Raindrops struck the glass and slid down it. Emma raised her binoculars to inspect the complex. She couldn't see clearly.
Building management sent a warning to stay indoors. Manhole covers in the street had been opened. Anyone outside risked falling into a drain.
The residents' group chat was busy.
B-401: It's pouring, and my husband still isn't home from work. Sigh.
A-601: Mine either. He'll probably have to work late, too.
F-1602: My child's still at school. The school bus can't get through this rain.
F-1101: Same here. I was a little late leaving work. It started raining as soon as I got home. Who knows when it'll stop?
...
Emma read the messages. If the school was nearby, they needed to go now. This was their best chance. Wait any longer, and even reaching the children would become difficult.
F-2201: This doesn't look like it'll stop soon. It's getting heavier. If you're picking up your kids, you'd better go now.
She typed the message and sent it.
A-101: Stop talking. Someone get management for me! The first floor's flooding!
The resident posted several videos and photos from inside the apartment. Emma opened them.
"It's flooded. Can't even put a foot down. I'm shutting the power off." In the video, a barefoot man stood at his breaker panel, cutting the power. Water covered the tops of his feet.
That was the right thing to do. If floodwater reached live wiring, he could die before he knew what had happened.
E-102: Management's at my place. I'm flooding too. I should've bought a higher floor.
Several videos followed. Two middle-aged maintenance workers in blue uniforms crouched on the floor, fitting boards across the doorway to keep out the water.
F-101: [Video]
Emma opened it. Two young men were sweeping water out with brooms. Moments later, it poured back inside.
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They were visibly exhausted. The video ended with a broom slipping from someone's hand.
B-102: Can somebody help? Is there a doctor? My child got an electric shock!
That message burned through the mothers' remaining hesitation.
D-1001: I'm going to pick up my child now. Anyone else going to XX Preschool?
Over a dozen people replied. They arranged to meet at the complex entrance. After that, the chat fell quiet, apart from the first-floor residents still posting videos.
B-102: @Crown Heights Management
No one replied.
It grew darker. Emma checked a thermometer. The temperature had fallen from about ninety degrees to seventy-five.
Lucky trotted back with a ball in its mouth and dropped it into her hand. She threw it, and the little cub fetched it again. They played together.
Emma watched its ridiculous, happy expression.
She took snacks from her space and picked plenty of fruit. Lucky carried its ceramic plate over and set it by her feet. She filled it with some dried meat and fruit.
She resumed the show she'd been watching earlier, snacking as she watched. After three episodes, she picked up her phone and opened the group chat.
The mothers were chatting again. Apparently, they'd brought their children home.
Emma scrolled back through the messages.
C-502: That child in Building B died. The one who got shocked. Already cold by the time they reached the hospital.
No one had helped. With her husband still at work, the mother had carried the child to the hospital alone. The child had died when the shock happened. She was still at the hospital.
A-101: [Video]
Emma opened it. The man stood in his living room with water up to his knees, still rising. Boards blocked the doorway, but the water had already overtopped them.
For the first-floor residents, there was no relief. Management posted video after video of emergency repairs. They were already stretched thin.
Emma stretched, washed up, and went to bed. Lucky lay on her stomach, licking a paw. "Good night."
For days, she'd either been stockpiling or on her way to the next purchase. At last she could stop. She slept better than she had in days.
Lucky licked her awake. Big cat or not, it was still a feline. She took hold of the loose skin behind its neck with practiced ease. "All right, all right. I'm getting up."
She put chicken breast through a food processor, cracked in two eggs, and added dried fish. "Eat up."
Lucky ate with its little rear end raised, making happy noises. Emma took pork from her space and sliced it into strips. She might not be much of a cook, but her knife work was good.
Next came scallions, ginger, and garlic. Pleased with the neat cuts, she watched a recipe video, heated oil in a pan, and added the pork. She was trying a simple pork-and-pepper skillet.
After some effort, Chef Bennett decided on takeout.
She took out some jambalaya she'd bought at the night market. That was good. Paired with her pork and peppers, it tasted a little odd, but she could eat it.
She wasted nothing. It was cooked. That made it edible.
[Author's note: Writing a book isn't easy. Please don't leave malicious reviews. I'm a beginner, and there are plenty of accomplished apocalypse writers out there. If this story isn't for you, you can close it and read theirs.]
[Author's note: I'll keep learning and working harder.]
[Author's note: This is an imagination-driven power fantasy, not a story built around strict logic.]