r 4 Drain Them Dry
That afternoon, Iris emerged from an old office building in the downtown area.
By the time she stepped outside, her bank account had swelled by an additional 1.5 million dollars.
These small loan companies were more predatory than vampires. She’d sold the house to Ryan for two million dollars, yet the greedy lenders only offered 1.5 million dollars for it, with exorbitant interest rates.
Iris had signed a promissory note requiring repayment within seven days. She’d need to pay back two million dollars to the lending company by then, or they’d seize the property outright.
It was a bottomless pit, designed to swindle her out of the house.
But she didn’t care. She had no intention of repaying the loan at all.
Worse yet, she no longer owned the house.
The seven-day loan term was perfectly timed. Right before the apocalypse hit, the lending company would come knocking on Ryan’s door.
What followed would be a vicious dogfight between the two parties—neither was someone to be trifled with, and it remained to be seen who would emerge on top.
No matter who won, though, the house would be worthless in a matter of days.
With 1.5 million dollars now in her account, Iris had a sudden idea.
She proceeded to apply for loans from every lending platform available on the market.
Gorge herself on their money—drain them dry completely.
After a flurry of applications, she secured an additional 500 thousand dollars.
Now, Iris had 3.7 million dollars at her disposal. It was more than enough to stock up on a massive haul of supplies.
Flush with cash, she first headed to a building materials factory to continue reinforcing her fortress.
After purchasing forty to fifty security cameras, she sought out a generator supplier—she desperately needed a power source.
Generators came in four main types: wind, hydroelectric, thermal, and diesel.
The first three were impractical; they required complex installation, took too much time to set up, and were rarely available off the shelf, requiring custom orders from specialized manufacturers.
Diesel generators, however, were perfect for her needs.
“What kilowattage are you looking for?” the store owner asked.
“What options do you have?” Iris replied.
“We have 30kW, 50kW, 200kW to 800kW models. Anything over 1000kW gets expensive,” the owner explained.
Iris quickly familiarized herself with the diesel generator specifications.
The smallest 30kW models ranged in price from 10 thousand to 20 thousand dollars.
Mid-range 200kW generators cost between 50 thousand and 100 thousand dollars.
A 300kW unit would set her back over 100 thousand dollars, with prices doubling for higher capacities.
Generators over 1000kW started at 1 million dollars.
Imported models were also 20 to 30 percent more expensive than domestic ones.
The owner continued, “Domestic models are more than sufficient. Their quality is just as good as imported ones, and they’re more durable and practical. Imported generators are also picky about the type of diesel they use. Are you buying this for a restaurant?”
“Yes,” Iris lied.
She needed electricity to power the fence’s electrical grid, provide daily lighting in the bomb shelter, and a restaurant-grade generator would be more than adequate.
Even so, Iris decided to buy the most expensive and powerful model available.
The system’s rewards scaled with the quality of her upgrades. She wanted the best, no compromises.
“I want the best you have—one and done. Money’s no object,” Iris said, putting on the air of a wealthy tycoon. She purchased the store’s top-of-the-line, best-value generator for 1.2 million dollars.
The owner’s face lit up with joy at her words.
Iris seized the opportunity to ask for freebies, demanding every small, low-value item in the store—soundproofing mats, toolkits, and other odds and ends—as add-ons.
The owner agreed without hesitation, even throwing in the remaining ten or so liters of diesel in the store as a final gift.
Iris’ eyes sparkled at the sight of the fuel.
“Do you know anyone who can sell me diesel at a discount?” she asked.
Diesel was not easy to buy. Purchasing it at gas stations required identification, registration, and was only allowed in small quantities—a few liters at a time. Many stations didn’t even sell diesel in bulk, only fueling vehicles directly.
However, generator sellers like him were likely to have connections.
A black market for fuel existed, where unlicensed illegal refineries stole oil from major fields or acquired unclaimed maritime oil, processed it, and sold it under the table—so-called “black oil.”
Sure enough, the owner’s expression turned mysterious. He pulled Iris aside and handed her a business card.
“Call this number if you need more diesel. Tell them I sent you, and they’ll give you a 20 percent discount off the market price,” he whispered.
“Thanks,” Iris said, taking the card.
As expected, people in related industries had their own underground networks.
As she prepared to leave, she heard the owner muttering to himself, “Business has been terrible with this recent flu outbreak.”
“Yeah, it has,” Iris replied casually, striding out the door without another word.
That flu was no ordinary illness; it was the precursor to the apocalypse.
Fifteen days after the flu virus erupted, those infected began dying suddenly, one after another. Before people could recover from the grief of losing their loved ones, they discovered that the deceased were “coming back to life.”
Of course, this “resurrection” transformed them into something else entirely—zombies.
In her previous life, Iris had been busy with Ryan’s wedding preparations during this period.
Mia had just found out she was pregnant, and Iris had not only paid for new furniture and renovations but also accompanied her to hospital appointments.
On the day the apocalypse began, she’d been at the hospital with Mia to pick up test results when screams erupted throughout the building.
She’d watched in horror as a patient who’d been pronounced dead and wheeled into the emergency room suddenly sat up and bit the family member beside them.
A crowd rushed to intervene, but Iris saw the first bitten family member begin to mutate within five minutes.
He convulsed on the floor before rising stiffly to his feet, his skin ashen and his eyes turning the leaden gray of zombies in movies—no pupils, no signs of life, only a terrifying, ravenous glow.
He opened his mouth and lunged at the people trying to help him.
Chaos erupted across the entire hospital, with similar scenes playing out in every corner.
Anyone bitten would mutate within five minutes, joining the horde to attack others.
Iris had been terrified, but to protect the pregnant Mia, she’d stayed calm, bravely grabbing a weapon to fight off the approaching zombies and leading her to safety amidst the riot.
It was precisely because she’d acted so courageously from the start that the Hale family had seen her as capable, dumping all the dangerous tasks on her—scavenging for supplies, protecting the group, always sending Iris into the fray first.
In her previous life, Iris even took pride in being needed, in protecting her family.
But that was before she realized she wasn’t protecting family at all—she was protecting a pack of bastards.
This time, she would never be so foolish again.
Iris instructed the owner to deliver the generator and other supplies to her warehouse, then called the number on the business card to inquire about diesel.
The seller offered delivery and could bring the fuel the next day.
Iris told him to deliver all his available stock. She wanted to buy out his entire inventory of a million dollars’ worth of diesel.
The seller offered her a 25 percent discount, bringing the total cost down significantly.
By the end of the day, Iris had spent nearly two million dollars on this single trip.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
