The Betrayal Relived

The last thing Mira remembered was the cold bite of betrayal sinking deeper than the zombie teeth tearing into her flesh. Lila's smug laughter, Jace's averted gaze, the way they'd stood at the boarded-up window of her own apartment, watching her scream as the horde dragged her down—they'd stolen everything from her. Her rations, her weapons, her shelter, her life. She'd trusted them, loved them, and they'd fed her to the end of the world without a flicker of remorse. The pain had been blinding, a searing white-hot agony that swallowed her whole—until it wasn't.

Now, she jolted awake, gasping, her hands clawing at sweat-soaked sheets. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that didn't match the stillness around her. No guttural moans of the undead, no splintering wood, no stench of rot and blood. Just the hum of a refrigerator, the faint glow of streetlights seeping through her blinds, and the familiar creak of her old mattress. She blinked, disoriented, her fingers trembling as they brushed across her skin—smooth, unbroken, alive.

"What…?" Her voice cracked, hoarse from a scream she hadn't loosed this time. She swung her legs over the bed's edge, bare feet hitting the hardwood floor of her tiny studio apartment. The clock on her nightstand blinked 3:17 a.m., its red digits casting an eerie glow. She stumbled to the mirror propped against the wall, her reflection staring back—wide hazel eyes, tangled brown hair, a face unmarred by scars or exhaustion. No gashes, no claw marks, no evidence of the nightmare she'd just lived through.

Or had she?

Mira pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the steady thud of her pulse. It didn't make sense. She'd died. She'd felt every excruciating second of it—the zombies' jagged nails ripping through her jacket, the weight of their decaying bodies pinning her down, the betrayal slicing deeper than any wound. Lila, her best friend since high school, and Jace, the boyfriend she'd stupidly thought might propose one day, had turned on her when the world fell apart. Three months into the apocalypse, when the virus swept through the city and the dead started walking, she'd let them in. She'd shared her stockpiles, her sanctuary, her hope. And they'd repaid her by kicking her out into the street, injured and defenseless, to save their own skins.

But this—this was her apartment, exactly as it had been before the chaos. The chipped coffee mug on her counter, the stack of unpaid bills by the door, the faded floral curtains she'd meant to replace. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, the screen lighting up with the date: November 23, 2024. Three months before the first news reports of the virus. Three months before the world ended.

A ragged laugh escaped her, sharp and bitter. "No way. No damn way." She pinched her arm, hard, wincing at the sting. Not a dream. Not a hallucination. She'd gone back. Somehow, impossibly, she'd been given a second chance.

Her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, the phone clattering beside her. Images flashed behind her eyes—Lila's fake tears as she'd begged for a bigger share of the canned goods, Jace's muttered excuses as he'd hefted Mira's rifle over his shoulder. They hadn't even tried to save her when she'd twisted her ankle running from the horde. They'd just watched, safe behind her reinforced door, as the zombies closed in. She could still hear Lila's voice, syrupy sweet: "We can't risk it, Mira. You understand, right?"

"Understand?" Mira whispered to the empty room, her hands curling into fists. "Oh, I understand now."

Anger surged through her, hot and electric, chasing away the shock. She wasn't the same naive fool who'd trusted too easily, who'd thought love and friendship could survive the end of days. This time, she knew what was coming—the virus, the monsters, the collapse of everything. And this time, she'd be ready. Not just to survive, but to make them pay.

She hauled herself to her feet, purpose steadying her trembling limbs. First, she needed to confirm this wasn't some cruel trick. She flicked on the TV, the late-night news droning about a minor earthquake in the Midwest, a flu outbreak in Europe, nothing alarming yet. Normal. Too normal. She scrolled through her phone—texts from Lila about meeting up for coffee tomorrow, a selfie from Jace at the gym, all dated months before the apocalypse hit. It was real. She was back.

"Okay," she muttered, pacing the small space. "Three months. Ninety days to prepare." Her mind raced, cataloging what she'd need: food, water, weapons, a stronghold. She'd been caught off guard last time, scrambling to fortify her apartment with whatever she could find. This time, she'd build something unbreakable, somewhere they couldn't touch her. And when Lila and Jace came crawling back—because they would, she knew their cowardice—she'd turn the tables.

A memory surfaced, sharp and jagged: the day the outbreak started, February 23, 2025. She'd been at the grocery store, watching people panic-buy toilet paper and bottled water as the first reports trickled in. By nightfall, the streets were a war zone, the infected shambling out of alleyways, screams echoing through the city. She'd barely made it home, locking herself in with what little she had. That wouldn't happen again.

Mira grabbed a notebook from her desk, flipping it open to a blank page. She scribbled furiously, her pen digging into the paper. *Canned goods. Water purifiers. First aid kits. Gasoline. Tools. Guns.* She paused, tapping the pen against her lips. Guns would be tricky—she didn't have a license, and legal channels took time. But she knew a guy, a shady mechanic named Tony who'd bragged about his "connections" at the bar last summer. He'd be her first stop.

Her gaze drifted to the window, the city skyline dark and peaceful beyond the glass. It was a lie, that peace. Beneath it, the world was already rotting, waiting to erupt. She'd seen the signs last time—small quakes, weird animal behavior, hushed government statements—but she hadn't understood until it was too late. Now, she did. And she'd use every second of this borrowed time to her advantage.

A ping from her phone jolted her from her thoughts. A new text from Lila: *Hey girl, still on for coffee tomorrow? Missed u lately!* Mira's lip curled, her thumb hovering over the screen. Every instinct screamed to block her, to cut them both out now, but she stopped herself. No. She'd play along, keep them close enough to watch them squirm when the truth hit. She typed back, forcing her fingers to stay steady: *Sure, 10 a.m. at Brew Haven. See you then.*

She tossed the phone onto the couch, disgust twisting her stomach. Coffee with Lila, like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't laughed while Mira bled out. The thought fueled her, stoking the fire in her chest. She turned back to her list, adding *reinforce doors* and *find a new location*. Her apartment was a death trap—too small, too central, too easy for the horde to overrun. She needed somewhere remote, defensible. An old warehouse, maybe, or one of those abandoned farmhouses on the city's outskirts.

The clock ticked toward 4 a.m., but sleep was a distant memory. She brewed a pot of coffee, the bitter scent grounding her as she poured over her plans. Every sip sharpened her resolve, the caffeine humming through her veins. She'd need money—lots of it—to pull this off. Her savings were meager, a few thousand from her dead-end receptionist job. She'd have to get creative, maybe sell some stuff, pick up extra shifts, hustle whatever she could. Three months wasn't long, but it was enough.

A flicker of doubt crept in, cold and insidious. What if this was a fluke? What if she was wrong, and the apocalypse didn't come? She shook her head, shoving the thought down. She'd lived it. She'd died in it. This wasn't insanity—it was a gift, a chance to rewrite her fate. And theirs.

Her phone buzzed again—Jace this time: *Hey babe, u up? Thinking about u.* Mira stared at the words, bile rising in her throat. She could picture his lazy grin, the way he'd draped an arm around her like she was his property. He'd been the first to suggest kicking her out, his voice calm as he'd said, "We've got to think about us now, Mira." Us. Him and Lila, cozy in her stolen home while she'd screamed for help.

She didn't reply. Let him stew. Let them both wonder. She'd see them tomorrow, smile through gritted teeth, and start building her empire of survival while they stayed blissfully ignorant. When the zombies came, when the monsters rose, when the world burned, she'd be the one standing tall. And they'd be the ones begging.

Mira leaned back against the counter, the coffee mug warm in her hands, and let a slow, dangerous smile curve her lips. The betrayal had broken her once, but it wouldn't again. This time, she'd be the one holding the knife—and she'd carve out a future where no one could touch her. Not Lila, not Jace, not the end of the world itself.

Outside, the city slept on, oblivious to the storm brewing within her. Three months. Ninety days. She'd make every one of them count.