Lena had always been good with money.
Not rich.
Good.
There was a difference.
She had savings.
A retirement account.
Investments.
Good credit.
A paid-off car.
She paid her bills on time and generally did all the boring things people were supposed to do so that someday, decades from now, she could stop working without immediately becoming homeless.
At nine the next morning, she began dismantling all of it.
Her retirement account tried very hard to stop her.
EARLY DISTRIBUTIONS MAY BE SUBJECT TO TAXES AND PENALTIES.
“I know.”
WITHDRAWING FUNDS MAY SIGNIFICANTLY IMPACT YOUR LONG-TERM RETIREMENT GOALS.
Lena looked at the countdown.
26 DAYS : 14 HOURS : 17 MINUTES
“My long-term goals have changed.”
She confirmed the withdrawal.
Brokerage account next.
Sell.
All of it.
Savings were already accessible.
Then she checked every credit card she had and wrote down the available limits.
She applied for a personal line of credit while her finances still looked pristine.
Approved.
Another card offered a limit increase.
Accepted.
By the time she finished, Lena’s spreadsheet looked horrifying.
Her own money, once everything cleared, would be a little over $170,000.
Available credit added another $53,000.
Yesterday that would have felt like an extraordinary amount of money.
Today she had spent twenty minutes researching wells and knew better.
She added a line at the top of the spreadsheet.
TOTAL PURCHASING POWER: ~$223,000
Underneath:
REDTAIL: ???
Then she called the agent.
The seller wanted $159,000.
That was substantially less than Lena had feared and substantially more than she wanted to spend.
Redtail was cheap for a reason.
The house needed work.
The barns needed work.
The fencing needed a minor act of God.
The property had been inherited by three siblings who lived elsewhere and apparently shared exactly one opinion about it:
They wanted it gone.
Lena offered $140,000.
Cash.
As-is.
No financing.
Fastest closing they could legally manage.
The agent called back forty-three minutes later.
“Hundred forty-five.”
Lena closed her eyes.
Five thousand dollars was a generator.
Or medicine.
Or fencing.
Or a hundred other things she didn’t know she needed yet.
“Hundred forty-two.”
Another call.
Another wait.
“Hundred forty-three thousand five hundred.”
Lena stared at her spreadsheet.
“Done.”
When she hung up, she felt slightly sick.
She had just committed most of her actual wealth to a farm she’d known existed for less than twenty-four hours.
The System appeared.
QUEST UPDATE
A PLACE TO BEGIN
Purchase agreement established.
Settlement acquisition: PENDING
“When do you count it?”
Upon establishment of legal control.
“Working on it.”
The title company thought Lena’s requested timeline was ridiculous.
The seller, fortunately, was highly motivated by the phrase cash, as-is.
There were still documents.
Title work.
Signatures.
Wire transfers.
Things that could not be made instantaneous merely because Lena knew civilization had a deadline.
But the answer she eventually got was:
Two days.
Possibly three.
That would have to do.
Then Lena made a mistake.
She started pricing everything Redtail needed.
Generator.
$7,800.
Backup generator.
Absolutely not.
Solar system.
Lena actually laughed.
Water storage tanks.
Pump equipment.
Fence.
Barn roof.
Radios.
Fire extinguishers.
Chainsaw.
Tools.
Fuel.
Propane.
Seeds.
Food.
Water filtration.
Work clothes.
Boots.
Bedding.
Camping equipment.
Cooking equipment.
Replacement parts.
She hadn’t even gotten to animals.
Her spreadsheet total blew past her remaining money so quickly it was almost impressive.
“No.”
She started deleting.
Then stopped.
Deleting things because she couldn’t afford them didn’t make them unnecessary.
She needed priorities.
Lena opened a new tab.
REDTAIL — MUST WORK ON DAY 0
Water.
Power.
Shelter.
Sanitation.
Food.
Heat.
Cooking.
Communications.
Fire protection.
Basic medical.
She stared at it.
That was manageable.
Maybe.
She wasn’t building a town.
She wasn’t preparing for every human being who might someday need help.
She was trying to keep herself and the people she cared about alive.
Parents.
Siblings.
Friends.
Their partners.
Their kids.
She hadn’t even decided exactly who yet.
Ten people?
Fifteen?
Twenty?
That was already terrifying.
Twenty people ate a lot.
They needed water.
Beds.
Medicine.
Toilets.
And if this lasted longer than her stored food…
they needed a farm that actually functioned.
Lena opened another tab.
ANIMALS?
Chickens seemed obvious.
Eggs.
Meat.
Relatively small.
Goats?
Milk.
Cows?
She googled how much a cow ate.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Then she remembered that the System had warned of biological alteration.
She stared at the screen.
“Do animals change during Transition?”
Some will.
“Every animal?”
No.
“Can the changes be dangerous?”
Yes.
Lena slowly added another line.
KEEP NORMAL ANIMALS SAFE???
She didn’t know how…
but suddenly livestock felt less like something she could simply buy after Transition.
That was a problem for later.
A soon later.
Not a today later.
Today she needed Redtail.
She drove back out that afternoon.
The seller had authorized another walkthrough while the sale processed.
Lena brought a notebook, measuring tape, and an increasingly unrealistic belief that she could assess agricultural infrastructure after six hours of internet research.
She was examining the eastern fence when a voice behind her said:
“You’re the one buying the place.”
Lena turned.
The older woman from the neighboring property stood on the other side of the fence.
Late sixties, perhaps.
Gray hair pulled back beneath a faded cap.
Work shirt.
Jeans.
Boots that had clearly been used for their intended purpose.
“I am.”
“Ruth Bell.”
“Lena Mercer.”
Ruth nodded toward the farmhouse.
“You moving up from the city?”
“Yes.”
“You farm?”
“No.”
Ruth looked at the pasture.
“Ranch?”
“No.”
“Ever owned acreage?”
“No.”
Ruth looked back at Lena.
“You know what you’re doing?”
“Not even slightly.”
That got the smallest twitch at the corner of Ruth’s mouth.
“At least you know.”
“I’m learning.”
Ruth looked at the measuring tape.
“What’re you measuring?”
“Fence.”
“Why?”
“I got a quote to replace it.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-eight thousand.”
Ruth barked out a laugh.
Lena frowned.
“What?”
“They see you coming from the city?”
“Apparently.”
Ruth pointed twenty yards down.
“That section’s bad.”
Another.
“That one’s worse.”
Then toward the stretch between them.
“This is ugly.
Ugly isn’t broken.”
Lena looked at the old posts.
“So I don’t need to replace all of it?”
“Hell no.”
Ruth stepped closer to the fence.
“Those posts’ll outlive both of us.
New wire.
Replace the rotten corners.
Fix your braces.”
Lena immediately wrote that down.
Ruth watched her.
“You actually taking notes?”
“I have twenty-six days to learn how to run a farm.”
Ruth’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
“Why twenty-six?”
Lena paused.
“Personal deadline.”
Ruth clearly didn’t believe that.
Fortunately, she didn’t ask.
“You planning livestock?”
“Eventually.”
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Ruth sighed.
“Don’t buy anything until you’ve got somewhere to put it.”
“I wasn’t-”
“Everybody buys chickens first.”
“I wasn’t buying chickens today.”
“Good.”
Ruth pointed toward the barn.
“And don’t put animals in there until somebody checks that roof.”
Lena wrote: BARN ROOF
Ruth watched her again.
Then:
“You got water to that pasture?”
“I don’t know.”
Ruth closed her eyes briefly.
Lena added: FIGURE OUT WATER TO PASTURE
The System chimed.
CONTEXTUAL QUEST GENERATED
GOOD FENCES MAKE LIVING LIVESTOCK
Establish safe infrastructure before acquiring livestock.
Objectives:
Secure perimeter fencing
Establish livestock water access
Repair essential shelter
Create secure feed storage
Bonus: Establish separate quarantine enclosure
Reward:
Animal Appraisal
Spatial Inventory Expansion
Lena smiled.
Ruth frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You smile every time somebody tells you the place needs more work?”
Lena shrugged.
“Apparently.”
Ruth shook her head.
“Strange girl.”
She started walking away.
Then stopped.
“Don’t pay twenty-eight thousand for that fence.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t buy animals.”
“I heard you.”
“There’s a livestock auction Saturday.”
Lena stared at her.
“You literally just told me not to buy animals.”
“I told you there’s an auction.
Didn’t tell you to buy anything.”
Then Ruth continued toward the neighboring property.
Lena watched her go.
Interesting.
Not friendly, exactly.
But helpful.
She looked around Redtail.
The farm wasn’t hers yet.
Her bank account was about to become alarmingly empty.
She had twenty-six days.
And her list of things she didn’t know was growing faster than her list of supplies.
Lena opened her notebook.
At the top of a fresh page she wrote:
DO NOT BUY CHICKENS.
Then underneath:
Yet.