Chapter 7: When the Floodwater Dropped
Evelyn POV
I’m going to put all of this into my storage space.
Countless zombies still crowd the doorway, slamming and pounding against the gate.
But that doesn’t stop me from scavenging supplies.
Canned food, water, bandages, tools, batteries, hygiene kits. I’m taking all of them.
Halfway through, the ring warmed.
A soft mechanical hum sounded in my head.
"Space upgrade complete. Current capacity: 1,500 square metres."
I glanced at what was left and felt my mouth twist. Guns would've been better. Medical supplies. It wasn't.
I kept going.
I came to a halt in front of a row of shelves.
At the far end stood a row of tall double-door cabinets.except the crushed crisp packets and flattened water bottles scattered on the floor.
The cabinet door stayed shut tight, and a foul stench hung thick in the air.
Worst of all, every last snack bag was empty.
Whoever might be inside that cabinet, I only prayed it wasn’t a zombie. Besides, someone got here first. I was just borrowing space. There was no good reason to go poking around and disturb them.
Survival rule for the apocalypse: don’t meddle in other people’s business.
I stepped round it and carried on.
I set the baseball bat on the floor.
The white light wrapped around it faded instantly.
I frowned, staring at my palms. Ever since I was struck by lightning, I hadn’t gotten the chance to figure out what that glow on the bat really was.
It looked somewhat like lightning. Could I have awakened a lightning ability?
But wasn’t I supposed to be useless?
In my last life, lightning ability users were extremely rare. They ranked among the top powerhouses at every survivor base.
And yet here I was…
The memory of that fire-trailing lightning bolt flashed through my mind. Crackling sounds erupted all around me.
A cluster of white light burst forth from my palm, writhing and flickering nonstop. A tingling sensation spread through my hand.
“This…” I whispered in disbelief.
An ability. I had truly awakened an ability!
This was wonderful.
I dismissed the white light and sat quietly.
Excitement surged within me and refused to settle. This time around, I would definitely survive.
Past midnight, the rain stopped.
Thunder rolled away. Pale light seeped through the broken vent.
On the tenth morning, I climbed the shelves and peered out.
The clouds were breaking. A shaft of sunlight slanted across the street.
The floodwater had dropped, leaving thick grey-brown sludge. The stench reached me even through the gap. Shapes rotted in the mud below.
Helicopters rose into the sky, rotors thumping.
I watched them head out. My mouth pulled at the corner.
People with money and pull always found a way out.
A second later, a black cloud of birds exploded from the high-rises and swarmed one helicopter. A blast. Fire bloomed. Wreckage dropped, trailing smoke.
The birds' eyes were all red. They dove straight into the flames, tearing at the debris.
Still, other helicopters kept moving. People didn't stop running just because others died.
Once the floodwaters receded.
On the ground, figures waded through waist-deep mud toward the city's edge. Others clustered on rooftops, waving fabric at the sky.
The whole city sank beneath muck, rot stinging my nose at every breath. I had no idea how many zombie corpses lay buried underneath that sludge.
There wasn't going to be a rescue. Last time I'd waited just like them, curled in a corner for days. What came wasn't helicopters. It was more dead.
It had been a devastating blow. The virus had spread across the globe, leaving everyone to fend for themselves. There was no one we could count on. Survival depended only on ourselves.
A loudspeaker crackled outside.
"Emergency notice, emergency notice—rescue teams have arrived at San Francisco City Hall. All survivors proceed immediately to City Hall for helicopter evacuation…"
It looped. Loud and clear.
I narrowed my eyes.
Limited range, but enough. Just enough to give nearby survivors hope. That's all it took to set the whole city off.
Last time we heard something like this. Jumped straight into the mud, stumbled all the way to City Hall. When we got there—no helicopters, no rescue. Just a horde drawn by the crowd. We lit the fuse. The real winners staked out safe zones beforehand and looted while everyone else died.
Footsteps echoed outside. Screaming picked up. The dead poured toward City Hall, pulled by the noise. Bodies—living and dead—churned together in the sludge.
I stood and watched. One thought: get out before it reached this building.
Outside, I spotted a group slipping from the side entrance, sprinting toward the Bay Area military base. One got dragged down. The others didn't look back.
I recognised the tactic. First ones to secure the base. Pull the horde toward City Hall, slip back while the route's clear.
I didn't judge.
Survival didn't ask for morals. Last time I'd picked up a weapon in pure desperation, lost every soft part of myself in blood and mud, and still ended up worse than the walking dead.
Having lived two lives now, I still couldn’t stand the way those people acted.
But I knew: I had to reach the base. Weapons, bunkers—everything I needed was there.
A soft sound came from inside the room.
I spun round.
The locker—the one with the crisp packets—swung open.
A woman climbed out, slow and shaking. Ponytail, black-framed glasses, filthy. She clutched a laptop to her chest.
We stared at each other.
I sized her up. Thin, ordinary-looking. Locked herself in that cramped box for ten solid days. Eating, drinking, everything—right in there. Just to stay alive.
Before either of us spoke, a scream tore through the corridor.
