Chapter 2

I graduated with a bachelor’s in agriculture three years ago but abandoned the field, becoming a full-time writer instead. Selling several copyright deals allowed me to scrape together the down payment for this large flat.

Naturally, budget constraints meant choosing a development in the Economic Development Zone. This area was farmland a decade ago and remains relatively sparse.

The standalone unit’s outward-opening security door and the keycard-controlled private elevator per household offer decent security. The space inside the apartment and on the rooftop provides considerable room for maneuvering.

The only ways to reach my front door are the elevator and the fire escape. Securing those properly should pose no major issue.

I wasn’t without the idea of establishing a multi-layered defense system—building-wide, then floor-wide, then unit-by-unit cooperation in our Building 17. But first, they wouldn’t believe me. Second, human hearts are the most unpredictable in an apocalypse; I lacked the ability to guarantee everyone would be united.

I called a renovation company and had an additional steel railing gate installed inside the main security door.

“Whoa. Safety conscious, huh, young lady?” the technician joked while installing it.

I surveyed all the windows. Decided to replace them all with the highest security grade glass, plus add protective bars. Sealed off the ten-meter balcony too.

“Really sealing it? Not keeping flowers anymore?”

I glanced at my hydrangeas, already hinting at autumn colors, and shook my head. “No time to tend to them now.”

Additionally, I covered most windows with one-way film and thick curtains. Even though our complex had good security and we were high up, if things got critical, being detected was not an option!

“Mhmm, gotta prioritize safety first, you know, for future kids,” I mumbled vaguely, handing the technicians cigarettes.

At ten-thirty, Mom and Dad called on voice chat. They’d arrived.

I rushed to meet them. Mom immediately dropped her luggage to inspect my arms and legs, sighing with relief when she saw no injury.

She swatted my arm. “What mischief are you up to now? Tricking your dad and me into rushing over?!”

I looked at them both and recounted the contents of my prophetic dream.

They were silent for a moment. They were familiar with my sixth sense.

Finally, Mom spoke, her voice dry. “Alright. We support you.”

My nose stung. Whether it was choosing to be a writer after graduation or now… they’ve always stood firmly behind me.

They sent brief messages to relatives and friends, almost forcefully advising them to stockpile and avoid going out, though they couldn’t explain why. On my writing platforms and social media, I subtly hinted that people should stock up on food and avoid going out on October 10th and 15th if possible.

Dad volunteered to stay and supervise the renovations; he used to work in construction crews. After all, the quality of this work was literally tied to our family’s survival.