The Snowmobile King Rides Out

To the desperate neighbors, Ethan Cross had become nothing short of a savior.

Even the ones who had curled up in bed waiting for death now had a spark of light in their eyes.

"Ethan, you really can go out and get supplies?"

"That means we… we might actually survive this?"

"The blizzard may have shut the city down, but there's decades of resources out there. We just need to reach them!"

"Ethan, I'm… I'm so touched…"

Some even choked up.

Funny, considering many of them had lost family to Ethan's bullets. But now? Hatred had vanished—replaced by pure gratitude.

Ethan spoke with grave sincerity.

"Since you all made me the floor captain, it's my duty to protect everyone."

"Besides, my own supplies are running low. If we want to live, I've got to head out."

That last part made everyone feel more comfortable.

In the apocalypse, being "too noble" only made people suspicious. But if Ethan had his own reasons, then it made sense.

They figured—logically—his stash couldn't last forever.

Especially now that he had company. With two mouths to feed, even the best prepper would run dry.

The neighbors couldn't stop praising him, practically elevating him to a god.

Dr. Chloe chuckled, "If you started a religion right now, I think half the building would worship you."

Ethan grinned.

"No need to complicate things. They're cannon fodder, not disciples."

"Give them a moldy bun, and they'll call me daddy."

Dr. Chloe tilted her head. "You're actually going out?"

Her eyes shimmered with concern. And guilt.

She genuinely believed Ethan's supplies were low—and that she was dragging him down.

Ethan gently pinched her soft cheek and smiled.

"Relax. There's enough here to keep you fed."

"I just need an excuse to go check out what's happening outside."

Normally, he wouldn't risk going out—not with lunatics lurking in the shadows. But now?

He was the building's only hope. No one would dare attack him.

Chloe said softly, "Let me go with you."

She knew Ethan didn't completely trust her, so she offered to prove herself.

Ethan looked into her eyes, slow and steady.

"We're past the point of doubt, aren't we?"

"You? Stay home. That's where a woman should be—waiting for her man to return."

With that, Ethan stood up.

Chloe's eyes welled with emotion.

But the moment was short-lived.

Ethan began packing away the remaining food and coal into his spatial storage.

"Trust you? Of course I do."

He flashed a mischievous smile.

Chloe: "…"

Her face said it all. Just when she thought he was being sweet, he flipped back to his usual self.

Ethan ignored her dramatic pout and headed to change.

This would be his first time leaving the building since the apocalypse began.

The snowstorm had emptied the streets. No life in sight. The risk was lower than usual.

Still, Ethan didn't take chances.

He put on a calfskin jacket—tough enough to resist a stab, unless the attacker had serious force.

Then, he pulled out two cast-iron pans from his storage and strapped them to his chest and back.

If someone shot him, a regular pistol wouldn't even scratch him.

Lastly, he bundled up in a thick winter suit.

He looked bulky, sure—but damn near invincible.

He picked up a one-meter-long pry bar and tested its weight.

In a real fight, that thing was way better than a machete.

Machetes might cut, but a steel bar could knock someone out cold in one swing.

He checked his handgun, loaded a fresh magazine, and slipped it into his coat.

Fully armed, he stepped outside.

The cold hit hard—even with professional-grade mountaineering gear. The wind sliced through the fabric like knives.

But Ethan didn't flinch. Once he started moving, his body would heat up quickly.

He gripped the pry bar and made his way down the stairs, step by cautious step.

He always checked the surroundings before each move.

No unnecessary risks.

So far, no issues. Most reckless types were already dead.

He stopped at the fourth floor.

After the Terra Gang's last rampage, most residents had fled to higher levels. The bottom floors were abandoned.

Ethan stepped into a trashed apartment. Windows shattered. A massive hole torn through the rusted security bars.

Wind howled through the opening.

Ethan crouched and slipped through the gap.

His boots hit the ground—snow swallowed him to the knees.

Fortunately, the snow at this depth had compacted. He didn't sink further.

Still, walking was rough.

He scanned the area. Bayview Heights was deathly quiet. Not even a whisper beyond the wind.

No eyes watching him—yet.

From his storage, Ethan summoned the snowmobile.

He'd fueled it up earlier.

Operating it wasn't hard. After skimming the manual, he'd gotten the hang of it.

He climbed on, turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

Ethan revved the throttle and took off, carving a trail through the snow toward the neighborhood's edge.

He felt eyes watching him as he passed.

People peeking through curtains.

Not surprising.

No one had dared step outside in weeks. The sound of a snowmobile was like a thunderclap in the silence.

"So… people are already eyeing my ride, huh?"

Ethan smirked.

Let them come.

At this point, there were already too many people who wanted him dead.

What was one more?

Hell, people were murdering each other over crackers these days.

In his mind: "More enemies? No problem. The debt's so high, I don't feel the weight anymore."

The snow had swallowed most single-story buildings. Even streets were buried.

But Ethan had lived here for over twenty years.

He didn't need roads.

Just a glance at the taller buildings and landmarks told him exactly where to go.

He would not get lost.