The Last Ten Days, The Apocalypse Countdown

The Estate and the Bird

Chapter 3: 

The Brabus G800 tore up the winding mountain road like a beast returning to its territory. The engine growled through the curves, and the afternoon sun poured through the tinted windows as Golden Ridge rose above the treeline ahead.

Nick pulled through the estate's iron gates and killed the engine in the circular driveway. For a long moment, he just sat there, staring at the house.

Three stories of cut stone and dark wood. Arched windows on every floor. A wraparound terrace on the second level with a view that stretched all the way to the Bellport City skyline. Around the back, a full sized garden pool glittered under the sun, surrounded by sculpted hedges and stone walkways. Underground, a private cinema with reclining leather seats and a hundred inch screen.

In his past life, Nick had never stepped foot inside this place. Elena had claimed it as her personal retreat and treated it like her private kingdom. Now it was his. Legally, permanently his.

But as he walked through each room, his eyes were not admiring the luxury. They were measuring walls, counting windows, checking insulation thickness, and calculating how many days this beautiful house would keep someone alive when the temperature outside dropped to fifty below zero.

The answer, as it stood right now, was less than one.

He walked out to the pool area and stood at the edge, looking down at the clear blue water.

"Heated water reservoir," he muttered, already mapping the conversion in his head. "Drain it, line it with insulated panels, install a recirculation pump connected to the basement boiler. That gives us drinking water and heat exchange in one system."

He turned back toward the house and started counting windows. Every single one would need to be replaced with triple layered insulating glass. The exterior walls needed an additional eight inches of foam core insulation. The basement already had space for a coal burning boiler, but the ventilation system would need to be rerouted to distribute heat evenly across all three floors.

Then there was the perimeter. The current decorative stone wall around the property was barely six feet tall. A determined person could climb over it with a running start. That needed to go up to twelve feet minimum, topped with razor wire and reinforced with steel plating on the gate.

Independent power was the final piece. When the grid went down, and it would go down within hours of the cold wave hitting, they needed diesel generators and solar backup panels capable of sustaining the entire property for months.

Nick pulled out his phone and dialed Romano Construction Group. A woman answered on the second ring.

"Romano Construction, how can I help you?"

"I need to speak with Michael Romano. Tell him it's Nicholas Marchetti from the Golden Ridge property. I have a thirty million dollar renovation project that needs to start tomorrow morning."

There was a brief pause on the other end. "One moment please, sir."

While he waited for the callback, Nick grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen and headed out through the back gate on foot. He had somewhere else to be.

About two kilometers from the estate, deep in the wooded hills of Golden Ridge, stood an ancient oak tree that had been growing for over three hundred years. Its trunk was so massive that three men standing shoulder to shoulder couldn't wrap their arms around it. A deep hollow carved by time and weather opened at the base, wide enough for a grown man to crawl inside.

Nick knelt in the dirt and ducked through the opening.

The interior was exactly as he remembered. Dry straw and dead leaves lined the floor in a thick, insulating carpet. The air inside was cool but not cold, naturally regulated by the massive trunk walls. And there, wedged between two gnarled roots near the top of the hollow, sat a bird's nest made of twigs and dried grass.

Seven tiny chicks lay in the nest. Six of them were stiff, cold, and perfectly still. Their eyes were closed. Their tiny bodies had already begun to stiffen.

But the seventh one moved.

It lifted its head with the last scraps of strength in its little body and opened its beak. A single, desperate chirp escaped, so weak it barely made a sound. Its feathers were thin and patchy. Its eyes were half shut. It was starving, dehydrated, and hours away from joining its siblings.

Nick's throat tightened.

In his previous life, this tree had saved him. When the cold wave hit and the entire world froze solid overnight, Nick had stumbled through the woods half dead, his fingers black with frostbite and his body shutting down. He collapsed into this hollow trunk by pure chance, and the combined body heat of the nesting birds, along with the natural insulation of the ancient wood, had kept the temperature inside just warm enough to keep him alive through the worst night of the apocalypse.

Those birds had saved his life. And he had been too weak, too cold, and too focused on his own survival to save a single one of them in return.

He stared at the tiny chick for a long time.

"Not this time," he whispered.

He reached into the nest with careful hands and scooped the chick into his palm. It weighed almost nothing. Its heartbeat was so faint he could barely feel it through his fingers. It let out another weak chirp and pressed its tiny body against the warmth of his hand.

Nick unzipped his jacket and tucked the bird gently against his chest, cushioned between the fabric and his shirt. He could feel its rapid little heartbeat against his skin.

"I owe your kind a debt," he said quietly to the bird as he crawled back out of the tree. "And I always pay what I owe."

He walked the two kilometers back to the estate with one hand pressed gently against his chest, keeping the chick warm and steady with every step.

The sun was beginning to set over Golden Ridge by the time he reached the back gate. The sky had turned orange and purple, and the air carried the sweet smell of summer grass and distant rain.

Ten days from now, this same sky would be black with storm clouds, and this same air would be cold enough to freeze a man's lungs solid in under a minute.

But tonight, it was beautiful. And tonight, he had saved one small life that the apocalypse had taken from him before.

It was a start.