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Chapter twenty
publish date:
2026-10-08 13:27:25
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Thirty Days To Doomsday:My Cheating Ex Begs At My Vault Door Chapter twenty four
POV: Odalys The solar panels failed three days after Ambrose came.It happened with no drama at all. At six in the morning, the power gauge in the control room dropped from green to amber, and Thaddeus, who had been studying it with the expression of a man watching a pot refuse to boil, set down his coffee and said, "That's not right."An hour later, he had pulled the schematic, and an hour after that, he was sitting at the long table with his enormous hands wrapped around a mug, shaking his head."The rain did it," he said. "Or the tremor. Maybe both. Three of the eight panels have cracked glass, and two more have chewed cables. We're running on the generators for everything now, and that's a problem, because we're burning diesel at a rate I do not like.""How bad?" I asked."Nineteen days of fuel. Maybe twenty-two if everyone stops taking showers."Pim, who was drawing on the back of a ration box at the end of the table, looked up with alarm. "I like showers.""I know, sweet pea."
Thirty Days To Doomsday:My Cheating Ex Begs At My Vault Door Chapter twenty three
POV: OdalysThe chime came on the ninth night, just after midnight.I was in the control room, because I was always in the control room by then. The others had gone to bed. Ferran had taken to dozing in a chair by the radio with a blanket over his knees, and he was snoring when the sound rang out, a clear, polite note, the north hatch lever being pulled. He woke up with a snort and nearly fell off the chair."Cameras," I said.On the north wall monitor, crouched against the third boulder in a thin gray rain, was a man I recognized.It took me a moment. He had changed a great deal in nine days. His expensive coat was ripped from collar to hem and black with mud. One shoe was missing. A long scratch ran down his cheek, crusted with dried blood, and his tall, stooped frame had folded in on itself like a collapsed tent. But there was no mistaking those slow, tired, intelligent eyes."Ambrose Whitlock," I said."The husband?" Ferran came up behind me, rubbing his face. "The one from the w
Thirty Days To Doomsday:My Cheating Ex Begs At My Vault Door Chapter twenty two
POV: Odalys We buried him at dawn, in the rain, on the north side of the hill.It was not a large grave. Thaddeus dug it himself with a borrowed shovel, in a patch of soft earth behind the third boulder, while Ferran and I stood a few yards off, watching the treeline with a rifle apiece. Greta wrapped her brother in the quilt from his own bed, and the two of them lowered him down together. Nobody said very much. When the earth had covered him, Thaddeus set his hard hat on the mound, took it off again, and put it on his own head."He would have laughed at the hat," Greta said."He would," said Thaddeus. And for a moment, in the rain, the two of them almost smiled.We went back inside, one at a time, through the airlock. I held the inner door for last, and when the bolts slid home I felt, unexpectedly, the familiar, steady comfort of being sealed away from the world. It was not a comfort I wanted. But I had it, and I took it.I had expected the next few days to be silent.They weren't.
Thirty Days To Doomsday:My Cheating Ex Begs At My Vault Door Chapter twenty one
POV: Odalys I have learned that a gun is very loud in a room made of concrete.Mattias sat up on the narrow bed. He did it slowly, in one smooth, boneless motion, like a puppet drawn upright on a string. The sheets slid off him. His head turned toward the glass partition, toward the light, toward the five people on the other side of it, and the thing behind his eyes did not recognize any of us.His eyes were the wrong color. That was what I could not stop seeing. They had been brown, ordinary, a little bloodshot. Now a pale film had washed across them, the milky, cooked-egg white I remembered from a stairwell, and the pupils floated in it like specks of pepper."Mattias?" Pim's voice came out tiny. Ingrid had her hand clamped over the child's mouth, her face turned into her sister's hair. "Uncle Mattias?""Don't look, sweetheart," Greta said. "Don't look. Look at Papa."Mattias rose from the bed.He did not run. That was the one mercy, if mercy is the word. Whatever had taken him was
Thirty Days To Doomsday:My Cheating Ex Begs At My Vault Door Chapter twenty
POV: Odalys I did not tell Ferran or Ilsabet what I had seen on the roof.I told myself it was because I wanted to be sure. That was partly true. But the rest was simpler and less admirable. I did not want to say it aloud. A man who knows which stone is a camera has known for a long time where I was hiding. And a thing that has been named in a room, in front of the people who are counting on you, becomes real in a way a bad dream is not.So I made breakfast. I scrambled eleven eggs from the hens and fried the last of the noodles with garlic, and we ate in the sort of cheerful, brittle quiet that people use when they are all pretending something is not wrong.I was washing the pan when the hatch alarm rang.It was a different sound from the pump room alarm, a clear, polite chime, and it meant that someone had pulled the lever on the outside of the north wall. We had not heard of it before. It took all three of us a moment to understand what it meant."Visitors," Ferran said."Cameras,
Thirty Days To Doomsday:My Cheating Ex Begs At My Vault Door Chapter nineteen
POV: Odalys I did not mean to eavesdrop. It only happened that I was awake.It was past two in the morning, and the fortress was dark except for the amber glow of the standby lights. I had come down to the control room because I could not lie still, and I had found myself, as I always did, twisting the dial on the crank radio, drifting from band to band through the static in the hope of hearing a voice that was not mine.I found one. Quite suddenly, at the very bottom of the citizen's band, a hiss resolved into words."—no, you listen to me. I did not sit through a decade of charity luncheons to be spoken to like that by a stable boy!"I stopped turning.It was Marguerite Vale. There was no mistaking that voice, the brittle, aristocratic whine, sharpened by exhaustion. The reception was poor, a crackle and fade, but I could hear every word. She was speaking into a handset somewhere very near. Brannock's feed store, I realized, must have had a base station. An old trucker's rig, the k
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