Chapter 4: The Last Peace

Evelyn POV

I'd finished moving the last of the supermarket supplies, shut the door, and upgraded the space.

Ding — Space upgraded to 200 square meters…

Ding — Space upgraded to 400 square meters…

Ding — Space upgraded to 1000 square meters…

Everything loaded, the space had grown past a thousand square meters — two or three big warehouses. Enough, for now.

This night San Francisco lit one lamp at a time, the moon bright, the wind off the bay cool on my face. Tonight was the last quiet night.

The next morning I folded my clothes into a box and looked around the house in Pacific Heights. I was moving into the hotel.

Glancing around, I felt a pang of reluctance. Every piece of furniture here was single-handedly furnished by my elder brother.

I stood in the middle of the room for half a minute, then my eyes opened: I wasn't coming back anyway, so if it could be moved, it was going to be moved.

Half an hour later the house was empty — pots and pans, the refrigerator, the TV, the washing machine, the beds, the bookcases, all of it.

I stowed my brother's car in the space and drove my own to a used-car lot, settling in cash.

Hours later, I came to the gas station with tens of thousands of dollars hidden on me.

I needed transport to find my brother, no doubt about it.

Gasoline was the last supply I planned to stock up.

Having done everything.

I checked my watch: eleven fifteen. The rain wasn't due until eight, so there was time.

I still had a few dozen US dollars left in my pocket. I planned to have a proper meal.

At noon I turned into a quiet alley, deep-set, green branches spilling over the wall, flowers filling my nose.

At the far end was a seafood buffet, the kind of place I couldn't afford to walk into in college.

Then — bang.

A figure came out of nowhere and slammed into me; I staggered back and fetched up against the wall.

A faint smell of blood stirred in the air.

The man on the ground was young and handsome, his face white the way a living face shouldn't be, his shirt blotched with blood, one hand clamped against his chest, breathing like it cost him everything.

He lifted his head and looked at me — brown eyes, very deep, entirely on guard.

We looked at each other for two seconds.

First rule of the end of the world: don't get involved.

I ran along the wall toward the mouth of the alley and didn't look back.

I'd barely reached it when the sirens started — police cars and ambulances screaming past one after another, as if the whole city had been set off at once.

I looked up. The sky had been clear a minute ago; now the sun was gone and the wind was scraping paper and plastic off the pavement.

Was the rain coming early?

I glanced back down the alley without meaning to. The injured man was gone.

Less than a minute had passed, and the alley ran straight through, no branches, no doors. Where could he possibly have gone?

My heart picked up half a beat. I gritted my teeth and ran for the hotel. Forget it — I needed to get as far from people as I could.

The AC was on in the penthouse suite, the couch, TV, fridge and computer ready for use.

I shut the door, took the pre-drilled steel plates out of the space with the drill and the bolts, and fixed them into the walls one plate at a time.

Ten days. Not only the flooding — whatever was going to mutate out there in the rain.

In my last life the city gained countless zombies overnight; the rain poured for ten days and the smell of blood was still enough to keep my eyes shut, while the wailing and howling climbed from the street to the twenty-third floor and never stopped.

Survivors didn't start awakening abilities until the tenth day.

After boarding up the main gate, I slumped down with my back against the door and thought of Ethan.

I had no idea what Los Angeles looked like now, or whether he was all right.

Knock, knock, knock.

Through the peephole: a hotel attendant, black eyes, a professional smile pinned to his face.

"Miss, would you like any service?"

"No."

"Of course. If you need anything, please contact the front desk."

He turned toward the elevator, and the instant the doors opened the microphone at his ear carried a voice through: "What? The guest in 1503 collapsed? I'm on my way."

I ran to the window.

The highway was gridlocked, bumper to bumper, not moving an inch; people fled in every direction, some went down, some were trampled, and the

whole block had come apart.

The virus had broken out early.

Or — in my last life it had already broken out before the storm, and I simply hadn't known, shut up inside that house for three days.

My phone kept buzzing, the building group chat pouring in: "What is going on today, police and ambulances everywhere, the streets are a parking lot!"

"Riots — people biting each other in the street, the cops are out in force!"

Then the property manager tagged me directly: "Miss Evelyn, your friend came to your house with seven or eight people. She says you gave her the key…"

I stared at the line and smiled, cold. Kayla had copied my key after all — and she must have read the door code over my shoulder the day she came by.

Let them have it. There wasn't a single bed left in that house, and ten days would be plenty for them.

I scrolled the news. Beyond the abnormal weather and warnings to step up flu precautions, there wasn't one clip of anyone biting anyone, not a single report of unrest; the internet looked as calm as if nothing had happened.

Ring, ring, ring.

As I sank into thought.My phone went off. An unknown number.

Could it be Ethan?

My hands were shaking, and it took me a moment to answer.

"Evelyn, it's your birthday today. Something's come up on my end — I don't think I can make it back to spend it with you."

Ethan's voice was low, with a note of apology in it.

Hearing it again after a whole lifetime, I burst into tears. "Ethan…"

"Evelyn? Are you crying? Who hurt you?"

His tone went sharp at once.

"I'm fine. What about your phone — did you drop it?"

As long as my brother was still alive and safe, that was all that mattered.

In this life, I would protect him no matter what.

I forced down everything that had risen up and sniffed.

"Yeah, the phone broke. This is Marcus's."

Marcus Dunn, Ethan's college roommate and closest friend. I'd met him a few times. I hadn't expected the two of them to be together.

" Ethan, listen — what I'm about to say matters."

I took a breath and told him I'd booked a high-floor room in downtown Los Angeles, that he absolutely could not stay at the airport.

I said the rain would fall for ten days straight, that in those ten days some people would mutate from the virus inside them, that he couldn't step outside the hotel and the door had to be sealed shut;

that while there was still time, he should take every dollar he had and stockpile supplies.

"Ethan, if you see anyone with bloodshot eyes, or whose eyes are red all the way through, stay away from them… and as for your friend—"

I paused, then said it anyway: better to split from him.

I hung up, my heart still hammering. I didn't know whether he would do it, or how I'd explain it if he ever asked.