LOSS System: Last Store Standing

On the way back to the agricultural supply center, the Poison King matched the pace of the refugees around him. He held his water close, shifting aside whenever anyone came too near. Nothing about him stood out.

Jack was proving more troublesome than expected.

The man never followed the usual rules, leaving the Poison King with no obvious way to deal with him. Jack had all the food and water he needed, and the heat outside meant nothing to him. He had sealed himself inside the settlement like a turtle in its shell.

Ordinary methods would never draw him out. To get close, the Poison King would first have to make Jack open the entrance himself.

There was no need to rush.

Patience had never been a problem for him.

By the time the refugees returned to the agricultural supply center, they had already drunk a good portion of the water they had collected. Exhaustion and hunger left the group in silence until someone in the corner finally cursed.

“Fuck. We carried all that stuff through the heat, and he changed his mind just like that.”

No one responded at first.

The man pointed at the containers around them. “All we got was some water. Does he think we’re beggars?”

“We’re lucky he gave us that much,” someone said quietly. “The supplies are his. If he refuses to trade, what can we do?”

“And it’s all because of that damn Poison King.”

At the edge of the group, the Poison King took a drink and kept his expression carefully neutral.

“I think Jack’s just a bastard,” the first refugee said. “He wanted to break his promise, so he used the Poison King as an excuse to scare us.”

“But we’d already heard those rumors before.”

“So what? That doesn’t mean the Poison King has to be one of us.”

An argument seemed ready to start, but no one spoke.

The Poison King let the silence sit for a moment before murmuring, almost to himself, “Even if Jack did use it as an excuse, what can we do? He has the guns. He has the supplies. He’s stronger than us.”

His voice carried just far enough for the people nearby to hear.

“We’d be better off saving our strength and figuring out how to survive.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” someone snapped. “We don’t even have food. What exactly are we supposed to do?”

The Poison King offered no answer. He set his container beside his feet and allowed the complaints to continue without him.

Even those who had tried to calm the others eventually fell quiet. More than one person cast a resentful glance toward the distant glow of the settlement.

“Do you really think the Poison King is one of us?” someone asked.

A trace of unease appeared on the Poison King’s face.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “But I can understand why Jack did it. His life matters more than ours. People like us are disposable.”

The words left an uncomfortable silence behind.

“Forget it,” he added, drawing his water closer. “There’s nothing we can do about him. At least this should last us a few days.”

That quiet surrender only fed the resentment around him.

“Why can’t we do anything?”

“He only acts like that because he has guns.”

The discussion drew more people over. Some accused Jack of breaking his word. Others called him selfish, saying he lived comfortably while ignoring everyone outside his settlement. Before long, they were speaking as though his refusal to save them were a crime.

The Poison King listened without leading the argument himself. Whenever someone searched his face for support, he offered just enough agreement to keep them talking.

Eventually, one man burst out, “Jack doesn’t even treat us like human beings!”

Only then did the Poison King add quietly, “He did go too far. We’re all human. There was no need to treat us like that.”

The man immediately raised his voice, finally feeling supported.

“Exactly! He wants all of us to die!”

The complaints grew louder, but the Poison King said nothing more. Once everyone had exhausted their anger, he said, “Get some rest. Complaining won’t get us any food. We’ll figure something out tomorrow.”

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, taking no further part in the conversation. With nothing but the water they had brought back, the refugees settled in for a long night on empty stomachs.

The supplies the refugees had left near the settlement entrance were still there the following morning. Bags, wooden crates, and bundles of agricultural tools had been piled together, all coated in dust and sand. The refugees clearly hadn’t chosen carefully. Anything that looked remotely valuable had been carried over.

Henry made sure everyone wore gloves before allowing them to sort through the pile.

They began with several bags of mixed seeds. Some packages were still sealed, others had torn open, and loose seeds of different varieties had collected at the bottom. Jack had the intact packages set aside while the damaged ones and loose seeds were stored separately.

A nearby crate held several translucent gels sealed in containers that resembled medical packaging. The labels had faded too badly for Megan to determine their purpose.

“Don’t open them. Keep them separate.”

The same crate also contained bags of grayish-white powder marked with faint plant symbols. A few had torn during transport, spilling small amounts across the bottom. Henry had the damaged bags sealed before the entire group of powders was moved away from the seeds.

Agricultural tools occupied another large section of the pile. Shovels, hoes, and other common implements had been tied into small bundles, with many nearly identical in shape and size.

Hal opened one bundle and tested a hoe against the ground. It was much lighter than an ordinary tool, with no visible seams, and its edge showed no obvious wear afterward. Mort tested the weight of a shovel from the same pile before placing it beside the hoe. The remaining bundles were separated by type, soon filling a small patch of open ground.

Other bags contained metal valves and pipe connectors in various sizes. Some had been packed into boxes, while others were wedged between the tools. Many identical pieces appeared repeatedly. Warren sorted through them and grouped them by size, setting aside anything that might be useful once construction on the clinic began.

Another group of crates held tightly compressed blocks, each roughly the size of a palm. Faded images on the packaging appeared to be related to animal feed.

Jack checked one without breaking the seal. “Keep all of these together. Don’t open them yet.”

Several sickle-shaped tools followed. Their handles were unusually thick, while the blades remained almost completely free of wear. Thomas set them beside the other objects whose purpose had yet to be identified.

The final items were dusty handheld scanners. Some had cracked screens, while others still had intact casings. The refugees had probably assumed that small electronic devices would be valuable. Several had brought more than one, and a few devices had simply been stuffed into unrelated crates.

By the time the supplies had been roughly separated, it was almost noon.

The seeds, agricultural tools, compressed blocks, valves, and pipe connectors now occupied their own sections. The translucent gels, grayish-white powders, thick-handled sickles, and handheld scanners remained near the entrance, away from both the convenience store and the shelter.

Henry inspected the pile one last time. Only after confirming that every damaged package had been sealed did he allow the others to remove their gloves.

Warren sorted through the valves and pipe connectors and set aside several pieces that looked suitable for the clinic.

“Leave these here for now. Once I’ve taken the final measurements tonight, I’ll see whether we can use them.”

He unfolded the revised plans and glanced toward the chosen site between the shelter and the trading post.

“We can begin construction tonight as soon as the second batch of bricks is ready.”

“They should be finished by now,” Hal said. “I’ll go open the kiln.”

Hal and Mort put on their protective gear, packed enough ice water for the trip, and drove a CUEV to the brick kiln.

Before opening it, Hal checked the exterior for cracks. Finding none, he began removing the seal from the entrance.

The moment the kiln opened, trapped heat surged outward. Hal retreated until the worst of it had dispersed, then returned to inspect the bricks inside. The firing appeared even, and none of the bricks near the opening showed any obvious cracks.

“This batch looks fine. We’ll leave it open to cool and come back after sunset.”

Mort stayed well clear of the kiln while Hal fully opened the entrance. With nothing more to do until the bricks cooled, the two returned to the settlement.

“The bricks are ready,” Hal told Jack when they arrived. “We can start moving them tonight.”

While Warren and Megan took the plans to the site to confirm the clinic’s position and layout, Jack and the others moved the unidentified supplies beneath the canopy in front of the shelter for another inspection.

The refugee with the wounded leg sat nearby, watching them arrange the translucent gels, grayish-white powders, compressed blocks, and strangely shaped tools.

After studying the compressed blocks for a while, he pointed toward them.

“I think those might be animal feed.”

“You recognize them?” Jack asked.

“I’m not completely sure. My father was a farmer, and he left behind some books about agriculture. I used to read them when I was young.” The wounded man indicated the faded image on the packaging. “I remember something called nutritional feed blocks. They were small when dry but expanded after being soaked in water. Farmers used them to feed livestock.”

“So these are the same thing?”

“They might be, but I can’t be certain.”

Jack checked one of the sealed blocks before returning it to the pile.

“Keep them separate for now.”

The wounded man then indicated the sickle-shaped tools.

“I think I’ve seen those too.”

Thomas brought one closer so he could examine it.

“It might be a powered weeder,” the man said. “The picture in the book looked similar. The blade vibrates after it’s switched on, so you don’t need to swing it like an ordinary sickle.”

“Do you know how to start it?” Thomas asked.

“No. The book only mentioned what it was used for. I’ve never handled one myself.”

Thomas returned the tool to the unidentified pile rather than trying to activate it.

The wounded man could provide even less information about the grayish-white powder. He vaguely remembered that it might be related to soil, but its exact purpose and method of use had long since slipped his mind. The translucent gels, pipe components, and handheld scanners were completely unfamiliar to him.

By late afternoon, the temperature had finally begun to fall. Hal returned to the kiln with another group and tested one of the bricks nearest the opening. Once he confirmed that it was cool enough to handle, they began loading the bricks onto the CUEVs and transporting them to the clinic site.

The first load was unloaded beside the chosen ground, with the rest arriving in batches soon afterward. Thomas and Dale prepared the tools while the others used the newly sorted shovels and hoes to clear and level the site.

By the time darkness settled over the settlement, several streetlights had illuminated the entire work area. Warren reset the guide lines, and the masonry materials were placed within easy reach.

After checking Nolan’s wound, Megan came out of the shelter. The wounded refugee had been watching the preparations from beneath the canopy, and when she passed nearby, he gestured toward his bandaged thigh.

“Once that place is finished, does that mean my leg can be saved?”

“I can save your leg,” Megan said. “How well it recovers will depend on your luck.”

He studied the cleared ground for a moment. “You didn’t decide to build this clinic because of me, did you?”

“You’re giving yourself too much credit,” Jack said as he passed. “You just happened to show up at the right time.”

The man hesitated before saying quietly, “Either way, thank you.”

Jack offered no reply and continued toward Warren.

The first batch of bricks had already been placed beside the guide lines, with space left for the future water and electrical connections. Warren checked the revised plans one last time before giving the order to begin.

The first brick settled into its marked position, followed by the second and third. More bricks were unloaded from the CUEVs and stacked beside the site as the work continued beneath the streetlights.

Slowly, a line formed across what had once been empty ground. Brick by brick, the outline of the future clinic began to take shape.

Jack watched from the edge of the work area before glancing back toward the canopy. The wounded man was still there, silently watching the building that might soon save his leg.

Once the first row was complete, Warren walked along the outline and checked the placement.

“That’s enough for tonight. We’ll continue tomorrow evening.”

Tools were set aside, and the workers began clearing the area.

Beneath the streetlights, a single row of bricks now traced the complete outline of the small clinic.