Ninety Days Before the End

Evelyn's POV

“The man outside told me everyone else who received that injection died,” I told the doctor. “Is that true?”

Dr. Mara Sloane sat across from me with my clinic records on her screen. She looked tired, and there was a faint stain on the sleeve of her white coat. She studied the information before answering.

“The records show that you received an experimental compound after the eastern flood. Several other patients were given the same compound, but I haven't been able to verify what happened to all of them.”

“Then why did that man tell me they were dead?”

“I don't know what information he was given,” Mara replied. “I'm still trying to establish who authorized the injections and why your medical records were transferred here.”

“The nurse said it was to prevent infection,” I told her. “She never said I was being used for an experiment.”

“I can't speak for what happened at the clinic. Your records show a response we haven't been able to explain.”

“I don't want anything else injected into me. You can take a blood sample if you explain what you're testing, but I'm not agreeing to another experiment.”

A man entered before Mara could answer. His badge identified him as Security Director Voss. He asked whether the records were sufficient, and Mara told him she needed independent confirmation.

“Then get it,” he said.

“I haven't consented,” I told him. Voss glanced at the guards outside.

“The settlement authorized your transfer.”

“My husband signed a paper. I didn't.”

Mara objected when Voss ordered me into the treatment room. She said blood collection would be enough for the first stage, but the guards took me through the door anyway. I fought when one of them twisted my injured wrist. The pain made my legs give way, and they strapped me to the examination chair.

Mara stayed beside me while a technician filled two collection tubes. She told me to keep my arm still. I could hear her arguing with Voss about an infusion bag hanging from the stand.

“That wasn't approved,” she said.

“Proceed,” Voss replied.

“Director, I haven't authorized an infusion,” Mara insisted. “We don't even have the results of her blood tests.”

Voss turned toward the technician. “You have your instructions.”

The technician connected the line before I could pull away. Heat spread up my arm. Mara called for the infusion to stop, but by then my vision was blurring. Someone loosened the straps as she shouted for emergency equipment. I tried to tell her that Owen had promised me a room at Meridian, but I couldn't move my tongue properly.

The last thing I heard was Voss ordering the technician to preserve the samples.

I woke beneath a ceiling fan, with traffic sounding through a closed window. The smell of coffee came from the kitchen. My hands were uninjured, and the blanket beneath my fingers was the one I'd bought before the blackouts.

Owen's blue jacket hung over the bedroom chair. I checked my phone, then checked the date again. It was ninety days before the first major heat emergency in Greyhaven. The blackouts, floods, and contaminated water had come later, but I remembered the heat emergency because it was when ordinary life had begun to fall apart.

News sites showed ordinary arguments about transport budgets and weekend weather. There were no evacuation orders, no rationing notices, and no reports of the flood.

“Evelyn?” Owen called. “Are you coming out?”

He entered with a mug and reached toward my forehead. I pulled away so sharply that coffee spilled onto his hand.

“What's wrong with you?” he asked.

I wanted to ask him how he could touch me after watching guards drag me away. Instead, I stared at the healthy man standing in front of me. His face was full, his shirt clean, and his wedding ring still on his finger.

“I'm not feeling well,” I said. “Leave the coffee.”

“We need to talk about Westhaven. The seller wants the deposit this afternoon.”

I remembered paying it. I'd advanced the money to Owen's property business and never received more than a small portion back. Later, when food had become scarce, he'd reminded me how much he contributed to our survival. I hadn't challenged him because I'd still believed we were on the same side.

“I won't send anything today.”

He frowned. “We've discussed this.”

“Then you can send me the documents again.”

“You promised we would be partners,” he said. “You cannot suddenly act as though I am a stranger.”

I kept my hands folded beneath the table so he would not see them shaking. I had spent the last hours of my previous life begging him to take me home, and he was angry because I wanted to read a contract.

After he left, I locked the bedroom door and opened the wardrobe. On the top shelf sat my emergency supply box, filled with batteries, bandages, and a hand-crank radio. I placed my palm on its lid, trying to decide what else I would need if this really was the past.

A pale panel appeared in front of my eyes. It showed an empty inventory with a capacity of twenty cubic metres. I reached for the panel, but there was nothing to touch. When I focused on the box, it vanished from the shelf.

I searched the wardrobe before noticing an entry marked EMERGENCY SUPPLY BOX. I concentrated on returning it, and the box appeared on the carpet. Its contents were exactly as I'd packed them.

I tried again with a small metal tin. The panel showed that some of the available space had been used. When I retrieved the tin, the remaining capacity returned to twenty cubic metres.

When I tried the potted plant by the window, the panel refused it because it contained a living organism. I didn't know how the storage worked or whether it would keep food fresh. I wrote down the results because I wasn't willing to trust something I didn't understand.

My phone buzzed. Clara had sent a cheerful invitation to dinner on Friday. In my previous life, she'd sat at my table that evening and helped Owen persuade me to support another business expense. I opened her message, then closed it without replying.

A second line appeared on the panel: REGRESSION RECORDED. SECOND REGRESSOR DETECTED.

It gave no name and no explanation. I wrote the words down in my notebook alongside the date and everything I'd tested. I didn't know who else had returned, or whether the message itself could be trusted.

Owen knocked again and asked whether I wanted lunch. I told him I would make my own. When his footsteps moved away, I opened my banking app and began checking the transfers I'd made to his business.

Before I could finish, Clara called.

“Evelyn, are you home?” she asked when I answered.

“Yes. Why?”

“Owen said you're refusing to release the money for Westhaven. He's worried about you.”

I looked toward the bedroom door. Owen had left less than twenty minutes ago.

“Why is my husband discussing our finances with you?”

Clara hesitated. “He asked me to talk to you because you aren't listening to him.”

“Since when do you get involved in decisions about our marriage?”

“Evelyn, please don't be difficult. Owen has worked hard for this property.”

“Then he can pay the deposit himself.”

She was quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“You know he can't afford it without you. He already told the seller the money was coming from your account.”