A group of neighbors stood around, talking over each other. "What's up with the weather this year? First it was heavy rain, and now the sudden heat wave." "Yeah, it's supposed to be almost winter. Instead of cooling off, it's heating up again. Do you think Asmein is trying to stir up trouble, set off some kind of weather weapon?" "Doubt it. Before the internet went down, I read that they got hit just as bad. If this was some kind of weather weapon, why would they use it on themselves?" "Well, who knows? Haven't you heard the saying—what goes around comes around? Mess with things too much, and it all backfires." The women didn't linger outside. Unlike the men, they couldn't just strip down and keep chatting.They hurried back home, eager to cool off by removing their clothes inside their houses. The men didn't reach any conclusions either. It was getting hotter by the minute, and even talking felt like too much effort. Soon, they too rushed upstairs to their homes. Over the years, global warming had made summers hotter and hotter. A 95°F wasn't anything unusual anymore. What was strange was that this was supposed to be the start of winter; instead of snow, the temperature had shot up 20°F in just hours. One moment it was a mild 60°F, and now it was sweltering. People outside were drenched in sweat. Those who lived close by were lucky. They could make it home, collapse on their beds, and hope the heat felt easier if they stayed calm. But those farther away weren't so fortunate. During the floods, many cars had been washed away. Most people never found theirs. And the ones that did find them were stuck with waterlogged, ruined cars that wouldn't start. That meant most people were forced to walk wherever they went. Feeling the sudden heat, people longed to escape the burning sun and rest at home. But with no other choice, they had to walk step by step under the blazing sky, pushing through the sweltering air all the way back. Braxton was one of the unluckiest. He was dripping with sweat as he trudged home. The farther he walked, the hotter it felt. Even after stripping off his jacket and shirt, the heat didn't let up. Originally, he hadn't planned on going out at all. His idea was to stay home, wait for Tiffany to come by, and then find a way to keep her there. But when he woke up that morning, it hit him—creepy Edric still owed him a case of bottled water.That was his hard-earned payment. The food he had stored could last him and Tiffany until the city restored power and water, but the drinking water he had left wouldn't hold out for more than a few days. And now that the floodwaters had receded, there was no way he could keep boiling rainwater just to get by. So, eventually, he forced himself to make one last trip to Edric's place. It was impossible to leave Edric's place without being taken advantage of. In the end, Braxton managed to walk away with a case of bottled water and an extra bag of oats. He stepped out already exhausted, and the moment he hit the street, the heat smothered him. From Edric's house to the Greenwood Complex was a three-hour walk. He had barely gone a few minutes before the sun's blaze left him drenched in sweat, staggering forward with the heavy case of water and the bag of oats weighing him down. Before the apocalypse, Braxton was a bookish college student. He had never done a day of real labor. Now, carrying supplies mile after mile, he felt like his body was being broken apart. Halfway down the road, he thought about turning back to Edric's place, just to escape the heat. But the memory of what that twisted man had put him through made him clench his teeth, squeeze his legs tight, and keep moving. Along the way, he crossed paths with another survivor. The man's skin was darkened from years in the sun, his frame thick with muscle. Taking one look at Braxton's pale, delicate build, he chuckled. "Kid, you're too soft. It's just a little hot out here, and you already look like you're about to collapse. Want me to carry that case of water for you?"This man had worked construction for years, his body hardened by labor and long days in the heat. To him, sun and sweat were nothing new. Braxton shot him a wary glance. These supplies had cost him dearly—no way was he letting a stranger touch them. He snapped back with a sharp refusal. The man simply looked at him and shook his head. "Suit yourself. Don't say I didn't try to help." With that, he quickened his pace and soon left Braxton far behind. The sun beat down mercilessly, cooking his skin. His throat burned with thirst. He twisted open a bottle of water and gulped it down, but it did nothing to cool him. The more he drank, the heavier his steps grew. Each mile was worse than the last—hotter, more tiring, and thirstier still. By the time he finally reached the complex, he was on the edge of collapse.Out of the entire case of bottled water, only two bottles remained. He looked around. The supplies Tiffany had promised were sitting neatly where she had dropped them, but she herself was nowhere to be seen. She must have left right after delivering them. Braxton doesn't know what to do with his cousin. Tiffany never listened. She had insisted on hanging around, hoping to see Natalie humiliated. Hopefully, she got what she wanted. Either way, he didn't have the strength to worry about her now. Too drained to think further, Braxton collapsed onto his bed. His head spun, his skin burned with heat, and waves of nausea twisted his stomach. His ears rang, his chest heaved, and he felt like he was about to pass out altogether.