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Chapter 3

Over the next week, Mom and I became criminals.

Well, not technically. But it felt that way, sneaking around, lying to David about where I was going, using cash for everything so there'd be no paper trail.

We started small. Extra canned goods during regular grocery trips, hidden in the garage. David never went in there—too "dirty" for his expensive suits.

But we needed more. Much more.

Mom introduced me to her friend Patricia, who ran a survivalist store an hour away. Patricia didn't ask questions when we showed up with a list that included 500 pounds of rice, 300 pounds of dried beans, and enough water purification tablets to supply a small army.

"Lot of people have been coming in lately," Patricia said, scanning our items. "Some bad feeling going around, I guess."

Mom and I exchanged glances.

"Have you heard anything specific?" I asked carefully.

Patricia leaned in. "My nephew works at CDC. Says they're on high alert for something, but nobody's talking about what. Makes me nervous." She bagged another box of freeze-dried meals. "You two are smart to prepare. Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it."

We loaded everything into a rental truck and drove it straight to Enumclaw. Dad still thought Mom was "checking on the property" for potential buyers. He had no idea she was turning it into a fortress.

I'd never worked so hard in my life. We cleaned, organized, reinforced. Mom called in favors from her old engineering buddies, and soon we had people installing backup generators, upgrading the security system, reinforcing the gates.

I paid for it all with my trust fund, set up by my grandparents when I was born. David had always resented that money. Said it made me "spoiled."

Now it might save my life.

At home, I played the perfect wife. Made dinner. Smiled when David bothered to come home. Pretended not to notice when he smelled like Melissa's perfume.

It was harder than I'd imagined. Every time I looked at him, I saw that future—me pounding on the door, him watching through the window with her in his arms.

"You seem distracted," David said one evening over dinner. He'd actually come home before nine, a minor miracle.

"Just tired," I lied.

"Are you feeling okay? You look pale." For a moment, concern flickered across his face. The man I'd fallen in love with, hiding underneath the stranger he'd become.

"I'm fine."

"Maybe you should see a doctor. Isn't it time for your annual checkup anyway?"

I forced a smile. "I'll make an appointment."

But I wouldn't. Because I knew what they'd find.

I was eight weeks pregnant.

I'd suspected for a week but confirmed it that morning with three different tests. All positive.

I hadn't told anyone. Not even Mom.

In my dream, I'd been pregnant when David locked me out. I'd lost the baby when the infected tore into me.

This time would be different.

This time, my baby would survive.