Supply Day

With that thought, Hesta jumped off the stool and pushed the door open, ready to head out.

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

"I'm going to see Old Charlie, Mom," Hesta replied. "It's 'Resupply Day,' I want to see if he has any new goodies."

Her young mother chuckled, "Why don't you eat first?"

"No, I'll be right back!"

Hesta said, already running out.

Her home was in the backyard of Old Charlie's shop. Passing through the warehouse, Old Charlie's storefront was ahead. Sure enough, Old Charlie was there, pipe in mouth, wiping down his firearm rifle with a clean white cotton cloth.

Old Charlie was short and hunched over. He was blind in one eye, reportedly injured by a misfiring shotgun while hunting birds in his youth.

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

"I do!"

"Hahahaha, you wish!" Old Charlie boomed, pulling a book from his messy counter. "Take this and go home quickly. Don't interrupt my important work."

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

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

"To hell with a glass bell jar. This place doesn't have anything that precious; it'd shatter with a single touch."

"But you said before you had a way—"

"Here." Old Charlie pushed the rifle in his hands towards Hesta. "If you really want something, go get it yourself, understand?"

"Then let's go," Hesta said, hugging the gun and looking at it. "Let's go now."

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

In the past, Hesta didn't understand what "Resupply Day" was. She only knew that every ten to twenty days, Old Charlie would set off early, taking his gun and leading his horse south for more than ten miles.

By nightfall, he would return with a large batch of supplies, both man and horse laden.

He couldn't guarantee that what he brought back was always necessary at the moment, but the items were always rare and extremely useful.

As Hesta grew older, she realized that the so-called "supplies" weren't quietly delivered to Old Charlie, but rather intercepted by him.

Every month, some unidentified planes would drop supplies in the wilderness near Duanming Alley, some were firearms, others were canned goods.

As these planes approached their drop points, they would toss the supplies along with parachutes. If the drop location could be known in advance, Old Charlie could find a suitable spot nearby—usually on a mountaintop—and set up an ambush.

When the supply crates, dropped with initial velocity, began to descend in a parabolic trajectory, he would immediately use bullets to sever the parachute ropes.

The supply crates, having lost balance in the high altitude, would mostly plummet rapidly. Old Charlie would mark their approximate locations from the mountaintop and, once confirmed safe, would go to pick up the spoils.

Although this method wasn't always successful, sometimes because he missed, other times because the recipients tracked him down by the gunshot.

But in most cases, he succeeded smoothly. The drop locations were always chosen in the dense forests near Duanming Alley for concealment, and those picking up the goods weren't always brave enough to venture deep into the woods—it wasn't worth the risk for just one or two crates of unexpected supplies.

"Every gun has a different magazine; you have to observe it yourself."

Old Charlie held Hesta in his arms, teaching her how to load the gun hand-in-hand.

"For this one, you need to hold the magazine and insert it from the front. It can't go straight up and down.

"When chambering a round, many people habitually use their dominant hand—the trigger hand—to pull this bolt, which is wrong."

Old Charlie grabbed Hesta's left hand and guided it from under the gun to the right side of the rifle, performing a left-handed chambering.

"At all times, your trigger finger should not stray too far from the trigger. Understand? This way, you can always maintain an effective firing stance."

Hesta nodded silently.

"Now, place your finger outside the trigger guard, rest the stock firmly against your shoulder, and lean your body slightly forward—prepare for the recoil."

Old Charlie grabbed Hesta's head and pressed it against the rifle stock. "Your cheek, press it firmly against the stock. Then, find the sights."

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

"Look at the front sight. Always use the front sight to aim at the target. The rear sight is for reference, to see if you're holding the gun level."

As he spoke, Old Charlie suddenly patted Hesta's shoulder.

"What did I just say? The stock needs to be firmly against your shoulder! Otherwise, when you pull the trigger, your shoulder will be broken!"

Hesta immediately did as she was told.

The faint sound of an airplane could be heard in the distance, and Hesta could already see small black dots slowly approaching her direction.

"One last thing, you must remember," the old man's voice was hoarse. "You must, you must remember."

"Hmm?"

"Never fire your weapon in a dangerous place."

"Then if I encounter danger... what should I do?"

"Run. Run far away, and let those who are slower than you be your shield," Old Charlie's face contorted. "Never let yourself be in a position where you have to face the enemy alone, understand?"

Old Charlie's voice began to fade.

Everything around her grew heavy. A bolt of lightning suddenly struck from the sky, and the sudden downpour of rain hit her face—she and Old Charlie were back in the shop's backyard.

Old Charlie, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck, struggled to wade through the knee-deep rainwater, trying to pull her away.

The sky and earth returned to a deep blue, only flashing blindingly white in the lightning.

The torrential rain, whipped by the wind, felt like blows against her skin. Hesta realized something and tried desperately to break free from Old Charlie's grip.

"Where—where are you taking me!"

"Away from here!"

"No! Mom… Mom hasn't come back yet—"

Old Charlie's voice boomed simultaneously with the thunder, "She's not coming back!

"I shouldn't have saved you both back then… Her mind is completely rusted; she'll never learn her lesson—You little brat, listen to me, she doesn't want you anymore! You get out of Duanming Alley too—"

Old Charlie tied Hesta to the horse.

On this rainy night, he galloped north with Hesta, the horse's hooves never stopping. At dawn, the old man threw Hesta by the roadside, untied her, and tossed her a bag of canned food.

"If I see you again, I'll kill you—"

Old Charlie sat on the horse and turned its head.

"If you want to live, go north… keep going north, to Severn Mountain, and never come back!"

Hesta's eyes snapped open.

Everything before her was tranquil and peaceful. Moonlight streamed through the window, falling onto the floor in front of her bed.

Hesta took a deep breath, her teeth chattering slightly. She pushed herself up to a sitting position with one hand.

Her pillow was soaked, and her face was streaked with tears.

Thanks to Lin Shiqi, Shen Si, and Dynamic Cat for the monthly tickets~