Doomsday survivalist: Guide to survive!
Rule 3: First sign
Ryco worked the pan like muscle memory, flipping garlic in hot oil until the whole kitchen smelled warm and sharp. He cracked two eggs, dumped in the leftovers he bought from the grocery, and let everything simmer together. Simple dinner, but the smell made his stomach growl.
The TV murmured in the background. He didn't even look at it at first—just let the noise fill the cramped apartment.
But after a while, the words started catching his ear.
"…global temperature anomaly recorded today…"
"…scientists confirm an unusual dip in equatorial heat zones…"
"…magnetic field behavior showing minor—but continuous—instability…"
Ryco paused, spatula mid-air.
His eyes drifted to the TV.
A reporter stood beside a world map streaked with shifting blue and red zones. Slight changes, almost unnoticeable, but he recognized every detail like a ghost tapping his shoulder.
So it already started… even earlier than I remember.
He wiped his hands on a towel and leaned closer.
Nothing about the virus. Nothing about the crash. Not even rumors.
Of course. Too early. The Carrier's still somewhere in the ice… or on its way here. The jet won't crash for months.
Still, the temperature shift was enough to make his skin prickle. The crawl text at the bottom mentioned people in parts of Visayas waking up to freak cold winds, the kind that never belonged in a tropical country.
He shut off the stove and scooped dinner onto a plate.
I really got sent back. One year. One whole year. Enough time to flip the script. Enough time to make them pay. Enough time to save the ones who deserved saving.
He was halfway through his meal when someone knocked on his door—fast, familiar, not panicked.
"Yo, Ryco! Open up, man!"
Jake's voice.
Ryco set down the plate and walked over. Before he even unlocked it, he saw Jake's silhouette through the frosted glass—standing like a soldier with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
That idiot actually came prepared.
Ryco opened the door. "Bro, relax. It's not the end of the world tonight."
Jake stepped inside, grinning. "You said gear up. So I geared up." He unzipped the bag to show off flashlights, canned goods, bandages, even a cheap survival knife.
Ryco lifted the compact bow and arrow set he borrowed earlier. "I got mine too."
Jake blinked. "What the hell, dude… you really weren't kidding."
Ryco smirked. "We're heading out tomorrow. For now…" He gestured toward the kitchen, warm light spilling onto the hallway.
"…let's eat."
Jake dropped his bag with a soft thud. "You cooked? Damn, a pre-apocalypse meal. I'm honored."
Ryco rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help the small laugh that slipped out.
This time… I'm not losing anything.
Jake shoveled rice into his mouth, but his eyes kept sliding toward the compact bow resting against the wall. Then his gaze shifted to the two pistols Ryco laid on the table earlier. Not flashy weapons—just clean, oiled, functional. Real.
Jake finally set down his spoon.
"Bro… you want to tell me what's actually going on?"
Ryco pretended not to hear him, chewing slowly. Jake wasn't having it. He leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"You're not acting like we're just going hunting. You look like you're prepping for a war. And you—you keep checking the window every five minutes."
He swallowed, nervous.
"Talk to me. What's happening?"
Ryco exhaled through his nose.
He was hoping he could ease Jake into it over the next few days. Apparently the universe said no.
"Alright," he muttered, pushing his plate away. "But don't freak out."
Jake's eyes widened. "That's the worst way to start anything."
"I'm serious," Ryco said. "You need to believe me. This is our only shot."
The two of them locked eyes. Jake's face softened, just a little.
"Okay. Go on."
Ryco leaned back, tapping his fingers on the table. For a moment, he didn't know where to begin. Then the words just spilled out.
"The hits are coming one after another. We've got the magnetic field shift already starting—weather's changing, and it's going to get worse. Way worse."
Jake blinked. "Like… snow-in-the-Philippines worse?"
"Yeah. But that's not the part that kills people." Ryco swallowed. "The virus is coming. Not a normal one. It's old—older than anything humans have records of. Frozen in ice for centuries. And when the field shifts, it melts."
Jake frowned. "That's not on any news."
"Not yet," Ryco said. "But I've seen what happens next."
He paused, and Jake didn't speak. He just listened.
Ryco took a breath.
"You died, Jake."
Jake's fingers stiffened around his cup. "What?"
"In my… previous timeline," Ryco said quietly. "You didn't make it past day one. You were trying to get your family to the safe zone the government announced, but that place was never safe. Some idiots caused a riot at the gate, a wall broke, and the infected swarmed in."
Jake's throat bobbed.
His voice came out small.
"So… how did I die?"
Ryco forced himself to say it straight.
"The first evolved zombie. The Hunter. It tore through the crowd like nothing. You were protecting your mom. You didn't even see it coming."
Jake shut his eyes, jaw clenched.
"I didn't know," Ryco said, softer now. "Back then, I didn't have a clue what was happening, or what signs to watch for. I was wasting my time simping over someone who didn't care if I lived or died. But now… now I know better."
The air between them tightened.
"This time," Ryco said, "you're going to follow my lead."
Jake opened his eyes. There was no panic—just fear trying to understand.
"What do you want me to do?"
"First," Ryco said, "get your family out of Manila. Take them to Cebu. Tell them it's for the cold weather. The big storm. Whatever excuse works. Just get them there."
Jake nodded slowly. "And you? Why not come with us?"
Ryco shook his head.
"I can't leave yet. I have things I need to fix here. People I need to deal with. But more important…" He tapped the table. "There's something I need to retrieve."
Jake leaned forward. "What kind of something?"
"Not something," Ryco corrected. "Someone."
Jake's eyebrow rose. "A person?"
"A scientist," Ryco said. "The one who almost made the cure in my last life. He was close—really close. But the Tyrant killed him before he could finish it. If he lives… humanity has a chance."
Jake stared at him for a long moment.
"You're serious."
"Dead serious."
Silence settled over the small apartment again—heavy but strangely steady. Jake finally nodded, lips pressed tight.
"Alright," he said. "If you say so… I trust you."
Ryco felt something tighten in his chest and loosen at the same time. He didn't say anything, just gave Jake a small nod back.
For the first time since waking up, he felt like he wasn't alone.
"Tomorrow," Ryco said, standing. "Training. Then supplies. Then planning."
Jake lifted his cup like a toast. "To living longer than last time."
Ryco clinked his glass against it.
"To surviving this time."
Jake's apartment quieted after that toast, but the air didn't ease. It felt like the room itself held its breath.
Outside, the night had settled into that deep Manila blue—streetlights flickering, dogs barking far off, the hum of traffic thinning as the city softened toward midnight. Through the window, the wind rattled the loose plastic sheet taped over the frame. Jake never fixed it, saying he'd get to it "one of these days."
Ryco knew that in a few months, cold wind would slice through that gap like a blade.
Jake cleared his throat. "So… what now?"
Ryco checked the time on his phone. "We need to gear up before the weather shift hits. Once the magnetic field weakens more, the temperature drops fast. People are going to panic. Shelves will empty."
Jake raised a brow. "And we'll be the only ones carrying bows and pistols?"
Ryco smirked a little. "Better to look crazy now than dead later."
Jake gave a low chuckle, but it faded quick. His eyes drifted again to the compact bow leaning in the corner. To the pistols on the table. He rubbed his arm.
"You know," he said, "I used to think our biggest problem this month was the electric bill."
Ryco picked up one of the pistols, checking the slide, making sure the action felt smooth. "I wish that was still the worst thing coming."
Jake watched him with a long, steady look—like he was trying to memorize everything about him before the world shifted for real.
"Ry," he said quietly, "why didn't you tell me earlier?"
Ryco slid the pistol back onto the table and sat down. His voice dropped.
"Because I didn't know how you'd react. And because I wanted… just a bit of normal. Even for one day."
Jake didn't tease him for that. He didn't smile. He just nodded, like he understood.
Moments passed in a soft buzz of traffic, distant honks, the murmur of neighbors talking downstairs.
Then Jake leaned forward. "You said Manila goes down first, right? The cold, the riots… all that?"
Ryco nodded. "By the time people realize it's not just a weird flu, it's already too late. The virus spreads before symptoms hit. And the Hunter appears right after the first wave."
Jake rubbed his face. "Great. Love that for us."
"Which is why," Ryco said, "we start training tomorrow. We need stamina, aim, and rhythm. You need to learn how to shoot a bow without your arms shaking. I need to get you used to close-range strikes."
"And Cebu?" Jake asked again. "You're still sure that's the place?"
"It's one of the last islands to fall," Ryco replied. "Natural chokepoints. Smaller land mass. Easier to defend. Plus the infection curve is slower there. We'll build our base there eventually—but first we survive Manila long enough to save the scientist."
Jake thought it over, tapping his foot on the floor. "My dad's gonna freak out if I tell him we're leaving the city."
"Tell him it's climate shift," Ryco said. "Tell him you saw a forecast that the cold snap'll hit Manila bad. Really bad. He listens to you, so make it believable."
Jake groaned. "Man… this is gonna be tough."
Ryco placed a hand on his shoulder. "Jake. You died protecting your mom. That's who you are. I'm not asking you to be different. I'm asking you to be ready."
Jake's throat tightened, but he nodded.
A faint rumble echoed outside—just a truck passing, but it made both of them glance toward the window on instinct. Ryco's fingers twitched near the bow handle before he forced himself to relax.
Jake caught that. "Bro, you're already living like the apocalypse started yesterday."
Ryco gave a half-smile. "It did. For me."
A beat passed.
"So," Jake said, pushing back from the table, "what's first on the agenda?"
Ryco stood. "You go home. Pack essentials. Clothes, jackets, first aid, knife if you have one. Wake up early tomorrow. We train sunrise to noon. Then we shop."
Jake grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. On his way to the door, he paused.
"Ry…"
Ryco looked up.
"Thanks for coming back for me."
Ryco didn't say anything right away. Words felt too small for the weight sitting in his chest. So he just nodded.
Jake gave him a short salute, forcing a grin. "See you tomorrow, partner."
"See you."
When Jake stepped out, Ryco leaned against the doorway, watching his friend walk down the dim hallway. He felt the old fear crawling behind his ribs—fear of failing again, fear of losing the people he cared about a second time.
But this time, he wasn't helpless.
He locked the door, checked the pistols one more time, and whispered to himself:
"Not this time."
Outside, the wind shifted cold—too cold for a night like this.
The first sign.
Ryco stood there for a few seconds, listening to the fading footsteps on the stairwell. Jake's last words kept echoing in his head. Thanks for coming back for me.
He closed his eyes, breathing slow. That familiar sting crept up his chest—the memory of Jake's body crushed against the broken concrete, the Hunter perched over him like a starving wolf. Jake's mother screaming, helpless. The chaos. The blood.
Ryco shook his head hard, forcing the image away.
Not this time.
He turned from the door and moved back into the small kitchen. The TV was still murmuring in the background—some news anchor talking about an unexpected cold front drifting toward Southeast Asia. The tone was too light, too casual. They had no idea they were witnessing the world's first warning sign.
Ryco grabbed a pan, washed the plates, then dried his hands on a towel. His body moved on autopilot, but his mind wasn't slowing down. It felt like gears grinding behind his eyes—planning, comparing, predicting.
Supplies. Routes. People who needed saving. People who needed avoiding.
He walked over to the small whiteboard he'd hung beside the fridge. Earlier he'd scribbled a rough survival guide on it, but now he added more details.
Food (canned, dried, energy bars, anything long shelf-life)
Meds (antibiotics, painkillers, flu meds, vitamins, disinfectants)
Train (daily—strength, cardio, archery, close combat)
Prepare (gear, weapons, fortify apartment for temp drop)
Find shelter (temporary: here. Long-term: Cebu)
Locate scientist (priority mission)
Track important people (save who matters, avoid who brings trouble)
He stepped back, studying the list. It wasn't perfect, but it was a road. Better than walking blind again.
The TV flickered, and a reporter's voice cut in:
"Satellite images show unusual temperature shifts forming over the northern hemisphere. Experts believe—"
Ryco lowered the volume. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know. I lived it."
He turned toward the compact bow leaning beside the couch. The black limbs gleamed under the weak ceiling light. Smooth. Clean. Reliable. His uncle always kept it pristine.
Ryco picked it up and felt its weight. Not too heavy. Just right.
He couldn't help a small smile.
"This time," he whispered, "I'll be ready."
He dug through the equipment bag his uncle had given him—broadheads, field tips, a finger tab, a collapsible target sheet, and a maintenance kit. Beyond that were the two pistols—one compact, one full-sized—both loaded with magazines wrapped in cloth.
He inspected it all, one piece at a time. No shortcuts.
After he finished, he put the bow aside and crossed his arms on the table, leaning forward. The apartment felt too quiet again.
His gaze drifted to the window.
A stray dog barked outside. Then another, louder. Ryco tensed. That bark wasn't random—it sounded startled, maybe frightened. Animals always felt the shift first.
He moved to the window and watched the street. It looked normal enough. A jeepney rattled past. A couple walked by, laughing. A vendor pushed a cart.
But then the wind picked up again—a sharp, unnatural cold that didn't belong in November.
He felt it. His skin prickled. His instincts tightened.
It's starting.
He closed the curtains.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated. A message.
Jake:
Bro. Before I sleep… just wanna say thanks again.
Mahina loob ko? Maybe. But… I'm glad I get another chance.
See you at sunrise.
Ryco stared at the screen for a moment, then typed back:
Ryco:
Get some rest. Tomorrow's the first step.
He set the phone down, switched off the lights, and sat on the edge of his bed.
He didn't lie down yet.
Instead, he looked around the dim room. There were reminders everywhere—things he failed to protect last time. The photo of him and Jake, blurry but full of stupid grins. The old jacket he used when they were kids. The notes from that girl he wasted too much time on.
He picked up the notes, stared at them, then crumpled them slowly into a tight ball. He tossed it into the trash.
"No more distractions," he murmured.
He lay back on the bed at last, staring up at the ceiling. The cold wind whistled through a small crack in the window frame.
And for the first time since coming back…
He let himself close his eyes, knowing tomorrow he wouldn't be facing this alone.
Morning was coming.
And with it—the first real step into the new timeline.
To be continue.