Chapter 3Not On The Survival List

I tore the house apart.

I was looking for anything—a note, a pamphlet, a sign of what had happened. But there was nothing.

My dad had taken his phone. My mom had taken hers. Zoe’s room was empty except for a few stray clothes and books.

I cracked open my laptop and scoured the internet. The connection was still live, surprisingly. But the web was a frozen time capsule. Twitter was still showing trending hashtags from Christmas Eve. Instagram was full of pictures of turkeys and decorated trees.

There was nothing about a "disappearance." It was as if this had only happened to me.

Wait. If three hundred million people really vanished, there wouldn't be anyone left to post the news.

I went to Bella’s Facebook profile. Her last post was from 11:00 PM last night—a photo of her with her parents.

The caption read: "Merry Christmas! Can't wait for the wedding next year."

I stared at her smile, the way her eyes crinkled. We’d been engaged for two months. We were supposed to get married in May. And now, she was gone too.

Did she know? Did she know what was coming last night? And if she did, why didn't she tell me?

I remembered something. Her house wasn't far—a twenty-minute drive. I had to go there.

I ran outside and found a car idling on the street, unlocked. The keys were still in the ignition. I jumped in and sped toward her neighborhood.

The drive was haunting. I didn't pass a single moving vehicle. The traffic lights cycled from green to yellow to red for an audience of zero.

Twenty minutes later, I arrived at her place. It was just as empty.

I ran upstairs and pounded on her door. No answer. I kicked the door in, the wood splintering under my boot.

The apartment was vacant. But unlike my house, this place was pristine. The table was cleared. The pillows on the sofa were fluffed. It looked like they hadn't fled in a panic—they had left with intention.

I walked into Bella’s bedroom. Her makeup was organized; her bed was made. I opened her closet.

A few outfits were missing. She had packed.

She had known. She was prepared to leave.

I began frantically tossing her room, looking for clues. In a nightstand drawer, I found her journal. My hands shook so hard I almost dropped it.

I flipped to the final pages.

December 22nd:

"Got the notification today. It’s happening in three days. They told us we can’t tell anyone, especially not Ben. I’m so scared, but there’s no choice. I’m so sorry."

December 23rd:

"Today is the last day of normal life. Had dinner with my parents and took a photo. I keep thinking about telling him. Just a whisper. But... I can't."

December 24th:

"Tonight is the night. 3:00 AM departure. I’m afraid to look at my phone; I’m afraid I’ll break down and call him. Ben, I’m so sorry. I’ll marry you in the next life."

The entry ended there.

I clutched the journal to my chest, my breath coming in jagged stabs.

"Can’t tell anyone. Especially not Ben."

She knew. She’d known for days. This wasn't a "disappearance." This was a coordinated evacuation. And I had been blacklisted.

My parents didn't take me. My fiancée didn't warn me.

Why? What did I do?

I threw the journal onto the floor and ran back to the car. I needed more answers. I needed to know why the entire world had decided I wasn't worth saving.