I stood across the street from the wooden house where I had grown up. Ten months had passed since the night I stormed out of it. Now only two months remained on the countdown floating quietly in the corner of my vision. I had discovered recently that I could hide the timer with a thought, but right now I kept it visible. It reminded me why I was here.
The house looked the same as always. Same faded paint. Same porch railing my grandfather had repaired years ago. I stood there for several minutes before I heard sounds from inside the kitchen.
Through the window I could see my sister sitting on the couch watching her favorite cartoon. Her birthday had passed two months ago and I had missed it. That guilt sat heavily in my chest.
While I was standing there, my neighbor stepped outside his house. Joel glanced at me for a moment as if trying to recognize who I was. I raised my hand. "Hey Joel, good morning." He gave a quick forced smile and waved back before turning away. I could swear I heard him mutter, "Go fuck yourself," under his breath as he walked back toward his door. A moment later his daughter Sarah stepped outside behind him. She noticed me and waved cheerfully. I waved back just as the front door of my house opened.
My mother stood there staring at me. Her eyes filled with tears almost instantly. For a second neither of us spoke. Then she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around me. I had expected anger, maybe disappointment, but not this. My father appeared behind her a few seconds later, looking far less emotional. I had prepared a story during the drive back. I told them I had been working part time at a shooting range nearby.
Technically that part was true. I had spent countless hours there learning to use every weapon they had. Rifles, pistols, shotguns, even grenades and training mines. But I obviously left out the part where I had made billions trafficking goods and drugs across borders using a dimensional storage space. My father sighed after hearing my explanation. "At least you are doing something useful now," he said.
I spent the rest of the morning talking about the last ten months, weaving together half truths and lies that sounded believable enough. At one point I sat down on the couch and picked up my little sister. She was only two years old now.
Her soft milky smell and tiny hands clinging to my shirt filled me with a strange calm I had not felt in months. She giggled and played with my hair as if nothing in the world was wrong. For a while it almost felt normal again. Soon my father left for work and my mother followed shortly after. That left me alone in the house, babysitting my sister while the timer quietly counted down.
Most of what we would need was already secured inside my dimensional storage. Years worth of sealed food supplies, medical equipment, water purification systems, solar panels, generators, weapons, ammunition, fuel tanks, vehicles, construction tools, communication gear, and even armored equipment. I had gone a little overboard in some areas. There was even a literal tank I had purchased from a corrupt dealer in Russia and quietly stored away.
The bunker near Austin was finished as well. Construction had taken five months instead of four, but I had expected delays anyway. Dave apparently quit his job shortly after the project ended and built his own bunker somewhere on a remote island near Japan. He preferred isolation and preferred anime girls or whatever. I understood the logic, but I wanted to stay close to home.
When the outbreak began, I wanted to see what was happening in the world. And more importantly, I wanted my family close enough that I could get them to safety before everything fell apart.
"Do you want to go shopping, Eva?" I asked in the most exaggerated baby voice I could manage. My little sister burst into laughter, clapping her tiny hands as if I had just told the funniest joke in the world. She had no idea what the words meant, but she liked the way I said them. I picked her up, carried her to the car, and strapped her into the baby seat in the back of my rented sedan. The timer in my vision ticked quietly as I started the engine. Two months left. Every day mattered now.
Our first stop was a barbecue restaurant across town. I had already placed the order yesterday under a catering request. The owner was waiting outside when I pulled into the parking lot. He wiped his hands on his apron and laughed as he saw me step out of the car. "Man, that was a huge order," he said. "Cooking for a thousand people is not easy, especially barbecue." He pointed toward several large sealed catering containers stacked beside the kitchen entrance. "Your delivery truck already dropped the first batch at the address you gave us." I nodded and thanked him, pretending everything was normal.
The trick to avoiding suspicion was simple logistics. Instead of taking all the food directly home, I arranged everything through temporary catering deliveries. Each restaurant believed they were supplying a large event. The containers were delivered to my house garage in sealed catering crates, something that looked completely normal from the outside.
When the delivery trucks left, I would casually move the containers inside under the excuse of reorganizing storage space. My neighbors saw nothing unusual. Large food deliveries were common enough for family gatherings or parties.
Once the containers were safely inside the garage, I simply touched them one by one and stored them inside my dimensional space. No noise. No mess. Just a brief flicker as the objects disappeared into the hectare sized storage where time completely stopped. Cooked meat would remain fresh forever. Vegetables, bread, sauces, everything perfectly preserved exactly as they were when stored. By spreading the orders across multiple restaurants and several days, nothing looked suspicious. To everyone else it just looked like a family preparing for some large celebration.
Eva sat happily in the baby seat while I repeated the process throughout the afternoon. We visited five more restaurants. Chinese takeout, Mexican grills, bakeries, and a grocery deli that specialized in bulk meals. Every place thought they were supplying food for a large event.
Every place received generous tips, which kept questions to a minimum. Each time the food reached my house garage, I quietly stored everything away. My dimensional storage was already packed with supplies, but food was one thing I would never risk running short on.
By the time I finished the last pickup, the sun was already starting to set. I carried Eva inside the house just as I heard my father's car pulling into the driveway. My mother arrived a few minutes later. To them it looked like I had spent the afternoon babysitting and picking up some food for dinner. Nothing unusual. Nothing suspicious. Meanwhile thousands of meals now sat frozen in time inside a hidden dimension only I could access, ready for the day the world finally fell apart.
After everything was stored away and the house finally went quiet, I sat down on the couch and opened a can of cold Coke from the fridge. The metal hissed softly as I pulled the tab. I took a long sip and leaned back, letting the cold sweetness settle in my throat. A random thought crossed my mind and I laughed quietly to myself. A chilled Coke ten years into the apocalypse would probably hit dope as hell. Small comforts would become priceless when the world collapsed. That was exactly why I had spent months storing things most survival guides never even mentioned.
Most days followed a careful routine now. Sarah from the house across the street usually babysat Eva whenever I needed to leave. She seemed to enjoy it, and Eva absolutely loved spending time with her. That gave me the freedom to keep preparing without raising suspicion.
I still told my parents I worked part time at the shooting range, and technically that was not a lie. I spent hours there almost every day, learning how to handle different firearms properly. Rifles, pistols, shotguns, even heavier equipment under supervision. After that I would head to the gym to work on my cardio and endurance. Running, weight training, anything that would keep me alive when things started falling apart.
My grandfather's lessons echoed constantly in the back of my mind. Survival is preparation, not luck. I followed that rule obsessively. Whenever I traveled around the city I quietly bought small amounts of medical supplies from different pharmacies using several brokerage accounts and prepaid cards. Antibiotics, bandages, antiseptics, painkillers, surgical tools. Never too much from one place. Never enough to trigger questions. Everything went straight into dimensional storage the moment I got home. Inside that silent space the supplies would remain perfectly preserved forever.
Security around the bunker location was also progressing well. I had already set up several defensive measures around the surrounding terrain. Nothing obvious or illegal looking from the outside, but carefully hidden deterrents that would make approaching the entrance extremely dangerous for anyone who did not know exactly where to step.
Grandpa had taught me more about traps than most people would expect from a quiet old hunter. Mines, tripwire alerts, and early warning systems were placed in strategic locations far from the actual bunker structure so the facility itself would remain hidden.
Every evening when I returned home, I would glance at the countdown timer. The number kept getting smaller. Weeks instead of months now. Strangely, I no longer felt the same panic I had during the first days after discovering it. I had prepared for almost everything I could think of. Food, weapons, vehicles, medicine, shelter. Even small luxuries like soda and candy bars that might become priceless morale boosters in a ruined world.
For the first time since the timer appeared, I allowed myself to think something dangerous.
Maybe I was actually ready.