Zhang Yi and Uncle You moved through the empty streets, their scavenged bags clinking with loot. For once their steps weren't hurried; they walked and talked like two men with time to spare, while the city around them lay muffled under snow.
Uncle You glanced at Zhang Yi. "People are planning to move on you. They want that snowmobile."
Zhang Yi let out a dry laugh. "You're asking me? I was going to ask you the same thing." He shook his head. "Everyone's got their eye on it. It's the only working vehicle left. They think whoever controls it controls everything."
"So what's the plan?" Uncle You asked.
"Protect it. Protect myself. One step at a time." Zhang Yi's tone was casual, but his eyes were alert. He wasn't afraid—there was little that scared him now—but he wasn't reckless either. Survival had become a calculation of risk and timing.
Uncle You considered him a long moment. "Huang Tianfang called me this morning."
Zhang Yi's expression sharpened. "What did he want?"
"He's scared," Uncle You said. "He wants to make peace. Said the other buildings are forming an alliance to pressure you. He'll sit out—if you feed him and give him cold-weather gear."
Zhang Yi's face didn't change. He'd heard that exact demand a dozen times. He expected it, and he detested it. "Everyone wants something for nothing," he muttered. "Huang Tianfang's dead meat. They attacked me first—I'll finish him when I can."
Uncle You nodded slowly. "They deserve it. But do you have enough weapons and ammo to fight them?"
The question cut to the core. Zhang Yi had looted the police armory and walked away with a haul, but ammo was finite. He hadn't shown the amounts to anyone; he hadn't needed to. "It's tight," he admitted. "I've got rounds for most of my guns, but sniper ammo is scarce. If this turns into a full-scale fight, we'd burn through everything."
Uncle You scratched his head. "If we had more weapons, could we hold the snowmobile and protect the building?"
Zhang Yi's eyes lit up. "Do you know where we can get more?"
Uncle You gave a small laugh, pride and mischief in it. "You forgot I was in the army? I don't serve here, but I still have buddies. There's a barracks northwest of the city—probably stockpiled. If we can find it, we can find ammo. You won't worry about bullets again."
For a moment Zhang Yi let himself imagine tanks and armored vehicles—symbols of absolute dominance. He caught himself and focused. "Where is it exactly?"
Uncle You outlined the route: remote, outside the city proper, more fields than buildings. "It's over a hundred kilometers away. Snow's buried everything. Even if it's there, it could be under meters of drift. We might not even find the gate."
Zhang Yi's smile was half grim, half delighted. "Then we find the place first. If it's buried, we dig. I know how to dig."
Uncle You's grin widened. The idea of a cache of military supplies waking in Zhang Yi's hands was intoxicating. "A marksman like you shouldn't be short on bullets," he said. "It'd be a crime."
Zhang Yi straightened, feeling the plan settle into something solid. "We're about to face more enemies. We need firepower—more guns, more ammo, better gear. Not just for me. For the people I care about."
Uncle You's answer was immediate, resolute. "Then let's go find it."
They mounted the snowmobile and headed northwest, carving a black ribbon through the white. Wind ripped at their faces; the city shrank behind them. Ahead lay the countryside, empty and treacherous—but beyond that, potentially everything they needed: bullets, rifles, and the leverage to survive.
As the engine hummed and the road opened, Zhang Yi's mind worked through contingencies—routes, concealment, digging strategies, escape plans. He didn't speak much. He didn't need to. The mission was clear: locate the barracks, retrieve what they could, and come back stronger.
Behind him Uncle You rode steady and sure, a companion now bound by simple, brutal necessity. In a world gone cold and lawless, weapons were power, and power would buy them the time to turn plans into survival.