Chapter 4: Buy What Keeps You Breathing

The first rule of surviving the apocalypse was simple: money meant nothing if I spent it on the wrong things.

I wrote that sentence at the top of Odette's notebook, then stared at the balance on my phone.

The trust dispute was underway, but the money wasn't going to solve my immediate problems. I had access to a limited amount from Odette's personal account, and every credit I spent now was one I couldn't spend later.

Once the outbreak spread, prices would rise, supplies would disappear, and expensive equipment wouldn't guarantee survival.

I needed a plan that worked with what I had.

I divided the page into food, water, medical supplies, hygiene, power, transportation, and shelter. Then I set a spending limit for each category and left some money untouched for emergencies. Emergencies rarely waited until a person felt prepared.

I started with water.

My storage capacity was ten cubic meters. That sounded generous until I remembered everything I needed to fit inside it. The system couldn't store living things, and it hadn't promised to create supplies or replenish anything I used. Every item still had to be purchased, carried, and managed.

I calculated how much drinking water one person might need, adding a modest reserve for cooking and cleaning. Water was heavy, so buying enough for months wasn't practical without considering transportation.

For food, I chose rice, canned fish, beans, crackers, oats, and peanut butter. I added a few ready-to-eat meals for situations when cooking would be impossible.

Medical supplies came next: gauze, bandages, antiseptic, medical tape, gloves, a thermometer, oral rehydration salts, and basic over-the-counter medicine. I wasn't a doctor, and owning a first-aid kit wouldn't make me one. I needed supplies to handle minor problems safely, not a fantasy collection that could fix every injury.

I added soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes, sanitary products, toilet paper, trash bags, disinfectant, and laundry detergent. Finally, I listed batteries, a flashlight, a portable radio, and a power bank.

An expensive solar generator nearly made the list, but I crossed it out after checking the price.

It would be useful if the power grid failed. It would also consume too much of my available cash.

I didn't need to prepare for every disaster in one afternoon. I needed to remain alive long enough to prepare for the next one.

By late morning, I had a budget and a shopping list. I chose several ordinary shops instead of placing one enormous order. Buying enough supplies to fill a warehouse would attract attention, and I had no intention of making myself memorable.

My first stop was a neighborhood supermarket. I bought rice, canned food, bottled water, soap, and cleaning products. Back in my rented room, I locked the door and stored the heavier items in the system. Each batch disappeared with a brief confirmation.

I checked the remaining capacity after every trip. The numbers were useful, but I wouldn't treat them as permission to shop without thinking.

The system didn't reward me for spending money. No miraculous supply bundle appeared, and no secret survival ability unlocked.

Good. I preferred a tool that followed rules to one that changed them whenever the plot needed saving.

My second stop was a wholesale shop on the edge of the commercial district. It sold bulk food, bottled drinks, batteries, cleaning products, and basic medical supplies.

The store was crowded. Workers pushed loaded carts between the aisles while customers compared prices and complained about long checkout lines.

I collected two cartons of water and a reasonable amount of dry food before heading toward the medical section.

The shelf where fever medicine should have been was nearly empty.

I checked the neighboring shelves. A few bottles of antiseptic remained, but several common products had been reduced to scattered boxes. A handwritten sign limited the quantity customers could purchase.

That was strange.

The apocalypse in my manuscript began with scattered reports of aggressive behavior, followed by a sudden surge in infections. The first signs were easy to dismiss: disturbing videos, violent incidents in hospitals, and official statements urging the public to remain calm.

But medicine disappearing from a wholesale shop wasn't part of the timeline I remembered.

I picked up a box of pain relievers. Beside me, a man argued with an employee.

"My clinic needs these," he said. "I'm not buying them to resell."

"I'm sorry, sir. That's the instruction we've been given."

"Then where am I supposed to get them?"

The employee repeated herself, looking increasingly uncomfortable. The man eventually left with only a fraction of what he'd requested.

When the aisle cleared, I approached a cashier who kept glancing toward the entrance.

"Have these shortages been happening for long?" I asked quietly.

"Days," she whispered. "First bottled water orders, then fever medicine. Some suppliers aren't accepting orders from local clinics anymore."

"Why?"

"I don't know. My manager told us not to discuss it with customers." She lowered her voice further. "My aunt works at a clinic. They've been asking for supplies they can't get. Yesterday, their delivery was delayed. This morning, the supplier couldn't even confirm a date."

"Which clinic?"

She hesitated, and I regretted pushing. If she was frightened enough to whisper, I shouldn't force her to reveal more.

"You don't have to tell me," I said. "I'm just trying to understand what's happening."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly.

"St. Agnes Medical Center."

The name struck me like a blow.

I kept my expression neutral with an effort that made my jaw ache.

St. Agnes.

In my manuscript, the first major outbreak had occurred there. I'd placed it several chapters into the original timeline, after Odette's financial downfall and her public confrontation with Martin. The hospital was supposed to be where the first infected patient overwhelmed the staff.

I'd written the detail as background for the collapse that followed.

Now it was a warning.

"Has something happened there?" I asked.

"I only know what my aunt told me. They've had patients with high fevers, and some became violent. The staff are overwhelmed." She swallowed. "Yesterday, the doctors were arguing about whether to transfer some patients. Nobody wanted to take them."

High fevers. Violent patients. Medical shortages.

The pieces were familiar, but they were appearing in the wrong order.

I thanked her, paid for my purchases, and left. Outside, traffic roared beneath the bright afternoon sun. People hurried past with shopping bags, still behaving as if tomorrow would resemble today.

I returned to my room, stored what I could, and opened the manuscript on my phone.

The passage appeared several chapters later than I expected. A patient had collapsed in public with a dangerously high fever, attacking two paramedics before reaching the emergency department. The hospital tried to isolate him, but other patients were already showing similar symptoms.

In the original story, the incident was reported as an isolated medical emergency. The lockdown came later, after the situation became impossible to conceal.

I scrolled down.

By the time authorities sealed St. Agnes Medical Center, the first wave had already begun.

I checked the date attached to the passage. It belonged to a chapter set well into the countdown, when Odette was supposed to be dealing with her own problems and had no idea how close the world was to collapse.

I remembered writing it. I'd chosen St. Agnes because it was large enough to contain the initial outbreak and close enough to the city center for panic to spread quickly.

It had been a plot device.

Now it was happening early.

I opened the news app and searched the hospital's name. Several local reports mentioned unusual patient numbers and temporary restrictions on visitors. One article had been published less than twenty minutes earlier.

I tapped it.

A red banner stretched across the screen.

BREAKING: ST. AGNES MEDICAL CENTER PLACED UNDER EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN.

For several seconds, I couldn't move.

The manuscript had given me thirty days to prepare.

But if St. Agnes was already under lockdown, then the first wave wasn't waiting for my countdown to reach zero.

It had already begun.