Doomsday Supermarket

Chapter 17 - What's Moving Out There

Chapter 17 · 943 words

Jax came to the counter the next morning and set a sealed airtight container on the surface. The membrane inside was intact, the glands paired and swollen with residual fluid, kept cool. He'd wrapped the container in a damp cloth that still held chill.

"Two pairs," he said. "From the same hunt."

Wren checked the container against the quality guide posted at the entrance. Sealed airtight. Membrane intact. Temperature maintained. It passed.

But Jax didn't leave. He stood at the counter with his hands flat on the surface, and Wren recognized the posture—this wasn't a delivery. This was something else.

"The predators were near the perimeter," Jax said.

"How near?"

"Inside the light ring. At night." He paused. "We were tracking a pair south of the drainage ditch when we saw movement at the edge of your lighting. Two of them. Just standing there, facing the Store."

Wren's stomach tightened. The perimeter lighting, the expansion he'd chosen over the barrier. A hundred meters of visibility in every direction, the Store now visible from two kilometers out.

"That was three nights ago," Jax continued. "Last night, on the way back, we counted four. Different direction. North side, near the treeline. They weren't hunting. They were watching."

"Monsters don't watch."

"These do." Jax's voice was level, but his jaw was tight. "Something about the light. About the Store. They're coming closer to it. The predators, the armored ones—we've seen carapace-scrapes on the ground inside your perimeter. Big ones. They're testing the boundary."

Wren looked through the Store's front glass. The perimeter lights were visible at the edge of the property, a ring of illumination that marked the safe zone. Beyond them, darkness. He'd been watching that darkness for weeks, and it had always been empty.

"How many have you seen total?"

"Hard to say. Different types. The predators are the bold ones. But we found tracks—wide ones, heavy—within fifty meters of the entrance. Morning." He tapped the container on the counter. "These came easy. Too easy. The ambush predators usually scatter when you approach. These didn't. They turned toward us."

Wren processed this. The lighting expansion had doubled the Store's visible range. More survivors had found the Store because of it. Transactions had climbed.

"Can they cross the perimeter?"

"The barrier stops them. Same as it stops people." Jax's eyes moved to the Store interface terminal. "But the barrier costs revenue to maintain. And you've been spending revenue on other things."

He wasn't wrong.

Wren looked at the container. Two pairs of acid glands. The weapons counter prerequisite.

"The unlock," he said.

"Yeah. Take the glands. Open the counter."

"You're telling me to spend more on departments when you just told me the perimeter is under pressure."

Jax's expression didn't change. "I'm telling you the weapons counter makes defensive compounds. Acid-based tools. Things that might help when something decides the barrier isn't enough." He leaned forward slightly. "You wanted the glands. They're here. What you do next is your call."

Wren carried the container to the terminal. The interface read the materials.

**PREREQUISITE SATISFIED: WEAPONS COUNTER DEPARTMENT** **Required: 2 acid gland pairs (quality verified) + 300 credits** **Current materials: 2/2 acid gland pairs ✓** **Revenue deduction: 300 credits** **Proceed with department unlock? Y/N**

Three hundred. More than the pharmacy. The defense budget would drop again.

He pressed Y.

The revenue ledger updated. The perimeter lights dimmed—another fraction, another almost-imperceptible reduction. He was watching for it now. He would watch for it every time.

The weapons counter activated on the opposite side of the Store from the pharmacy. A heavy counter surface with a reinforced base, shelving underneath, a locked display case on top. The contents appeared: glass bottles of pale green liquid labeled *Corrosive Compound (Low Grade)*. Small canisters marked *Acid Spray (Defensive)*. Bundles of treated darts. A rack of short blades with dark-coated edges—processed acid treatment on carapace-fragment cores.

Jax walked over and looked at the display. He picked up one of the acid spray canisters and read the label.

"Range?"

"Interface says four meters effective."

"Four meters." Jax set it back down. "That's inside the perimeter. That's not a hunting weapon."

"It's defensive."

"It's a start." He looked at Wren. "But it doesn't change what's out there."

Wren went back to the counter and sat down. Two departments unlocked. Three remained. Material processing: four hundred credits. Indoor farm: three hundred and fifty. Equipment crafting: five hundred. The costs were climbing, and the defense budget was shrinking with each one.

He pulled out his scrap paper. The numbers were clear. At the current revenue rate, even with the pharmacy and weapons counter generating new inventory to sell, the remaining three unlocks would consume nearly everything the Store earned for the rest of the audit period. The defense budget would be minimal.

And outside, past the thinning perimeter lights, things were gathering.

Jax came back to the counter. "We need to talk about the next hunt. Psychic cores. You know what those come from."

"Whisperers."

"Rare. Dangerous. My team's seen them twice. Both times we walked away." Jax sat down across from Wren. "And Rook is hurt. We're running at three effective hunters until he recovers."

"How long?"

"Week. Maybe more."

Wren looked at the weapons counter. The defensive compounds were real. The acid-treated blades were real. But they were inside the Store, and the threats were outside it, and the gap between what he had and what he needed was getting wider with every department he opened.

"Three of five," he said.

"Three of five," Jax agreed. "And the clock's still running."

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