She froze to death in the snow with half a pack of compressed biscuits tucked against her chest. During three years of the deep-freeze apocalypse, she spent all her savings supporting her husband's family. In the end, they threw her out, and she collapsed just three hundred meters from the shelter. No one turned back.
When she opened her eyes again, it was ninety days before the cold wave struck.
This time, she divorces first, then stockpiles supplies. Rice, flour, cooking oil, and grain are piled to the ceiling, and she has plenty of medicine and diesel. The cellar beneath the old house her grandfather left her is a civil-defense shelter built sixty years ago: temperature-controlled, supplied with water, and perfect for hiding things.
Her ex-husband's family is still eyeing her savings. She simply opens her ledger. Everything they took from her in her previous life is recorded, line by line. Interest starts accruing in this life.
The day the snow falls, the whole city is scrambling for supplies.
But the door to her warehouse has already been welded shut.
