Ninety Days Before The Apocalypse

The Silent Countdown

"Two hundred boxes of self-heating beef rice, three hundred orders of hot pork dumplings, and fifty vats of spicy sheep mutton soup," Chef Liu said, wiping his greasy forehead with the back of his white sleeve. He stared at the mountain of steaming plastic containers stacked high on his restaurant's back kitchen tables. "Mr. Lin, my entire kitchen staff has been cooking for sixteen hours without a break. What kind of party are you hosting that requires this much hot food at once?"

"A large one," Lin Feng replied, placing a thick stack of red bank notes onto the greasy stainless steel counter. "Is the thermal insulation wrap applied to every container?"

"Double-wrapped, just like you asked," Chef Liu grunted, pocketing the cash with a quick, practiced motion. "Though I do not understand why you insist on loading them into your own covered van instead of letting my boys deliver them to your venue."

"I handle my own logistics, Chef Liu," Lin Feng said softly.

He spent the next twenty minutes hauling the heavy crates into the back of his closed transport vehicle. As soon as he pulled the sliding door shut and locked himself inside the dark cargo bay, he focused his mind. With a silent wave of his hand, the hot, aromatic meals vanished into the vast grey space of his consciousness, joining thousands of other piping hot dishes, fresh bread, and cooked meats he had collected over the past two months. Time remained completely frozen in that void; two months from now, the mutton soup would still burn his tongue with the exact same bubbling heat.

He returned to his SUV, checking the digital dashboard clock.

August 28. Twelve days remaining.

His phone buzzed on the passenger seat. The screen lit up with a long text message from Su Yan.

*Lin Feng, my mother had to go to the clinic yesterday because her blood pressure was high. It was all because of the stress you caused our family. Xiao Ming's arm is still in a sling, and his medical bills are piling up. If you come back home now, apologize to Mother, and transfer three hundred thousand yuan to cover his hospital expenses, I will consider asking my family to forgive you. Do not let your childish pride ruin our marriage.*

Lin Feng skimmed the text without a flicker of emotion in his eyes. He deleted the message, cleared his inbox, and blocked the number entirely. He pulled out his secondary phone, a non-traceable prepaid burner unit, and dialed a regional fuel distributor.

"Manager Vance," Lin Feng said as the call connected. "Are the forty barrels of high-grade diesel ready for pickup at the North Terminal?"

"They are ready, Mr. Lin," the distributor replied over a static-heavy line. "Custom anti-freeze additive mixed into every drum as requested. But I must remind you, storing this volume of commercial fuel without a municipal fire permit carries severe fines if the district inspectors catch you."

"The inspectors will not be working after September 12," Lin Feng said flatly. "I will have my transport crew clear the bay before sunset."

He drove back toward the North Star Plaza building, watching the bustling streets of the city through his tinted windows. Pedestrians wore thin summer shirts and ice-cream vendor carts lined the sidewalk under the scorching August sun. Children laughed near public fountains, splashing in the cool water. They had no idea that in less than two weeks, the ground beneath their feet would freeze into solid ice and the fountains would explode into shattered crystal.

Lin Feng parked in his reserved basement spot, took the private elevator directly up to the thirtieth floor, and stepped into his finished apartment.

The heavy vault door clicked shut behind him with a deep, solid thud that echoed through the quiet space. Director Zhang's crew had finished their work three days ahead of schedule. Thick alloy steel plating lined every wall beneath fresh plaster, triple-vacuum thermal windows sealed off the balcony view, and two independent diesel-powered heating units sat quietly in the reinforced utility room.

Lin Feng walked into his main living area, where a massive bank of high-definition monitors hung on the wall, displaying live news feeds, local traffic cameras, and global satellite weather tracking systems.

He sat down in his leather armchair, pulling a tablet onto his lap.

A news anchor's cheerful voice filled the room from the speaker. "...Scientists at the Maritime Observatory continue to monitor an unusual cold atmospheric drop near the Arctic Circle. Meteorologists assure the public that while seasonal temperatures may drop slightly earlier than expected this autumn, there is zero cause for panic. Citizens are advised to enjoy the lingering late-summer heatwave..."

Lin Feng zoomed in on a live satellite thermal map of the northern hemisphere. A vast, unnatural purple vortex was expanding rapidly across the upper atmosphere, its edges creeping southward at a rate three times faster than official government models predicted.

He set the tablet down and walked over to his kitchen counter. He turned on the stove, boiled a pot of clean mineral water from his spatial storage, and brewed a cup of heavy black tea.

September 12. Seven o'clock in the evening.

Lin Feng stood before his thick thermal window, looking down at the sparkling city lights below. Cars moved along the highway like tiny glowing beads, and bright neon advertisements reflected off the glass facades of high-rise towers.

He blew gently on his hot tea, taking a small sip.

Suddenly, the overhead ceiling light flickered twice.

The low, steady hum of the city's power grid outside gave a strange, metallic whine, followed by a sudden drop in pitch. Down on the main avenue, three streetlights turned off simultaneously, their yellow glow vanishing into the dark.

Lin Feng raised his wrist, watching the sweep hand on his watch tick past seven o'clock.

A sharp, howling gust of wind slammed directly against his triple-pane reinforced window with a loud, rattling vibration. The ambient temperature display mounted beside his steel door frame began to change, the digital red numbers counting down with terrifying speed.

Twenty-eight degrees.

Twenty-two degrees.

Fourteen degrees.

Outside, a thick, blinding white mist descended from the sky like a solid curtain, swallowing the city below in a matter of seconds. Down on the highway, cars began skidding across the rapidly freezing pavement, their red taillights flashing in chaotic patterns as horns began to blare continuously through the fog.

Lin Feng took another quiet sip of his hot tea, feeling the warmth spread through his chest.

His primary smartphone, sitting on the glass coffee table behind him, suddenly lit up with an unblocked emergency notification message.

It was a text from Su Yan, sent through a neighbor's phone.

*Lin Feng! What is happening outside? The windows in our living room just cracked and the power went out! The heating pipes are making loud noises! Send Xiao Ming to pick us up or come get us right now! It is freezing in here! Answer me!*

Lin Feng turned his back on the frozen, screaming city outside, walked over to his sofa, and picked up his phone. He did not type a single word. He simply turned off the device, tossed it onto the cushion, and picked up his warm cup of tea once more as the first true blizzard of the apocalypse began to bury the world in ice.