Rebuilding

*Slow burn story here, there will be tons of sex in the later chapters but the first few will simply set up the world. I hope the world building and characters are interesting enough that you give it a chance. Eventually the story will develop into a post-apocalyptic survival harem (featuring only the 18+ characters of course) plus geopolitical intrigue drama.*

# Prologue

## Day 1, Yosemite National Park

The park was busy with spring visitors when the first reports came in. Tourists coughing in the visitor center, a family requesting medical assistance at Upper Pines campground. Andy helped coordinate with the park's small medical team, radioing updates to other rangers. Standard protocol for illness in the park - nothing too concerning yet. That evening, things took a turn, with the news reporting an alarming spread of similar outbreaks across California, and the world. Possibly a new avian flu, they said.

## Day 2

Everything accelerated. Half the ranger staff called in sick. The small park clinic was overwhelmed. Andy helped organize an evacuation point at the visitor center, trying to get sick tourists to hospitals in Fresno or Modesto. His training kicked in - calm, professional, reassuring visitors even as his colleague Declan started coughing blood next to him. The ill began dying in droves. The park superintendent ordered all non-essential personnel to evacuate. Andy stayed, helping the remaining medical staff set up an impromptu care center in the lodge. By the evening, Andy felt a fever rise and was soon sweating through his clothes and coughing up a lung. He weakly barricaded himself in his cabin and prepared to die like the others.

## Day 3

The next morning, Andy woke to fine himself still alive, surprised to feel slightly better than the night before. He pulled himself out of his cabin and began his duties. The radio channels went quiet one by one. No response from Fresno hospitals. The lodge had become a morgue. He spent the morning doing rounds, checking campsites, finding mostly bodies or critically ill visitors who died within hours. By evening, he was the only ranger still moving around. He did his best to care for the sick and dying. Andy wasn't entirely sure if this was all just an awful dream.

# Chapter 1

## Day 4 - Morning

The cough remained in his chest that morning, but Andy forced himself to continue his rounds. The ranger truck's tires crunched over broken glass in the parking lot as he checked North Pines Campground. Most sites were abandoned, their occupants having fled days ago. Others contained what he couldn't let himself think about yet.

His fevered brain kept switching between ranger protocol and survival instinct. Check each site. Document. Radio in-- no, the radio was silent now. Just static and occasional distant screams that were becoming less frequent.

That's when he saw it - an expensive ultralight tent in millennial pink and gray, surrounded by matching gear that looked straight out of an REI catalog. Too pristine, barely used. A small solar charger lay futilely pointed at the clouded sky.

"Hello?" His voice was rough from coughing. "Ranger service. Anyone alive in there?"

"Define 'alive,'" came a strained but steady voice, followed by a cough.

Andy approached cautiously, unsnapping his holster out of habit though he knew he wouldn't need it. Inside, a young woman sat cross-legged in the tent entrance, her expensive Lululemon sports bra and high-waisted hiking shorts soaked through with fever sweat. Despite everything - the death, the horror, his own fever - Andy couldn't help noticing how the wet fabric clung to her curves. Her figure was exactly the type that dominated outdoor Instagram - slim waist, toned stomach, curved hips, the sports bra struggling to contain what was clearly meant to be shown off just enough to stay within platform guidelines. He tried to push the thoughts away and focus, but his eyes kept betraying him.

She looked up at him with clear eyes, fever-bright but alert. Mixed Asian-white features that hit that perfect social media sweet spot, even through the fever - high cheekbones, full lips, almond-shaped hazel eyes. Her carefully highlighted hair was plastered to her neck, mascara smudged but intact - like she'd been maintaining her appearance out of sheer habit until the fever hit. A few light freckles stood out against her flushed skin. "I'm guessing the 'shelter in place' order isn't working out great for everyone else either?"

"I'm Ranger Rhee. Andy," he said, noting how her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her water bottle. "You're sick, but... not like the others."

"Sarah Chen-Mitchell," she managed between sips. "And yeah, I noticed. Been listening to people cough and die all night while I just sat here with what feels like a really bad flu. Not exactly the wilderness experience I was going for." Her attempt at humor was undercut by the raw edge in her voice.

Andy saw her Instagram-ready camp setup - the coordinated cookware still in its packaging, the expensive camera carefully wrapped in a rain cover, the rose gold water bottle. "We need to get you somewhere safer. Can you walk?"

"Yeah, just..." She stood unsteadily, unconsciously adjusting her sports bra - a reflexive gesture that seemed absurd given the circumstances. "My car's blocked in. I tried to leave but..." She gestured at the chaos of abandoned vehicles hemming in her pristine Subaru, many with now-deceased occupants.

"Look, I've got medicine and supplies back at my ranger unit," Andy said. "Pack whatever clothes and valuables you need. Leave the camping gear - we can always come back for it if..." he trailed off, not sure how to end that sentence.

"Right," Sarah said, still shivering slightly in her wet athletic wear. "I should probably change too."

"Do you need help?" Andy asked, then immediately regretted how that might sound. "I mean, with packing. You seem pretty weak."

"No, I've got it," Sarah said quickly, pulling herself more upright. "Just... give me a few minutes?" Despite everything, there was still a hint of self-consciousness in her voice.

Andy nodded and stepped away from the tent. "Take your time. We're not exactly on a schedule anymore."

He heard the tent zip closed, followed by the sounds of her moving around inside. The rustle of fabric as she changed. Multiple bags being opened and closed - more than strictly necessary for just grabbing essentials, he thought. A few quiet muttered comments to herself about what to take. The distinct sound of what had to be a hairbrush being used. Even now, even here, some habits died hard. Or maybe it was just her way of holding onto normalcy for a few more minutes.

Andy stood guard, trying not to listen too closely to her movements, scanning the eerily quiet campground. A crow called somewhere nearby. The mountain air was cool and clean, carrying no hint of the devastation it had helped deliver.

"Ready," Sarah called softly. The tent zipper opened and she emerged with a large designer backpack, now dressed in a black Alo Yoga tube top that showcased her toned shoulders and pushed up her cleavage, paired with high-waisted leggings that clung to every curve. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, but her dark hair was neatly brushed, falling in waves around her shoulders. The fever flush in her cheeks only enhanced her natural beauty - that calculated mix of exotic and approachable that had probably earned her thousands of followers.

She caught Andy's gaze traveling over her body and gave a small, knowing shrug, arching her back slightly. "I know, I know. Not exactly survival wear. But it's what I brought for my Instagram hiking content, so..." She did a little pose, definitely more displaying than mocking now, the movement emphasizing her curves. Andy found himself watching much longer than he should, and her slight smile suggested that was exactly the response she'd wanted.

"We can probably find you something more practical at the gear store," he managed, forcing his eyes back to her face. "Heavy duty pants, boots, proper rain gear."

"Perfect," she smiled, her voice dropping slightly despite her obvious exhaustion. "Though I did bring some actually useful stuff." She knelt by her bag, the movement making Andy struggle to keep his eyes up. "Latest gen military water filter - my dad's company makes them for the marines. Handles way more volume than those little LifeStraws. Satellite uplink that'll work even if the normal networks are down. And this..."

She pulled out a sleek black device. "GoPro 12 with infrared. Not even on the market yet - I was supposed to demo it next month."

Clean water for a larger group. Communications. Night operations. He tried not to sound too eager. "That... could all come in really handy."

As they walked to his truck, both carefully kept their eyes forward, ignoring the abandoned cars and what lay inside them. Andy carried her bag despite her token protest, noticing how she stayed close to his side.

"So," Sarah said once they were in the truck, adjusting the AC vent toward her flushed face. "How long have you been a ranger here?" The question seemed deliberately normal, almost absurdly so given the circumstances.

"Three years here. Before that, two years at Joshua Tree."

"Oh, I was just at Joshua Tree! That Hidden Valley trail at sunset, it was so beautiful." She spoke wistfully, her enthusiasm fading as the weight of everything they had experienced in the past three days settled back.

Andy gestured at her bag. "Tell me about that gear - you said there was a satellite uplink?"

"Right." Sarah dug through her bag, pulling out sleek boxes with military-style lettering. She started reading, her voice growing more confident as she went. "Okay, so this is a 'Starlink Tactical Ground Array' - it's got four encrypted receiver units that can talk to each other from anywhere on Earth. Says here it can maintain 4G speeds even without ground infrastructure." She looked up. "Guess Dad's company wasn't just being paranoid with all this survivalist tech."

"Wait, you mean that little thing has internet access? I don't see a satellite dish anywhere."

"Yeah I think so. I think the array can mimic the behavior of a dish without actually needing one."

"That's huge. We really need more information about what's going on." Andy said, feeling hopeful about something for the first time in days.

She nodded and moved on to the water system. "This one's cool - processes up to 25 gallons per hour, removes everything down to 0.0001 microns. Works on chemical and biological agents too. If we can get some acid and lye we can keep reusing it forever."

"And the camera?" Andy asked.

"Let's see... Military-grade infrared imaging, 4K resolution in complete darkness, range up to..." she squinted at the manual. "Thermal detection at 200 meters."

"Could probably rig that into a decent night sight," Andy mused, then caught himself.

Sarah glanced at his holstered pistol, then out at the empty park road. After a long pause, she cleared her throat and went back to the manual, her voice quieter. "It's got some kind of AI field-of-view system too..."

## Day 4 - Evening

After getting Sarah settled at his unit, Andy continued searching for survivors and checking on the dying. Near the clinic, he found Miguel Martinez slumped against a supply cabinet, still in his blood-stained uniform but maintaining his ramrod-straight Marine posture even now. The room around him showed signs of his final efforts - organized medical supplies, careful notes on symptoms, a log of those he'd tried to help. He looked up weakly from his notebook when Andy arrived.

"Rhee." Miguel's voice was barely a whisper. "You made it. Figured you might. Always had the look."

"Miguel," Andy started, but the older ranger cut him off with a weak wave.

"Save it. Listen. Daniela's following protocol at home. She got sick two days ago. But she's stronger. Already sounding better on the radio this morning. She must be immune, like you, alaba al Señor".

Immune. Were they immune? The idea hit Andy like a truck.

Andy knew Daniela - had helped train her on basic ranger procedures, watched her grow up these past three years. Though only fourteen, her prepper father had subject her to a rigorous marine-style training regimen that made her an extremely competent survivalist. She'd always seemed almost comically over-prepared, showing up to basic first aid training with a full combat medical kit. If there was anyone left to laugh, they wouldn't be now.

"Her isolation ends tomorrow morning," Miguel continued. "She knows what to do, but..." Another coughing fit wracked him, blood spattering his arm. "She'll need..." He grabbed Andy's wrist with surprising strength. "You take care of her. After. Promise me."

"If it comes to that. I swear." Andy attempted a smile. "Although, she might be the one taking care of me in the end." Miguel chuckled softly. Andy tried to help Miguel up, but the older ranger shook his head.

"Too late for me. Already tried everything here. Nothing helps. Just..." He pulled himself straighter. "Just let me finish my notes. Document everything. Might help someone."

Andy nodded, throat tight. He gripped Miguel's hand one more time, and they looked each other in the eyes. He gave Miguel a solemn nod, and headed to the Martinez cabin. Through a small clear section in the sealed window, he could see Daniela's silhouette moving around inside, her survival supplies arranged with precision. Just like her father had taught her.

"Daniela?" he called softly.

She approached the window, and even through the plastic he could see the fever flush in her cheeks. But her voice was strong, clear. "Ranger Rhee. Status report: began showing symptoms approximately 36 hours ago. Fever peaked at 101.2 last night. Currently maintaining isolation." A pause. "Dad mentioned you were coming."

"Seems you're also OK, like me. I found another survivor too."

Daniela nodded, processing. "Isolation ends at 0600 tomorrow. That's when Dad's supposed to come get me - " Her voice caught. "Is... is dad...? I haven't asked, but... he sounds really weak right now."

"We'll see. He's not looking great to be honest, Daniela. I'm sorry."

The poor girl tried to maintain composure but Andy could see her eyes well up. She turned away briefly, then turned back. When she spoke again, her voice was wavered slightly. "I'll maintain quarantine until morning."

"Are you sure you don't want to go see him? You seem OK, I don't think it would hurt."

She shook her head "No. I'll talk to him on the radio. Protocol is protocol."

"OK. I'll come get you at six."

Andy headed back to his cabin, to Sarah, the weight of Miguel's last watch at the clinic and his daughter's words falling on his shoulders. Tomorrow morning would come too soon, and not soon enough.

## Day 4 - Late Night

The commissary had been eerily quiet, its automatic doors frozen half-open. Andy had gathered what he could - protein bars, dried fruit, bottles of water. The walk back to his cabin felt longer than usual, each shadow holding the potential for another body, another victim.

He saw the Starlink array before he reached his door - a sleek black apparatus that looked more like a piece of modern art than military hardware. Sarah had positioned the nodes in a complex nested arrangement. Andy was mildly impressed, it looked precisely done.

The cabin door creaked slightly as he pushed it open. "Sarah, I got some-" He stopped short. She was curled up in his bed, wrapped in her sleeping bag despite the warmth of the evening. Her face was peaceful in sleep, the fever flush finally fading from her cheeks. Her dark hair spilled across his pillow, and he noticed she'd changed into a pale pink Alo Yoga tank top that looked brand-new. The transformation from her carefully curated daytime appearance was striking. She looked younger, more vulnerable.

Andy set the supplies down as quietly as he could and backed out of the cabin. She needed the rest more than she needed food right now.

Outside, his phone buzzed - the first notification he'd received in days. The Starlink array hummed softly, its status light steady green. He pulled out his phone with slightly trembling hands and watched as notifications began flooding in. Email. Twitter. News alerts. The world outside the park still existed apparently, somehow.

He sat heavily in one of the wooden chairs on his small porch, opened his laptop, and began downloading the prepper manuals Miguel had mentioned so many times - "Emergency Protocols for Systemic Collapse", "Catastrophic Event Recovery, Reference Encyclopedia" and "Technology Bootstrapping - How to Restart Industrial Society". The download started immediately, the normalcy of a digital download almost shocking after days of internet silence.

Then he opened Twitter, and his breath caught in his throat. The feed was sparse but active. Scattered voices calling out from around the world, trying to find others. A woman in Seattle reporting that her entire family had survived. A doctor in Mumbai documenting recovery rates. A thread from the CDC, last updated two days ago, describing it as an avian flu with aerosol human-human and human-bird transmission, confirming what Miguel had alluded to - some people got deathly ill, a tiny fraction just got sick and recovered, and there seemed to be no pattern to it.

Someone - a software engineer in Morocco, according to the about page - had anticipated the grid's imminent collapse and created a simplified Twitter clone called Beacon. It apparently ran on a solar-powered home server farm with redundant battery backups, designed specifically to operate via Starlink. The site was bare-bones but functional: just a global chronological feed, basic search, hashtags, geotags, and posts limited to 280 characters.

One tweet from a virologist caught his eye: "Preliminary data suggests ~0.8% survival rate globally. Fascinating gender disparity - female survivors outnumbering male ~7:1. Genetic factor? Hormonal? Need more data."

Andy scrolled through location tags, trying to piece together the scale of it. The posts from major cities painted a chaotic picture - hundreds of survivors in New York, Los Angeles, Shanghai, but all isolated, scattered across vast urban landscapes. No real organization yet, just desperate attempts to connect. "Anyone alive near Brooklyn Heights?" "SOS from Miracle Mile LA - have supplies, need medical." "Twenty survivors at Pudong Hospital Shanghai, seeking others." The shock was still fresh, the posts raw with grief and disbelief. Nobody was talking about rebuilding yet. They were still counting their losses.

The manuals finished downloading, and Andy forced himself to close Twitter. He needed to focus on what he could control - keeping Sarah and Daniela alive, gathering supplies, and getting out of Yosemite to a more major population center. The wider world would still be there tomorrow, whatever was left of it.

He looked up at Half Dome, now silvered by moonlight. The ancient granite face was unchanged, indifferent to the apocalypse that had just played out beneath it. Somewhere in the darkness, coyotes began to howl - a sound that had always made the park feel wild and untamed. Now it felt like a reminder: nature was already moving on, reclaiming what had briefly been borrowed.

Andy opened the survival manual's PDF, finding the section on "Social Collapse and Communication Strategies." The manual laid out different strategies based on mortality rates - 30%, 50%, 70%, 90%, 99%. With a grimace, he scrolled to the 99% section.

"In the immediate aftermath of a >99% mortality event, social structures will be broadly erased and surviving population density will be too low for the immediate formation of antagonistic groups. Unlike smaller-scale disasters where existing social structures remain partially intact, catastrophic collapse temporarily eliminates the organizational capacity for coordinated action, hostile or otherwise. Survivors in the first weeks will be focused on immediate personal survival. During this brief window, other survivors can generally be trusted to be cooperative and helpful, as the shared experience of massive loss promotes prosocial behavior."