The beach. Mom in a cream sundress and sunhat. Dad in a white sleeveless shirt. Three faces full of happiness.
She wiped her eyes and smiled. The portrait and albums went into her space. She was leaving today. The villa would stay hers.
She missed Mom and Dad. This house held every memory of growing up with them. If the apocalypse ever ended—if—she wanted to come home.
Even to ruins.
She stored the appliances she could use. The ice makers were still running. Open them, collect the ice, store the machines too.
Three days had produced plenty. Ready for the extreme heat.
A glance at the time, then the garage. The remaining cars went into her space. Ways to escape when the world fell apart.
Everything ready. Outside, she raised a hand toward that room on the second floor. Goodbye. Then she turned and walked away.
The little truck took her to the diner. Someone else helped load the meals today. She left a hundred-dollar tip.
"Where's the guy from before? Haven't seen him today." Yesterday he'd been so excited, running his hand over her car.
"Something came up with his family. He went home." The employee tucked the bill into his pocket.
A little lifting, a hundred dollars. No wonder the other guy had been so keen.
She didn't ask more. Balance paid, then pickups from the other four restaurants. She drove into a quiet corner. When the truck came out, the back was empty.
Next, a bike shop. Forty mountain bikes. Good ones, with tough, grippy tires. Almost any terrain, short of taking them underwater.
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An order that size earned free repair tools. Four people helped load the truck. In another secluded corner, she climbed into the back and put the bikes away.
The truck had barely moved when her phone rang on the passenger seat. Uncle Robert. She let it ring.
He gave up. Then an app call. Messages pouring in after it. Her aunt. Riley. Jordan.
She grinned. There it was. They knew.
Truck returned, phone muted. Empty-handed, she strolled down the street, scanned a rental e-bike, and headed toward the airport.
Luggage in her space. Phone and documents in a crossbody bag. Boarding pass, a short wait, then aboard. She'd booked a window seat. After takeoff, E City shrank beneath her.
Six hours later, B City. Outside the arrivals exit, she turned on her phone. Missed calls. Unread messages. Too many to count.
Every bit of their panic made her happier.
She called the real estate company, got the address, and took a cab to Crown Heights. The agent had been waiting at the entrance. Introductions first, then a request for proof of funds.
Emma showed the bank documentation. Only then did the agent take her inside.
Wanting to see a place wasn't always enough. With luxury developments and villas, the agency might check whether a buyer could afford it before arranging a showing.
"Ms. Bennett, your apartment is on the twenty-second floor of Building F. Follow me, please." The agent was in her twenties, in a knee-length uniform. A figure that made even Emma glance twice.
Up to twenty-two. One apartment per floor. Private. Straight out of the elevator, straight to the front door. Keypad, fingerprint scanner. The agent opened it with a keycard.
Emma followed her inside. Warm, traditional American decor. Three bedrooms, living and dining rooms, two bathrooms, one kitchen. Spacious for a little over 1,722 square feet.
The living room especially. Plenty of room to make it a workout area.
The agent gave her best sales pitch. The apartment, the services, the security. All sure to please. Emma transferred the payment without hesitation. That stopped the agent for a moment.
Keys, then an introduction to property management. Her details registered. For now, the apartment was settled.
Spotless. Someone must have cleaned it regularly. But management had a spare key. That thought wouldn't leave her alone.
She called the contractor. Early tomorrow, please. Their agreement put her at ease. She checked her skincare and fitness-equipment orders, all headed to Crown Heights.
Most were already here. Down to the first floor, a walk around the grounds. Six buildings. Hers was F.
The parcel lockers couldn't hold her orders. Security had cleared a room just for her packages.