Warehouse of the Apocalypse

On New Year’s Eve, my fiancee, Delilah Carrington, left me to freeze to death in subzero snow.

As my body went numb, she was wrapped in the military coat I had found for her, curled up in Everett Kingsley’s arms while eating the holiday groceries I had paid for.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back before everything fell apart.

So when she called—cold, demanding, rattling off a shopping list like I owed her—I hung up, blocked her number, and made my move.

I sealed off Blackridge Logistics Hub, the largest logistics hub in the country.

Stockpiling supplies?

Pointless.

Because my coworkers and I had more packages than we could ever open: seafood delicacies, premium cigars, top-shelf liquor, and industrial generators.

Hundreds of millions of shipments meant for the holidays were now all mine.

Inside a warehouse kept at a steady 26°C, I ate wagyu steak and watched the world collapse through surveillance feeds.

I witnessed Delilah’s entire family tear each other apart over half a moldy pack of crackers.

I thought I could live like this forever.

I was wrong.

In the apocalypse, the most dangerous thing isn’t what’s waiting outside. It’s the people who refuse to stop playing the hero.

"Declan Mercer! What kind of garbage cherries did you send over yesterday? I bit into one, and it almost cracked my tooth! Did you do that on purpose?"

Delilah Carrington’s sharp, entitled voice pierced through the phone, grating against my ears.

I stared at the mountain of shipping orders piled in front of me, my irritation rising.

Right before the holidays, the logistics hub was a war zone. As the manager, I wished I could split myself into eight just to keep up.

I rubbed my temples and forced my tone into something gentler. "Sorry, alright? I’ll get you a fresh box today. Top-tier. Guaranteed sweetness."

"That’s more like it." She snorted, then spent another ten minutes complaining about trivial things, like how her dog was in a bad mood today, before finally hanging up.

I leaned back in my chair, exhausted, and casually unlocked my phone to check the weather.

A breaking international headline popped up: "Unprecedented Decline in Solar Activity Triggers Sudden Flash Freezes Across the Globe".

In the video, a fountain in some European town froze solid within seconds, turning into a pillar of ice.

What the hell.

I swiped it away without a second thought.

All I cared about was whether it would affect the flight carrying the batch of Australian lobsters I’d ordered for Delilah.

I got up to do a routine inspection of the warehouse. The moment I stepped into the open loading zone, a strange gust of wind hit me, cold enough to make me shiver.

A few coworkers were pointing up at the sky.

"Boss, look at those birds!"

I glanced up.

A flock of migrating birds flying south suddenly broke formation. Then, one after another, several of them dropped straight out of the sky, hitting the ground with dull thuds not far away.

My heart skipped.

Was that news report actually real?

I was about to send someone to check when Branson Crowe, the long-haul driver, came stumbling in from outside, half-crawling, half-running. His face was coated in frost, his lips tinged purple.

"Boss! Boss! Something’s wrong!

"On the highway! The trucks… They just shut down on their own! The diesel in the tanks has turned into slush! It’s freezing out there. It's unnaturally cold!"

Still shaking, he reached for the metal railing beside him.

The moment his fingers touched it, a thin layer of ice spread instantly from the contact point. The skin on his fingertips turned a dark purplish-black right before my eyes.

I staggered back in shock.

The news was real.

I spun around and bolted for the office. My first instinct was to lock the doors.

Outside the massive warehouse shutters, the screech of car crashes and people screaming overlapped into chaos.

I looked out through the window.

People on the street were running. Then, just like those birds, they dropped stiffly to the ground, their bodies rapidly frosting over.

At that moment, my phone started ringing like crazy.

Delilah.

I answered.

On the other end, she was screaming.

"Declan! Where the hell are you? Mr. Kingsley's villa just lost power. Get our down jackets and a generator over here right now!"