Chapter 2: Frenzied Stockpiling

chloe

My first stop was the renovation firm. I’d left the apartment at nearly half past ten.

Pushing open the door, I laid out my demands straight to the front desk: crews to come early the day after tomorrow to reinforce all windows and doors, using only top-grade cold-proof and waterproof materials. The manager frowned, tapping his pen against the table. His schedule was fully booked, he said, and specialty building supplies were hard to source; he could not finish the job on such short notice.

“Triple your usual rate,” I said calmly.

His pen froze mid-air, hesitation vanishing from his eyes at once. “Crews will arrive sharp at six a.m. the day after tomorrow.”

“Finish by seven,” I confirmed, then turned to leave. In the face of a ticking countdown, money bought the most precious commodity of all — time.

My next stop was an outdoor supply store. I read off items from my checklist one by one: inflatable boats, dinghies, shortwave radios, solar panels, polar cold-weather suits, and extreme-low-temperature sleeping bags. The shop assistant paused mopping the floor and eyed me curiously, asking if I was planning a long mountain hike.

“Supplies for a polar research expedition,” I fabricated smoothly. “Budget is no concern; I only want the best quality gear.”

The clerk stopped questioning me. He headed deep into the warehouse and dragged out military-grade equipment he’d kept in storage. I inspected the goods carefully, paid the full amount on the spot.Some items were out of stock and The store clerk suggested I order from their online shop, saying delivery would be fast,tomorrow afternoon it can get there. So I took out my phone and placed another order online.

After leaving the shop, I drove to a gas station on the city’s outskirts. Claiming I needed backup fuel for a long road trip, I bought multiple portable fuel cans and had them filled with gasoline. The sharp smell of petrol brought fleeting flashbacks of people fighting over fuel in my past life. I then headed to a security goods shop to pick self-defense tools, emergency lights and tactical flashlights. I steered my cart toward the back shelves, staying within blind spots of the surveillance cameras. Once certain no one watched, I tucked the supplies into the pocket watch space as a faint cool sensation spread across my palm. When a clerk came over to offer help, I composed myself and concealed the watch without suspicion.

By afternoon, I moved on to the wholesale clothing market. Down comforters, heavy parkas, wool overcoats, thermal underwear — I grabbed every warm garment I could get. The shop owner joked about my massive purchase, and I gave a brief vague reply before settling the bill quickly. Next I swept through a department store for daily necessities: propane stoves, kerosene lamps, water purification tablets, heat packs, tampons and basic first-aid supplies.

Card readers kept beeping. Within hours, tens of thousands of dollars had been spent. The heavy cost stung, yet when I pictured the metal shelves filling layer by layer inside the watch space, a desperate resolve welled up inside me. In my previous life, all my wealth turned worthless the second power and internet died.

As dusk fell, I visited a fruit market and picked long-lasting produce: apples, citrus, onions and potatoes. I also bought packets of fast-growing vegetable seeds. Once night fully descended, I went to meet Tyler as arranged.

He led me into a warehouse, where over twenty cardboard boxes were stacked into a low wall. Inside lay amoxicillin, anti-inflammatory drugs, iodine, gauze and tetanus vaccines. The whole batch cost more than forty thousand US dollars. Tyler rubbed his hands, explaining the wide range of medications required him to coordinate with multiple peers to gather stock. He handed me a two-thousand-dollar cut from the deal.

I took the money and urged him quietly to stock supplies and prepare for the hurricane. Tyler just waved it off dismissively. “We’ve had more than a dozen hurricanes this year. None amounted to much, just all hype and no bite. No need to worry.”

I said no more. Once Tyler left, I checked that there were no passersby or surveillance cameras nearby, then transferred all the boxes into the watch space in batches. Some people would never wake up until disaster crashed down on them, and by then it would already be too late.

Late at night, I stopped by a street food barbecue cart for a short break. Staring at glowing charcoal in the grill, the beer halfway to my lips froze. A jolt of panic shot through me.

Fuel.

Charcoal and propane — an entire section of my checklist I’d nearly forgotten. In the first month of the brutal cold of my past life, I’d torn apart wooden doors just to burn for warmth. Back then I learned fire mattered more than food.

I called suppliers immediately. Every vendor gave the same reply: their warehouses sat in low-lying zones, the city had ordered inventory evacuation, and all deliveries were suspended,but you can choose to pick it up yourself.. Without hesitation, I drove alone into the evacuating low districts. The streets grew emptier, my car the only one left. Emergency evacuation announcements looped between buildings. I hauled five hundred pounds of smokeless charcoal, ten propane canisters and two thousand briquettes load by load. The stark contrast between the lively food cart and the dead silent evacuated neighborhood weighed heavy on my chest.

I got back to my apartment close to eleven. I brought the last batch of fuel into the watch space and neatly sorted all supplies onto the shelves. Just as I was about to cross-check my inventory, an invisible force slammed hard into my back. I crashed onto the floor.

Dazed for a few seconds, I scrambled up and tried to enter the space again, only to be blocked by an invisible barrier. I could not step inside any longer.

My heart hammered wildly, cold creeping up my spine. Had this damned watch swallowed all my supplies?