Chapter 2

I crashed right after. Eat. Sleep. Sleep. Eat. Even in my dreams, everything smelled like food.

Didn't last.

At dawn, frantic scratching ripped me awake.

I opened the door.

Bubba and Missy were sitting there.

Bubba had a fish in his mouth. Missy pinned a bird under her paw.

They didn't move, staring up at me with those watery eyes. Quiet. Waiting.

The second they saw me, they pushed their catch into my hands.

The wall I'd built overnight cracked.

But I remembered those starving days and forced it down.

"No. I can't afford you. Don't come back."

I shut the door. Everything went quiet.

Then I stood on my toes and peeked through the peephole like a total creep, tears streaming.

Day one—they chose not to eat.

Day two—still starving.

Day three—same.

They got thinner every day. I played cold. Inside, it burned.

A week later, Bubba couldn't hold it anymore. He threw up bile right in front of me.

That broke me.

I yanked the door open.

"Get in."

I gave in.

Guess I was born to be a cat dad.

After that, I worked even harder just to keep us fed.

Three part-time jobs. Sixteen-hour days. No breaks.

Word got around to my old classmates that I'd lost it. Said I had some disease where I couldn't live without cats.

Didn't care. My only job was protecting my two babies.

Eventually, I got used to the grind.

Right when I started feeling proud of myself, Missy got pregnant.

She gave birth to a snow-white little fluffball.

Yeah.

A full-on chaos gremlin had entered the world.

***

I'd never seen a cat that white. Though named him snowy. Snow would look dirty next to him.

Snowy opened his eyes on day one. Walked on day two.

Day three? He opened the door himself, ripped open the milk delivery box, and drained every carton in the building.

Bubba and Missy were fine with raw meat.

Snowy? Not even close. He only ate live prey.

He wiped out the hamsters that had overrun the complex. He dove into the lake and yanked fish straight off people's hooks. Left them staring at bare lines. Even the neighbor's pet rabbit wasn't safe.

I went from scooping litter to full-time damage control.

All day, I hustled for cash and apologized, trailing Snowy and cleaning up whatever he wrecked.

At twenty-three, fresh out of college, I'd been all ambition. I was gonna be somebody.

Two years later? Bottom of the food chain. I felt like apologizing to the sewer rats.

Still, the four of us stuck together. Survived every crappy day side by side.

And now the apocalypse was coming.

Zombies. Strong. Fast. Everywhere.

One snap of their jaws and you were done.

Sure, my cats could take down chickens, ducks, mice, rabbits. Feed them wolves, whatever. Didn't matter. They couldn't shield me from zombies.

The clock kept ticking.

Less than twenty-three hours left.

I couldn't send my cats to their deaths.

But with my bank account? No way I could buy some loyal, powerhouse pet. And taming wild beasts? Not happening.

So what—just sit around and wait to die?

I went back and forth until my jaw hurt. Fine.

If I prepped enough and stayed off the front lines, I'd survive.

As long as I had food, I could hole up in this crappy rental. The longer I lasted, the better. Every extra day was a win.

Once I decided, I didn't stall. I jumped into the supply rush.

With the apocalypse looming, order flatlined. Everyone was hunting for powerhouse pets.

I used the chaos, slipped into the supermarket warehouse, hauling out hundreds of pounds of staples—oil, grains, canned goods—trip by trip.

Instant meals. Self-heating ready-to-eat packs. Dry noodles. I wiped the shelves clean.

I ran my beat-up car back and forth until half my apartment was stacked with bottled water alone.