Chapter 2

The basement air was thick and stale, smelling of damp earth and mildew. Only the exhaust fan on the ceiling still gave a faint hum. I leaned against the cold concrete wall, staring at my brother.

He was wiping down a Nepalese kukri he’d found in a corner with medical gauze, unhurried—like he was prepping instruments in an operating room.

“When did you wake up?” I broke the silence.

“Five minutes before you pinned the knife into the oak table.” He didn’t look up; his voice stayed perfectly even. “I ran three surgeries back-to-back. The last patient came in with a shoulder torn down to the bone. The cop who brought him said it was an old woman who suddenly went feral and bit him.”

My brother set the kukri down and looked up. Those deep eyes met mine.

“In the last life, we got separated in the hospital hallway when the monsters poured in. I fought my way home, thinking this place was a safe harbor.” His lips curled into a cold smile. “Guess what I found.”

I tightened my fist as the memories surged.

“When the first raiders broke in, I was in the basement filling the generator.” His voice sounded like it came from a freezer. “Our wonderful father—who always preached ‘family responsibility’ and ‘elite dignity’—locked the second-floor safe room door.”

“To buy himself time, he yelled down the stairs that the doctor son in the basement had a lot of painkillers and antibiotics.”

I shut my eyes and drew a slow breath.

“Do you understand that feeling?” My brother stood and stepped closer. “He didn’t hesitate. Not even a second. He fed me to men with shotguns and machetes as bait.”

“I do.” I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Because our mother shoved me into the infected tide to run faster.”

My brother studied me, a flash of understanding passing through.

“A perfect pair,” he said, voice full of contempt. “One sacrifices a son for himself. One throws a son away as extra weight. How did we end up with parents like this?”

“So this time,” I asked, meeting his eyes, “are we going to die with them?”

“Never.” He answered without hesitation. “Last time we had a generator, food, water, weapons—and still got dragged down before the deep freeze hit. This time, I won’t make the same mistake.”

In that suffocating basement, we reached an agreement fast: we would never again hold illusions about those two selfish liars.

We’d build a real stronghold for ourselves.

“Deep in the state park, I remember an abandoned hunting cabin.” I pulled out a map and marked a point quickly. “Natural cover. And there’s an underground storm shelter with independent ventilation. With a little work, it’s a perfect hideout.”

My brother glanced at the map and nodded. “I’ve got an SUV. Big trunk. Tomorrow morning we start moving the remaining half of the garage stock—canned food, ammo, purification tablets—over there. Quietly.”

“On the surface we keep the peace,” I said coldly. “Don’t spook them. I want them to watch with their own eyes—without us, they can’t survive a single day.”

Over the next few days, my brother and I operated like two precise machines, executing the plan perfectly.

By day, we stayed in this danger-soaked house and tolerated my mother’s endless complaints about not having enough bottled water for showers. We endured my father holding a wine glass and lecturing about how “order will return.” We pretended to comply—deliberately eating some near-expiry bread in front of them to conceal our real stock of high-calorie food.

But at night, when our parents slept in the luxurious master bedroom upstairs—classical music playing softly—we moved.

With night-vision goggles on, we carried boxes of MREs, packs of antibiotics, and 9mm ammo like ants, loading everything into the SUV hidden behind the house. To avoid noise, we padded the cargo with thick blankets.

Before dawn on the third night, the first shipment was transferred.

Night was ink-black. The air already carried the stink of rot. Hands on the wheel, I drove like a ghost out of the sealed luxury neighborhood.

In the rearview mirror, the mansion—still lit up, central AC still running—looked absurd beyond belief.

“They’re still dreaming their rich-suburb lives,” my brother said in the passenger seat, watching trees blur past. “Soon as the order they worship collapses for real, let’s see if they can still wash face cream with bottled water.”

I didn’t argue.

I smiled slightly and floored the gas.

With the engine’s low growl, the SUV swerved past a few staggering infected and raced into the depths of the state park.

A new base was waiting for us in the dark.