Nearly five years had passed since Michael Carter had moved to Austin, Texas. What started as a retirement plan after decades of service in special operations had become something different. He hadn't said it outright to Joel or anyone else, but every decision he made since hanging up his uniform had been guided by one gnawing thought: The world is going to break. And when it does, I'm going to be ready.
Michael never told Joel the full story of the things he'd seen overseas. Pandemics whispered about in the backrooms of briefing centers, villages emptied out by strange fungal infections that were dismissed in official reports, or classified after-action notes about "behavioral abnormalities" in civilians. He had filed those details away in his mind and, quietly, started preparing.
At first, it looked harmless enough. Extra canned food, water drums in the garage, a gun safe stocked with more than a hunter would ever need. Joel joked about it when they were drinking on the porch: "Hell, Mike, what are you waiting for, the end of the world?" Michael just laughed, the same noncommittal chuckle he always gave, and let Joel believe it was a quirk of an old soldier who didn't know how to sit still.
But over time, the habits deepened. Michael learned which hardware stores restocked generators without fuss, which feed stores carried powdered grain, which local farmers would trade quietly. He practiced rotations with his supplies so nothing spoiled. He had a plan, even if he never admitted it.
Sarah grew used to seeing Michael around. Sometimes he'd help with school projects, other times he'd walk her through basic first aid because "it's a good skill to know." Joel teased him about trying to turn Sarah into a soldier, but Sarah didn't mind. She thought Michael was strange in a quiet, comforting way. Unlike her father, who often carried his frustrations in silence, Michael's silence felt intentional, like he was always observing, always ready.
Then came the news broadcasts.
It started small, background noise no one paid much attention to. A farmer in Jakarta had died after being bitten by a strange insect. A factory had been shut down because of a "contaminant" in its food supply. A scientist on a late-night talk show warned about fungi mutating, spreading in ways that used to be impossible.
One evening, Sarah was sprawled on the couch flipping through channels when she paused on a panel interview. Two scientists sat under harsh studio lights, arguing.
"…the real threat isn't bacteria or viruses," one of them said firmly, his accent thick. "It's fungi. You don't understand these organisms can manipulate their hosts. They can survive in conditions we once thought impossible. All it takes is a small change in global temperature for them to adapt to human bodies."
The host laughed nervously. "You're saying mushrooms are going to end humanity?"
"I'm saying," the scientist replied, his voice sharp, "if a fungus that can control ants can evolve to tolerate human body heat, then yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."
Sarah turned to Joel. "That's gross."
Joel shook his head. "People say all kinds of things to scare you on TV."
But Michael didn't laugh. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the screen. He remembered briefing papers from years ago, sealed folders stamped with Top Secret. Villages burned, populations quarantined. The official explanations never matched what his unit had seen.
Sarah noticed his expression. "Michael… you look like you believe him."
Michael forced himself to smile. "Sometimes scientists like to imagine the worst. Doesn't mean it'll happen." He switched the channel before Joel noticed how tense his knuckles had gone.
Over the following months, the reports grew harder to ignore. Supply chains broke down in parts of Asia because of sudden factory shutdowns. There were strange accidents, traffic pileups in cities where witnesses swore people had "gone crazy" behind the wheel. Social media was flooded with conspiracy theories. Joel dismissed it all as noise. But Michael watched carefully, comparing each incident to the patterns he'd studied long ago.
By the fourth year, Michael had hardened his plan. His house was stocked like a fortress, but he knew he couldn't do it alone. Quietly, he nudged Joel to fix up the truck, to buy a few more tools than they really needed. He taught Sarah to shoot with a .22 rifle, disguising it as a weekend hobby. When Joel protested, Michael said, "Better she learns with us than with some idiot later." Joel grumbled, but he let it slide.
And still, life went on. School plays, birthdays, Friday nights watching movies in Joel's living room. Sarah grew taller, her smile brighter, her questions sharper. Joel kept working long hours on construction jobs. To anyone else, they looked like a normal family with a slightly odd neighbor who was always around.
Then came the broadcast that shook Michael to his core.
It was a morning news special, airing footage from overseas. Grainy videos showed men in hazmat suits dragging thrashing civilians into trucks. The anchor explained it as "violent riots caused by contaminated food supplies," but Michael saw the truth. The way the people moved jerky, unnatural, as if something else controlled their bodies was too familiar.
The camera caught one horrifying moment: a woman slammed her head again and again into a steel door until blood spattered, then turned on a man beside her, teeth bared. The feed cut away almost immediately.
Joel muttered, "Jesus Christ…" but Michael was already on his feet, pacing. His chest felt heavy, the way it had before firefights. He knew what he had seen. The fungus was here, spreading.
Sarah looked between them, unsettled. "Michael, what was that?"
Michael hesitated. The words nearly slipped out This is it. This is the thing I've been waiting for. But he swallowed them down. No one would believe him yet. Not Joel, not Sarah. Not until it was too late.
Instead, he said carefully, "Sometimes people panic when things get bad. But we'll be fine. That's far away."
But in his gut, he knew the storm was no longer far away. It was at their doorstep.
That night, Michael checked his storage for the hundredth time. Food. Water. Ammunition. Medical kits. Maps with routes marked in red. He stared at the neat rows and felt no comfort, only the weight of inevitability. Five years of preparation, and still he wondered if it would be enough.
Outside, the world was still pretending everything was normal. Kids played in the street. Neighbors grilled steaks on their patios. Joel strummed his guitar while Sarah hummed along.
But Michael couldn't unsee the images from the news. He couldn't unhear the warnings of scientists who were laughed off stage. He knew what was coming. And for the first time in years, he felt a chill of doubt run through him.
Because knowing something was coming, and surviving it when it arrived, were two very different things.
And the world had only days left to find out which it would be.