The Last Ten Days, The Apocalypse Countdown

Curiosity

Chapter 8

Maria Esposito leaned against the counter with her arms folded, studying Nick with those sharp dark eyes like she was reading a recipe and deciding whether to trust it.

"So let me get this straight," she said. "You walked in here for the first time tonight, ate one meal, and now you want to know my entire cooking philosophy?"

Nick shrugged. "When someone is that good at something, I get curious. That crab pot wasn't just food. It was art."

Maria tilted her head slightly, and a small, pleased smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She reached under the counter and pulled out a sleek black card with gold lettering.

"Here." She slid it across the counter toward him. "Twenty percent off. Every visit. No expiration."

Nick picked it up. "You give these to everyone who compliments your cooking?"

"I give them to people who actually notice the difference between good food and great food." Maria's eyes held his for a moment. "Most people just eat. You actually tasted it. That's rare."

Nick tucked the card into his wallet. "Then I guess I'll be back."

"You better be, Mr. Marchetti." Maria picked up her pen and returned to her receipts, but the smile stayed on her face.

Isabella appeared from the hallway near the restrooms, her bag over her shoulder. "Ready to go?"

"Ready." Nick nodded to Maria one last time, and they headed out into the warm Bellport City night.

On the drive back to campus, Isabella scrolled through her phone. "So what's the plan for the next few days? More shopping?"

"The shopping's mostly done for food," Nick said, keeping his eyes on the road. "But I still need fuel. A lot of it. Diesel, gasoline, coal. Enough to run generators and heating systems for months."

Isabella looked at him sideways. "Months? Nick, how long exactly do you think this apocalypse of yours is going to last?"

"Long enough that nobody who isn't prepared will make it through the first winter."

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said softly, "You really believe it's coming, don't you? Like, actually believe it."

"I know it's coming." His voice was flat and certain in a way that left no room for argument. "And I'd rather spend everything I have and be wrong than save my money and be dead."

He dropped her off at the campus gates and watched her walk inside before pulling away.

The next three days blurred together like pages in a book flipping too fast.

Nick barely slept. He spent every waking hour on his phone and laptop, placing orders that would have made Fortune 500 purchasing departments dizzy. One thousand tons of diesel fuel from the largest petroleum distributor on the East Coast. One thousand tons of gasoline from a secondary supplier in New Jersey. A thousand tons of smokeless coal from a mining company in Pennsylvania. The logistics alone required coordinating dozens of tanker trucks, freight deliveries, and storage transfers across the city.

Between the fuel orders, he filled in every remaining gap on Isabella's supply list. Tactical knives and multi tools by the crate. Body armor rated for rifle rounds. Night vision goggles. Thermal imaging scopes. Industrial medical kits with surgical instruments, antibiotics, and field trauma supplies. Fire extinguishers. Welding equipment. Hand tools. Power tools. Batteries. Thousands and thousands of batteries.

And food. More food. Not the bulk wholesale kind he had already secured, but hot meals. He ordered three thousand takeout portions from every restaurant and catering company in Bellport City that could deliver within forty eight hours. Pasta, burgers, fried chicken, sushi, pizza, sandwiches, soups, everything. His spatial dimension would freeze them in time the moment they went inside, keeping them perfectly hot and fresh indefinitely.

By the early morning of the ninth day, it was done.

Nick stood in the last rented warehouse at four in the morning, alone under the fluorescent lights, surrounded by empty pallets and tire marks on the concrete floor where forklifts had been running nonstop for days. Every crate. Every barrel. Every pallet of rice and every frozen fish. Every can of gasoline and every box of medical gauze. All of it had been quietly transferred into his spatial dimension during the overnight hours when nobody was watching.

He checked the space inside his mind. It was full in a way that would have seemed impossible to his past self. Mountains of food stacked in neat rows. Fuel containers lined up like soldiers. Medical supplies organized by category. Vehicles, gear, tools, weapons, clothing. Everything a small army would need to survive for years in a frozen, zombie infested wasteland.

He closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

"That's one point two billion well spent," he murmured.

His phone buzzed. A text from Isabella.

"Good morning! Smokey is doing great. He ate four crickets and yelled at my roommate. I think he likes me better than you."

Nick smiled. He had dropped the crow off with Isabella the day before, knowing today would be too busy to keep an eye on a temperamental baby bird. Smokey had grown fast over the past week. His feathers were filling in thick and dark, and he had developed a personality that could only be described as aggressive with a side of dramatic.

Nick typed back. "Keep him fed and don't let him near any open windows. I'll pick him up tonight."

"Where are you going today?"

"A boat show."

That was an understatement.

At ten that morning, Anthony DeLuca pulled up to the Golden Ridge estate in a white Maserati convertible, sunglasses on, wearing a linen shirt unbuttoned one button too many.

"You ready for this?" Anthony grinned as Nick climbed into the passenger seat.

"Depends. What exactly am I getting ready for?"

Anthony pulled onto the highway and accelerated hard. "The Riviera Rendezvous is not a boat show, Nick. It's the most exclusive private exhibition on the entire East Coast. We're talking custom supercars that haven't been released to the public yet. Private jets. Helicopters. Military grade equipment that technically isn't supposed to be sold to civilians. And that's just the hardware."

"And the non hardware?"

Anthony glanced at him with a knowing smirk. "The non hardware is why they make you sign a nondisclosure agreement at the gate. Let's just say the bidding isn't limited to vehicles."

Nick didn't press further. He would see for himself soon enough.

They arrived at the Riviera Rendezvous grounds forty minutes later. The venue was a massive private yacht port spread across a mile of prime oceanfront property south of Bellport City. White pavilion tents the size of aircraft hangars lined the waterfront. A fleet of luxury yachts bobbed at the docks, each one bigger and more absurd than the last. Helicopters sat on a dedicated landing pad near the north end, their rotors still and gleaming in the sun.

The parking lot alone looked like an exotic car museum. Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Rolls Royces, Bentleys, custom Porsches with paint jobs that probably cost more than a house. Valets in crisp white uniforms directed traffic with the precision of air traffic controllers.

Anthony flashed a black invitation card at the gate, and they were waved through without a word.

Inside, the atmosphere was unlike anything Nick had ever seen in either of his lifetimes. The exhibition grounds were divided into sections: automotive, aviation, maritime, lifestyle, and a curtained off VIP area that Anthony pointed to with a raised eyebrow but didn't explain.

The crowd matched the setting. Men in tailored suits and open collar shirts, dripping with watches that cost more than sports cars. Women in designer outfits that covered just enough to qualify as clothing, their heels clicking on the polished stone walkways like synchronized percussion. Champagne glasses floated on silver trays carried by silent waitstaff. The air smelled like salt water, expensive cologne, and money.

"This is where old money comes to play," Anthony said, handing Nick a glass of champagne from a passing tray. "And where new money comes to prove it belongs."

Nick took the glass but didn't drink. His eyes were scanning the exhibition grounds with a very different purpose than everyone else here. He wasn't looking for status symbols or entertainment. He was shopping for survival.

They walked through the automotive section first. Custom armored SUVs. Modified military Humvees repainted in glossy black. A bulletproof Mercedes S Class with reinforced run flat tires and an onboard oxygen supply. Impressive, but nothing Nick couldn't find through regular channels.

The aviation section had three private helicopters and a small turboprop aircraft. Nick made mental notes but didn't stop.

"The real action is in the auction hall," Anthony said, steering them toward a massive white tent near the water. "Everything out here is display only. The serious stuff gets bid on live."

They entered the auction tent and found seats near the front. The interior was set up like a high end theater, with tiered seating, ambient lighting, and a raised stage where items were presented one at a time. A smooth voiced auctioneer in a charcoal suit stood at the podium, working the room with the practiced charm of a man who sold billion dollar toys for a living.

The morning lots moved quickly. A custom Bugatti went for twelve million. A restored 1965 Shelby Cobra sold for eight. A decommissioned military helicopter, repainted and refitted for civilian use, went to a silver haired man in the third row for twenty two million dollars.

Nick watched it all with mild interest, waiting.

And then the stage curtains pulled back to reveal something that made him sit up straight in his seat.

It was massive. A matte black beast of a vehicle that looked like it had been built to drive through the end of the world and come out the other side without a scratch. Eight wheels. Armored plating on every surface. Tinted windows thick enough to stop a bullet. A satellite array on the roof and a winch system on the front bumper that could pull a tank out of a ditch.

The auctioneer stepped forward with a wide smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Lot 47. The Conqueror. A twenty five ton, eight wheel drive, heavy duty off road recreational vehicle built on a Mercedes Benz military chassis. Doomsday Edition."

Nick leaned forward, his eyes locked on the vehicle.

"This monster features full bulletproof armor plating, an expanding interior living space, an independent eight thousand watt diesel generator, a five thousand watt solar array, a heavy duty fresh water insulation system, complete kitchen and bathroom facilities, and sleeping quarters for six. It is, without exaggeration, the ultimate post apocalyptic survival vehicle."

The screen behind the stage lit up with interior photos. A compact but fully functional kitchen. A bathroom with a pressurized shower. Bunk beds with built in storage. A command center with communication equipment and GPS mapping.

Anthony let out a low whistle. "Now that's a toy."

Nick didn't respond. He wasn't thinking about toys.

He was thinking about the frozen highways on Day One. The ones clogged with dead cars and screaming people. The ones that only something like this could power through when everything else stopped moving.

The auctioneer raised his gavel.

"Opening bid for the Conqueror, Doomsday Edition. Thirty million dollars."

Nick's hand was already rising when a familiar voice cut through the tent from the seats behind him.

"Thirty million!"

Nick turned his head slowly.

Vincent Marchetti sat six rows back, flanked by two friends in matching designer sunglasses, a champagne flute in one hand and a smug grin plastered across his face.

Nick's jaw tightened.

Of course. Of course his half brother was here.

And the bidding hadn't even started yet.