My Cruel Family's Cold Apocalypse

I scoffed internally at her excuse.

Oh, yes. A helpful neighbor indeed. So helpful he even kept her company at night. And she’d only invited Mr. Davies, not his wife. In a way, this meal was a chance for the real family to get together.

Still, I didn’t skimp. I ordered the most expensive tomahawk steaks and bottles of fine red wine. I was certain it would be the last lavish meal they would ever eat.

After some light chatter, I made my excuses about work and left them to enjoy their feast.

I had already wasted too much time and energy on them.

Now, I had to use my limited time to hoard supplies.

While abroad, I had already rented a remote cabin hidden deep in the Appalachian Mountains.

The next day, I went to the rental agency and signed a one-year lease.

Since I had a license to drive large vehicles, I rented a U-Haul truck.

Then, I began a massive shopping spree at a superstore.

First, I bought cases of canned goods, freeze-dried foods, vitamins, and medicines, and loaded them onto the truck—enough to last a year.

Next, I hit the outdoor section, buying a diesel generator, a wood-burning stove, a massive supply of firewood, and layers of thermal clothing. I even contacted a security installation company and scheduled them to fortify my cabin.

Leaving the superstore, I spotted a pharmacy across the street and went in to stock up on antibiotics, painkillers, disinfectants, and first-aid supplies.

Anticipating the potential for violence during the apocalypse, I had already ordered self-defense gear online: a taser, a retractable baton, a switchblade, and a personal alarm.

These supplies cost me nearly a million dollars, almost half my savings, but they would ensure I could live comfortably for a year.

The cabin had a solid stone foundation, a three-story structure with a spacious basement perfect for storing all my supplies.

To my delight, the cabin's best feature was a well in the yard, from which I could draw clear, fresh water. I immediately filled every container I could find, including the bathtub.

After that, I hired a crew to add extra insulation and steel shutters to every window. The main entrance was replaced with a blast-proof door, and all access points were fitted with fingerprint locks keyed only to me.

Just then, a delivery company called—the supplies I had ordered from overseas for my family had arrived.

Naturally, I had no intention of letting them have it. I intercepted the shipment and paid an extra fee to have them expedite the delivery to my cabin.

Because the cabin was so remote, the comings and goings of the past few days went completely unnoticed.

A week later, the Extreme Cold Apocalypse arrived right on schedule. The temperature plummeted to forty degrees below zero Fahrenheit. I sat comfortably before my roaring fireplace, sipping hot cocoa, and activated the surveillance feed from my mother’s home.

Activating the cameras, I was stunned by what I saw. The apartment was a house of horrors. Every camera angle showed the floor covered in a viscous, dark red liquid—blood—frozen into a grotesque, icy sheen. Even through the screen, I could imagine the coppery, metallic stench mixing with the smell of rot.

Oh? Did they manage to die before the apocalypse even officially started?