Coldsnap: The Billionaire Alpha's Fated Pregnant Princess (GL)
Chapter 139 - Last Lap Of Luxury

Chapter 139: Chapter 139 - Last Lap Of Luxury

***[POV: Our Fox-in-a-wolf]***

The bulk of the storm had finally passed, leaving the forest dripping when I glanced outside of the container again. I’d packed away everything carefully while taking pictures of it all... now it was time to finish things before I ran the Task time too close.

"It’s not a good idea to always be procrastinating. I can take more breaks after we finish this."

With a backpack in one hand, a shipping container disappearing in the other, a shift to hybrid form and a consultation of the system map... I’m ready to travel to the last cache location. An abandoned mine was what the journal called it.

It had its marker a few miles from here - in a hilly, rocky looking topography much closer to the city than the others had been. This was his [insurance policy for when the lights go out permanently].

The most cryptic entry he’d made by far. And that was even with the rambles about nuclear winters. It had a rough sketch of the rotting wood entrance, at least, so I’ll know again what to look for when I get there.

> He kept strangely helpful records, if you can ignore most of it. I’m sure my history instructors would bemoan how much I ignored of it, actually. <

Vrika sent impressions of caution as I set off through the muddy forest. The recent rain had turned every slope into a potential slide down to harm - and more than once I had to catch myself against trees with claws when loose wet soil gave way beneath my footpaws.

The place I sought out was a dark gash in a hillside, partially hidden behind decades of rockfall and overgrown vegetation. Metal frame supports jutted from the opening like rusty broken ribs - and I could smell the stale air that spoke of deep, empty spaces with no other exit.

> Definitely not going far inside that death trap. Don’t worry. <

Helene had seen too many news stories about trapped miners for me to ever want to explore a place like this. But the cache wasn’t meant to be all that deep inside. It was just to the left of the main supports, not that far down.

I still approached carefully after finding a location to release the Stash, testing each step on the ground. In my youth, I’d tumbled into a hidden hole near a cave system by the hot springs villa of the royal family... so I’ve never taken safety around them as lightly.

The rocks he’d described were obvious - a large pile that seemed almost too neat to be a cave-in. But still a little disturbed by nature since he was here last, though I smell no obvious creatures responsible.

> Perhaps a small ’earthquake’ or even the lightning storms had rattled them loose. <

I began moving more of them aside - slowly from the top to avoid triggering any larger slides. Eventually I could see into the crevice it talked about and activated one of the lanterns I’d put in the backpack.

They seemed easier to manipulate than my phone when I have claws, so I’m glad I thought ahead. Light revealed a hardcase crate wedged far into a sizeable hollow. Working a hole large enough to get a hand to it made a shower of small stones cascade down from above... and made Vrika whine nervously in my mind.

> Easy, friend. It will be fine. We almost have it. <

A grinding scrape as claws tugged a corner of the container closer to me. Finally reaching with a bestial palm glowing blue, the whole thing disappeared before I backed away from the unstable mine quickly.

Back at that safe distance I put the shipping container down at, I pulled out the ruggedized case and became human again. The double-throw latches cracked the seal as I pulled them open and lifted the lid, fully expecting something that had to do with illumination based on his phrasing.

Instead, I found myself staring at... glasses. Dozens upon dozens of pairs of prescription eyeglass lenses in protective cases, organized by strength rating according to small labels.

"What the nineteen hells?"

A folded note lay on top of the collection, written in the hunter’s handwriting.

[Vision problems won’t fix themselves. When the optometrists are gone from their big offices and they can’t make these anymore without industries powered by electricity and functioning gas pipelines.]

Sometimes I forgot how loopy this old hunter was. I sighed and kept reading.

[Collected these from estate sales and donations. Trade value: extremely high when important people can’t see to hunt, read canned food labels, or work from their bunkers.]

"If they have enough time to plan bunkers, they probably thought of this stuff too, you silly coot. Probably have people to just steal it from you instead of buying it as well."

Beside the glasses were small, carefully packed luxury items of other kinds. Bottles of an expensive brand of whiskey in foam padding. Vacuum-sealed tobacco and rolling papers. All things I was not especially interested in keeping.

The high-end chocolate bars with dates showing they wouldn’t expire for years had more of an appeal. As well as the coffee beans in airtight containers. They seemed like things I could actually use myself if I kept.

> Maybe even let this child of hers taste its first chocolate from this batch. I’m glad werewolves don’t carry the same problem with the food as actual canids. <

All in all, it seemed he was thinking about... comfort, with this cache. About what people would miss most when everything fell apart. And of course, exploiting their desire for it like any successful merchant.

I picked up one of the whiskey bottles - a brand I only recognized because of his journal. The same one he claimed tasted incredible and was worth [more than most people earned in a week].

This small container held a half dozen of such bottles, alongside everything else, which meant I’d just neatly gathered a month and a half of wages - if I could resell it at the same price. Which I probably cannot.

"Collectors of fine spirits are particular about storage, even in my world. I’d be lucky to get half of it as a reseller, I think. Still not bad. Maybe better as a trade or... gift."

There were also mechanical winding watches that needed no batteries. Playing cards and dice for entertainment. Solar powered calculators. Sealed containers of salt and exotic spice packets that would make any survival rations palatable.

Each item individually seemed almost trivial. Together, they painted a picture of someone who understood that civilization, and its luxuries, were more fragile than most people realized.

That when the big things failed, it would be the small comforts that determined whether people maintained their humanity or became unstructured packs of beasts.

For the first time since yesterday, I intentionally focused on the blue edges of my vision and looked at the ’apocalypse’ timer instead of the map’s clock.

| TIME UNTIL APOCALYPSE COMMENCEMENT: 47 DAYS, 10 HOURS, 33 MINUTES |

Seeing that glowing snowflake, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the autumn hillside air. The hunter had spent years preparing as generally as he could, but for me - for everyone - this wasn’t just some abstract threat in the distant future.

At the same time, all there is for me to know is when it will begin. Nothing about how to prepare. Sure, the ratings for locations on the map will be helpful. And I really will have to figure out the best place to build... a den.

"It would be... nice to know more. About how to prepare."

I somewhat intentionally think this before I let my eyes tick over to the pulsing checkmark.