Chapter 71
On a morning just five days before the apocalypse, in an abandoned stadium in Queens, New York, a cold wind swirled scraps of paper in the empty stands; the once bustling venue was now a scene of utter devastation.
Half of the plastic chairs had not yet been removed, and the cots piled in the center of the site were covered in a thick layer of dust. A dozen workers in orange overalls squatted in a corner smoking, with wrenches lying on the ground in their hands, and no one was willing to get up and work.
At the edge of the site, two managers in suits were arguing loudly, spittle flying in the cold wind: "Where's the steel? Why hasn't the steel you said you'd deliver arrived yet? How can we build the heating system without steel?"
Mark, the person in charge, slammed the folder on the ground, scattering papers all over the floor. On one of the "Shelter Construction Planning Maps," the "Heating Area" marked in red was mostly empty.
"The supplier said all logistics have stopped! The steel shipped from Dezhou is stuck halfway, and even the driver has run away!"
Another person in charge, Jason, scratched his head, his voice full of helplessness, "All we can find now are these secondhand cots, not even enough moisture-proof mats, let alone heating equipment—"
Of the three oil-fired boilers we borrowed from the military, one broke down yesterday, and we've been trying to fix it all night but haven't been able to!
Mark bent down to pick up the planning map, his fingertips tracing the words "60% progress required," and then looked at the mess in front of him—less than 200 cots had been assembled, less than one-fifth of the stadium's capacity.
In the makeshift supplies area, there were only thin down jackets piled up to half a person's height; there were no medicines, let alone pills.
Several people wearing ripped jeans, wrapped in blankets, squatted at the entrance, anxiously peering inside, but were stopped by security guards: "It's not finished yet! There's nowhere to stay inside, wait for further notice!"
"What's the progress?" Mark took a deep breath, his voice weary.
Jason pulled out his tablet; the progress bar on the screen was stuck at "30%", with a red "delayed" label next to it: "Even this 30% was pieced together—"
There were 187 cots, 500 down jackets, and the rest was all undismantled materials. Even the toilets weren't dug, let alone any medicinal pills. I asked Jack for some, but he said he didn't have any either.
Just then, Jack appeared at the stadium entrance, wearing an oil-stained down jacket, clutching the system panel in his hand, his face colder than the wind.
Yesterday, he posted over a dozen requests for medicine on the global channel, ranging from "trading with gold" to "trading with energy crystals," but not a single person responded. Even Emily, who had traded with him before, pretended not to see them.
He walked over to Mark and slammed the panel onto the makeshift desk: "Don't count on the remedies! Nobody's willing to sell them! There are already more than a dozen workers in the shelter suffering from frostbite, their fingers are swollen like radishes, and ordinary ointments are useless. If this continues, they'll collapse before the cold wave even arrives!"
Mark stared at the message Jack had posted on the panel: "American shelters are short of pills! 100 grams of gold per pill! Anyone have any?"
Below was a blank page, with only a few light blue messages from the "China" logo, still the previous reply from "China User 098": "Why didn't you think about leaving yourself a way out when you were hoarding supplies?"
He rubbed his temples, suddenly remembered his previous contact with the EU, grabbed his satellite phone and dialed. The phone rang for a long time before Emily's tired voice came through.
At this point, the Paris Exhibition Center was hardly in any better condition than the stadium in New York.
In the hall of the convention center, several technicians in blue overalls were looking on with worry over a pile of heating pipes. The pipe joints were crooked, clearly indicating that the wrong type had been installed. Disassembled parts were scattered on the ground, and no one dared to touch them anymore.
In the corner of the hall, there was a pile of 500 thin cotton quilts that had just been delivered, but no one was moving them because half of the workers responsible for the delivery had not come, saying that "they were too cold to walk because there was no heating at home."
“Emily, do you have any spare heating equipment? One of our boilers broke down, and the steel hasn’t arrived yet,” Mark’s voice came through the phone, sounding urgent.
Emily gave a wry smile and said into the phone, "We can't even take care of ourselves! The heating pipes were installed incorrectly, and the replacements won't arrive until the day after tomorrow. We're only 30% complete. People are queuing outside to collect supplies, and they only have thin coats. Someone fainted from the cold yesterday. We don't have any pills left. The 500 we stockpiled were all used up long ago."
She hung up the phone and walked to the entrance of the convention center—a long queue stretched out outside, people wrapped in all sorts of thick clothes, some even with blankets from home wrapped around their bodies, clutching their ID cards, their eyes filled with anxiety.
An elderly woman, leaning on a cane, grabbed Emily's sleeve, her voice trembling: "Young lady, when can we go inside? The heating in my house was turned off yesterday. If we stay any longer, these old bones of mine will freeze to pieces..."
Emily could only pat the old lady's hand to comfort her: "It'll be soon, just wait a little longer, it'll be fine once the heating equipment arrives." But she knew in her heart that with only 5 days left until the end of the world, 30% progress was simply not enough.
On the global channel, Jack's plea for help was still flooding the screen, with the latest one filled with despair: "I'm willing to trade 1000 grams of gold for 10 healing pills! Does anyone have any? Please help us!"
Silence remained below. No one spoke at the pale blue "China" sign, and only a few people echoed "medicine shortage" at the red "United States" sign, but no one had any extra. The gold "EU" sign was completely blank, and Emily didn't even glance at it—her satellite phone was still ringing with calls for help from shelters in other cities, but she couldn't care less about the channel.
In her villa deep in the mountains, Su Jing looked at Jack's messages on the dashboard, her fingertips lightly tracing the message, but not pausing—
She had just finished checking the infrared alarms on the moat and confirmed that all the equipment was working properly. Now she was preparing to enter the space to inspect the aquaculture area.
With only 5 days left until the apocalypse, she needs to ensure self-sufficiency in meat, eggs, and fish. After all, the frozen meat in the space will eventually run out, and only live animal farming can provide a long-term food source.
She turned off the channel, focused her mind on the system space, and the scene of the breeding area gradually unfolded before her eyes: 300 chicks were pecking at food in the enclosure, 20 lambs were strolling on the grass, 5 cows were lying in a corner ruminating, and schools of fish were swimming happily in the freshwater lake. Everything was full of vitality, which was in stark contrast to the chaos in the channel.
As the sun sets, workers in a New York stadium finally begin assembling cots, but due to insufficient lighting, they make frequent mistakes.
At the Paris convention center, new parts for the heating pipes had not yet arrived, so people had to spend the night wrapped in blankets outside.
Meanwhile, Su Jing, deep in the mountains, had completed the first round of inspections of the livestock area, confirming that all animals were healthy, and was now preparing to plan the next steps for feeding and cleaning.
The countdown to the apocalypse continues; some are struggling in the chaos, while others have already made thorough preparations.
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