Ten Days to Doomsday

"Listen, I make fifty thousand dollars a year. That is more than enough to take care of you. At your age, you should be thinking about settling down while you still have the chance. In a couple of years, it will be harder for you. You might not have many options left. Hey—are you even listening to what I am saying?"

Elora jerked. Her eyes snapped open. Her lungs hitched, sucking in air as if she had just breached the surface of freezing water.

The rich scent of roasted coffee beans and baked pastry filled her nose. Golden afternoon sunlight slanted through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, casting long, warm shadows across the wooden table in front of her. The café murmured with tranquil life. Keyboards clacked in a rhythmic cadence. Porcelain cups clinked against saucers. Subdued laughter and low conversations floated through the conditioned air.

Everything was serene. Normal.

Yet, just a heartbeat ago, the putrid stench of decaying flesh had suffocated her. Her supposed best friend, Tessa Vane, and the man she trusted, Caleb Thorne, had shoved her hard from behind. She had fallen forward, straight into a writhing mass of infected horrors. Agony had ripped through her limbs. Rotting jaws had torn into her skin, snapping bone and tearing muscle. Her vision had drowned in a sea of her own dark blood.

Elora forced her breathing to steady. She shifted her gaze from the sunlit window and focused on the figure sitting across from her. He wore a cheap, off-the-rack suit that strained at the buttons. His swollen belly pressed flush against the edge of the café table. Thinning strands of greasy hair clung to his scalp.

"You are...?" Elora rasped.

His round face struck a familiar chord, buried deep under a decade of blood and survival. Elora pressed her lips together. Ten years of surviving the wasteland had forged her instincts into cold iron. Panic was a luxury for the dead. She kept her face blank, reached for the smartphone resting near her coffee cup, and tapped the screen.

August 14, 3026.

4:00 p.m.

Her pulse hammered against her eardrums.

Ten years ago. She had regressed ten years into the past.

Elora Voss forced her racing mind into order. In her past life, on August 24, 3023, the nation of Vardona ignored every global sanction and United Nations warning. They dumped millions of tons of untreated nuclear wastewater straight into the ocean. Their spokespeople smiled on international television, confidently assuring the public it would cause zero harm to the ecosystem.

Three years later, on August 24, 3026, Earth delivered its invoice. Humanity choked on the price of that reckless arrogance.

A sudden, airborne virus swept across the continents. It targeted humans exclusively, twisting them into mindless, flesh-hungry aberrations. Flora and fauna mutated into lethal apex predators. The climate fractured, unleashing localized monsoons, freezing fronts, and scorching droughts in rapid succession. The grand, sprawling civilization humanity had built over millennia crumbled into ash within days.

Today was August 14. Exactly ten days before the apocalypse.

The realization hit her like a physical blow. The ticking clock in her head grew deafening. Ten days. That was the only buffer she had left between this peaceful café and a world of slaughter.

"Sorry, I need to leave."

Elora stood up, grabbing her purse. She had no time to waste on ghosts from a dead timeline.

The man across the table flushed dark red. His face twisted in indignation. He lunged forward and locked his thick fingers around her wrist.

"What is your problem? Was anything I said wrong? Do you know how popular an elite like me is in the dating market? You should appre—AH!"

A high-pitched shriek tore from his throat.

Elora stared at his sweaty, clammy grip on her skin. Disgust coiled in her stomach. Without a second thought, she clamped her free hand over his knuckles, stepped into the leverage, and twisted his wrist in a brutal, practiced motion. She slammed his arm down, pinning his hand flat against the hard surface of the table.

"What do you think you are doing?" Elora asked softly. Her eyes turned into shards of ice.

Muscle memory took over. Her current body lacked the hardened muscle of her future self, but her technique was flawless. She applied pressure to the joint. The man whimpered, unable to break the hold without snapping his own bones.

The ambient noise of the café died. Heads turned. Customers lowered their laptops and stared at the unfolding scene.

Elora studied his grimacing, pudgy face. The date, the time, the setting—the pieces snapped into a clear picture. A slow, glacial smile curved her lips.

Right. She remembered him now.

Gus Ridley. He was supposed to be a blind date for her best friend, Tessa. But Tessa had feigned a sudden illness, clutching her stomach and pleading with Elora to take her place. Tessa had insisted that Gus was an introduction from Elora's Aunt Dora, making it crucial for Elora to go and maintain the family's polite image.

In her past life, Elora had played the role of the dutiful, polite proxy. She had sat through this excruciating afternoon. Gus had spouted ridiculous, arrogant nonsense for an hour. Elora had merely smiled and nodded, maintaining basic courtesy.

Gus had interpreted that basic courtesy as an invitation.

That same evening, he had followed her. He tried to physically drag her into a cheap motel down the street. When she fought him off and escaped, he did not stop. He spent the next several days stalking her apartment complex, bombarding her phone, and spreading vicious rumors among their mutual acquaintances that they had slept together and she was desperately clinging to him. He had made her final days of normalcy a living nightmare.

The dark memories surfaced, sharp and vivid. Elora eased the crushing pressure on his wrist, though she did not let go. A strange, mocking light danced in her eyes.

"Come to think of it, I should thank you." Elora tilted her head.

In the old timeline, Gus had stalked her all the way to outbreak day. He had sneaked into her apartment just as the streets outside erupted into bloody chaos, attempting to rape her right in her own living room. In her frantic struggle to defend herself, she had grabbed a fruit knife and plunged it straight into his chest.

Later that night, when a massive horde of the infected surrounded her building, she had dragged Gus's bleeding corpse into the hallway. She used his fresh blood and meat as bait, drawing the horde down the opposite stairwell. That grim diversion bought her, Caleb, and Tessa the crucial window they needed to escape the city center.

In a twisted, macabre way, if Gus had not offered himself up as a sacrificial lamb, Elora would have perished in the very first wave.

When dealing with a past benefactor who saved her life with his own flesh, she supposed she could spare him a sliver of courtesy.

Elora released his hand and stepped back.

Gus snatched his arm away, cradling it against his chest. He leaped out of his chair and bellowed at the onlookers.

"Everyone, look at this! This is unbelievable! I made time out of my busy schedule to come on this date, and she attacks me! I have never met someone so deranged in my life!"

"Did you not grab me first?" Elora countered, her tone flat and bored. "Besides, I am not interested in you. Is it not normal for me to leave?"

Gus sputtered, his face turning a mottled purple. Bits of spit flew from his lips.

"You—you are not interested in me? Do you have any idea how rare it is to catch a man like me in the dating market?!"

Elora stared at him. She let the silence stretch for a long, uncomfortable moment. The ambient hum of the café remained suspended as the patrons watched the trainwreck unfold.

"What, do you think you are some kind of rare prize?" Elora asked evenly.

"Huh?" Gus blinked, thrown off by her deadpan delivery.

A few people at the neighboring tables froze, processing the insult. A second later, snickers erupted from the crowd. Someone coughed loudly to hide a laugh.

Gus registered the mockery. The blood rushed to his face, turning his bald patch bright red.

"I am warning you—do not look down on a young man like me just because I am not rich yet!" Gus snapped, pointing a trembling finger at her face. "If your aunt had not set this up, you would never even have the chance to meet a guy like me!"

Elora let her gaze travel slowly up his torso, past his bulging stomach, resting deliberately on his receding hairline and shining scalp.

"Young man?" Elora raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you are not middle-aged?"

Gus dropped his jaw. The veins in his neck pulsed.

"So it starts with 'do not look down on a poor young man'," Elora mocked, her voice carrying clearly across the room. "Then what comes next? 'Do not look down on a poor middle-aged man'? And later, 'do not look down on a poor old man'?"

The sheer absurdity of his ego amused her. A genuine, light laugh escaped her lips, sounding crystal clear in the quiet room.

"Guess some people are just destined to stay poor their whole lives," Elora concluded.

"You bitch!" Gus exploded.

All pretense of civilization vanished from his face. He lunged forward, throwing his arm back to strike her.

"I am going to teach you some manners on behalf of your parents today!"

The sudden escalation sent a shockwave through the café. Customers gasped. A barista shouted from behind the counter. Chairs scraped loudly against the floor as people scrambled backward, anticipating an ugly brawl.

Gus swung his heavy hand aimed right at her cheek.

A cold, lethal light flashed in Elora's eyes. She did not flinch. She did not retreat. Before Gus's hand could even begin its descent, she pivoted her hip, channeling her entire body weight into her shoulder.

Smack!

Her palm connected with his cheekbone in a devastating, whip-like strike. The sound cracked like a gunshot through the café.

The kinetic force lifted Gus off his balance. He spun a half-circle on his heels, his cheap dress shoes skidding on the polished floor, before he crashed hard into the adjacent empty table. It tipped over, sending him sprawling into a heap of tangled limbs and spilled sugar packets.

His ears rang. The ceiling lights spun in a dizzying blur above him. His cheek burned with a blinding, throbbing pain.

It took him several agonizing seconds to remember how to breathe. He propped himself up on his elbows, staring up at Elora with wide, terrified eyes.

"You... what did you just do?!" Gus screamed hoarsely, clutching his swelling face. "When I get home, I will tell your aunt everything! What kind of family raises a daughter as savage as you?!"

"Go ahead and say a few more things." Elora shook her right hand, rolling her wrist to shed the slight numbness.

She did not even bother looking down at him.

"You should complain to your mommy, too. Otherwise, who is going to stand up for you?" Elora slung her purse over her shoulder and adjusted her jacket. "I already paid for my coffee. Just helping you keep your pride. No one can say I bullied a poor middle-aged man out of a few dollars."

Gus scrambled backward on the floor, pointing at her retreating back.

"Stop her! This is outrageous! Somebody call the police! Somebody stop her!"

Elora paused. She turned her head slightly, looking back over her shoulder.

"Are you sure you want to keep me here?"

Gus met her gaze. The words died in his throat. A suffocating chill clamped down on his chest, freezing the air in his lungs.

He did not understand it. He could not explain it. But in that fleeting second, staring into Elora's pitch-black eyes, he felt like prey. He felt like he was staring into the eyes of a butcher examining a slab of meat on a chopping block. He saw death.

What Gus Ridley could never comprehend was that in a timeline erased from existence, he had died by her hands. Her gaze was not a threat; it was a memory of his own slaughter.

Seeing him cower and shrink into the floorboards, Elora let out a quiet scoff. She turned forward, pushed open the heavy glass doors of the café, and stepped out into the bustling city street without looking back.

The afternoon heat hit her face, a stark contrast to the chilled café. Traffic honked. Pedestrians rushed past her on the sidewalk, holding shopping bags, chatting on phones, complaining about deadlines and dinner plans.

They had no idea. The world was sleepwalking toward a cliff.

Elora hailed a cab. She gave the driver the address, leaned her head against the cool window, and closed her eyes. Her mind raced, cataloging survival strategies, safe zones, and the immediate threats she needed to neutralize. Tessa and Caleb. The two serpents she had nurtured in her bosom. They would get what they deserved. But revenge was secondary. Survival was paramount.

Twenty minutes later, the cab dropped her off at a familiar upscale residential complex.

Elora rode the elevator up and stood before the door she had not seen in ten years. She took a slow, deep breath, punching in the keypad code. The lock clicked. She pushed the heavy door open.

It was a spacious, three-bedroom apartment situated right in the heart of the city's commercial district. The location was prime real estate, boasting excellent security and transit links that made it easy to navigate the urban sprawl. Sunlight flooded the pristine hardwood floors. Clean, modern furniture sat untouched by blood, grime, or the stench of decay.

She locked the door behind her, securing the deadbolt and the chain out of sheer habit.

Elora did not waste time getting sentimental. She marched straight to the study, booted up the sleek desktop computer, and pulled out a notebook from the top drawer. She needed a precise inventory of her resources.

She logged into her bank accounts, checking them one by one.

Over the years, she had accumulated a little over two million dollars in liquid cash. On top of that, she owned this apartment outright, free of any mortgage. She also held a three percent stake in the Voss Group's corporate shares.

That kind of wealth did not come from her modest paycheck at the city zoo. Elora was the adopted daughter of the wealthy Voss family. Her position in their sprawling mansion had always been marginal. She was treated more like a decorative accessory or a useful pawn than a real family member. Despite the emotional distance and the quiet disdain from her adoptive parents, the Voss Group still paid out an annual dividend to her accounts to keep up appearances.

Two million dollars.

In the old world, it was a comfortable safety net. In the apocalypse, paper money would become useless trash, fit only for kindling. The real value lay in what she could convert that money into right now.

Elora grabbed a pen. She uncapped it and began writing furiously, drafting a comprehensive list of survival necessities.

Water filtration systems. Medical kits, antibiotics, painkillers, and surgical tools. Tactical clothing, heavy-duty boots, and weather-resistant gear. Solar generators, high-capacity power banks, and reinforced steel plating for the windows. And above all else: food.

When the apocalypse arrived, the most fatal crisis would not just be the infected monsters roaming the streets. It would be the catastrophic collapse of supply chains. Starvation would drive humanity mad.

In her past life, she had witnessed the horrific depths of desperation. She had seen dignified businessmen bludgeon each other to death with bricks over a half-eaten can of beans. She had seen mothers trade their children for a handful of dirty rice. Once the thin veneer of society shattered, the darkest, most depraved aspects of human nature spilled out, unchecked by law or morality.

Elora shook her head, banishing the dark memories to the back of her mind. Preparation was the only shield against that nightmare.

She unlocked her smartphone and tapped the familiar icon for the Amazon shopping app. Her immediate priority was securing high-calorie, long-lasting sustenance.

She typed "instant noodles" into the search bar.

In the civilized world, health nuts mocked them as cheap junk food. In the post-apocalyptic wasteland, instant noodles reigned supreme. They eclipsed rice, pasta, and canned goods as the ultimate survival ration.

They were lightweight, densely packed with calories, and incredibly versatile. If you managed to secure clean, hot water, you could cook a warm, morale-boosting meal. If you were on the run, hiding in a dark closet from a roaming horde, you could crush the dry block and eat it raw, securing enough energy to survive the night. Furthermore, they came in dozens of distinct flavors, staving off the psychological fatigue of eating the exact same ration for months on end. Before long, a single packet of spicy beef noodles would become a luxury item people would kill for.

Elora scrolled through the wholesale listings. She tapped the screen, adding massive bulk orders to her digital cart.

Spicy beef. Roasted chicken. Seafood medley. Pork bone broth. Ten dozen cases of each.

She reviewed her cart, preparing to authorize the massive credit card payment. Her thumb hovered over the checkout button.

Beep!

A sudden, sharp electronic tone echoed directly inside her skull. Elora stiffened, dropping the pen onto the desk.

A cold, mechanical voice synthesized in her mind, devoid of any human emotion.

"Greetings, honored host. System Assistant Nova is here to serve you."

Elora remained motionless, her eyes scanning the quiet room.

"I have detected that you intend to spend money. Please feel free to spend as much as you like. For every one thousand dollars you spend, you will receive ten square feet of storage space."

A holographic interface flickered to life in her peripheral vision.

"Once the 'Big Spender' feature is unlocked, you will also receive one lottery draw as a reward."

A glowing timer materialized in the center of her vision, the digital numbers burning a bright, urgent crimson against the air.

"Countdown: 167:59:59."