LOSS System: Last Store Standing

Early the next morning, the temperature began climbing almost as soon as the sun rose. Harsh sunlight bore down on the wasteland, twisting the distant scenery in the heat. Whatever coolness remained from the night quickly vanished, and even the wind felt scorching.

Jack and Megan arrived at the shelter early to warn everyone about what they had concluded the night before. The refugees might attack again, so everyone had to be prepared, especially those responsible for keeping watch.

They had barely finished when Leonard returned from the PACS and stepped beneath the canopy, removing his protective mask as he delivered the latest readings.

“It’s already 79.6 degrees Celsius outside. The surface temperature of the soil has passed ninety-three degrees, and the humidity is still falling.”

“Will it keep rising?” Jack asked.

“Based on the current trend, we probably haven’t reached the peak yet. The worst of it will likely come within the next few days. Daytime temperatures will keep climbing, and the heat won’t disappear as soon as the sun goes down. The next few days may be even harder than what we’ve dealt with so far.”

“Then no one leaves the shelter during the day unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Jack said. “Anyone keeping watch wears protective gear, even beneath the canopy.”

Inside the shelter, the temperature was holding at around thirty-two degrees Celsius. It was warmer than before, but still manageable, so there was no need to add more PCCUs yet. Nolan and the wounded refugee were also stable, with no obvious signs that the rising heat had worsened their conditions.

Once everything at the shelter was settled, Jack and Megan took a CUEV back to the trading post and passed Leonard’s readings and the new restrictions on to Elias. The same rules were immediately put in place there: no unnecessary trips outside during the day.

Jack brought the Polar Pulse Ice Synthesizer and several insulated containers to the trading post and connected the machine to power.

“Susan, Ray, keep this running and fill the containers as quickly as you can.”

He called Gordon over next. “As soon as the first one is full, take it to the shelter. The people on watch use the ice in their cooling vests first. Anything left over goes onto the ground, and once the container is empty, bring it straight back.”

“Got it.”

Jack then assigned the work at the trading post. Cass would soak the ground around the canopy, while Vane and Reed scattered ice along its edges to bring down the surface temperature.

Susan and Ray started the ice synthesizer. Once the first container was full, Gordon loaded it onto a CUEV and headed for the shelter. At the same time, water soaked into the scorching ground around the trading post, followed by handfuls of ice along the edge of the canopy.

The ice began melting almost as soon as it landed. Thin streams of cold water spread through the cracks in the dry earth.

At the agricultural supply center, only the innermost warehouse remained barely habitable. Even there, the trapped air felt like the inside of a sealed oven.

Sunlight entered through the broken windows farther away, leaving harsh patches of light across the dusty floor. The heated metal roof gave an occasional click, while the air remained almost completely still. Every breath carried heat and the taste of dust.

The refugees had scattered themselves through what little shade remained, their clothes soaked with sweat. One person poured the last of the water into a bottle cap, took a tiny sip, and immediately sealed the bottle again. Nearby, someone kept shaking an empty container, still hoping to coax out a final drop.

In one corner, a refugee searched an entire bag and found only a few grains coated in sand. He blew off what he could, put them into his mouth, and forced them down.

The person beside him kept watching.

“There’s nothing left,” he snapped, pulling the bag closer. “What are you looking at?”

The other refugee cursed but continued watching. Only after someone nearby told them both to shut up did they finally move apart, each keeping a tight hold on their belongings.

Near the wall, several refugees had gathered around the last shared bucket of water. Very little remained, and specks of dust floated across the surface.

“One mouthful each,” said the man guarding it. “Drink and move.”

The first person in line bent down, only to be dragged upright by someone behind him.

“That’s enough! You took two mouthfuls!”

“No, I didn’t!”

They immediately began fighting, knocking into the bucket hard enough to send the water sloshing against the sides. Everyone nearby rushed forward, not to separate them, but to keep the bucket from tipping over. A few drops spilled over the rim, and several hands reached out at once to catch them.

“The water’s spilling! Get them away from it!”

The two were quickly pulled apart. Blood ran from one man’s split lip, but no one spared him a second glance. Their attention remained on the bucket until they were certain that little water had been lost.

The Poison King sat at the edge of the group with his back against an empty shelf, quietly taking it all in.

Not quite yet.

Only a shallow layer of water remained in his own bottle, but he wasn’t worried. He had rationed it more carefully than the others and knew how to conserve his strength.

A curse suddenly broke the silence.

“This is all Jack’s fault! He’s living it up while we hide in here waiting to die!”

The warehouse immediately filled with low voices. Some agreed, while others pointed out that the supplies belonged to Jack and there was little they could do if he refused to share them.

“So we’re just supposed to starve?” The man pushed himself upright against the wall. “If we stay here, every one of us is going to die!”

The argument spread. Some wanted to return to the settlement, while others reminded them of the guns and Derek’s body at the entrance. The resentment they had tried to suppress quickly returned, and more of it began settling on Jack.

Then someone mentioned the Poison King.

The people who had gathered together immediately put some distance between themselves.

“If it weren’t for that damn Poison King, we would’ve gotten food.”

“Who the hell knows whether the rumor is even true?” someone shot back. “Jack left us to die over something no one can prove!”

More curses followed.

The Poison King took a small sip from his bottle before speaking.

“Even if the rumor is false, what difference does it make?”

The argument quieted enough for him to continue.

“Whether the Poison King is here or not doesn’t matter anymore. Jack already said he won’t trade with us again.”

The man who had first blamed Jack snorted. “He only acts like that because he has guns, a fence, and so many people helping him.”

“We have plenty of people too!”

“And what good did that do last time?” the Poison King asked. “Two gunshots were enough to stop everyone.”

The words immediately provoked several angry responses.

“Last time was different! We weren’t fucking prepared!”

“We’re already starving to death. What do guns matter now?”

“We’re going to die either way. At least going back gives us a chance to get food!”

The warehouse slowly fell silent. Several people stared at the empty containers in their hands, and the objections they might have raised never came.

“They can’t kill all of us.”

“We’re only asking for a way to survive. What right do they have to stop us?”

More voices joined in, and even those who had opposed forcing their way into the settlement no longer argued.

The refugee who had first raised the idea pulled himself up with the shelf. “If we stay here, we die. Who’s willing to come with me?”

People began rising throughout the warehouse.

The Poison King waited until most of them had made their decision before offering his support.

“If that’s what everyone wants, then we’ll go together.”

The coldness in his eyes went unnoticed.

The refugees immediately began searching the warehouse for anything they could use as a weapon. Empty crates were kicked aside, shelves were cleared, and abandoned materials were dragged into the open.

Someone found a metal pipe in a corner and tested its strength before tucking it under one arm. Others followed his example, pulling valves and pipe connectors from the shelves or digging through piles of spare components. A wrench was quickly claimed, followed by several short pipes and loose pieces of metal.

Those who still had nothing soon focused on the Adaptive Harvesting System covering half the wall.

Pipes of different sizes extended from several metal housings and ran along the wall. One refugee seized a loose section and threw his weight backward, but it refused to come free. Two others joined him, and all three pulled together until the wall bracket gave a faint creak.

“It’s loose! Again!”

They pulled once more. The bracket tore free along with a piece of the wall, sending all three refugees sprawling across the floor. Before they had even regained their footing, someone else had already picked up the fallen bracket and claimed it as a weapon.

That was enough to draw everyone else in.

The refugees attacked the remaining pipes and brackets with whatever they had. Where brute force failed, they forced scraps of metal into the gaps and pried at the fixtures. People worked until their arms began trembling, then gave way to whoever still had strength.

Hammering and heavy breathing filled the warehouse. Panels bent out of shape, pipes tore free from their connectors, and residual liquid spilled across the floor, mixing with the dust into dark stains.

One refugee tried to twist a metal fitting from the end of a detached pipe. When it refused to come loose, he smashed the pipe against the floor until the casing split and its internal parts scattered across the ground. He selected a jagged piece of metal from the wreckage and discarded the rest.

More people crowded around the damaged equipment. Stones, wrenches, and short pipes came down again and again, tearing away anything small enough to carry. Before long, the system that had once covered the wall had been reduced to dented housings, broken connectors, and lengths of pipe hanging from ruined brackets.

Another group moved toward the Self-Assembling Fence Matrix.

One corner of the upper panel had already lifted away from the frame. A refugee wedged a short pipe into the gap and forced it downward, but the panel barely shifted before the effort exhausted him.

“Someone else!”

Another refugee took his place and continued prying. Several people rotated through before one of the connectors finally broke loose, sending a palm-sized metal piece clattering to the floor. It was immediately passed to someone who still had nothing to defend himself with.

The others began searching for more weak points. Some hammered the structure with stones, while others forced short pipes into the gaps and pried at the panels. Every bracket or connector they managed to break free was handed to someone still empty-handed.

After repeated attempts, one of the panels finally tipped sideways. Everyone scrambled out of the way as it crashed onto the floor, throwing up a thick cloud of dust. The refugees quickly crowded around the fallen panel and stripped away the loosened connectors.

The hammering continued for most of the day, fading only after nearly everyone had found something that could serve as a weapon. Broken pipes littered the floor, damaged panels hung crookedly from the walls, and whatever couldn’t be carried had been discarded and crushed beneath countless feet.

The refugee who had first suggested forcing their way into the settlement raised his metal pipe.

“We have what we need. Let’s go!”

Several people immediately voiced their agreement, but the Poison King stopped them.

“Can any of you even make it there in your current condition?”

Most of the refugees were already slumped against the walls, gasping for breath, their arms still trembling from hours of pulling and hammering. One man tried to argue, only to brace himself against a shelf after taking two steps.

“Rest first,” the Poison King said. “We leave after sunset. Otherwise, half of you will collapse before we even get there.”

The man with the metal pipe checked the wasteland outside. Blinding sunlight still covered the ground, and the rolling heat had reduced everything in the distance to a wavering blur.

“Then we wait until sunset. Get whatever rest you can. We leave as soon as it gets dark.”

The refugees withdrew into the deeper parts of the warehouse. Some lay directly on the floor, while others rested against the shelves with their eyes closed. A few continued watching the doorway, impatient for the sun to disappear.

After sitting with them for a while, the Poison King rose with his nearly empty bottle.

“I’m going outside to see if there’s any water nearby.”

He left the warehouse alone. Once the agricultural supply center was behind him, he headed directly toward the trading post.

The exhaustion vanished from his face, replaced by a cold smile.