Oscar's day had been going perfectly. The new promotion to top manager of Bunnings was still sinking in, but so far, things were smooth sailing. He had a solid team, the locals respected him, and the Friday afternoon rush was already winding down. He put a neat green tick on the calendar in the break room—a small ritual he had started this week to keep morale up—before heading back toward his office.

That was when his deputy, Basmati, came pelting in, face red, tie askew. "Sir, there's… there's a commotion in Lawncare."

Oscar sighed. There was always a commotion in Lawncare. Usually it involved a ride-on mower display and someone's kids trying to take turns. Still, he straightened his polo and followed.

The moment they rounded into the long aisle of stock, Oscar saw it: a crowd forming, people whispering, half gawking, half filming on their phones. At the center of it all was one man, moving with startling purpose. He wasn't browsing, he wasn't dithering—he was stripping shelves bare, loading massive boxes into a trolley like his life depended on it.

And Oscar recognized him. Mr. Walker. Local, quiet type. Never caused trouble before.

Oscar slowed just in time to catch the man's voice carrying clearly over the murmur of the crowd. "I think it's a good time to stock up on supplies and basic items. Trust me—you will not regret it."

Oscar blinked. The tone wasn't aggressive, more… earnest. Urgent, even. But the words set his managerial instincts on edge. Was this man inciting panic buying?

He glanced toward the registers, worry prickling at the back of his neck. Was he even paying for all this?

A quick check with the cashier, and the answer was yes—every item scanned, every cent accounted for. That should have eased his nerves, but then Oscar watched Walker heft an entire pallet of metal shelving—alone. No grunting, no help, just picked it up like it was nothing.

Oscar's jaw tightened. Something about that was wrong. Very wrong.

"Sir?" Basmati whispered, looking for guidance. "Should we call security? The police?"

Oscar hesitated. The man wasn't breaking laws, wasn't stealing. Just… buying in a way that didn't make sense. Buying like he knew something the rest of them didn't. And with that crowd forming, people whispering, staring, maybe even listening to him…

"Don't call anyone," Oscar said finally. "Just get a few of the boys to help load him up. The faster he's out, the better."

He forced a smile, but unease gnawed at his gut. Something about today had shifted, though he couldn't say why. And for the first time in his new position, Oscar wished he hadn't ticked the calendar before the day had actually ended.

Emma carried the bakery treats out to the twins' forts, the little white paper bag in her hands serving as her excuse. Really, she just wanted to check on them—make sure they had everything they'd need for the night, and to remind them that tomorrow was a big day.

She found them settled in, lanterns glowing faintly, mid-argument as always. "Was too born first!" "No, I was!"

Emma shook her head, already smiling. "Look, you two—you were both born at 12:47 PM. Your birth certificates even say so."

They both spun toward her and shouted in perfect unison: "But Mum!"

"No buts. Just remember—you'll need your sleep tonight."

They pouted but eventually promised, voices sing-song serious. And as Emma turned to leave, the call came, twin-strong. "Love you, Mum!" She paused, heart catching the way it always did. "I love you two too."

Later that night, in the kitchen, she told Liam about her day as he dug through the bakery bag she'd set on the bench. "I caught up with Bell again today," she said casually.

"Oh, that's great! Are she and Zane coming tomorrow? I heard their kids are in town. Bit older, but still—be nice to have them."

Emma hesitated. "No… they said they had something on. And… Bell said something strange."

The way her voice dipped made Liam stop mid-reach, hand hovering over a ham-and-cheese roll. He looked at her properly. "Strange? How strange?"

Emma drew a slow breath, repeating it word for word: "She said—'If anything goes crazy tomorrow—and I mean anything—tell everyone to head to our place. It'll be safe there.'"

She folded her arms, uneasy. "And the thing is… she believed it. Completely."

Liam finished chewing before he answered, serious now. "Well… at least we've got a plan if anything does go crazy tomorrow. But don't worry, love. Everything will be fine. You've done an amazing job with the twins' party. Like always."

He walked over and wrapped her in a standing hug, holding her until her shoulders loosened and she melted into his chest. That was when he heard her murmur, voice muffled against him: "You know… the house is empty tonight."

June was bored, pretending to wipe down the bench in front of the cash register, her curly red hair bouncing with each motion. Two more hours of her shift at the petrol station and she could go home and finish sewing her ghillie suit for the twins' big day tomorrow. She daydreamed—again—about sneaking up on her ex, Mark, and shooting him in the nuts. She just knew he'd be on Max's team.

A loud old truck rolled into the Diesel Fastflow pump. She didn't recognize the driver at first. Only when he finished and turned toward the shop did she realise it was Tarni. Most of his hair had been cut off—no more dreadlocks down to his butt—and he moved with something June at first thought was grace, then decided was overflowing confidence, like he knew he was the apex of humanity. June's heart fluttered. Get a grip, he's twice your age, she scolded herself as the bell chimed and he swung the door open with an almost theatrical flourish.

"Hi, June," Tarni greeted with an easy grin. "How's your day going?"

June was momentarily breathless; her knees almost buckled under the aura he was giving off. Tarni waited, patient, then asked, "Are you okay, June?"

She forced herself to breathe and pull herself together. "Y—yeah, Tarn. I'm fine. How've you been?"

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"Busy. Busy," he said, shrugging. "Look—are you going to the twins' big birthday bash tomorrow?"

There was hope in her voice. "Yeah, of course. Got the ghillie suit and everything. I'll see you there, right?"

Tarni's grin softened, but a wince tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Unfortunately, I've got stuff on. But listen—if anything crazy happens tomorrow, tell everyone to head over to the Riders' place. You'll be safe there."

He paid, tipped his hat that he was not wearing in that informal way of his, and left. June watched the truck roll away, a cold knot of fear tightening in her stomach.

June locked up the servo right on midnight, the familiar rattle of the security shutter grounding her just enough to stop her hands from shaking. She told herself it was just Tarni being Tarni—he'd always been dramatic, always loved playing up the "mysterious wanderer" act. But the way he'd said it tonight… like he meant it.

At home, she kicked her boots off, threw her bag on the couch, and collapsed into her cluttered lounge room, ghillie suit half-assembled across the coffee table. The stupid camo netting and sewing needles glared at her, like she should be focusing on party games, not on the chill still coiled in her gut.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. A half-dozen unread messages from her best friend, Tash.

You on tomorrow? Heard Max's dad is building something crazy for the party. Also, you better not chicken out of full camo. I've got the paint ready.

June stared at the messages, thumb hovering. Then, before she could stop herself, she typed:

hey… u ever get a bad feeling before something big?

The dots blinked for a long moment before Tash replied.

lmao what kind of bad feeling? hangover bad or psychic witchy bad?

June chewed her lip. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

ran into Tarni Walker tonight. he said if anything crazy happens tomorrow we should head to Rider's place. like… dead serious.

The reply came faster this time.

lol classic Tarni. guy's half mad half legend. Don't sweat it. you're overthinking. come crash at mine if ur spooked.

June almost laughed, but the knot in her chest didn't ease. She tossed the phone onto the table and stared at the half-finished suit.

"Don't sweat it," she muttered. Easy for Tash to say. Easy for anyone who hadn't looked into Tarni's eyes tonight and seen the absolute certainty there.

Sleep was impossible. June spent the next few hours half-heartedly sewing, half-scrolling through social feeds, looking for anything—anything—to prove or disprove the dread that clung to her ribs like tar.

That was when she found it.

A post from Lily Rider.

Stock up. Stay somewhere defensible. Stay together. Tomorrow at noon, the world changes.

June's pulse spiked. Once might have been Tarni being Tarni, but twice? From two different Walkers—no, Riders and Walkers—she didn't even care about the details. Something was off. Way off.

She pushed back from the couch so fast her phone nearly slipped from her hands. She stalked through the house on jittery legs, checking cupboards, counting tins, opening the fridge. Her monthly food shop had been done just yesterday—milk, bread, meat, frozen veggies stacked in neat rows. Enough to last her weeks if she rationed.

But it wasn't enough. Not if… whatever this was… actually happened.

Her stomach tightened as she double-checked the front and back doors, rattling each lock twice. She pulled the curtains shut, flicked the latch on the bathroom window, even checked the old dog door she'd boarded up last year.

Finally, she sank back down in front of her coffee table. The ghillie suit sat in a tangled heap, half-finished, mocking her with its uselessness. Camouflage games and birthday pranks felt like a different life now.

Every creak of the house made her flinch. Every shadow seemed deeper than it should.

And still, she kept working—thread through netting, stitch by stitch—because doing something was better than sitting still with the echo of Tarni's voice and Lily's words gnawing at her bones.

By four in the morning, the ghillie suit was done, and June sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at it like it could answer her questions.

James nearly dropped his phone, scrambling it from his pocket when he heard the ringtone he'd set just for Lily. His hands shook as he opened the screen. Messages. From her.

He read them once, then again, slower. His chest went hollow. He had prayed and promised the universe he would do anything to get Lily back. And now here was his anything. Lily wasn't the kind of person to joke about this. If anything, she was blunt to a fault. If she said the world was going to change tomorrow at nine, he had to treat it like fact — whether it was some bizarre test or not.

He sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, staring at the glowing screen. What do you do when someone you trust tells you the world is about to end?

For a minute he thought about ignoring it. Going to bed. Waking up tomorrow to prove she'd just been talking nonsense. But that idea didn't sit right. He couldn't picture Lily wasting breath unless she meant it. He knew her — knew how serious she could be when it counted. And he had promised.

So he made the choice. Assume it's real. Prepare.

He opened maps on his phone and started running through the town's options. Town hall? Too open. Showground? Wide and flat, no cover. Community centre? Decent, but too many doors, too many windows. He needed something defendable — somewhere you could funnel people and hold a line.

That's when his finger paused on the private school.

A nine-foot wall ran around the grounds. Only one vehicle entrance. A smaller steel-mesh gate at the rear. The sandstone buildings ringed a broad lawn that could hold thousands if needed. It was practically a fortress compared to the rest of town.

Tomorrow was Saturday. The school was holding an open day starting at eight. By nine o'clock parents and kids would be everywhere. If Lily was right, then when the clock struck nine that crowd could either be in terrible danger — or already in the best possible place to protect.

James leaned forward, rubbing both hands over his face. The whole thing sounded insane. But every time he doubted, the thought came back: What if she's right? In all those messages you sent. You promised you would do anything!

He started sketching the plan in his head, step by step.

Hire the largest truck he could legally drive on a standard licence. Something with real bulk — not just for supplies, but to block the school gate if needed.

Water. Food. First-aid kits. Rope, tarps, tools. Buckets, fuel cans, anything multipurpose. Protective gear — gloves, goggles, masks. If he could afford it, even cheap sports equipment for makeshift shields and weapons.

Load the truck through the night. Be parked near the school before eight, blending in with the early crowd. If nothing happened, take photos of the loaded truck as proof he'd taken Lily seriously, then return what he could.

If it happened.

Drive the truck into place, block the main gate, get people inside the grounds, organise supplies, keep the single entrance under control. Hold out until — until whatever this was — settled down.

It was ridiculous. It was terrifying. It was also the only plan that made sense.

He booked the truck before he could second-guess himself. By the time he drove it back to his small yard, the thing looked like a sleeping beast waiting for orders. James spent the rest of the evening hauling boxes, loading pallets of bottled water, sacks of rice, tins of food. Medical kits, toolboxes, rolls of duct tape, a bundle of cheap camping gear. He even called in a favour from an old mate and borrowed a pair of bolt cutters, slipping them into the truck's side pocket with a grim nod.

By midnight, sweat plastered his shirt to his back, and the truck was groaning under the weight of preparation.

James dropped onto his mattress, the phone still clutched in one hand. He typed out a quick message to Lily, thumb hovering over the screen:

I've got a truck with supplies. I'll try to get people into the local private school grounds. If it's nothing, I'll bring the truck back. If it's not, I'll be ready.

He hit send. The screen stayed blank. No reply came. Out there, on the other side of the country, Lily was already back at her house — he remembered part of her message saying she had no reception out there. He shouldn't expect an answer.

But still, he stared at the screen far too long, wishing for one.

The truck waited outside like a steel sentinel. His heart hammered so hard it hurt. Better a fool in the morning, he told himself, than unprepared when the clock struck nine.

Just as he started to drift off, a small, sharp thought stabbed through the fog: the police — he had set them on Lily and her family. "Shit!" Then he tried to convince himself no it will be fine if the world end as we know it tomorrow, then the police will have a lot more on their plate than the Rider's.

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