A Mother's Guide to the Apocalypse

by Hollie Overton

Genres: Apocalyptic

Synopsis

If you knew the world was ending, what would you want your children to know about survival? What would you sacrifice to protect them? What secrets would you want to stay buried?

For Olivia Sullivan, the summer of 2024, was the beginning of the end. The news is constantly reporting on political upheavals and natural disasters, food and gas shortages are becoming more frequent, and southern California is unbearably hot. Soon Olivia becomes obsessed with doomsday prepping, spending hours on forums determined to protect her children from the coming apocalypse. Her husband and friends insist she’s being irrational, but then Olivia is swept away in a flash flood that wiped out half of LA.

Or that’s the story Rosie, Bettie, and Cassie were told.

Twenty years later, the sisters discover a box of their mother’s belongings that calls into question everything they’re father has told them about their mother, including if she really died. Reeling from their father’s betrayal the family returns to California determined to uncover Olivia’s true fate. Confronted by a world unlike anything they’ve ever known, where no one quite seems to be telling the truth and danger hangs heavy in the air, the Sullivan triplets find themselves struggling with questions about the father who raised them and the mother who may have abandoned them, all while trying to hold onto the only constant in their lives—each other. 

Release date: August 19, 2025

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 416

Sample

If there was one thing Rosie hated about being the oldest triplet (one and three minutes, thank you very much), it was being the responsible one. Rosie didn’t like giving orders. She definitely didn’t like spending her Friday night purging the attic of their father’s belongings, but the new owners of the house were set to get the keys in less than a week.

She kicked a box in frustration. She had been her sisters’ keeper their entire lives. Even at five years old, when they went to primary school for the first time, Rosie picked out their clothes and packed their lunches because their father was too emotional and overwhelmed with managing the house.

As they got older, Dad worked nonstop to build their food supply and keep the family safe from the extreme temperature changes. So it fell to Rosie to make sure their school field trip forms were signed, their uniforms were pressed, and they signed up to take their A-levels.

She was the one who put up the Christmas tree and decorations and bought all the presents. She didn’t mind being the one they all relied on, but now that Dad needed them, they were all so bloody useless. Why couldn’t they step up after Dad’s diagnosis? Why did she have to manage it all?

Even now, she was the one responsible for the big decisions. There was simply no way they could afford the upkeep of their home and the adjacent greenhouse, in addition to Sam’s care. Selling was the only option if they wanted to provide him with a comfortable retirement.

It had been over a month since she’d broken the news, inviting them to the local pub for a “sister talk.” Sister talks had begun a decade ago when the girls were ten. After a neighbor kid was swept away during a storm, Dad said it was no longer safe to ride their bikes around the village. The girls decided they needed a strategy session to change his mind and said it was time for a “sister talk.” Despite their best efforts, Dad held fast, but sister talks became a regular occurrence. If you scheduled a sister talk, that meant you had something urgent to discuss, and no one could refuse you, no matter what was going on.

When Rosie arrived at the Bay Horse Tavern for dinner, Bettie and Cassie were waiting, concern etched on their faces. Rosie got right to it. “We have to sell the house. We need the money for Dad’s care.”

Cassie was mid-bite of a chip. She slammed it down, splattering ketchup all over the table. “No bloody way. We’re not selling our home because of a far-off future some country doctor predicted.”

Rosie looked over at Bettie, who chewed her lip nervously, revealing the small scar above it, a remnant from when Cassie dared her to ride through the village forest on her bike and a branch attacked her. “Bettie?” Rosie asked.

“I don’t… I mean, Dad is sick, but he’s fine. But of course, we’ll need money one day,” Bettie said.

“For fuck’s sake,” Rosie said with a groan. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Bettie wouldn’t have a strong opinion, since her entire persona was Don’t rock the boat. This was ridiculous. Dad wasn’t okay. Finding his car keys, his house keys, and his wallet had become a full-time job. Then there was the night he left his truck in town, engine still running, and returned home with no clue as to how he got there. But the onslaught of bad days wore on them all. A few weeks later, Dad grew confused as to why angry clients kept calling to complain. Rosie realized he was delivering groceries to one house, not the ten houses on his route. That was when she insisted Dad stop driving.

It got worse when Dad started to struggle to tell them apart. They were identical triplets, so people mixed them up all the time. Not Dad. He might call them by the wrong name when he was in a hurry, but never because he was confused. Now it happened frequently.

One morning, he came to breakfast, and in between bites of toast, he went quiet, his sun-wrinkled face regarding them with confusion. “I don’t understand. You all look alike… All three of you have… you have the same face.”

Rosie didn’t know what to say. Bettie burst into tears and ran out of the room. Cassie stayed calm, but Rosie could see the pain in her eyes. “We’re identical triplets, Dad. Remember? Isn’t that cool?”

Her words brought Dad back from wherever he disappeared to. He laughed.

“Of course. I’m amazed by my girls. I have been every day for twenty-one years.”

Later that night, after Dad went to bed, Rosie brought up the care home again to her sisters, but Cassie resisted. “After all he’s done for all of us, what kind of arseholes would we be to throw him in a home?”

It irritated her how dramatic Cassie was, but she didn’t want to be the bad guy when it came to something this big. Still, they had to know it was coming.

“There’s going to be a point when we can’t deny it.”

A week later, Sam went for a walk, and no one could find him. With a storm on the way, they called the police. It took another two hours to locate him, lying in agony in the middle of a nearby field. He’d tripped over his walking stick and sprained his ankle. Dehydrated and cranky, Sam had no understanding of why the girls were upset. “I got a bit lost. No need to kick up a fuss.”

They were overdue for a fuss. This time, Rosie didn’t call a sister talk or take a vote. “We’re selling the house and moving Dad into a care home,” she announced.

There were no arguments. Not from Bettie or Cassie.

Dad was another story.

Telling him was the hardest thing she’d ever done; her sisters had insisted they didn’t have it in them. “It’s not safe for you here alone when we’re all at work and school,” Rosie said gently.

She braced for outrage or anger, but to her surprise, Sam gave them a pained smile.

“My loves, the last thing I want is to be a burden. This will be good for all of us.”

They hadn’t realized they would have a version of that terrible conversation half a dozen times.

Some days, he battled them.

Other days, he wept or lashed out and called them names. They told themselves it wasn’t him, it was the disease, but it didn’t make it any easier. Rosie did her best to involve him in the packing process. She wanted him to understand and absorb the reality of leaving the only home he had known for almost two decades.

“Dad, we have to figure out what we can put into storage and what we can sell.”

Sam agreed wholeheartedly when they told him they needed to purge the attic. “I’ll get it done today,” he promised as he shuffled outside to his beloved greenhouse.

Hours later, when he returned, covered in dirt and grime and satisfied as always by physical labor, Rosie would ask if he wanted help with the attic. “Oh no, I’m knackered. Remind me tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came and went. The girls offered to do it themselves, but Sam would snap, “You’re already locking me up like a convict. At least give me the privilege of handling my belongings myself.”

So they waited, and now the clock was ticking. Next week, Rosie and Cassie were moving to a flat near Newcastle University where they would finish their courses.

Bettie was moving in with her partner, Max (God help her). Sam would relocate, not to a prison, but to Sunny Gardens, a lovely care facility.

Realizing that as usual, she would have to take charge, Rosie organized the purge. Bettie and Cassie had promised they’d be here, but she was all alone with a box of bin bags and a bottle of scotch.

She put on a vintage Taylor Swift CD on Granny’s vintage CD player and got to work, trying not to feel overwhelmed by the piles of boxes. She focused on a stack near the back of the attic, a random assortment of old power cords for technology that no longer existed, and moth-eaten baby blankets hand-knitted by Granny.

Rosie grabbed one of the blankets and winced as a giant black binder tumbled out and landed on her foot. She cursed as she picked it up. Gold letters painted on the front of the binder read, FOR MY BABY GIRLS. She froze.

This binder belonged to her mother. She wasn’t sure how she knew this. Rosie had never seen her mother’s handwriting. In fact, she had very little to remember her mum by. She used to ask Dad why that was, and he would grow quiet, a grim, faraway look in his eyes.

“I took what I could carry. My most important cargo,” he would say as he ruffled Rosie’s hair.

She understood the sacrifices Dad made over the years since they left California. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him, but there was this deep ache inside her, a longing to know her mum.

Rosie took a deep breath and opened the binder. On the first page was a handwritten letter in the same elegant cursive as the cover.

To Rosie, Bettie, and Cassie, my precious girls.

I owe you an apology, though if you’re reading this, it’s likely too late. The truth is, I knew before you were born that our world was broken but I ignored it, because my desire to be a mom… to be your mom… clouded my judgment. I wanted to believe that my love was enough to keep y’all safe.

But that is not true. Half the country is underwater, the other half is burning. There’s an irreparable fracture in our government that is about more than politics, and the ugliness it’s unearthed terrifies me.

But the growing panic I feel is about what all of that means for your future. I have failed to prepare you for what’s coming. What’s worse is I am unprepared. My entire life I pursued a profession I loved, and though I still believe telling stories is a noble calling, it has made me useless. I have no applicable survival skills (neither does your father), and the people who can fend for themselves are the only ones who will survive.

Late at night, I lie awake, wishing I couldn’t see what was coming. Wishing I didn’t know how bad it would get. Some days I want to go to sleep and not wake up. I want to give up.

But then the sun rises, and I go to your room, and I open your door to see your bright, smiling faces. I hear each of you asking in your sweet, high-pitched bird voices for “Mama hugs” and “Mama kisses,” and I know that I must keep going. For you. For my sweet babies. I want you to be ready. So I must be ready, too.

I am preparing our food, our water, and our supplies, and I’m training myself. None of this comes easy. There are people, including your father, who think I am overreacting. Maybe they’re right and one day they will forgive me for my obsession. If I’m right, I hope I can forgive them for not listening.

I’ve considered the possibility that I might not be there for you one day, and enclosed in this notebook are survival tips you will need. (Your father jokingly calls it “A Mother’s Guide to the Apocalypse.”)

It is a guidebook. It’s all the things I want you to know how to do when there is no Google or internet or anyone who has this knowledge to pass along to you. I tried to be thorough, but I am sure there are things I have missed. Please know that I tried.

Lean on one another. Embrace one another’s strengths, and remember I am always with you… forever and always.

Love,

Mama Bear

Rosie read and reread the letter, taking in every line. Her mum loved her so much. It was all there on the page.

She didn’t realize that she was crying until she heard her sisters’ panicked voices.

“Rosie, what is it? What’s wrong?” Bettie asked.

She looked up to see Bettie and Cassie staring back at her, heads tilted in concern. Rosie rarely cried, but tears streamed down her face as she handed Bettie the binder. Cassie stood beside her, the two of them reading quickly, eyes widening in disbelief. Thy were so engrossed, they didn’t notice as an old photograph fluttered to the ground.

Rosie bent down to pick it up. Staring back at her was a five-by-seven photo of her mother. Olivia stood on a red carpet, a banner behind her that read THE ACADEMY AWARDS, the words Getty Images superimposed on the image. Olivia’s jet-black hair was shiny and long, her makeup flawless. She wore a slim-fitting black floor-length gown that showed off her figure.

Beside her was an equally stunning Black woman with long blond braids, wearing a white satin tuxedo, the two of them grinning as though they owned the world.

Rosie knew from a school project that she did in year eight (much to Sam’s dismay) that her mum had been nominated for an Academy Award for producing a short film, along with her partner, Melissa Warren. Rosie studied her mum’s smile, and saw they shared a plump bottom lip and slightly smaller top lip and the same button nose. She wanted to absorb every detail. This was only the fourth photo of her mother Rosie had ever seen.

After the sisters had spent years hounding Granny for any information, she’d secretly presented them with three family photos, insisting they not show them to their father.

“The last thing we want is to upset him. He’s so sensitive when it comes to your mum.”

One of the photos was of Rosie and her sisters wrapped in red Christmas stockings on their first day home from the NICU. Her mum held two of them, her father one, their grins so wide with joy, it radiated from the photo.

The second picture was when they were a year old, the whole family wearing fuzzy matching Christmas jumpers, and the third during Easter, all five of them sporting bunny ears, looking ridiculously happy.

Rosie once asked Dad why they didn’t have family photos. “I wish I could see what Mum looked like, and what our house looked like.”

“We used to have hard copies of everything, and then tablets and computers made it unnecessary. It was all right there in the palm of your hand. Until it wasn’t. It was a reminder that some things are impermanent, and why this way is better.”

Dad was always going on about how much better it was that there were limits on who could access technology. Global safety measures had been put in place to prevent what had happened during the Collapse from ever happening again. Even if the average working-class person could afford to use the internet or to buy those devices for their homes—and most couldn’t—Sam was adamant that they would never own them. “We all learned the hard way that too much information is dangerous. Trust me, the simple life is the best life.”

This photo Rosie now held seemed like a gift from her mother from the afterlife. Rosie turned it over and saw a note scribbled on the back.

Different handwriting. Sharp and sleek, like the woman in the picture.

Sammy, Sam, Sam, I tracked you down. Can you believe how young and beautiful Liv and I were? Every day I think about you and the girls, and I want to know how you’re doing. I’m not sure this letter will find you, but I found your address and with the borders opening up, I’m taking a chance. Life here is different and hard, but Dom and I are alive and that makes us two of the lucky ones. I haven’t given up on finding Olivia. Survivors are being discovered every day. What if she’s out there somewhere? I know things were complicated when it all went down, but we both know how fragile life is and that what we all shared is special. My number is below. Please know that you and the girls are always in my thoughts, and I’ll never give up on finding you or Liv. All my love, Mel.

Rosie stared, her gaze lingering on the date on the note. This was sent three years ago. Three years. She let out a gasp. Cassie put her hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Rosie. This is a lot to take in.”

Bettie clicked her tongue, her trademark signal that she was annoyed. “We should all take a moment and process what we’ve learned.”

Rosie wanted to scream. “Would you two shut up? You’re missing the point.” She held up the photo for them both to see. “It’s Mum. She’s not… I mean, she didn’t…”

Rosie was never at a loss for words, but no words came out. She cleared her throat. “Don’t you get it? Mum might still be alive.”

For once, Rosie’s sisters were stunned into silence, the revelation that life as they knew it would never be the same.

r/SoCalValleyPreppers

5,321 Members

GoJoe420

Welcome Newbies

We’re glad you found us. A lotta preppers aren’t happy about newcomers but that isn’t how we roll. We’re about learning from our neighbors and getting ready for the shit storm coming our way. So tell us why your here and how we can get you started. No shit talk or politiks allowed here. That ain’t what we’re about either! Don’t be a dickhead or you’l be blocked.

VanNuysGuy405

Joey, you’re the shit. Just got my bug out bag sorted and went to Home Depot to get supplies for my chicken coop. Gonna have my own eggs in no time. Thanks for having our backs.

SweetiePie24

I just graduated from University of Michigan and I’ve lived in Santa Monica for three months. But my parents lost their home in a flood last year. They weren’t ready AT ALL. My friends think I’m nuts, but I’d rather be informed. Excited for all your tips.

Mamabear3

I’m Olivia and I live in Woodland Hills. Been lurking here ever since we had a robbery three weeks ago during the LA blackout. I’ll be honest I’ve never been so scared. I have three toddler triplets. (yes my hands are full!) And I was so damn scared. When I think about what almost happened. Actually, I can’t think about it unless I want to have another panic attack. But I’m scared and pissed and I have to do something. I’m not sure where to start since it all feels overwhelming but I figure anything helps.

VallE4Ever

Welcome Olivia! We’re glad you’re here. We’ll get you hooked up & make sure you’re safe so no one fucks with you..

GoJoe420

Hey Liv, I’m Joey in Canoga Park. Looks like were neighbors. Sorry it took that shit happening to bring you here but we’re damn glad to have ya. Your in the right place. Check out the Beginer’s Guide to prepping I shared and ask any questions. There are no dumb questions… unless your Van. Then nothin but dumb shit.

VanNuysGuy405

It’s you’re. But also fuck you Joe.

GoJoe420

You wish!

SweetiePie24

Don’t let these two scare you off. Us ladies can prep with the best of ’em.

Mamabear3

Thanks y’all. I’ve got to pick up the kids from preschool, but I’ll be back. (She says in her best Schwarzenegger voice)

VanNuysGuy405

A Terminator reference. I might be in love.

GoJoe420

Keep it in your pants, Van.

NEW PRIVATE CHAT

GoJoe420

Hey, I’m happy to help you get started. I recommend getting sorted with your water storage and then targeting food supply and going from there.

Mamabear3

That’s it? Sounds simple.

GoJoe420

It’s not, but I got you. I’ll send a checklist. We’ll mark things off one by one. Think you can do that?

Mamabear3

I can try!

GoJoe420

That’s the prepper spirit.

Ten minutes had passed since Rosie discovered Mum’s book, and she still hadn’t moved. She sat there mumbling like an arsehole, “What if Mum isn’t dead? What if she isn’t dead?”

Cassie resisted the urge to shake her sister, knowing how Rosie was prone to lash out. She used to tease her sister that she resembled an adder, one of England’s only venomous snakes. When they were in year six, Cassie asked the school librarian to print out a picture of the snake, and she taped it on the wall above Rosie’s bed. The funny thing was it had taken Rosie a week to notice. When she did, she’d ripped it off the wall and chased Cassie around the house, shouting, “I’m going to bloody murder you.”

Which only proved Cassie’s point. Rosie’s instinct was attack first, ask questions later. It wasn’t as though Cassie didn’t have questions about Mum, but acting like an overly emotional American (Dad’s favorite insult) wouldn’t help matters.

Of course, Bettie was acting equally ridiculous, sitting on the floor next to Rosie, patting her shoulder, and sniffling. Always the drama queen, Cassie thought. Why can’t you let drama unfold without inserting yourself? she wanted to say.

“Mum can’t be alive. She simply can’t,” Cassie said.

Rosie’s head popped up like a marionette. “Oh really? How do you explain the letter we read, Cassandra?”

Cassie flinched. She wasn’t sure what she hated more: the patronizing tone Rosie used, or that she’d used her full name. “I don’t know. Rosalind. All I know is that a letter doesn’t tell the whole story. If Dad lied about what happened, he had a good reason. He’s probably protecting us.”

Rosie scoffed and resumed staring at Mum’s photo as though she might will her into existence.

Cassie knew that Dad wasn’t a liar. She knew him. Talking about their mum pained him because he loved her so much. Mum died in the Los Angeles flood and mudslide. Two weeks later, the family moved back to Dad’s hometown of Newcastle, to escape California’s superstorms, fires, earthquakes, and political turmoil.

A few months after that, the big earthquake struck California, decimating the state and killing millions.

Eight months later, the US fractured, with seventeen states, including California, seceding from the Union and declaring their independence.

When Cassie and her sisters were little, Sam made this all seem connected, as if Mum’s death equaled the world falling apart. But Rosie couldn’t stop asking questions in that tireless manner of hers. She researched nonstop about the floods, looking into everything she could find about the victim remains that were discovered.

Cassie thought it was gross that her sister wanted details, but Rosie was an obsessed little weirdo. She kept a running list of questions in a spiral notebook she carried around like a tiny Agatha Christie. She begged the librarian to track down more information on the quakes. However, the borders between New Pacific and Britain were still heavily secured, and access to books or news about the previous decades was limited.

Unsurprisingly, Bettie got on board, and she and Rosie began a relentless campaign to get Dad to tell them more about Mum’s death. The week of their thirteenth birthday, Dad gave in and called a family meeting. They waited for him in the conservatory.

Dad never drank, but that evening he poured a large scotch and settled onto Gran’s floral sofa as winter rains pounded the windows.

“I know you want to know about your mum and how she died, so I’m going to tell you once, and then I do not want to discuss it again.” He gazed back at them, his blue-gray eyes zeroing in on each of them, saving Rosie for last.

After their nodded assurances, he began. “The last time I saw your mum, she had a dinner in Hollywood with a director for her latest film. I was home with you three and had put you to bed when Liv called to say she was heading home. I said that I loved her and I would see her soon. She never made it. There was a flash flood in Laurel Canyon, and over a hundred and fifty people were swept away. A mudslide killed another fifty. I assumed she was there, but by that point the Collapse had begun. Things were moving so fast and I was scared. I wasn’t sure I could keep you safe in LA, so I made the decision to bring you back here. To my home. To be near Granny so we could start over. And we did. I’ve worked so hard to give you three the best life.”

That was the moment Dad began to cry. Dad never cried. He laughed. He teased. He mocked. He consoled. He did not cry.

Cassie rushed over to hug him while Rosie and Bettie sat in stunned silence. After he pulled himself together, Sam begged them to leave the past in the past. “Please, my loves, I can’t discuss this. Not anymore. We have to move on. Can we please move on?”

The desperation in his voice made Cassie feel sick. Thankfully, Bettie agreed. “You’re okay, Dad. It’ll be okay.”

Rosie’s silence made it clear she wasn’t satisfied. Dad could see that. “I promise to try and get more information about what happened.”

Maybe he meant it, or maybe it was lip service. Cassie was convinced that Dad’s emotional outburst was enough to make even Rosie back down, which was good. There was no reason to upset Dad after all he’d done. When he wasn’t working, he spent time teaching them how to care for the house and the grounds or cook their own meals. When they were younger, he would sit and play dolls and build elaborate block castles, and play pretend anytime they asked. Sometimes he lost his temper and yelled, but he was never violent. He loved them with his whole heart.

Of course, it was no secret that Cassie was the closest to her father, but it wasn’t part of any grand plan. She happened to like the same things he did, whether that was spending hours in the greenhouse planting new crops or riding with him when he made his food deliveries, the Beatles or the Rolling Stones blasting from the radio. Cassie just enjoyed their time together.

Not Rosie and Bettie. “It’s a bloody bore,” Bettie would say, preferring to play dress-up with Rosie.

But Cassie’s entire world made sense when she was working side by side with Dad, watching the dirt and soil blossom into something tangible, watching the tomatoes or strawberries they planted and ate for supper or the roses and peonies that grew around their home. More than that, it was Cassie’s time away from her sisters and all the comparisons. The plants never asked inane questions about whether she could feel her sisters’ pain (no) or if they liked the same boys (definitely not).

This situation was different, though. She couldn’t deny it. The idea that Mum hadn’t died or that her death hadn’t happened the way Dad said changed everything. Cassie knew that if she defended their dad, it might kick off another round of the “just because you’re the favorite doesn’t mean you know everything about him” argument. But she also didn’t want this to spiral into a bigger deal. And she could tell it was heading in that direction.

“I think we’re all upset. Maybe we should—”

Rosie cut her off. “Dad nev. . .