Chapter 2.

“You fat ass, wake up.”

Clara heard the familiar voice calling her, followed by a rough shake against her shoulder.

Her eyes snapped open, and for several seconds, she could only stare at the ceiling above her, unable to understand what she was seeing.

The room was familiar.

The pale curtains, the bedside table, even the old crack running across the wall were exactly where she remembered them.

Her bedroom.

Clara's hands began to tremble as she touched her shoulder, almost expecting to feel the infected's teeth marks. There was nothing there.

Confusion overwhelmed her as she struggled to understand how she could be alive after everything that had happened.

For a terrifying moment, she wondered if she had somehow died and this was what came after death.

“I'm talking to you.” The voice made Clara freeze for a moment.

She slowly turned her head and saw Mark standing beside the bed.

Irritation rose inside her, but Clara didn't look away.

For years, she had lowered her head whenever Mark raised his voice. She had swallowed his insults, apologized when she had done nothing wrong, and convinced herself that keeping the peace was better than fighting back.

She simply stared at him, her expression hardening as resentment settled in her chest.

“What are you looking at?” Mark snapped. “Lower your gaze when I'm talking to you.”

Instead of answering, Clara turned her eyes toward the calendar hanging beside the door.

Her breath caught.

She stared at the date, then looked again, convinced that exhaustion had made her imagine it.

“No…” Her voice was barely a whisper.

She knew that date.

It was thirty days before the apocalypse.

How?

Then Clara remembered the final words she had whispered in the darkness, and her eyes widened as the realization struck her. Something had heard her. Something in that darkness had been listening.

Ding!

Clara froze.

A faint blue light flickered before her eyes. Then a transparent screen slowly materialized in the air.

[Apocalypse Survival System Activated.]

Every muscle in Clara's body locked. The words  stumbled out before she could stop them.

“What are you?” she whispered.

What answered was a sharp jolt of pain across her face as Mark slapped her.

Her head snapped to the side, and a hot sting spread across her cheek.

“That’s to remind you who the boss is,” Mark said.

Clara slowly turned her face back toward him and stared at him without saying a word.

Then, with a calmness that seemed to surprise even her, she raised her hand and slapped him across the face.

The sound cracked through the room.

Mark froze, his eyes widening as he stared at her with one hand slowly rising to his cheek.

“Clara!”

She stepped closer, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

“Mark Thomas, the next time you lay a hand on me, I promise you’ll regret the day you were born.”

Silence settled over the room as Mark's mouth opened, yet no words came out. Clara didn't look away or lower her eyes. Her cheek was still burning from his slap, but she stood before him with a confidence he had never seen from her before.

For the first time, Mark seemed unsure of the woman standing in front of him.