The lights flickered when he opened the door.
Alexei paused in the entrance of his apartment, letting his eyes adjust to the dim warmth of battery-powered lanterns and candlelight. The air inside smelled faintly of wax and cinnamon—something he'd once stolen from a church altar for nostalgia's sake.
City H's power was mostly back, but Alexei hadn't flipped the main breaker.
He liked the quiet better.
Liked knowing his preparations weren't dependent on anyone else's grid.
He locked the door behind him, set the deadbolt, then walked into the kitchen and tugged open the bottom drawer of the cabinet. Beneath a fake panel, he pulled out a sealed plastic container and carried it into the living room.
One by one, he opened them.
Pouches of dried beef, protein bars sorted by flavor and expiration. Bottled water. Vacuum-sealed bandages. Strike-anywhere matches. Alcohol wipes. Ration packs labeled in three different languages—none of them English.
