Chapter Two

Before I go to find Miller, I need to find myself a place to stay.

At 3 a.m., I arrived in a small town on the southern outskirts of Denver. It was only a 40-minute drive from Fort Carson, sparsely populated, and mostly comprised of retirees and young people working remotely. In the early days of the apocalypse, the lower the population density, the safer it is.

I found a townhouse I liked online and scheduled a viewing with the agent at 9 a.m. With six hours to spare, I found a 24-hour Walmart parking lot, reclined a chair, and closed my eyes for a short nap.

I went into Walmart just after six o'clock.

I pushed four shopping carts. Ammunition—ten boxes of .22 caliber bullets, small but easy to carry; two boxes of MRE military rations, enough for me alone for three months; five first-aid kits, each containing a tourniquet and antibiotics; twenty packets of water purification tablets; ten lighters; five kilograms of iodized salt; and also a tent, sleeping bag, hiking boots, cut-resistant gloves, outdoor knives…

The cashier looked at me like I was a serial killer.

I smiled and said, "It's a company team building activity."

She didn't ask any more questions.

I pushed the four shopping carts to the most secluded corner of the parking lot, made sure no one was around, and then placed my hand on the pendant on my chest. With a thought, the items in the shopping carts vanished into thin air, all entering my spatial dimension.

Inside, supplies were neatly stacked at the edge of the grass. The spring water still shimmered faintly; I walked over and took a sip, and my fatigue instantly subsided by more than half.

This spring is my biggest trump card.

In my past life, I used it to heal Sophia's wounds and enhance her powers. In this life, I won't waste it on anyone again—at least, not on the person Liam stole.

At 8:30, I arrived at the house viewing location on time.

The real estate agent was a girl in her early twenties, with her hair tied in a high ponytail and her cheeks slightly red from the sun. She introduced herself as Megan and showed me three apartments. I chose the one furthest in—it had a small grove of trees behind it and only one road leading in and out on the side, making it easy to defend.

"This is a good deal," I said. "Full payment, can we sign it today?"

Megan was taken aback: "Full payment? Aren't you going to look at the HOA agreement?"

"look."

She pulled out a thick stack of documents and turned to one page. The HOA chairman, Henderson, was in his sixties or seventies and a former sheriff. He required all homeowners not to stockpile "excessive" supplies—the specific amount defined as excessive was not specified, and the clause was very vague. There was also a clause: any exterior modifications to a house must be approved by the HOA.

I closed the file: "I'll offer double the rent, in cash. You talk to the landlord."

Megan's eyes widened: "Double?"

"Make the call now."

She did as instructed. Fifteen minutes later, she hung up the phone, looking dazed: "The landlord agreed. But what about Mr. Henderson..."

"I'll handle him."

After signing the contract, I asked Megan to take me for a walk around the community. It was a typical American middle-class neighborhood, with neat rows of townhouses and meticulously manicured lawns. A few elderly people were walking their dogs, and they nodded to me as a greeting.

Henderson's house was at the entrance to the community, with an American flag hanging on the door. He was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch drinking coffee, and when he saw us coming, he put down his cup.

"A new resident?" He looked me up and down.

“Ethan Cole,” I said, holding out my hand, “just bought number 17.”

He didn't shake hands, but simply nodded: "I'm Henderson, HOA President. Have you read the community rules?"

"I've seen it."

“That stockpiling thing isn’t just for show.” He stared into my eyes. “Last month, some guy stockpiled two hundred rolls of toilet paper in his garage, and we made him return half of them.”

I smiled and said, "I've got it."

He frowned, clearly displeased with my reaction. But I ignored him and turned to walk towards the pickup truck.

Megan caught up with me: "Ethan, you won't do any good by going against him. He's lived here for twenty years and knows everyone in town."

“I know.” I opened the car door and glanced back at her. “Megan, do you know the apocalypse is coming?”

She was stunned: "What?"

“Three days from now,” I said calmly, “a virus will break out globally. Those infected will turn into monsters, biting and scratching people, and ordinary people will be mutated within ten minutes.”

She stared at me for five seconds, then laughed: "Are you making a movie?"

I didn't laugh.

Her smile slowly froze: "Are you serious?"

“I’m serious.” I took my car keys out of my pocket, paused, and said, “I’ll buy you a juice.”

She hesitated for a moment, then followed me into a convenience store next to the community. I bought two cups of orange juice and handed her one. She took it and drank a sip, her eyes fixed on me.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I've been through it once."

She shook her head, clearly thinking I was crazy, but out of politeness, she didn't get up and leave.

While she was in the restroom, I drew a small stream of spiritual water from the pendant and dripped three drops into her cup. The water was colorless and odorless, and mixed with the orange juice, it was completely invisible.

She came back, sat down, and finished the rest of the juice in one go.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

She paused, then paused, "It's a bit hot... I think I drank some hot tea? But it's definitely iced." She touched her forehead. "Strange."

I didn't explain. Three drops of the spiritual spring weren't enough to awaken her powers, but they would greatly increase the probability. In her previous life, Megan was torn apart by infected on the third day of the apocalypse and died in her own home. In this life, I hope she can survive.

As I left, I looked at her and said, "Megan, take my advice. Take the next few days off and stay home. Stock up on at least two weeks' worth of food and water. Fortify the doors and windows."

Her expression became complicated: "You're not joking."

"no."

She bit her lip and nodded.

I got into the pickup truck and started the engine. Suddenly, she knocked on my window.

"What's your name again?"

“Ethan”.

“Ethan,” she took a deep breath, “if what you’re saying is true… thank you.”

She turned and walked away. I watched her back as her ponytail swayed back and forth, and I couldn't quite describe what I felt.

I learned a lesson from my past life: don't interfere with other people's fates. In my previous life, I failed to save those I wanted to save, and those I didn't want to save died before my eyes. But Megan is different—she sheltered me from the storm, and her kindness deserves a second chance.

I stepped on the gas and drove toward Carsenberg.

On the way, I thought of my past life. On the first day of the apocalypse, the National Guard received orders to evacuate civilians, but the infected came too fast. The army was trapped in the city and torn to pieces by the tidal wave of infected. Captain Miller—at that time I didn't know her name was Miller—led a small team to cover the rear and protect the civilians during the evacuation, and all of them were killed in action.

That was the first time I realized that the country's army would actually shield civilians from bullets.

It was at that moment that I regretted it.

I regret not revealing the Spirit Spring sooner.

He regretted not revealing his trump card to the country.

In my past life, I was too selfish, thinking "it's good enough to just survive," and as a result, I saw those who shouldn't have died die—young soldiers, mothers holding babies, and high school students who were still in school.

I will not make the same mistake again in this life.

At noon, I arrived at the gates of Carsonburg.

The blinding white light of the searchlights made it impossible for me to open my eyes, and a harsh command blared from the loudspeaker: "Turn off the engine! Get out of the vehicle! Hands out!"

I did as instructed.

I pushed open the car door, raised my hands, and stepped onto the concrete ground. Hot wind blew in from the direction of the desert, carrying sand and gravel that hit my face.

I took a deep breath and shouted towards the searchlight, "I'm Ethan Cole! I have apocalyptic intelligence! Let me see the person in charge!"

silence.

Then, the iron gate opened.