Mutation

Chapter 4: Silent Preparations

I spent the morning filling virtual shopping carts with everything I’d need to survive the apocalypse. Three heavy-duty refrigerators, three deep freezers, a range of kitchen essentials, from pots and pans to ovens and blenders—all piled in for checkout. I ordered fifty bags each of rice and flour, a hundred packs of dried noodles, and twenty cartons each of pasta, ramen, and spicy hot pot noodles. These basics alone would last for years.

I rounded out the orders with sacks of grains and pulses, twenty pounds each of dried seaweed, mushrooms, nuts, goji berries, dates, and longan. I made sure to order fifty packets of each essential seasoning—oils, sugars, sauces, hot pot bases, and yeast. Powdered milk—both cow and goat—filled the list, with a hundred packs of each. It takes up less space than cartons and stays fresh longer. Finally, I added one hundred bottles each of beer, wine, tea, coffee, and sparkling water—not essentials, but who says the apocalypse can’t have a touch of luxury?

For household essentials, I went all out: five hundred rolls of toilet paper and sanitary products to last a lifetime, a hundred units each of soap, shampoo, and laundry detergent. Clothes were minimal, just simple loungewear and sportswear for all seasons—no need to impress anyone when the world’s ending. A few sets of bedding, stacks of towels, and ten skincare kits completed the haul. It took more than ten shopping carts and over three hundred thousand yuan to clear all these items.

Moments after placing the orders, the supermarket called, offering me a generous voucher. I used it all on three hundred large bottles of purified water.

When the orders were finally complete, I sank onto the sofa, exhausted, and closed my eyes, trying to calm the adrenaline rushing through me. I even drifted off, but a few hours later, I jolted awake and bought a plane ticket. Then I dialed my mom’s number.

My mother, a retired elementary school teacher, had lived alone in a small town since my father passed away. I could only imagine her expression as I pressed the phone close, speaking with urgency, “Mom, I’m pregnant. The doctor said I might miscarry, so I haven’t told Liang’s family yet. Can you come to me?”

The concern in her voice was instant. She agreed without a second thought, and I forwarded her the flight details. “Please don’t delay,” I urged. “I’ll be waiting for you at the airport.”

By four that afternoon, the first delivery trucks rolled up. Two large vehicles, with over a dozen workers, each hauling crates back and forth until my apartment was bursting at the seams. Shelves filled three bedrooms, leaving only a narrow walkway through the stockpiled supplies. When the refrigerators arrived, they barely fit in the living room.

I looked around at the mountains of goods and felt a rare sense of calm. Outside, cars whizzed by, oblivious to the bloodshed that would soon unfold. Monday was tomorrow; the zombie outbreak would hit by Wednesday. Time was slipping away.

Glancing at the clock, I knew I couldn’t go back to the Liang household. I called my husband, Liang Zhiyong. “My office needs me to go on a business trip for a few days,” I said briskly. “I’m already at the airport.”

He muttered a curt acknowledgment and hung up, but I knew better than to assume he’d be disappointed by my absence. Through the discreet surveillance cameras I’d installed throughout the house just the night before, I watched him as he practically skipped to the mirror, grinning at his reflection, and then strolled out of the house with his phone in hand. Don’t ask how I knew; the answer was right there on my phone screen.

The solar-powered cameras would keep rolling as long as there was any light. And I’d see it all—the Liang family’s final descent, every last moment.

The next morning, I drove to the airport, heart pounding with anticipation. My mother emerged from the arrivals gate, her small frame weighed down with bags as she spotted me. Her face was flushed and she looked at me with panicked eyes, “Tingting, what happened? Why isn’t Zhiyong with you?”

I pulled her into a hug and took her luggage, saying, “Let’s talk in the car.”

Once we were seated, I turned to her with the full weight of the truth. “Mom, I’m not pregnant. Zhiyong is cheating on me, and his family is plotting to throw me out with nothing. And…soon, a deadly virus will hit, killing ninety percent of people. You need to stay with me.”

She looked at me, stunned into silence. Finally, she nodded slowly, her voice soft but firm. “I trust you.”

I never imagined that my strict upbringing would work in my favor like this. Mom trusted me without question because I’d never given her reason to doubt me. In the days that followed, she brought her years of resourcefulness to the table, thinking of things I hadn’t even considered—sustainable food supplies, energy efficiency, even the best methods for long-term storage. She had grown up during hard times and remembered what it took to survive without modern conveniences. Together, we were ready for anything.

By Tuesday, we had arranged everything. Supplies were stacked and organized, the equipment was installed, and I had reviewed the blueprint for our survival plan one last time. Outside, the city hummed on, blissfully unaware. But inside, behind our fortified doors and stockpiled shelves, we were prepared for the storm about to come.