Chapter 1

Philip Lawrence publicly announced that he was going to marry Lyla Blake.

Lyla stepped on my hand in her heels, grinding down hard.

She said, "Hannah, you wouldn't last three days without Philip."

A sharp spike of pain tore through me.

I pulled my coat tighter around myself and felt something cold in my pocket. The encrypted communicator.

She bent down, leaning close to my ear. "You're nothing but a dog he keeps—"

I lifted my head and smiled. "Lyla, do you know how a cold-resistance antibody is extracted?"

Her smile froze on her lips.

I pressed the send button on the communicator.

Three seconds later, every light in the base went dark.

*****

It was the third year of the apocalypse, and the temperature had plunged to -97 °F. At the celebration inside Base 3, all the lights were locked on the couple up on stage.

Lyla was curled up in Philip's arms, flashing that fake innocent smile.

I stayed tucked into a drafty corner near the heating pipes, the elbows of my coat rubbed thin and faded.

"Hannah, don't blame Philip for being cruel." Lyla sneered as she strutted down, her heels clacking loudly on the metal floor.

"You've spent three years mooching off the base. Food, water, and the fuel you use were approved by Philip. Now the base needs to grow. We can't keep dead weight around anymore," she said.

People started to whisper.

"Yeah. What has Hannah actually contributed these three years?"

"Philip's been way too kind to her. He should have kicked her out long ago."

Their words cut deep, but I stayed silent. I looked past Lyla and fixed my eyes on Philip.

Three years ago, he stood at my lab door, calling me "Dr. Samuels" with careful respect.

I handed him my paper credits, my research files, and everything that helped him survive when the world fell apart. And now he was up there, ready to toss me aside like I meant nothing.

"Hannah, don't blame me," Philip said, towering over me. "That's how things work in the apocalypse. Survival of the fittest. I took you in for three years. That's all anyone could expect."

Lyla slipped her arm through his, leaned close to my ear, and whispered, "Dr. Samuels, your time is over. Now, everything belongs to me."

I looked her in the eye without saying a word, then walked out of the celebration.

The hallway barely had heat, sitting at -40 °F. I reached into my pocket and took out an encrypted communicator.

For three years, this device had never dropped a signal, thanks to my private satellite network.

I made a call.

Instantly, someone answered, "Hi, Dr. Samuels."

"What's the situation at Base 1?"

"Everything is running according to your plan. Fuel reserves will last at least five years. Out of the six Northern Alliance bases, four have already locked in exclusive supply deals with us."

I leaned against the wall. "How much fuel is Base 3 getting now?"

"We're supplying them at the bare minimum. Their stockpile won't last more than three days," he said.

"Three days," I repeated the number under my breath.

Three years back, when everything fell apart, I was standing in the wreckage of my lab when Philip came running over and said, "Dr. Samuels, come with me. I'll protect you."

I believed him. Now I finally saw his true colors.

"Starting now, cut off all minor fuel shipments to Base 3. Hold off until I give further instructions," I ordered.

"Got it," came the reply.

After hanging up, I paused in front of the base's large screen. Philip's face flashed across the screen, along with titles like "Apocalypse Survival Expert," "Leader of Base 3," and "Honorary Member of the Northern Alliance".

I stared at the person I'd helped put on that pedestal and whispered, "In three days, I'll make you see what it feels like to crash from the top straight into the dirt."

Outside the base, a blizzard was brewing.

*****

On the third day after I was moved to the warehouse district, the heat went out.

Lyla walked in with three of her subordinates, pushing open my door. "Hannah, I'm here to check on you."

She waved her hand, and her people started rummaging through my stuff. "Philip said the warehouse district needs an inspection."

I sat on my sleeping bag, watching them rifle through my data disks.

Lyla grabbed one, threw it down, and stomped on it.

She did it again with another data disk, and I didn't move.

She dug out a box from the corner, filled with my handwritten research notes. These were pre-apocalypse manuscripts, containing all the early data from the cold-resistance antibody project.

"Hannah, these things take up far too much space," she said, carrying the box to the door and dumping every single note into the stove right in front of me.

The pages twisted in the fire, darkened, and burned down to ash.

She turned back, eager to see the look on my face.

I watched the papers burn and smiled. "Those notes? I left them here on purpose."

Her smile froze.

"The core of my research was never on paper," I said, standing up and brushing the dust off my coat. "Lyla, you've been tagging along with Philip for three years, and you still have no clue what he actually stole from me."

She looked confused.

I said, "I'm the only one who has the key to the cold-resistance antibody data. Without that key, everything he's got is worthless scraps.

"In three months, the antibody will fail. Without my latest updates, every last one of you is doomed."

Lyla stepped back instinctively.

Without another word, I walked farther into the warehouse.

*****

That night, Philip was in his office, flipping through the data he'd stolen from me. He couldn't find the key, so he reached out to every data expert he could find, but nobody could break the code.

"Captain Lawrence," his aide said, pushing the door open, looking worried. "Base 1 says we've gone over our quota. They're slashing fuel supply by 30%. They also said from now on you deal with 'the boss'. They've stepped aside."

"The boss?" Philip was puzzled.

"They didn't say who he is. They only told us to be ready. Someone's coming in a few days to take over fuel allocation at Base 3," the aide replied.

I sat on the warehouse windowsill, watching the storm howling outside. The encrypted communicator gave off a faint light.

The screen displayed a sent message. [Step one complete. They've taken the bait. Waiting for next instructions.]

I switched off the communicator and wrapped my coat tighter around myself.

The wind outside picked up.

*****

On the third day, right as I stepped out of the warehouse, Philip's security team blocked my path. "Captain Lawrence wants you in his office."

I followed them into Philip's office.

The heat inside was strong, and my body, still bundled up, wasn't used to it.

Philip sat behind his desk with my research files laid out in front of him.

Lyla stood behind him, looking smug and nervous.

"Sit," Philip said.

I stayed standing.

"You said the antibody only lasts three years. Is that true?" he asked.

I met his gaze. "What do you think?"