***[POV: Our Fox-in-a-wolf]***
The bulk of the storm had finally passed, leaving the forest dripping when I glanced outside of the container again. I’d packed away everything carefully while
taking pictures of it all
... now it was time to
finish
things before I ran the Task time too close.
"It’s not a good idea to always be procrastinating. I can take more breaks after we finish this."
With a backpack in one hand, a shipping container
disappearing
in the other, a shift to hybrid form and a consultation of the system map... I’m ready to travel to the last cache location. An
abandoned mine
was what the journal called it.
It had its
marker
a few miles from here - in a hilly,
rocky looking
topography much closer to the city than the others had been. This was his [insurance policy for when the lights go out permanently].
The most cryptic entry he’d made by far. And that was even with the rambles about
nuclear winters
. It had a rough sketch of the
rotting wood entrance
, at least, so I’ll know again what to look for when I get there.
> He kept strangely helpful records, if you can ignore most of it. I’m sure my history instructors would bemoan how much I ignored of it, actually. Definitely not going far inside that death trap. Don’t worry. Perhaps a small ’earthquake’ or even the lightning storms had rattled them loose. Easy, friend. It will be fine. We almost have it. Maybe even let this child of hers taste its first chocolate from this batch. I’m glad werewolves don’t carry the same problem with the food as actual canids. <
All in all, it seemed he was thinking about...
comfort
, with this cache. About what people would miss most when everything fell apart. And of course,
exploiting their desire for it
like any successful merchant.
I picked up one of the
whiskey
bottles - a brand I only recognized because of his journal. The same one he claimed
tasted incredible
and was worth [more than most people earned in a week].
This small container held a
half dozen of such bottles
, alongside everything else, which meant I’d just neatly gathered a month and a half of wages - if I could resell it at the same price. Which I probably
cannot
.
"Collectors of fine spirits are particular about storage, even in my world. I’d be lucky to get half of it as a reseller, I think. Still not bad. Maybe better as a trade or... gift."
There were also
mechanical winding watches
that needed no batteries. Playing cards and dice for
entertainment
. Solar powered calculators. Sealed containers of salt and exotic spice packets that would make any survival rations
palatable
.
Each item individually seemed almost
trivial
. Together, they painted a picture of someone who understood that civilization, and its luxuries, were
more fragile than most people realized
.
That when the
big
things failed, it would be the
small comforts
that determined whether people maintained their humanity or became
unstructured
packs of beasts.
For the first time since yesterday, I intentionally focused on the
blue edges of my vision
and looked at the ’apocalypse’ timer instead of the map’s clock.
|
TIME UNTIL APOCALYPSE COMMENCEMENT: 47 DAYS, 10 HOURS, 33 MINUTES
|
Seeing that glowing snowflake, I felt a
chill
that had nothing to do with the autumn hillside air. The hunter had spent years preparing as generally as he could, but for me - for everyone - this wasn’t just
some abstract threat
in the distant future.
At the same time, all there is for me to know is
when
it will begin. Nothing about how to
prepare
. Sure, the ratings for locations on the map will be helpful. And I really will have to figure out the best place to build... a
den
.
"It would be... nice to know more. About how to prepare."
I
somewhat intentionally think this
before I let my eyes tick over to the
pulsing
checkmark.