Doleia stared at the date glowing on the screen in disbelief, her thoughts spinning as the weight of what had just happened came crashing down on her. Suddenly, her father's face flashed through her mind. Her heart skipped a beat, eyes widened. Without a second thought, she turned on her heel and bolted toward his study room.
She knew her father far too well. It was the weekend—technically a day off—but a workaholic like him would never consider giving himself a break. If he wasn't sleeping, he would most certainly be in his study where he spends the most time at home aside from his bedroom, buried in files or glued to a screen.
Thankfully, she was in her casual clothes this time. Having changed out of the suffocating dress and kicked off her painful heels, she was now in something far more manageable—loose clothes and her favorite pink, fluffy house slippers. Even then, her steps were frantic and uneven because of the pain at her ankle, almost more like a sprint-hobble as she raced through the hallway. Somewhere along the way, one of her slippers flew off, landing unceremoniously in the middle of the corridor, but she didn't stop. She didn't even look back.
-----
Standing outside the study room door, her hand paused mid-air before knocking. Her breath caught. Suddenly, she was paralyzed by fear. She hesitated—
What if the room was empty? What if she was the only one who had come back? What if—God forbid—she opened the door and saw that face again? The monstrous, twisted thing her father had become in her last memory of him.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her fist clenched in front of the door as she tried to summon the courage. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, quick breaths. Then finally, she knocked. Just three light, hesitant taps—barely audible
Knock. Knock knock.
"Come in," came a voice from the other side of the door.
She gently turned the doorknob, the door creaking open to reveal a familiar sight—her father, sitting at his desk, white shirt on, holding a cup of coffee to his lips.
It was him. Her father. Alive. Normal.
Doleia choked, voice quivering: "Dad!"
Her eyes welled up with tears. Her heart, until now filled with fear, finally relaxed. He was okay. Thank goodness.
She dashed around the desk and threw her arms around him.
Doleia: "I thought… I thought I'd never see you again," her voice muffled against the cotton fabric of his shirt, tears soaking through it in seconds.
Her father didn't push her away. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her and gently patted her back. "Did you have a bad dream, sweetheart? It's alright. Daddy's here. Everything's okay."
But everything wasn't okay. She couldn't waste time. Pulling away just enough to look at him, she began blurting everything out—about what had happened, how he'd turned into a monster, and how she had somehow come back in time.
Doleia: "Dad, listen to me! Starting today, no one in the family can go outside, okay? We need to call everyone—tell them to stay home. It's dangerous out there!"
She figured the outbreak had to start before the celebration event. If they all stayed home, her dad wouldn't become a monster. Her grandpa and other relatives might be spared too. Maybe—just maybe—if they stayed indoors from now on, they could all survive this time.
The guilt crushed her. If she hadn't begged Grandpa for a concert on her 21st birthday, none of them would've been in that situation.
She was determined to change everyone's fate, including hers.
However, her father frowned thoughtfully, lips drawn in a thin line, then sighed, placing his mug down carefully.
"Sweetheart, I know that nightmare must've been terrifying," he said gently, "but I can't just stay home. I've got too much on my plate right now. The company is launching in four months—there are meetings I can't miss."
Seeing her expression fall, he quickly added, "I'll be careful. I promise. I'll have security with me at all times. You don't need to worry."
She shook her head, tears spilling over again. "Just six months, Dad. That's all I'm asking. Please…"
He took her hands, squeezed them reassuringly. "Nothing's going to happen to me. Trust me, okay?"
She wanted to believe him. But how could she after what she have witnessed? She knew it was a lot to ask. If a stranger came to her saying the same thing, she'd probably think they were crazy, too.
She nodded, disappointed. "Okay, Dad. Sorry for interrupting your work."
-----
As she closed the door behind her, her steps were slower, heavier. She paused just long enough to slip her forgotten slipper back on. The soft fur against her foot made her smile faintly despite herself—Grandpa really did have good taste. Even now, in the middle of this surreal nightmare, she appreciated that.
Wait—Grandpa!
Her eyes lit up for a moment. Maybe she could talk to him—maybe he'd listen. But the thought faded quickly.
"No… he'll probably just think that it was only a nightmare too."
She shooked her head, knowing she needed to think of something herself.
-----
Back at her desk, she sank into her chair, pulled her tablet in front of her, and began typing. If no one would believe her, she'd have to figure things out herself. She started describing everything she could remember to the AI, trying to search for answers. Her fingers flew fast, clicking across the keyboard.
One terrible, chilling word she got from the AI leave her stunned:
Zombies—!
That word strike her like a bolt of lightning.
Of course! Biting and infecting others… turning them into the their kind. That had to be it—just like what happened to Dad!
She typed again, but this time asking how to prevent zombie bites, what to do if infected, and how to prepare for a zombie apocalypse.
As the AI took a few seconds to generate its response, she sat anxiously, biting her bottom lip and tapping her fingers.
Then, the reply began to appear—word by word. Her eyes scanned every line, desperate for something useful.
There wasn't anything conclusive, just theoretical suggestions: build a defense system, install solar panels, raise chickens and fish, grow vegetables and fruit…
She exhaled deeply.
Doleia: "That's enough for now. Prevention is always better than cure. Once the outbreak happens, scientists will probably find a vaccine or cure… like they they always do for Ebola or—whatever. This'll be no different, right?"
But even as she said it, a part of her knew—what if this time was different? She didn't want to admit that extinction of the human beings might come before the cure.
Still, she refused to give up. Rummaging through her drawers, finally unearthing a forgotten stash of fullscape paper and a half-used pencil beneath the bottom of piles of past high school homeworks, most of them showing full marks.
Back at the computer, she searched for more detailed preparation plans. After getting the one she think is the most suitable, she scribbled the title 'Apocalypse Survival Guide' at the top right corner—then hesitated, erased it, and replaced it with: 'My 21st Birthday Wish.' with a small smile tugging at her lips.
Satisfied, she began to she jot everything she think that might be useful down on the paper.
-----
When she finally set her pencil down, the page was crammed with notes—scribbles, arrows, little sketches, and survival checklists. She leaned back in her chair, holding up the sheet to the sunlight filtering through her window. The paper looked almost translucent with how densely it was filled. Tilting her head slightly, she studied it with quiet satisfaction, a small, confident smile tugging at her lips.
Then she stood up and walked out of the room, her earlier look of helplessness wiped away, replaced by a calm determination. She limped slightly down the stairs, almost getting used to the pain. As she reached the bottom, she spotted one of the housemaids polishing a row of glass wine bottles on the sideboard. With an easy air, she called out:
"Hey, Edith, do you know where grandpa is right now?"
Maybe it was the warmth in her voice, or maybe it was the smile that lit up her face—a natural kind of beauty that drew people in—but the maid, who had looked thoroughly exhausted just moments ago, straightened with a gentle smile of her own.
"Miss, your grandfather just finished his breakfast. He should be out in the garden now, taking his usual walk to help with digestion."
"Thanks," the girl replied cheerfully.
She had just taken a step toward the door when something occurred to her. Pausing, she pivoted and came back. Placing one hand on the maid's shoulder, she casually reached for the cloth in the maid's other hand and said, quite seriously:
"You know Edith, you look really worn out. If Grandpa sees you like this, he'll get upset. You know how much he worries."
Edith bowed her head instantly, flustered and apologetic. "I'm sorry, Miss—I didn't realize. I...I won't let it happen again. I promise."
Doleia tapped her chin, pretending to think hard for a moment, then said decisively, "Hmm… You don't look like you're in the best shape today. Let's do this—I'm giving you a vacation. Come back to work in six months. Don't worry, I'll talk to Grandpa. Paid leave."
She didn't forget to give Edith a cute wink after the sentence.
She patted the maid's shoulder encouragingly, then turned and walked off before the woman could get a word in. There was a lightness in her step now, like she'd just completed a small personal mission. Still smiling to herself, she headed toward the garden.