I leave everyone there with some parting advice and orders. Rebuild the barricade, reinforce the exteriors of the buildings the best they can, and do what I taught them if and when other monsters hit again. Pops stays with them to help, but Emily and I head out.
First things first, I need a shower and new clothes. Then we need to look for some arrows for Emily, and some food for the both of us. I don’t know about her, but I’m starving again. When that’s all taken care of, I’ll need to have a chat with William about what needs to be done around here and how I could help.
The shower is a simple affair, but finding clothes isn’t. I need to do the latter before the former, so we search the safe zone up and down. While there are a bunch of shops around, they’re either guarded by the owners or locked up tight. I can’t just break in and loot them. We need at least some semblance of law and order, and as the son of an officer, I have to set a good example for the others.
I try my luck in a few locations, but I’m told off in polite terms.
It’s frustrating, but it’s understandable. Everything is valuable right now, and with global trade and mass production of goods brought to a halt, things will only become more valuable as time passes. No one wants to give up what’s rightfully theirs, especially not for free.
As we jump from store to store, I keep an eye out for Morris and his guys too. I didn’t tell Pops about what happened, not wanting to add more worries to his already full plate, but I ask the store owners whenever Emily isn’t listening in.
No one’s seen them.
We come across little Willy at some point, and he stops us for some questions. He’s accompanied by a sharply dressed woman in her early forties, and it takes me a moment to recognize her as Mayor Gilford’s secretary. She keeps behind Willy, occasionally checking a thick binder.
If memory serves, her name is Lilly. Then I remember that I can analyze people now, so I do it. The system prompt confirms it, and I also find out that she's as of yet classless.
Little Willy asks us about who we’ve come across, either dead or alive. It’s a little early for a census, but I figure they need something to keep them occupied. After I’m done answering their questions, I bring out a few of my own. I ask about Morris and Gilford, since I didn’t see the man anywhere.
“What? Did you run into him?” Willy asks when I bring up the former.
“Yeah.”
Lilly flips through the binder and jots something down.
“Any…trouble?” Little Willy continues.
“Yeah,” I say without elaborating.
“Want me to—”
“No, don’t tell anyone about it. Let’s keep it between ourselves for now. Is he here or not?”
“He isn’t. And as for Mayor Gilford,” Willy says, “he’s dead. We got multiple reports about it. People saw him trying to flee the town and get ripped to pieces.”
“Damn.”
We chat for a few more minutes, and after I assure Willy for the third time that everything is fine, he promises not to talk to Pops or William about it. We go our separate ways, as I still have a few stores I want to try.
----------------------------------------
“Okay, how about we barter?” I propose.
We’re in a store called Stevie’s Skivvies, but despite the silly name and the boxers shaped sign outside, they sell more than just underwear. I know Steve, the owner, since I mainly buy — or used to buy — my clothes from him.
He’s short and pudgy, with a receding hairline that convinced him to shave his head bald years ago. The store is family owned, run by only him and his wife, Carol. They live on the second floor, so when shit started going down, they rushed to protect their livelihood.
Said protection comes in the form of Steve himself, posted outside the door with a mean looking shotgun.
“Go on,” the man says in a nasal voice, as if his sinuses are stuffed.
“I don’t have much right now except for some tools, but…”
“Not interested in IOU's, sorry,” Steve cuts me off.
“Come on, you know me. I’ll pay you back.”
“That’s not the problem. I know you will, but if I do it for you, I’ll have to do it for everyone.”
He got me there. I’m about to turn around and leave empty handed, but Emily stops me. She pulls out one of her tracksuits, clean and neatly folded.
“Trade?” She asks timidly.
Steve sighs. “Fine, but it’s a one for one deal. Go in and pick two items, and none of that funny inventory stuff. I’m watching you.”
I don’t like this, and I tell Emily as much. Those are her clothes, she needs them as well. They’re not mine to trade away. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t budge either. She gives Steve the tracksuit, then she points at the door.
I go in reluctantly and pick up my two items. A pair of jeans, and a plain red shirt. They’ll just get ruined again soon enough, I just know it, but what can I do? I can’t walk around half-naked and caked in blood.
Carol helps me with picking the right sizes, and I ask her for a pen and a piece of paper as well. When I’m done, I put the clothes into my inventory to not stain them and I return outside.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” Steve says as we leave. “If you find supplies, swing by again. We’re looking for food and water. Same deal, one for one.”
I give him a thumbs up. Then I turn to Emily, and I hand her the piece of paper with my handwriting. She takes it, confused for a moment before she reads it. It’s an IOU from me to her, since she had to trade in some of her items on my behalf.
Emily smiles and shakes her head. Her hand closes around the paper, crumpling it before she throws it away.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Thanks,” I say.
She punches my shoulder playfully as we walk down the street.
----------------------------------------
An hour later, I’m done with the sponge bath at the police station. Not the cleanest I’ve ever been in my life, but I’ll live. I get dressed, a task made much easier by the system, and I leave the men’s showers.
Emily waits outside the door, fidgeting with her bow. She gets next to me, and we make a short stop at the station’s armory on our way out. William had his men gather some ammo and other supplies here, but as I enter, I find the room almost barren.
“Do you guys have any arrows? My friend here needs some.”
A couple of people guard the mostly empty boxes and lockers, a man and a woman. If memory serves, they’re two of the dispatchers. I don’t even know their names, but my newly acquired analyze skill helps with that. The woman’s name is Elizabeth, and the man’s name is Nick.
“Lizzy?” Nick asks.
“I’ll take a look,” she says in a drained tone.
She goes through their meager supplies, and I realize they don’t have a system in place to keep track of what they have on hand. The police force did have one, so why did they stop using it? How is William not chewing their asses for it?
The closer I look, the more problems I spot. No plan or instructions for the civilians. No training for the fighters, even some very basic pointers. And now this. Not only are they not consolidating the resources in the area, they’re not even keeping proper track of what they do have.
I know it’s not even been twenty four hours yet, but still. William usually runs a tighter ship.
“Here,” Lizzy says, pulling a couple arrow packs out of a box. “It’s all we seem to have, but take them both. No one else is using a compound bow as far as I’ve seen, only crossbows.”
She tosses the packs to Emily, who deftly catches them out of the air.
“Are they the right kind?” I ask.
Emily inspects them for a moment, then she nods. They’re only 12 packs, but combined with the arrows she already has, they’ll hopefully be enough for a while. She tears into the packaging and pulls the arrows into her inventory.
“Thanks. Now, where could we find something to eat?”
Lizzy and Nick look at each other, then to me. Neither one speaks for a long moment, and I only get my answer from someone else. Another officer walks in to stock up on ammo.
“Go to the supermarket. Big Willy talked them into giving up some of the fresh produce, but there’s a very long line.”
I raise an eyebrow, but I keep my mouth shut. At least for now.
----------------------------------------
We get to the supermarket, and holy hell, we weren’t lied to. The lines, because there are multiple of them, go all the way down the street and around the corner. There are at least a thousand people here, if not more.
Even if they give out the entire stock, the supermarket doesn’t have enough food to feed everyone for long. It’s not that huge of a place, Stelver didn’t need one of those.
“And they’re only giving out the fresh produce,” I mumble.
Emily nods, as if she’d been thinking the same thing.
“Well, we better get in line.”
We walk towards the back of the line, but we run into Jessica on the way. She’s going to the front, and she stops us to chat.
“Did you already get your rations?” She asks.
“Do we look like we did?”
She shrugs. “It might be in your inventory for all I know. It keeps food from spoiling, in case you didn’t find out already.”
“Does it now? That sounds useful.”
“Very. I tried it with some ice, and here, check it out,” she says, pulling a huge chunk of ice out of her inventory. “I got it from one of the ice wizards, and I’ve had it on me all morning. It didn’t melt even a little bit.”
“Nice,” I say, not asking why she has a random chunk of ice on her. “I’d love to stay and chat some more, but we have to get a spot in the line.”
Jessica gives me a lopsided look. “Did nobody tell you? The fighters are allowed to skip the line. That’s…what I’m doing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, come on.”
She grabs my hand and drags me along towards the front of the lines, where some of William’s personnel are handing out food. I can understand the logic behind it, the fighters have to get their food fast and return to the perimeter in case of another attack. Still, I don’t like the way people look at us for it.
They’re displeased by the arrangement. I can see it in their eyes, the fear that we’ll get the supplies meant for them. That the time they spent waiting in line, abiding law and order, will be wasted since we don’t play by the same rules.
It’s a look I know all too well, I’ve been accused of getting special treatment because of Pops before. This is just another flavor of that.
That no one stops us along the way surprises me the most.
We reach the front of the line, and Jessica pushes us up front to one of the serving booths. Little Willy is behind it, giving out produce from cardboard boxes. His sidearm is in a holster at his hip, prominently exposed. A deterrent for anyone who might want to try something stupid.
“Hey, Jack,” he greets in his usual I’m better than you voice.
“Sup.”
He looks at us in turn, then he says, “I can see you’re all fighters. Here, let me get you something to eat.”
“And how exactly do you see that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
I’m curious how they’re checking for it. What’s stopping people from jumping in line?
“Your levels and classes,” he says absently as he digs through the boxes. “I have this skill called Analyze that lets me see them.”
Interesting method. Not the best, but it’ll do in a pinch.
I make some small talk with the man, revealing that I have the same skill. He gets us some apples, a couple of cabbages, and a pound of raw potatoes. As he weighs them out on an old timey balance scale, he lets me know how he acquired his skill. Turns out, he got it from taking all of those reports and checking between them to confirm some of the claims.
“You should stay here and help me out,” he says as he hands the supplies to us. “I’m the only one in the force so far with that skill, I need a helper.”
I’m thinking of a way to turn down the offer, but luckily, I don’t need to. Jessica blows up and successfully, albeit unintentionally, derails the conversation.
“Cabbage? Do I look like a rabbit to you?”
“Jessica, shush,” I say, grabbing her shoulders.
“We need proper food!” She continues, not dissuaded. “There are tons of cans in there, give us some of those!”
Little Willy recoils, lifting up his hands defensively. The gun at his hip goes completely forgotten, though I do keep an eye on it. Just in case.
“Jessica,” I repeat, my tone a bit more forceful.
“We only made a deal for the fresh produce,” Little Willy pleads. “We can’t just go in there and loot the place.”
Jessica is clearly not placated, but I clamp a hand over her mouth. She shoots me a death glare and bites into my fingers, but I don’t let up. I pull her in closer and whisper into her ear.
“Jessica, stop right now. You’ll rile up the people and we’ll have a riot on our hands.”
She looks between me and the crowd, some of which are murmuring. Her eyes go wide, and her muffled complaints come to a halt.
“Can I trust you to keep quiet if I take my hand away?” I ask.
She nods, so I do it. My fingers bleed, ringed with teeth marks, and I flex them as the system healing kicks in. Jessica spits a bit of blood on the ground.
“This is bullshit,” she whispers.
We take what we’d been offered, and I thank little Willy before we leave. As we walk away, I look back at the uneasy crowd.