Supply Day

At that thought, Hesta sprang up from her stool and headed for the door.

"Where are you going? Dinner's almost ready." Her mother's voice came from behind her.

"I'm going to see Old Charlie, Mom," Hesta answered. "Today is Supply Day. I'm going to see if he has anything new."

The young mother chuckled. "Why not eat first?"

"No, I'll be back soon!"

With that, Hesta had already run outside.

Her home stood behind Old Charlie's shop. Past the warehouse was the storefront. Sure enough, Old Charlie was there with a pipe in his mouth, wiping down his rifle with a clean white cotton cloth.

Old Charlie was very short and hunched over. One of his eyes was blind; supposedly, he had been injured by an accidental shotgun discharge while hunting birds in his youth.

The old man grinned when he saw Hesta. "I thought you wouldn't have the guts to come."

"I do!"

"Hahahahaha, the hell you do!" Old Charlie laughed as he pulled a book from the cluttered counter of his shop. "Take this and get home. Don't hold me up from my real work."

Hesta took the book and looked at it—it was Edgar's Dark Tales Collection: Part Lower.

"But I wanted a glass bell jar!" Hesta cried.

"To hell with your glass bell jar. Where are you going to find something that precious around here? One bump and it'll shatter to pieces."

"But you said before that there was a way—"

"There." Old Charlie pushed the rifle in his hands toward Hesta. "If you really want something, go get it yourself. Got that?"

"Then let's go." Hesta held the rifle and examined it. "We'll go right now."

In Duanming Alley, there was at least one Supply Day every month.

Hesta had not understood what a Supply Day was back then. She only knew that every ten or twenty days, Old Charlie would set out early, carrying a gun, leading a horse, and heading south for several miles alone.

When night fell, he would return with the horse laden with a huge haul of supplies.

He could not guarantee that everything he brought back was needed at the moment, but the goods were always rare and extremely useful.

It was only when Hesta grew a little older that she learned the so-called supplies were not secretly delivered to Old Charlie by someone else. They were things he found ways to intercept.

Every month, planes of unknown origin dropped supplies into the wilderness near Duanming Alley. Some were weapons, while others were canned food.

As the planes approached their drop zones, they threw out the supplies together with parachutes. If Old Charlie learned the location beforehand, he could find a suitable spot nearby—usually atop some mountain—and set an ambush.

When the supply crates began gliding down in parabolic arcs with their initial momentum, he would immediately shoot through the parachute cords.

The unbalanced crates would usually plummet rapidly from the sky. Old Charlie would mark their approximate locations from the mountaintop, then go pick through the spoils once he was sure it was safe.

This method did not work every time. Sometimes he missed, and sometimes the other side followed the gunshots to find him.

But most of the time, he succeeded, because the drop sites were always chosen in dense forests near Duanming Alley for concealment. Those coming to collect the goods did not always dare venture deep into the woods—risking that much for one or two unaccounted-for crates was not worth it.

"The magazines are different for every gun. You have to observe them yourself."

Old Charlie held Hesta in his arms and taught her how to handle the gun step by step.

"With this kind, hold the magazine and slot it in from the front. You can't just shove it straight up and down."

"When chambering a round, lots of people are used to using their dominant hand—the trigger hand—to pull the bolt. That's wrong."

Old Charlie took Hesta's left hand, guided it under the gun and around to the rifle's right side, and had her chamber it with her left hand.

"No matter when, your trigger finger can't be too far from the trigger. Understand? That way, you can always maintain an effective attacking stance."

Hesta nodded silently.

"Now put your finger outside the trigger guard, press the stock against your shoulder, and lean your center of gravity slightly forward—prepare for the recoil."

Old Charlie grabbed Hesta's head and pressed it against the stock. "Your cheek, tight against the stock. Then find the sight."

"...Which one do I look at?" Hesta asked.

"The front sight. Always use the front sight to aim at the target. The rear sight is only there as a reference, to tell you whether you're holding the gun level."

As he spoke, Old Charlie suddenly slapped Hesta on the shoulder.

"What did I just say? Keep the stock firmly against your shoulder! Otherwise, when you pull the trigger, it'll damn near break your shoulder!"

Hesta immediately did as he said.

The faint sound of an airplane came from the distant sky. Hesta could already see a small black dot slowly approaching her.

"One last thing. You have to remember it." The old man's voice was hoarse. "You must, must remember it."

"Mm?"

"Never fire a gun in a dangerous place."

"Then... what do I do when I'm in danger?"

"Run. Run far away, and let the people slower than you die in your place." Old Charlie's face darkened. "Never let yourself end up in a situation where you have to face the enemy alone. Understand?"

Old Charlie's voice began to blur.

Everything around her grew heavy. A bolt of lightning suddenly split the sky, and a sudden downpour lashed against her face—she and Old Charlie were back in the shop's rear courtyard.

Old Charlie had her by the back of her collar, struggling through rainwater that had already risen past his knees as he tried to take her away.

The world turned deep blue again, only flashing stark white in bursts of lightning.

The torrential rain, whipped against them by the wind, almost hurt. Hesta realized something and struggled desperately to break free of Old Charlie's grip.

"Where are—you taking me?"

"Away from here!"

"No! Mom... Mom hasn't come back yet—"

Old Charlie's voice rang out with the thunder. "She's not coming back!

"I never should have saved you two... Her brain's completely rusted through. She'll never learn her lesson in this lifetime—brat, listen to me. She doesn't want you anymore! Get the hell out of Duanming Alley too—"

Old Charlie tied Hesta to the horse.

Through the rainy night, he galloped north with Hesta. The horse's hooves did not stop all night. At dawn, the old man threw Hesta down by the roadside, untied the ropes around her, and tossed her a bag of canned food.

"If I ever see you again, I'll kill you—"

Old Charlie sat on horseback and turned the horse around.

"If you want to live, head north... Keep going north, to Severn Mountain, and never come back!"

Hesta suddenly opened her eyes.

Everything before her was quiet and peaceful. Moonlight shone through the window and spilled across the floor beside her bed.

Hesta took a deep breath, her teeth trembling slightly as she pushed herself upright with one hand.

Her pillow was soaked through, and her face was covered in tears.

Thanks to Lin Seventeen, Shensi, and Dynamic Cat for the monthly votes~