June 17, 2027, 22:50.
The phone's shrill alarm was still blaring, like an awl jabbing relentlessly at his nerves.
Lin Zhixi had just run to the bedroom doorway when the sudden alarm rooted her to the spot.
"Did you bring in the laundry? Why is your ringtone so loud?" Her gaze hadn't yet left the balcony when it fell upon Yu Molan's ashen face.
"Don't go to the balcony! Come here!"
Yu Molan roared, his voice terribly hoarse. He lunged forward and grabbed his wife's wrist, his grip so tight it felt like it could shatter her bones.
The red countdown on the screen was like a harbinger of doom, the numbers jumping erratically, speeding up and slowing down with no rhyme or reason.
[2:18]
[1:59]
The timeline was broken.
"An earthquake? How could that happen here..." Lin Zhixi stumbled, pulled off balance. She had never experienced an earthquake before and had no concept of what an intensity of six meant.
"No more questions! Get to the bed! Pull the quilt off!"
Yu Molan rushed into the kitchen, looking for water. His mind was a blur; the case of mineral water he usually kept close at hand was nowhere to be seen. He kicked a cabinet door in frustration, his foot connecting with a half-full case in the corner.
He bent to lift it, his palms slick with cold sweat. The cardboard box slipped, slamming onto the top of his foot. A sharp pain shot through him, but he ignored it. Dragging the box, which scraped and shrieked against the floor, he sprinted back to the bedroom.
Xiaoyu was still asleep, her small body wrapped in the quilt.
"Wake up! Xiaoyu!" Lin Zhixi had already thrown herself onto the bed, clutching the child, quilt and all, tightly in her arms.
Yu Molan violently shoved the half-case of water under the bed. He moved so quickly that the back of his hand scraped against the bed frame, and beads of blood instantly welled up.
"It's okay," Yu Molan said reassuringly. "The building probably won't collapse."
The countdown on the phone screen froze at [00:43].
Then, dead silence.
Only the sound of the torrential rain lashing against the windowpane remained.
"It's here." Yu Molan scrambled onto the bed, shielding them with his body, his hands gripping the edge of the headboard in a vice.
First came the sound.
A low-frequency hum traveled up from deep within the earth's crust, vibrating through the building's concrete and rebar skeleton and drilling into the very roots of their teeth.
*Huuuummm—*
The floor suddenly dropped.
The feeling of weightlessness made their hearts leap into their throats. It was followed by a violent, lateral shearing.
The entire building began to sway, like a chopstick held in a giant's hand. Yu Molan was reminded of the ferry he'd taken on his first trip to Lin Zhixi's hometown.
The wardrobe doors burst open with a bang, the clothes rail inside rattling as two shirts tumbled out. The overhead lamp shade knocked against the ceiling, making a grating sound, but it held fast.
"Ahhh—!" Xiaoyu finally woke up, but her scream was instantly muffled as Lin Zhixi clutched her tightly to her chest.
This didn't feel right.
Yu Molan gritted his teeth, his eyes fixed on the cracks spreading from the corner of the wall. A normal earthquake should be a series of jolts, but this vibration was long and sinister. It felt as if something enormous had slammed into the earth's crust from a great distance, its aftershocks still carrying apocalyptic force even hundreds of kilometers away.
The framed wedding photo on the wall crashed to the floor.
A minute passed, maybe two. Every second stretched to its absolute limit. Yu Molan's stomach churned, and a wave of vertigo so intense washed over him that he couldn't tell up from down.
The shaking finally began to subside, fading into a series of twitching aftershocks before slowly ceasing altogether.
Outside, a cacophony of car alarms rose and fell, sounding like a pack of terrified beasts howling into the rainy night.
Yu Molan gasped for air, his chest heaving like a bellows. He tried to release his grip on the headboard, but his fingers were locked into a stiff, spasming claw, refusing to straighten.
Lin Zhixi lay limp on the bed, her face streaked with tears, her body trembling uncontrollably.
"It's over... it's over..." Yu Molan's voice was raw. He reached out to touch Xiaoyu's head. His hand was shaking so badly it took him several tries to find his daughter's warm cheek.
He stumbled out of bed, his legs as weak as noodles, and collapsed to his knees.
The apartment was a wreck.
He used the wall to pull himself up and flipped the light switch. The light flickered twice, then died.
"The power's out." He pulled out his phone and woke the screen.
No signal. Not even an "E," just a gray "no service" icon. The interface was lagging badly, taking several swipes to respond.
He walked to the window, wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, and carefully lifted a corner of the curtain.
It was pitch black outside.
The entire city seemed to have been unplugged. Only the occasional flash of distant headlights and solar-powered street lamps cut blurry columns of light through the downpour.
Though it was late, the sky to the southeast still held an eerie, dark red glow. The clouds hung oppressively low, as if threatening to suffocate the city.
"Honey..." Lin Zhixi's voice, choked with sobs, came from the darkness. "I can't make any calls."
"The internet was already down. Now the cell towers must have lost power, or they're overloaded." Yu Molan forced himself to stay calm, but his heart was still hammering against his ribs. "Stop trying. Save the battery. Let's store up on water."
He fumbled his way into the kitchen in the dark. Turning the tap, he was met with a hollow hiss of air. A few seconds later, a murky, yellow stream sputtered out. The pressure was low, the flow intermittent.
He quickly grabbed a basin to collect it. The sound of the water hitting the plastic was magnified in the silent apartment.
"Get as much as you can!" he shouted towards the bedroom, his voice trembling.
No one dared to sleep that night.
The darkness swallowed time. Yu Molan sat on the sofa, clutching their only working flashlight. Its beam hit the ceiling, casting a pale, ghostly halo.
Sounds began to stir in the hallway outside.
Hurried footsteps, the scraping of something heavy being dragged, and suppressed sobs. Some people were trying to go downstairs; others were pounding on their neighbors' doors.
People were shouting.
"Was that a tsunami?"
"Don't be stupid! We're inland!"
"Did you see that red glow? It had to be a nuke, right?"
The voices, distorted and warped, traveled through the ventilation shafts, carrying a hysterical panic.
Yu Molan didn't move. He stared at the half-empty bottle of water on the coffee table, his mind replaying the logistics updates he had seen: stationary vehicles, lost signals.
All the gears had snapped.
4:00 AM.
The rain had eased slightly, but the sky remained dark. It wasn't the black of night, but rather a thick, gray shroud that no light could penetrate.
The phone screen suddenly lit up.
A cached news alert popped up, a stray bit of data from a signal that had somehow slipped through.
He tapped it open. It was a three-second video. The footage was extremely shaky, as if from a dashcam. It showed a highway. In the distance, a wall of water, black and taller than the mountains, rose to meet the sky. The image then tumbled violently, and the video ended.
Yu Molan's finger froze on the screen. He tried to hit replay, but a prompt box appeared:
[Please refresh and try again]
He turned off the screen, not daring to let Lin Zhixi see.
8:00 AM.
The sky was still as dim as dusk. The air was thick with a burnt smell, mixed with the stench of sewage backing up from the drains.
Every container in the apartment that could hold water was full: the bathtub, the sinks, even an unwashed soup pot.
It was in this suffocating silence that the knocking began.
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
It was frantic, pounding so hard the doorframe shook.
Lin Zhixi shot up from the sofa in alarm, pulling Xiaoyu into her arms.
Yu Molan made a hushing gesture. He walked barefoot to the door and looked through the peephole.
It was Old Zhang from downstairs.
The kind, chubby old man who was always smiling and playing chess in the community square now looked like a different person. His undershirt was soaked through with rain and sweat, and his messy hair was plastered to his forehead.
His eyes were bloodshot and bulging.
Yu Molan opened the door a crack, leaving the security chain on.
"Yu! Yu!" Old Zhang saw him and pressed his face to the crack, his voice urgent. A thick stench of sweat wafted in.
"Uncle Zhang, what's wrong?"
"It's chaos down there! Everyone's gone mad!" Old Zhang gasped, spittle flying onto the doorframe. "The supermarket... it's been looted. No one slept after the earthquake last night. I just went down to buy some rice, and those people... they rushed in the second the doors opened. People in the back weren't even paying, just knocking over shelves! Do you have any food?"
He shakily held up a plastic bag. Inside were only a few packets of instant noodles and an unlabeled bottle of soy sauce.
"This is all I could grab... The salt was gone, the water too. Do you have any extra food? Spare some for me, I'll pay you double!"
That wasn't the look of a neighbor asking for help.
It was the look of a dying animal—terrified, greedy, and desperate.
Yu Molan looked at the hand, the same one that used to playfully tease Xiaoyu at the community gate. Now it was tensed like an iron clamp.
"Uncle Zhang." Yu Molan forcefully pulled his sleeve away, his voice cold and hard. "We don't have any stockpiles. We haven't been out since last night; we're worried, too."
Old Zhang froze. The light in his eyes died, replaced by a wave of suspicion. He stared hard at Yu Molan through the crack in the door, searching his face for a lie.
"It's all gone... all gone..." Old Zhang muttered, picking up his limp plastic bag and turning to head upstairs.
His footsteps were heavy and shuffling, each one landing like a weight on Yu Molan's heart.
Close the door. Throw the lock. Engage the deadbolt.
Yu Molan did it all in a single, swift motion.
"He didn't believe you," Lin Zhixi said softly from the shadows of the hallway. "The way he looked at me... it was terrifying."
Yu Molan said nothing. He walked to the window and looked down below.
The stray cats that usually roamed the community's green spaces were gone. A few people in raincoats were dragging large bags and bundles as they rushed into the building entrance, pursued by others without raincoats who were grabbing at them, shouting and cursing.
The sounds were audible even through the double-paned glass.
"Daddy," Xiaoyu said, tugging on his shirt. "I'm hungry."
"Time to eat."
Breakfast was boiled noodles, without eggs, just stirred with a little chili crisp.
"Mom, do I have school today?"
Lin Zhixi shook her head. "Not today. There's no signal, so we'll just have to wait for news."
Xiaoyu smiled. "Then can I watch cartoons today?"
Yu Molan looked down at his daughter's innocent face. To her, this was just a strange holiday, a day off from school.
After they ate, Yu Molan took out the boning knife that had come free with a leg of lamb.
The blade gleamed coldly in the dim living room. It was a good knife, well-honed, sharp enough to slice through frozen meat with ease.
He spread a towel on the coffee table and began to wrap it, coil by coil, around the knife handle.
Halfway through, he stopped.
*What am I doing?*
The thought surfaced. Maybe in a day or two, the power would be back on, the signal restored. Everyone would laugh about the panic of the last couple of days. Old Zhang would go back to being the kind neighborhood grandpa, and his own current actions would seem like the ravings of a lunatic.
This was a civilized society, ruled by law.
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream tore through the air outside.
It was a woman, her voice so shrill it sounded as if her throat was being ripped open. The scream was followed by the dull thud of heavy blows and a man's brutal roar: "Let go!"
The sounds were close, just downstairs.
Yu Molan lowered his head and resumed wrapping the knife handle.
His movements were more forceful now, cinching the towel deep into the grooves of the handle. He wrapped it so tightly that it wouldn't slip, even if his hand was slick with blood.
He stood up and tucked the knife into the most accessible shelf of the entryway cabinet—a place he could reach with a simple motion while putting on his shoes.
Then he pulled open the drawer, reached in, and gripped the towel-wrapped knife handle.
The rough fibers scraped against his palm. The real, hard sensation traveled up his nerves, cold and reassuring.
Proofreader: Peter Pan