Chapter 3

"Lately, the neighborhood hasn't been safe." I handed her a cup of coffee, watching her sip it without a care. "Sasha upstairs had her place broken into last week."

"Oh my God!" She slapped a hand over her mouth in exaggerated shock. "You definitely need to watch out, living here by yourself. Oh, speaking of which..." Her eyes suddenly sparkled. "Domingo mentioned he hasn't seen you in forever. What if we all got together this weekend...?"

Domingo. The mere name sent my hand trembling around the cup, splashing scalding coffee across the back of my hand—but I hardly registered the pain.

Memories from my previous life crashed over me like a wave—

Two weeks into the zombie apocalypse, Domingo and Maribel turned up at my door, looking ragged and desperate. I let them in, shared my dwindling food supplies. And their gratitude? While I was out risking my neck for more resources, they ransacked my stash and deliberately lured a wounded zombie into my bedroom. I'd never erase the image of walking in that night to find them writhing on my bed, lost in each other, as the zombie chomped away at my last canned rations...

"Rhea? You alright?" Maribel's voice yanked me back to the moment.

"I'm good." I set the cup down, the angry red welt on my skin already throbbing. "No can do this weekend—I've got a major work project due."

Maribel stuck out her lower lip in a pout. "Always work with you! It's been ages since you came to a family get-together. Your mom and dad are always saying how much they miss you."

My heart clenched. In my previous life, just before my parents died, they'd told me how Maribel kept quizzing them about my address and what I was up to. I'd chalked it up to cousinly interest back then, but now it hit me—she'd been laying groundwork for her end-of-the-world heist all along.

"How've they been health-wise?" I tossed out casually, like it was no big deal.

"They're doing fine." Maribel fluttered her eyelashes. "Though your dads's blood pressure's been a little high, and your mom's forever going on about wanting grandkids."

Liar. My parents had zero history of hypertension. She was probing, checking if I had the real scoop on their condition.

"I'm planning to swing by and see them tomorrow," I said deliberately, eyeing her for a tell.

A flash of alarm darted across Maribel's face. "Tomorrow? But... your mom mentioned they're heading out on a trip..."

"Kidding." I flashed a smile. "I know they're booked on that seniors' tour—it doesn't start till next week."

She relaxed visibly, completely unaware that she'd just tipped her hand about her weird obsession with my folks.

We kept up the fake small talk for another half hour until I finally shooed her out with an excuse about work piling up. As soon as the door latched shut, I fired up the surveillance feed and watched her enter the elevator—her expression turning sour in an instant as she whipped out her phone and hammered away at the keys, no doubt messaging Domingo.

I flipped to the monitoring app on my own phone and spotted Maribel hopping into a black SUV at the entrance to the complex. Even through the darkened windshield, I could spot that revolting face behind the wheel—Domingo, my ex and one of the bastards who'd sealed my fate in my previous life.

Once they peeled out, I tacked three extra locks and a redundant surveillance setup onto my safe house to-do list. The harsh lessons from last time had drilled it into me: In the end times, trust was a poison you couldn't afford.

As dusk settled in, I stood out on the balcony, testing the fresh anti-theft electric fencing. The neighborhood seemed downright idyllic—kids goofing around on the playground, seniors taking leisurely walks. Who'd ever guess that in just three weeks, it'd all descend into absolute chaos?

My phone vibrated with a text from the sanatorium: [Mr. and Mrs. Carney have settled into the VIP suite. Per your instructions, we've set up round-the-clock care and heart monitoring.]

I shot back a quick thanks and transferred some additional funds for "priority service." In my previous life, my parents sacrificed themselves to protect me—this go-around, I'd make damn sure that nightmare didn't play out again.

I was just about to head inside when an odd sound caught my attention—like an animal's pained whine, or was it... munching? It seemed to be drifting up from the underground parking lot.

I snatched my high-powered binoculars and zeroed in on the garage entrance. There in the gloom, a stocky silhouette was hauling something along. The shape rang a bell... Houston?

Out of nowhere, he jerked his head up, like he'd felt my eyes on him. I yanked the binoculars down and slipped behind the curtains. A moment later, the garage's iron door slammed shut with a resounding thud.

I furrowed my brow. Back in my previous life, the strays in the complex had begun disappearing without a trace about a week before everything went to hell. I'd figured it was just the building management tidying things up, but now? This smelled way fishier.

Back in the study, I booted up my laptop and hunted for any weird recent headlines: [Minor Spill at Local Biotech Facility, Authorities Insist It's Contained] [Several Animal Remains Discovered in Outskirts, Poisoning Suspected] [Overnight Guards Report Strange Howling Noises]...

Each one lined up perfectly with the warning signs I'd seen leading up to the zombie outbreak before.

I snapped the laptop closed, strode to the new weapons locker, and traced my fingers over its chilly steel exterior. Tucked inside were a couple of hunting bows and a military-grade knife—stuff that was outright illegal in normal times, and it'd taken a small fortune in bribes and connections to score them.