The Unborn’s Apocalyptic Warning Chapter 06
She lived in the villa next door. Soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her face, she looked as pathetic as a half-drowned dog.
“Catalina, open the door. Please help me.”
Her voice was shaking. Her eyes were locked on the bread in my hand.
“There’s nothing left at my place. Nothing. Can I borrow a bag of bread? Even expired is fine.”
I stood behind the thick steel door and looked at her coldly.
“Sorry—this is the home of a mentally ill person. I’d hate for it to be hazardous to your health.”
Fiona panicked. She started pounding on the door.
“Catalina! You can’t be this cruel! I’m your sister! You have all that food—what’s wrong with sharing a little?”
“Funny. A few days ago, someone called me a lunatic. Said I was running away.” I took a bite of bread.
“You really want to eat food that belongs to a crazy person?”
I switched off the intercom.
Let her stand in the rain.
People like her needed to starve before they’d understand just how vile they’d been.
Though I was merciless with Fiona, Salvatore couldn’t sit still.
He’d lost contact with the estate.
His mother’s health was fragile—she needed specific medication daily.
In weather like this, with no power or water, running out of medicine could be fatal.
The phone lines were dead. Salvatore slammed his fist into the wall in frustration.
“I’m going to get my mother.”
Looking at the floodwater outside—already thigh-deep—no ordinary luxury car would make it.
I tossed him the keys.
“Take the armored truck. It’s amphibious. Wading depth of five feet.”
Salvatore looked at the keys, eyes full of gratitude.
“Catalina, wait for me.”
He drove out in that vehicle everyone had called hideously ugly—cutting through the floodwaters like a warship. He looked incredible.
Three hours later, the truck returned.
His mother, Natalya, was wrapped in a blanket, trembling violently as Salvatore helped her inside. The butler followed behind.
The moment she stepped through the door—felt the warmth, saw the mountain of supplies, the steaming soup on the table—she froze.
On the drive over, she’d seen too much devastation.
The once-thriving city lay in ruins. People were beating each other bloody over a single loaf of bread.
And here—this was Noah’s Ark.
I brought her a bowl of hot soup and the medication I’d specifically stockpiled for her.
“Natalya, take your medicine first.”
Natalya’s hands trembled as she accepted the pills. Tears spilled down her face.
She looked at me, lips quivering for a long time before she could form a complete sentence.
“Catalina… I used to side with Fiona against you… Was I really that wrong?”
“I didn’t just side with that woman—I tried to stop your marriage. And yet you still took me in. If it weren’t for you, I might have died in this disaster without my medication.”
I said nothing. I just pushed the warm soup closer to her hands.
That was when Fiona tried to slip in while the door was open behind Salvatore.
“Auntie! Let me in too! I’m starving!”
Before I could move, Natalya rose to her feet and smashed her soup bowl on the floor.
“Get out!”
Natalya pointed at the door. “That is Catalina’s food! She bought it to keep us alive! After everything you said about her? And now you have the nerve to come begging? Get out of my sight!”
Fiona stood there, stunned speechless, mouth still working.
Salvatore simply had the bodyguards drag her out and toss her into the pouring rain.
In that moment, I felt every cent had been worth it.
The disaster continued. Half a month passed.
Conditions among our neighbors grew dire. People fell ill. Others were half-mad with hunger.
A few bold souls even attempted to scale the wall and rob us.
They’d barely touched the fence before the low-voltage electric grid lit them up—convulsing, foaming at the mouth, howling like animals.
I’d paid good money for that system. It wouldn’t kill anyone, but they’d remember it for the rest of their lives.
Salvatore wasn’t idle either. Armed and flanked by his most loyal bodyguards, they subdued the intruders in seconds.
Looking at the men writhing on the ground, I decided I couldn’t simply ignore everyone else.
Time to think bigger.
I posted a message in the residents’ group chat:
“I have surplus food and water, but I’m not a charity.”
“Anyone willing to help clear the neighborhood’s drains or take shifts on security patrol gets one day’s worth of food for one day’s work.”
Everyone was stunned.
Corporate executives. Billionaire wives. For two bags of bread, they signed up enthusiastically.
“Catalina! I’ll do it! I used to run track—I’ll take patrol!”
“Catalina! I’m strong—put me on drain duty!”
I set up a chair on the second-floor balcony, walkie-talkie in hand, directing a labor force collectively worth billions.
“Pick up the pace over there. If those drains stay clogged, we’ll all drown in the stench.”
“You—clear that debris pile.”
I became the authority of the entire community. The queen.