JOSH.
The freight elevator groaned like it had never been asked to work this hard.
The security guard didn't ask questions — not after the cash bonus I handed him. I told him I was filming a food sustainability project. He nodded, eyes on the small white chicken now pecking at his boot.
"They won't scratch the floor," I promised.
"As long as they don't scratch me," he muttered.
By noon, the rooftop was alive in a way it had never been.
I'd converted the greenhouse's rear section into a chicken coop, raised and insulated, with soft nesting straw and a mesh door fitted with a padlock. Six hens — Rhode Island Reds — pecked curiously at their feed, already bickering like suburban moms in a wine aisle and one rooster.
Beside the greenhouse, a small dairy cow stall stood tucked beneath the covered awning. Reinforced fencing, straw bedding, water basin. The cow — a calm, sleepy-eyed Jersey named Dolly — blinked at me as if I were the crazy one.
She wasn't wrong. The bull that would keep her pregnant and lactating would arrive later that afternoon.
Houdini circled her twice, yipped once, then ran back to me like he'd proven a point.
"Don't worry," I said, "she's not competition."
But he wasn't looking at the cow. He was looking at the crate behind me.
I popped the latch.
Out tumbled a tiny ball of white fluff with brownish-gold spots — a puppy, barely ten weeks old, who immediately fell nose-first into Houdini's water bowl.
"Meet Luna," I said. "Your apocalypse soulmate."
He looked offended. She looked thrilled.
I was halfway through checking the supply manifests when my phone buzzed.
The name on the screen made my chest tighten.
Jessi.
I hadn't spoken to her since… well, before the dream. Before I knew.
I picked up.
"Hey," she said. "Weird question. You still living in that glass box in the sky?"
"Still mine."
"I may have lost power. And possibly broken into your neighbor's unit."
I blinked. Then laughed.
"I think she was headed out of town. She actually gave me a key."
"Seriously?"
"You want to house sit it properly? I'll tell her. It's under renovation. No one'll care."
A pause.
"I'll bring wine," she offered.
"Only if it's shelf stable."
"Josh…"
"Just a joke. Kind of. But I would bring everything you need for a long time, this storm is looking like it'll linger Jess."
She didn't press.
When I hung up, I looked out at the rooftop.
Greenhouse. Chickens. Cow. Puppies.
No one else knew it yet, but the world had already started ending.
And this — this was the last safe place I'd ever build.
--
The stairwell was quiet.
I didn't use the elevator when I checked the upper floors. Habit, maybe. Or paranoia. Either way, I liked the sound of my boots on concrete. Real. Solid. Not a dream.
Houdini padded behind me. Luna bounced beside him like a rabbit, which was ironic, because I had actual rabbits now.
They were on Floor 49.
I'd rigged one of the empty units with insulated pens and auto-feeders. The rabbits were quiet, clean, and easy to breed — textbook sustainable protein. I hated the idea of eating them, but I'd done the math. Chickens gave eggs. Cows gave milk. Rabbits gave… inevitability.
I flicked on the LED overhead. Twelve rabbits blinked at me from their crates.
"Morning, apocalypse team."
I moved on.
Floor 50 housed perishables and canned goods, stacked wall to wall. I'd blacked out the windows and brought in solar-powered coolers and freezers for anything semi-perishable. Shelf-stable everything. Five kinds of rice. Four kinds of beans. Fifty jars of peanut butter. Enough salt to trade if society regressed to a medieval barter system. There was enough food here that I wouldn't have to leave the building for thirty years and with the garden upstairs, I had the means to produce more so I may never even need to dip into these supplies until winter.
The labels were colour-coded. I wasn't a prepper.
I was a lawyer with control issues.
Floor 51 held medicine.
Painkillers. Antibiotics. Antivirals. Antifungals. Anti-everything. I'd leaned on every old pharmaceutical connection my father ever mentioned at dinner parties. Even the black-market vet stuff that was technically for horses — better than nothing if it came down to it.
Two full industrial cabinets labeled: "TREAT" and "PREVENT."
A third cabinet just said: "IF ALL ELSE FAILS."
I didn't open that one.
Floor 52 was the crown jewel.
The library.
I converted the entire unit — every room, every wall — into bookshelves. A thousand volumes, maybe more. Scanned, sourced, salvaged. Some were new, others rare or water-warped. Topics ranged from first aid to hydroponics, welding to childbirth, mechanical repair to ancient cooking methods.
The spines gleamed like relics.
"What to Do When There's No Doctor.""Home Surgery Techniques.""Preserving Food Without Refrigeration.""Rebuilding From Scratch: A Guide to Post-Collapse Governance."
And in the centre, lit by a solar lamp, sat a single chair.
No screens. No noise.
Just the slow weight of a mind trying to outlast a world.
I looked out the window.
The storm clouds were crawling in.
Rosie would come soon. And when she did, I had to be ready.
Because if my dream was right…They didn't just want my food.They wanted me. And this time I would be ready, they wouldn't come in.