When the World Ends, She Begins novel Chapter 48

Braxton frowned. He was just about to give up when Tiffany's eyes finally fluttered open.

His face lit up. "Tiffany! You okay?"

She just stared at him, blankly, saying nothing.

He tried talking a little more, but still—no reaction.

His stomach sank. Crap. Did the shock fried her brain? Or maybe she hit her head too hard?

Either way, she was alive, and that was good enough. Natalie was still knocked out, but she could wake any second. And if that happened, they were dead meat.

He propped Tiffany against the wall and pressed her shoulders.

"Stay right here. Don't move. I'm gonna find a hammer with a wooden handle. Door's probably wired. Metal tools won't work."

Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted off.

Minutes later, he came back clutching a hammer. Tiffany hadn't moved an inch. She still sat there, eyes dull, face pale.

He sighed. Guess it's all on me now.

He eyed the steel security door. Then he remembered—inside was another reinforced door. No way he could smash through that with a hammer.

So, like the neighbors had tried before, he turned to the wall. He raised the hammer high and slammed it into the plaster.

The impact rattled his bones. His arms went numb. Blood streamed from his shoulder wound, soaking even more through his shirt.

Still, he didn't dare stop. If Natalie woke, she'd hunt them both down without mercy.

But if they pulled this off? They'd have endless food, water, and supplies.

Everything came down to this.

Braxton roared, veins bulging, eyes bloodshot, and swung harder.

Then a sharp voice rang out behind him.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He spun around fast.

It was Olivia from the 13th floor.

His lip curled. "None of your damn business. Shut up."

Olivia scowled. "It is my business. You're busting into Ms. Ashford's place!"

Vile bastard. Driven out once, and he still comes back to cause trouble.

Braxton's face darkened. Perfect. As if the electrified door wasn't enough, now some nosy neighbor has to screw up my plan.

Braxton clenched his teeth. What a damn unlucky day.

She dodged at the last second, his blow cracking the tile floor instead.

Olivia didn't know how to fight, not really. But Braxton was injured—his shoulder bled nonstop, and the hammer was heavy and slow. She kept slipping just out of reach.

Her gut tightened. Natalie's silence on the other side of that door was eating at her. Why hasn't she moved? Is she hurt?

The thought steeled her. Olivia slashed back, no finesse, no style—just fast, wild swings.

That was how she'd survived the past two months. Grab supplies, fight dirty, and don't stop swinging until the other guy drops.

She whipped the knife up and down, side to side, the blade cutting the air with a hiss.

Braxton backed away, scowling.

He never thought much of women fighting. To him, it always looked messy and weak. They just waved their arms around, scratched with long nails like angry cats, or threw little punches that didn’t really hurt when they landed.

Men were different. One strong punch, powered from the waist, could send someone reeling.

But he had to admit, once women picked up a deadly weapon, all that wild swinging suddenly became terrifying.

Right now, he couldn't even get close.