Chapter 2

In the living room, my dad and Michael were packing, and my mom was bossing them around like she was running the whole world.

She announced, "These designer gowns have to go. They're having a Thanksgiving dinner at the shelter, and I have to look decent.

"Michael, pack your new console. It's gonna be boring as hell in there.

"And don't forget Evelyn's vitamins. She can't miss a single day. The baby needs them!"

The four of them had jumbo suitcases, packed so full they could barely zip them shut. They looked like they were going on a luxury vacation, not running for their lives.

Evelyn, meanwhile, was sprawled on the couch, whining orders at Michael.

She complained, "Michael, be careful! You'll crush my makeup.

"And bring my Dyson Airwrap. I have to do my hair after I shower. I can't be seen looking a mess."

I leaned against the doorframe, coldly watching the whole pathetic, ugly show.

My mom turned to me and snapped, "Are you just going to stand there like a statue? Get over here and make yourself useful. God, you're worthless."

She shoved a ridiculously heavy suitcase toward me.

"Take this to the door," she ordered. "It's full of Michael's precious game consoles."

I didn't move a muscle.

My mom's face instantly soured.

"Well, look at you, Charlotte. Getting a little bold, are we?" she snarled. "You think you can just ignore me now? Are you trying to defy me?"

"Mom," I said, my voice steady, "My training taught me that in a real disaster, you pack survival supplies—food, water, medicine, tools. Not useless stuff like a game console and a curling iron."

The living room went dead silent.

They all stared at me like I was insane.

My dad was the first to snap out of it. He jabbed a finger right in my face.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" he roared. "Lecturing us? Don't forget, Charlotte, those shelter spots? You have them because I told you to go grovel for them. So when I give you an order, you follow it. Got it? Now cut the crap."

It was funny how he forgot that I was the one who got those spots. I'd dragged a VIP back from the brink on an overseas mission to make it happen.

I was cashing in a favor I had earned by putting my life on the line.

Michael looked just as pissed off.

"What the hell is your problem, Charlotte?" he snapped. "Everyone's in a good mood, and you have to come in and be a buzzkill. You just enjoy starting shit, don't you?"

Evelyn wrapped her arms around his and chimed in, her voice dripping with fake, sickening sweetness.

"Oh, but Charlotte's the expert," she cooed. "We should probably just listen. Then again... It's not like we're roughing it in the wild. Arcadia Shelter has everything we need."

Then she turned to me and said, "We just want to bring a few comforts from home to keep our spirits up. Charlotte, you don't need to be so intense about it."

And just like that, her little speech painted me as the petty, bitter one who was ruining all their fun.

My mom immediately jumped in, like she'd found her new favorite person.

She said, "Charlotte, you hear that? Evelyn is so thoughtful. Now look at you—you're just a selfish, twisted little freak."

I actually laughed out loud.

"You're right," I said. "I'm a selfish, twisted freak."

I turned, went to my room, and came back out with my pro-grade tactical pack. It wasn't huge, but it was dense and heavy.

Michael's eyes lit up with pure greed the second he saw it.