Chapter 3: Partners in the Endtimes
Maya arrived the next day with three color-coded notebooks.
"Red is immediate survival," she explained. "Blue is long-term sustainability. Green is intelligence gathering."
I stared at her organized, annotated pages and felt like a fraud with my scattered notes and desperate scribbling.
"I've been planning for two years," she said, reading my expression. "Ever since I aged out of foster care and realized nobody was coming to save me."
"You're eighteen?"
"Nineteen in three weeks. August 10th." A smile without humor. "Hoping to live that long."
We spent two hours combining our knowledge, and it was like watching puzzle pieces click together. Maya had tactical skills and practical knowledge. I had timeline information and pattern recognition.
"We need a base," Maya said, studying my map of Seattle. "You've circled three options. Why this one?" She pointed to an apartment building on Capitol Hill's edge.
"Four stories for height advantage. Near downtown but not in the density zone. Three escape routes." I traced them on the map. "And the novel never mentioned it, which means it either survived or got destroyed so early it didn't matter."
"The novel," Maya repeated. "You keep saying that."
Shit. I'd gotten comfortable too fast.
"The information I have... some of it's from a book. A story about this apocalypse."
"You're saying this is fiction."
"I'm saying I have knowledge I shouldn't have. The source is complicated."
Maya studied me for a long moment. Then: "I don't care if you're a time traveler or psychic or crazy. What matters is if your information is accurate. So we test it."
"Test it how?"
"Give me three predictions for the next week. Specific things. If two out of three happen, we move forward with your August 15th timeline."
I thought back through the novel's pre-apocalypse chapters, searching for details.
"Tomorrow, July 29th," I said. "Mass fish die-offs in Puget Sound. Thousands dead. They'll blame algae blooms."
Maya typed it into her phone notes.
"August 1st. Major power outage across the Pacific Northwest. Six hours. They'll say grid strain from heat."
"And three?"
"August 5th through 7th. Aggressive wildlife behavior. Deer attacking hikers. Birds dive-bombing people. They'll say rabies."
Maya wrote them all down. "If you're right about these, we start serious preparation. If you're wrong, we plan for general disaster but ignore your specific timeline."
"Fair enough."
"Good." She closed her notebooks. "Because if August 15th is real, we have nineteen days to secure that apartment, gather supplies, and not die. My diner job pays $230 a week. You have?"
"Twenty-three dollars."
"Then we pool resources and work smart." She stood. "Tonight, you come to my shift. We scout the apartment at midnight. If it's suitable, we figure out how to claim it."
"Just like that? You're trusting me?"
"I'm testing you," Maya corrected. "There's a difference. But you're the first person who's talked about preparation without sounding like a doomsday cult member. And if you're right about August 15th..." She shouldered her backpack. "Then trust is a luxury neither of us can afford to waste."
---
The prediction came true at 1:47 AM on July 29th.
We were sitting in a booth at Lucky's Diner—Maya's workplace—when she found the news article on her phone. Mass fish die-offs in Puget Sound. Thousands of salmon, herring, and rockfish washing up dead. Environmental officials baffled.
Maya stared at the screen. Then at me.
"You were right."
"First test passed," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Two more to go."
"No." Maya set down her phone. "That's enough. One might be a lucky guess. But you knew the date. The species. The location." She leaned forward. "What else do you know?"
"Too much and not enough." I pulled out my notebook. "I know broad strokes. Big events. The timeline of disasters. But I don't know enough details to save everyone. Just enough to maybe save us."
"Then we start with us," Maya said. "Come on. That apartment isn't going to scout itself."
---
Cascade View Apartments looked like every other aging building in Seattle—brick exterior, cheap locks, too many empty units. We walked the perimeter at 2 AM, checking which apartments had lights, cars, signs of life.
Fourth floor, corner unit 4D. Mailbox stuffed with two weeks of unclaimed mail.
"Empty or vacation," Maya assessed. "Either way, it's our target."
"Breaking in is risky."
"Good thing I've done this before." She pulled out a tension wrench and a pick—tools I hadn't known she carried. "Three times during my first year out of foster care. You learn fast when the alternative is sleeping outside."
The lock took her forty-five seconds.
Inside, unit 4D was dusty but intact. One bedroom, small kitchen, living room with windows facing two directions. Not fancy, but defensible.
"It'll work," Maya said, examining the door frame and walls. "Solid construction. We can reinforce this. The fourth floor means stairs are our chokepoint. Windows give us visibility." She turned to me. "But we can't just squat here for nineteen days. Eventually, someone notices."
"What if we don't squat?" An idea formed. "What if we're supposed to be here?"
"Explain."
"The landlord's probably desperate for tenants. We show up with first month's rent in cash, claim we're siblings fresh from out of state, no lease necessary. They get money, we get legal access."
Maya considered it. "That's surprisingly clever. Where do we get first month's rent?"
"How much do you have saved?"
"Two hundred thirty."
"And I have twenty-three. That's two-fifty-three. If rent's cheap enough..."
"It won't be enough for most places. But..." Maya pulled out her phone, searched rental listings. "This building. Cascade View. One-bedrooms starting at $800."
My heart sank. "We're five hundred short."
"Then we get creative." Maya's expression hardened. "I can pick up extra shifts. You can... actually, what can you do? Any skills?"
I thought about Ji-woo's office work—useless. Ethan's child labor—also useless. "I can steal," I admitted. "Not proud of it, but I've gotten decent at it."
"How decent?"
"I stole three hundred forty dollars from my former family over two weeks. Plus the knife and multi-tool from a sporting goods store."
Maya studied me with new appreciation. "Okay. Here's the plan: I work every shift I can get for the next week. You do what you do—carefully. We meet here every night at 2 AM, pool money, and on August 7th we approach the landlord with cash. Questions?"
"Just one. Why are you really doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Trusting me. Planning with me. You could prepare alone."
Maya was quiet for a moment. Then: "Because I've been alone for three years, and I'm tired. Tired of watching my own back. Tired of not having anyone to trust. And tired of preparing for a disaster I half-hoped wouldn't come." She met my eyes. "You're either going to prove me right or get me killed. But at least I won't die wondering what if."
Something in my chest cracked open. Not breaking—expanding.
"We won't die," I said. It came out fierce, almost angry. "I didn't get a second chance just to waste it."
Maya smiled. "Good. Then let's make sure we both live long enough to see August 16th."
We left Cascade View as the sun started rising, and for the first time since waking up in Ethan's body, I felt like surviving was possible.
Not certain. Not easy.
But possible.
And sometimes, that's enough.
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[END CHAPTER 3]
Days Until Apocalypse: 18
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*Author's Note: This is a story about second chances, found family, and surviving impossible odds. Updates focus on character growth, strategic preparation, and the psychological weight of knowing the future. Thank you for reading. Comments and feedback welcome!*
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