The world was unraveling. The rivers had turned to blood, an apocalyptic omen that sent waves of panic and chaos through what remained of society. But while most people scrambled, desperate for clean water, Enza had already prepared. Years of living through war and famine had taught her one thing above all else: when the world goes mad, you stay one step ahead.

In the back of her restaurant, Enza had set up a system that could keep her and those around her alive for as long as possible. She had water—bottled and stored—and when that started running low, she had a backup plan. She'd dug up an old moonshiner from outside of town, a man who'd lived off the grid since before the Rapture, who knew how to build stills from anything. Together, they had adapted his distilling equipment, originally used for making liquor, to extract water from the blood that flowed through the rivers.

It wasn't pretty, but it worked.

One day, as Enza was adjusting the makeshift still, her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. She wiped her hands on a towel and glanced at the screen. It was Naomi, calling from Petra. Enza accepted the call and smiled as Naomi's face appeared, though the younger woman's expression was tense, as it so often was now.

"Enza," Naomi said, her voice strained, "I have to ask you again—when will you release the food? The situation is getting worse, and people are suffering."

Enza's smile faded, but her voice remained steady. "I'm helping people, Naomi. I'm distributing food to those who need it most, but I'm not releasing everything. Not yet. The Global Community Morale Monitors have started confiscating supplies in bulk, and I need to keep some in reserve. If they come for it all, we're finished."

Naomi sighed, clearly frustrated. "The Tribulation Force has been discussing this. They're not happy about the fact that you took the Mark, and some of them want to cut you loose altogether. They say you can't be trusted, that it's too dangerous to rely on you."

Enza's wrinkled face softened, and she shook her head with a gentle chuckle. "Ah, that again. I've heard it before, Naomi. And I understand why they feel that way. But I've done nothing but help—your people, my people, anyone who comes to me hungry or sick. I'm not trusting in prophecies or miracles. I'm trusting in my own two hands, like I've always done."

Naomi paused for a moment before saying quietly, "He won't trust you now that you've taken the Mark, Enza. Nobody can change this. It's written."

Enza's wrinkled grin returned. "That's fine, Naomi. He'll learn when He's ready for it."

Naomi blinked, clearly thrown off by the statement. "He already knows everything, Enza."

Enza's grin widened. "Men always think they know everything, don't they? He's been in His early thirties for two thousand years now. I bet He thinks He's got it all figured out."

There was a pause, and to Enza's surprise, Naomi's lips twitched into a small smile. "You've got a point," she admitted.

The conversation lightened for a moment, but the reality of their situation still hung in the air. "I'm not arguing with your faith," Enza said, more seriously now. "But here in Chicago, it's about logistics. People need food, water, medicine. I've got what I need to keep going for a while, but if I give it all up now, I can't help anyone later."

Naomi nodded slowly. "I get it, Enza. I do. It's just… the others, they don't trust the situation."

Enza's gaze softened. "I've been helping other groups too, Naomi. The Jews, the Hindus, the folks who aren't part of any big plan. I've got a duty to them as well. And I've got a duty to the kids I helped raise. Some of them are Global Community grunts now. When the Morale Monitors come by, a few of them look familiar. They remember what I did for them."

"They let you off the hook?" Naomi asked, curiosity piqued.

Enza nodded. "For now. They take a little food—just enough to make it look like they're doing their job—but they leave most of it alone. They know who I am, and they know I'm not the enemy. And that's how I keep people fed. It's a balance."

Naomi sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "You always were practical. But we're running out of time. Jesus will come soon, Enza. And when He does, there won't be any more famine, no more suffering."

Enza's eyes twinkled, the old woman still sharp behind them. "Then let Him come when He's ready. In the meantime, I'm going to keep doing what I've always done."

The two women shared a quiet moment, each caught between their respective worlds—Naomi in Petra, waiting for divine intervention, and Enza in Chicago, surviving with grit and resourcefulness.

"By the way," Enza added, breaking the silence, "how do I send a text message to multiple people at once? Just in case I need to warn some folks when things go sideways."

Naomi's smile returned, and she walked Enza through the steps, explaining how to set up group messages. The old woman listened carefully, taking mental notes, though she knew she'd likely forget at least half of what Naomi said. Still, she understood the basics.

"Thank you, Naomi," Enza said as the call neared its end. "For everything."

"Thank you, Enza," Naomi replied, her voice soft but sincere. "I don't agree with all of your choices, but you've done more for people than most would ever dream of."

Enza's smile widened. "That's because most people don't have my patience."

After the call, Enza got back to work. She still had deliveries to make, food to smuggle, and people to help. The Global Community's grip was tightening, but Enza had weathered worse storms. The people of Chicago were depending on her, and she wasn't about to let them down.

That night, under the cover of darkness, Enza sent out her first group text—a covert delivery was arranged for those who needed it most, food and antibiotics to keep the sick alive just a little longer. As she stood in the cold night air, waiting for the van to arrive, she felt a sense of purpose wash over her.

Maybe Naomi was right. Maybe the end was near, and soon Jesus would come back and make everything better.