The agony of freezing to death jolted me awake. I blinked, realizing I was in the back of an Uber.

Rolling down the window, I felt the cool air on my face and finally came to my senses. I was reborn.

The weather was pleasant, deceptively mild. There was only a week left until the end of the world.

Today was the day I returned to Pennsylvania, one week before the Extreme Cold Apocalypse was set to arrive.

This time, I gave the Uber driver a new destination. A short while later, I was dragging my luggage into a nondescript motel.

However, I'd already called home from the airport, so my mother knew I was back. Not showing up would make her suspicious.

After settling in, I went home carrying only a shoulder bag. I told them I was just in town for a business trip and had to leave soon, but wanted to stop by for a quick visit. I added that a colleague was waiting for me downstairs.

My "colleague," of course, was a man I'd hired for this very purpose.

My mother glanced out the window and saw the tall, burly man leaning against a car. Her wariness was immediate, and her tone became much more polite.

“It’s so rare for you to be home. Why don’t you stay for a meal? Chloe, dear, could you pop out and get some groceries?” my mother instructed.

Chloe nudged Mason with her foot, then clutched her stomach and whined, “Oh, but I’m in my early pregnancy! Mom, I’m carrying your grandson. The doctor said I need to rest.”

“I can’t carry heavy things, you know!”

My mother’s concern for Chloe was instantaneous. “My mistake, I forgot! Mason, you go!”

Mason was glued to his computer, engrossed in a game. He had no intention of moving.

I feigned surprise. “Chloe, you’re pregnant? That’s wonderful news! In that case, Mom, don’t cook! Let me treat everyone to a big meal at the best steakhouse in town to celebrate!”

That steakhouse was the most expensive restaurant in the area. As expected, the lure of a free, fancy meal was too much for my mother and Chloe to resist. After a few token protests, they were dragging a reluctant Mason out the door.

I told them to head over first, claiming I’d already made a reservation. I’d meet them there after my colleague and I wrapped up our business.

Of course, they didn’t doubt me for a second and hurried off toward the restaurant.

Once they were gone, I pulled the pinhole cameras I’d bought from my bag and began installing them in hidden corners of the apartment.

As a former top engineering student, I knew my way around electronics. I took a wrench from my bag and got to work on the central heating system and the water heater, tampering with a few key components.

My sabotage ensured they would run normally for exactly six more days before suffering a catastrophic, irreversible hardware failure.

When the time came, every heating device in this apartment would die.

Later, I joined them for dinner at the steakhouse and found my mother had also invited Mr. Davies. Her excuse was that he was such a good neighbor, practically family, so he had to be there for our little celebration.

I scoffed internally at her excuse.

Oh, yes. A helpful neighbor indeed. So helpful he even kept her company at night. And she’d only invited Mr. Davies, not his wife. In a way, this meal was a chance for the real family to get together.

Still, I didn’t skimp. I ordered the most expensive tomahawk steaks and bottles of fine red wine. I was certain it would be the last lavish meal they would ever eat.

After some light chatter, I made my excuses about work and left them to enjoy their feast.

I had already wasted too much time and energy on them.

Now, I had to use my limited time to hoard supplies.

While abroad, I had already rented a remote cabin hidden deep in the Appalachian Mountains.

The next day, I went to the rental agency and signed a one-year lease.

Since I had a license to drive large vehicles, I rented a U-Haul truck.

Then, I began a massive shopping spree at a superstore.

First, I bought cases of canned goods, freeze-dried foods, vitamins, and medicines, and loaded them onto the truck—enough to last a year.

Next, I hit the outdoor section, buying a diesel generator, a wood-burning stove, a massive supply of firewood, and layers of thermal clothing. I even contacted a security installation company and scheduled them to fortify my cabin.

Leaving the superstore, I spotted a pharmacy across the street and went in to stock up on antibiotics, painkillers, disinfectants, and first-aid supplies.

Anticipating the potential for violence during the apocalypse, I had already ordered self-defense gear online: a taser, a retractable baton, a switchblade, and a personal alarm.

These supplies cost me nearly a million dollars, almost half my savings, but they would ensure I could live comfortably for a year.

The cabin had a solid stone foundation, a three-story structure with a spacious basement perfect for storing all my supplies.

To my delight, the cabin's best feature was a well in the yard, from which I could draw clear, fresh water. I immediately filled every container I could find, including the bathtub.

After that, I hired a crew to add extra insulation and steel shutters to every window. The main entrance was replaced with a blast-proof door, and all access points were fitted with fingerprint locks keyed only to me.

Just then, a delivery company called—the supplies I had ordered from overseas for my family had arrived.

Naturally, I had no intention of letting them have it. I intercepted the shipment and paid an extra fee to have them expedite the delivery to my cabin.

Because the cabin was so remote, the comings and goings of the past few days went completely unnoticed.

A week later, the Extreme Cold Apocalypse arrived right on schedule. The temperature plummeted to forty degrees below zero Fahrenheit. I sat comfortably before my roaring fireplace, sipping hot cocoa, and activated the surveillance feed from my mother’s home.

Activating the cameras, I was stunned by what I saw. The apartment was a house of horrors. Every camera angle showed the floor covered in a viscous, dark red liquid—blood—frozen into a grotesque, icy sheen. Even through the screen, I could imagine the coppery, metallic stench mixing with the smell of rot.

Oh? Did they manage to die before the apocalypse even officially started?