. I had lived in this neighborhood for two years, but I had never spoken to him.

"What do you want?"

"I'd prefer to explain in person."

"Then explain through the door."

He paused.

"Fair enough. I saw you this afternoon at the property on the outskirts of the city."

My fingers tightened around the edge of the door.

The black SUV.

I had seen him watching me.

"Why were you following me?"

"I wasn't following you. I was inspecting the same property."

I didn't believe him.

"Then what do you want?"

He glanced down at the envelope.

"I heard you asking the agent about repairs. The house has a problem with its water system. If you intend to move in, you should know before you sign anything."

I hesitated.

That was useful information, but it didn't explain why a stranger had come to my apartment to deliver it.

"How do you know?"

"I inspected the property last week."

"Then why didn't you rent it?"

"Because I found somewhere better."

His answer came too quickly.

I studied his face through the peephole.

"Leave the envelope outside."

He did so without arguing.

"One more thing," he said.

"What?"

"Don't wait until tomorrow to buy your remaining supplies."

My heart lurched.

I stared at the door.

"What did you say?"

"Whatever you're preparing for, you're running out of time."

Before I could respond, I heard his footsteps retreating down the corridor.

I waited until the sound disappeared before opening the door.

The envelope lay on the floor.

I picked it up and checked the contents.

Inside was a printed inspection report detailing several problems with the property's water system. There was also a handwritten note.

The news is lying about the hospital incidents. This isn't an ordinary infection. If you want to survive, stop assuming you know how this will end.

I read it twice.

Then a third time.

Cold fear spread through my chest.

Nobody knew what I had experienced in my previous life. I hadn't told anyone about the apocalypse, and I certainly hadn't explained that I had somehow returned from the dead.

Yet Adrian had warned me that I was running out of time.

Was it a coincidence?

Or did he know something I didn't?

I grabbed my phone and searched his name.

The results were limited. I found an old professional profile listing him as a former military officer who had worked in emergency response before leaving the service. There were no recent photographs, no obvious social media accounts, and no information explaining why he had left his former position.

I returned to the note.

Stop assuming you know how this will end.

The words irritated me more than they frightened me.

I knew what happened during the apocalypse. I had lived through it. I had watched entire neighborhoods fall, seen desperate people turn against one another, and experienced the consequences of every mistake I had made.

But Adrian was right about one thing.

The infection had started earlier than I remembered.

Someone had already been attacked at a hospital before the date I associated with the first outbreak.

My knowledge of the future was no longer completely reliable.

I needed answers.

I opened my contacts and called the property agent.

"Hello, ma'am," he answered. "Have you decided about the house?"

"I have a question about the inspection report."

There was a brief silence.

"What report?"

"The problems with the water system."

"I haven't received any report."

I sat down slowly.

"Someone gave me a copy this evening."

"Who?"

"Adrian Blackwell."

The agent went quiet.

It was only a few seconds, but I noticed.

"Do you know him?" I asked.

"Yes. He came to inspect the property last week."

"And?"

"He didn't make an offer."

"Why not?"

"That's something you should ask him."

I pressed my lips together.

"Did you know about the water problem?"

"I knew the tank needed repairs. The owner agreed to fix it before a new tenant moved in."

"Was the repair completed?"

"I can't confirm that until tomorrow."

I ended the call.

The situation was becoming more complicated than I had anticipated.

I had less than two days to prepare, and I had already wasted precious time dealing with a property that might not even be suitable.

I could abandon it and search for somewhere else, but that would mean starting over.

Alternatively, I could keep the house as a temporary base while looking for a better option.

I chose the second plan.

I wasn't going to stake my survival on a single property, especially one I hadn't inspected thoroughly.

I returned to my supplies list and began making arrangements for the following morning.

Then I heard a loud crash from the street.

I rushed to the window.

A motorcycle had collided with a parked car. Several people gathered around the rider, who lay motionless on the road.

A woman knelt beside him.

"Sir? Can you hear me?"

The rider suddenly jerked upright.

His head snapped toward her.

Even from my window, I could see the blood running from his mouth.

He lunged at her.

Her scream cut through the evening.

People scattered in every direction. Someone shouted for the police, while another person tried to pull the woman away.

The rider caught her arm and bit down.

I stumbled backward from the window.

For one terrible moment, I was back on that street, facing the creatures that had killed me.

My hands shook uncontrollably.

I wanted to tell myself that the man was simply sick, that someone would restrain him, and that everything would return to normal.

But I knew what I had seen.

The infection was spreading.

And this time, it had begun before I was ready.

My phone rang.

An unknown number.

I answered without thinking.

"Hello?"

"Elena Grace?"

A man's voice.

"Who is this?"

"Listen carefully. Lock your doors, stay away from hospitals, and don't approach anyone displaying unusual aggression."

I stood motionless.

"How do you know my name?"

"That doesn't matter right now."

"Who are you?"

"Someone who knows what happens next."

My throat tightened.

"How?"

He ignored the question.

"If you've been preparing for the outbreak, stop using your bank cards and avoid making any more large purchases under your own name. You're attracting attention."

My blood ran cold.

I hadn't told anyone about my preparations.

Not Daniel.

Not my friends.

Not even the property agent knew the full extent of what I had purchased.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

The caller exhaled.

"Ask Adrian Blackwell what happened at the military research facility outside the city."

Then the line went dead.

I stared at my phone.

Outside, sirens began to wail.

Somewhere in the distance, another scream rose above the growing noise.

I looked at the envelope on my table, then at the locked door.

Two strangers had warned me about the apocalypse in less than an hour.

One had my name.

The other knew I was preparing.

And both seemed to understand something I didn't.

I had returned to the past believing I was the only person who knew the future.

Now I wasn't sure I could trust even my own memories.

Because someone else was preparing for the end of the world.

And whoever they were, they had already found me.