The Unborn’s Apocalyptic Warning Chapter 05
The baby was clearly even more panicked than I was. This was beyond anything he’d expected.
“This isn’t right! The script is wrong! Last life, by this time the streets were already crawling with zombies! Screaming everywhere! Did I get the date wrong? Or did I get reborn into a parallel universe?”
This was getting a little too unreliable.
Dawn came. The first rays of sunlight crept through the gaps in the shutters.
Nothing. Not a single thing had happened.
I looked at the mountain of canned beef, the cases of bottled water, and felt the weight of this ridiculous stab-proof suit on my body. I wanted to die.
The humiliation was lethal. Just kill me now.
Salvatore peeled off his vest and rolled his stiff neck.
He didn’t mock me. He just walked over and stroked my hair.
“It’s fine. Think of it as early Christmas prep. We can hand it all out as gifts.”
I buried my face in the couch cushions. I didn’t want to see another human being.
Three more days passed. The sun kept shining. Everyone was perfectly normal.
Fiona and her crew camped outside my gate daily, treating the place like a tourist attraction. They’d even given it a name: “The Asylum Bunker.”
I hid inside, too mortified to step out.
My son played dead in my womb, not daring to utter a word.
Salvatore seemed unbothered, going to work as usual—though he made a point of avoiding the gawkers when he came home.
On the third night, Salvatore finally spoke up.
“Catalina, how about we take the steel shutters down? The lack of natural light is getting a bit…”
I was about to nod and concede that I was an idiot.
Then, without warning, a violent wind erupted outside.
The sky—clear just moments ago—turned black in an instant.
Rain came down like hurled stones.
The weather bureau issued an emergency red alert: an unprecedented super typhoon, “Poseidon,” had formed over the ocean without any prior indication and was barreling straight toward the city, accompanied by catastrophic rainfall.
The storm’s appearance was bizarre—completely without precedent.
Within two hours, the city’s drainage system collapsed entirely.
Floodwater surged through the streets like a beast. Cars in low-lying areas were submerged.
A substation failure triggered citywide blackouts and water shutoffs.
Outside was absolute chaos.
The same people who’d mocked me at the supermarket were now storming stores in a frenzy.
Shelves were stripped bare in seconds. A single bottle of water was being resold at astronomical prices.
Meanwhile, inside our villa:
Thanks to my two industrial generators, the lights blazed and warm air hummed from the heating system.
I turned on the TV and watched the news footage—people struggling in the floodwaters—and felt a wave of shock.
“Baby, is this the apocalypse you were talking about?”
My son was quiet for a long time, as if he’d finally regained his footing.
“You tell me—does this count as a disaster or not?! You tell me I was wrong to have you stockpile! Okay, so the species of apocalypse is a little different, but either way, this still counts!”
Fair enough. How could I argue?
Looking at the pitch-black, flood-ravaged world outside, then back at my warm, impenetrable fortress of a home—
I suddenly realized I wasn’t crazy.
I was a prophet.
The rain pounded for an entire week with no sign of letting up.
Our villa was on a hillside, so we weren’t flooded—but the road leading up was destroyed.
No supply trucks could get through.
All those neighbors who’d laughed at us were now completely cut off.
Inside the Genovese villa, the aroma of food filled every room.
I’d cooked a huge pot of rich tomato meat sauce on a portable gas stove.
Three whole cans of beef went in, plus two packets of fusilli, topped with melted cheese and fresh basil.
The smell drifted out through the ventilation port—and for our neighbors, who were desperate enough to chew leaves, it was nothing short of torture.
Salvatore sat at the table, eating canned meat he normally wouldn’t have glanced at, and decided no fine dining had ever tasted this good.
“Catalina, this is way better than I expected!”
He speared a piece of beef, face full of contentment.
“Obviously. Consider who bought it.” I puffed out my chest.
“This is called foresight. This is called having a vision and the guts to execute it!”
Salvatore gave me a thumbs-up. “You should be the godfather of this family. The real leader.”
Just then, the doorbell rang.
I switched on the video intercom. A deathly pale face filled the screen.
Fiona.