The Apocalypse Exchange: I Can Trade Anything

Chapter 9: Old Money

The officer clearly hadn't expected that answer. He blinked, then pressed on.

"Right. So how'd you actually get away? That gear you're wearing combat suit, looks like. That real?"

"Because a regular civilian in street clothes wouldn't have lasted thirty seconds against something like that."

"Military surplus fan, honestly. Ordered it online months back, before all this."

"That thing didn't seem too smart, from what I could tell. I just kept circling it, using obstacles. Got lucky a few times it came close more than once."

"If you remember anything else, flag us down."

"That's the first time any of us has laid eyes on something that size."

"Understood."

"Actually quick question. Are we setting up camp here, or is this a short stop?"

"Short stop. We've got a destination already."

"Where's that? Can you say?"

"You'll find out when we get there."

Before Ryan could push further, a commotion broke out nearby.

The officer took off toward it with his men. With nothing better to do, Ryan followed.

A crowd had gathered outside one of the guarded villas. The officer shoved through to the front, barking orders.

"Back up. Everybody, back up."

"I already told you people nobody goes in there. What's the holdup?"

"Sir, word's going around there's a stockpile in there. We just want to know if that's true."

"You heard right. There are supplies inside."

"But those supplies are under our jurisdiction. You already understand why."

"Fine, we're not fighting you on unified control."

"But we want a number. How much is actually in there."

"At minimum, we want to know the distribution's going to be fair."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd open, fair, transparent until a young man stepped out of the villa's front doors.

"Open? Fair?"

"Are you people out of your minds?"

"Why would we owe you anything?"

"Lieutenant Lewis, we agreed to hand over supplies because your unit's escorting us to the shelter. That was the deal a reward for your service."

"We never agreed to feed every stray who tagged along on the way."

"'Stray'? Who are you calling a stray?"

The young man's expression didn't shift.

"A little self-awareness would do you good."

"You're only alive because this unit is keeping you alive."

"Every calorie you've eaten out here came out of a soldier's ration."

"Your safety isn't yours. It was given to you."

"So tell me what exactly have you contributed to this convoy?"

"If 'refugee' isn't the word for that, I'm open to suggestions."

Ryan, listening from the back of the crowd, found himself nodding along despite himself. Harsh as it sounded, the guy wasn't wrong. They were riding on the army's goodwill. Wanting a say in the split on top of that felt like a stretch.

Someone in the crowd wasn't willing to let it go, though.

"Fine, we're refugees. So what does that make you? Old money? Trust fund kid?"

"And what happens once all that stockpiled cash and caviar runs dry? You'll be exactly like the rest of us."

"'Runs dry'? God, you people really don't understand anything, do you."

"That's enough, Mr. Morrison. Let us handle this from here."

The young man threw up his hands, unbothered.

"I wouldn't have bothered coming out here if they'd kept it down in the first place."

"Handle it quick, though. My father doesn't do well with noise."

"Bunch of clueless animals."

He turned and disappeared back inside.

Lieutenant Lewis's voice dropped a register.

"I know what Mr. Morrison said back there stung. But it wasn't wrong."

"Bringing you all along was a matter of conscience. Nothing more."

"If any of you interfere with this unit's mission, don't expect us to keep being generous about it."

"We're soldiers. Completing this mission is the job."

"Now clear the area."

Ryan shook his head and walked off. No telling how long the convoy would rest here but he intended to find somewhere decent to sleep regardless.

He picked an unoccupied villa and let himself in.

The interior alone reset his entire mental baseline for what "wealthy" actually meant. Gold-leaf detailing traced the ceiling molding and crept across the walls. More gilding wound through the flooring and columns.

Under normal circumstances, this much gold in one place would've read as gaudy. But there was a threshold past which excess stopped looking tacky and just started looking like a different category of reality entirely.

He swept the house room by room, confirming it was clear, before settling on a second-floor room with a bay window overlooking the camp probably a guest room, or maybe staff quarters. Just a wardrobe, a bed, two nightstands. Nothing else.

Not long after, noise picked up in the hallway outside.

Ryan was about to lock the door when someone stopped him from the other side.

"Ryan it's Jake. Jake Sterling."

"Room to spare in there? Mind if I bunk with you?"

"There's other rooms, man. This one's small, one bed."

"C'mon, we're both grown adults. It's one bed, not a big deal."

"...Fair warning, though I've got a little quirk. If you're cool with it, I've got no problem."

"What, you snore? Grind your teeth?"

"Worse. Sometimes I sleepwalk."

"Ha sleepwalking's sleepwalking, man, whatever. I don't care."

"Alright, your call."

Ryan pulled a paring knife from his bag as he said it and set it deliberately on the nightstand.

"...Ryan, what is that for?"

"Self-defense. In case you turn overnight, or something else gets in."

"Just want a fighting chance if it comes to that."

"...Okay, if you didn't want a roommate you could've just said so."

Ryan shrugged, gesturing toward the door with mock hospitality.

Jake didn't say another word just grabbed his bag and went looking for a different room.

A few more stragglers tried their luck at Ryan's door over the next hour. All of them took one look at the knife on the nightstand and reconsidered.

It wasn't cowardice, exactly. It was math none of them had a nutrient formula quietly rebuilding their strength every few days, and nobody in that condition was going to burn energy fighting over a mattress.

By the time everyone had settled somewhere, Ryan honestly had no idea what time it was.

His ration for the night arrived: half a compressed survival biscuit.

He ate it slowly, savoring every bite he could stretch out mostly because rationing it meant a few more Survival Points stayed banked instead of spent. Beyond the dryness, it wasn't nearly as bad as he'd braced for. Eating it every single day, though, would be a different story entirely.

The bed itself was comfortable enough good mattress, decent firmness but Ryan woke up repeatedly through the night regardless, jolting awake every time he started to drift.

By the time the sky started lightening, he gave up on sleep altogether and just sat in the window seat, watching the still-guarded villa across the way.

He was genuinely curious what the Morrison family's private shelter actually looked like inside.

If the setup here turned out to be workable, he was already leaning toward sticking around for a while.