Thirty days before the Great Scorch

Chapter Three

Daniel pushed through the lobby doors of Summit Ridge Towers and stepped into the morning sun. It was warm, ordinary, and completely at odds with the storm raging inside his head.

The neighborhood was alive with routine. Kids in school uniforms laughed and chased each other toward the bus stop. Old couples shuffled along the sidewalks pushing strollers. Women with grocery bags leaned against fences and argued about last night's reality show.

None of them had the slightest clue that in thirty days, every one of their lives would be ripped apart. Daniel watched them and felt nothing.

If he had not already lived through the apocalypse and died in it, he would be exactly like them right now. Heading to Halvorsen Group like a dog on a leash, running errands for Vivian Hale, completely oblivious to the blade waiting for his chest.

He had tried to warn people in his previous life. Nobody listened. Worse, they called him crazy. He had learned the hardest lesson a human being could learn: without law and order, people are more dangerous than any heat wave.

He was not going to waste a single breath warning strangers. Their lives were not his problem. He was not a savior, and he was not interested in becoming one.

The three-star Michelin restaurant was only a few hundred meters from the front gate of Summit Ridge Towers. Daniel pushed open the heavy glass door and the sound of a violin washed over him.

Warm lighting, white tablecloths, polished silverware. Everything whispered money.

Daniel sat by the window. The waiter handed him a leather-bound menu with a gold cover. He did not bother reading it. His finger slid down the price column from top to bottom.

"This black truffle foie gras. The Wagyu sirloin. Boston lobster. The caviar. One of each. And open your most expensive bottle of red wine."

The waiter's eyes widened a fraction. The wine alone was twelve thousand eight hundred dollars.

She scribbled furiously, sneaking glances at Daniel. Plain t-shirt, jeans, nothing flashy. She had pegged him as a nobody when he walked in. Now a small, eager light flickered behind her smile.

"Right away, sir. I'll have everything out as quickly as possible."

"Good. I'm hungry." Daniel's voice was flat, and his eyes were already somewhere else.

He really was starving. Not in the normal way. The bone-deep memory of gnawing tree bark and chewing grass roots in the previous apocalypse was etched into every cell of his body. His stomach clenched at the thought of food like a starving dog spotting meat.

The dishes arrived one by one. Glistening foie gras, perfectly seared steak, bright red lobster shell steaming on the plate.

Daniel grabbed his knife and fork and went to war. No elegance. No pretense. He stabbed a chunk of steak the size of his palm and shoved it in his mouth. Sauce smeared across his chin. The sound of chewing filled the quiet dining room like someone stomping on gravel.

The waiter's smile went stiff. Nearby diners exchanged looks, eyebrows raised, lips curled.

Daniel did not care.

When the apocalypse hits, the "refined" die first. A pack of expired ramen noodles will make grown men beat each other bloody. Manners will not keep anyone alive at a hundred and sixty degrees.

"Sir, your total is one hundred and two thousand eight hundred dollars."

He scanned the code, paid, and walked out without looking back. The waiter grabbed her phone before the door even swung shut.

"Met the weirdest guy today. Dressed like a bum, ordered a fortune in food, and ate like a pig at a trough. Sauce all over his face. Disgusting."

Her group chat blew up with laughing emojis. Nobody in that restaurant had the faintest idea that the "pig" they were mocking carried the memory of a world that was about to burn.

While Daniel was eating, rumors of his showdown with Diane Pruitt had already spread through every floor of Halvorsen Group like wildfire.

In the marketing department, Vivian Hale and Gavin Rourke sat across from each other, their feet tangled underneath the desk.

They had been classmates with Daniel at Ashford University, the so-called "Iron Triangle." Daniel and Gavin were roommates. Vivian was the campus beauty they both chased.

After graduation, Gavin and Vivian ended up in the same department. With the advantage of sitting two feet away from her every day, Gavin won her heart. But Halvorsen Group banned office romances, so they kept it secret. Even their closest coworkers had no idea.

Then Daniel's parents died and left him twenty million. Vivian, who had never given Daniel a real answer in years, suddenly said yes to marrying him.

Gavin's eyes had lit up like slot machines.

"Don't reject him," Gavin had whispered to Vivian that same week. "Keep stringing him along. He's loaded now. We just need to squeeze him dry."

From that day forward, Daniel became their personal ATM, funding their dinners, their trips, their lives. All while they laughed at him behind his back.

"Gavin, is it true Daniel cursed out Diane Pruitt?" Vivian rubbed her foot against Gavin's calf under the table, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gavin's lip curled into a sneer, dripping with the kind of contempt reserved for something stuck to the bottom of a shoe.

"Of course it's true. He was always a brainless mutt. It's not surprising he'd do something this stupid. This is perfect. He won't be able to stay in Denver after this. No real company will touch him."

He paused, his chin lifting slightly, his sense of superiority growing. "He just got lucky being born into money. Without that, he wouldn't be fit to carry our bags."

Gavin had never treated Daniel as a brother. Not once. Not for a single day. In college, Daniel's monthly allowance was eight or nine thousand, more than four times Gavin's. Every expensive dinner, every weekend trip, every bar tab got pushed onto Daniel with a friendly slap on the back and a "Thanks, bro." And Daniel, the loyal idiot, paid every single time.

"Exactly. He buzzes around me like a fly all day long. It's disgusting." Vivian's voice was sugary, but a flicker of pride sat behind her eyes. She enjoyed being chased. She just hated the chaser.

Gavin's expression shifted. Something darker moved behind his eyes.

"Vivian, did Daniel message you?"

He refreshed iMessage three times. Nothing from Daniel. That was strange. In the past, Daniel reported everything to Gavin before anyone else.

"No." Vivian checked her phone. "Isn't he closest to you? Why didn't he tell you?"

Gavin frowned. His unease was growing. He thought for a moment. "Send him a message. Ask what happened."

Vivian was reluctant, but she opened iMessage and typed carefully: "Daniel, I heard you had some trouble with Manager Pruitt. What happened? Gavin and I are both really worried about you."

She placed the phone on the desk and waited. In her mind, Daniel would reply within seconds, pour his heart out, and probably beg to see her.

Daniel was walking down the street when his phone buzzed. He saw Vivian's name and the message full of "concern."

A cold, ugly smile twisted across his face.

This was the first time Vivian Hale had messaged him without asking for something. Lately every text came with a price tag: a new SUV, a luxury trip with "a few girlfriends," and now the beach villa. In his previous life, he would have cried with happiness. He would have called her immediately, spilled every grievance, and begged for her comfort.

Now, the message made his stomach turn.

"Worried about me? You're worried about my wallet."

His thumbs moved fast across the screen: "Vivian, I couldn't stand that fat pig Diane Pruitt anymore, so I just quit. I don't want to work anymore. I'm thinking about buying an RV and traveling across America. The money I have should be enough to last me a lifetime. Let's just go our separate ways."

He hit send and could already picture the panic spreading across both their faces.

Their ATM was running away.

And this was only the first step.

When the apocalypse came, he would make that pair of backstabbing traitors pay a price worse than death.