In small- to medium-sized survivor settlements like Beite Street, with low populations and no industrial capacity, most business is done with caravans from Boulder City, trading agricultural products, game, and scavenged junk for essential supplies and even weapons.

Naturally, this kind of currency started circulating in Beite Street as well.

Of course, it doesn’t always work—if the caravan doesn’t come that month, the prices in the whole settlement go haywire.

The mayor had tried to introduce Beite Street’s own currency—a kind of ledger-based voucher—but no one accepted it.

Even the survivors of Beite Street knew that those slips of paper were more trouble than they were worth, not even good enough for toilet paper, basically no different from scrap.

“Looking to buy something? The shop just got a new batch of goods from Boulder City.”

Just as Brian Carter was about to leave, he stopped and turned back to ask.

“Got any guns?”

“Nope, and even if I did, you couldn’t afford one.”

Old Charles grinned, and as Brian Carter turned to go, he continued.

“But there is some food and fuel. If I were you, I’d buy more before the prices go up.”

Guns, even the cheapest kind, are hard to come by in a place like Beite Street.

Because even if a caravan selling arms occasionally passes through, those weapons usually end up in the mayor’s own warehouse, never on the shelves for just anyone to pick.

Besides, just like Old Charles said, even if they did have them, scavengers like them couldn’t possibly afford it.

Brian Carter knew exactly why he said that.

As a well-educated resident from the shelter, Charles could clearly see that all the survivors living in Beite Street, whether scavengers or hunters, had every bit of their surplus value squeezed out by the mayor’s family.

Even though the mayor himself never directly reached into their pockets to take even a single chip.

“Food and fuel are going to get more expensive?”

Seeing the surprise on Brian Carter’s face, Charles smiled faintly and said,

“Haven’t you noticed? It’s been getting colder lately, and the mutants outside are starting to get active.”

Brian Carter frowned and thought for a moment, then suddenly realized something and spoke.

“Winter is coming?”

“I remember you only got here five months ago, so you probably haven’t experienced it. Around this time every year, it starts to get colder. This year… winter will probably come a bit early, might even snow in October.”

At this, Charles paused for a moment, then said meaningfully,

“Winter’s coming.”

“Whether it’s people or mutants, everyone needs to prepare in advance.”

When Brian Carter first arrived in Beite Street, he was wearing a blue jacket, so Charles instinctively took him for a shelter dweller and looked out for him a bit.

Although that care never showed in the prices during trades, the old man did help Brian Carter out with his experience.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have adapted to life on the wasteland so quickly.

Brian Carter nodded seriously.

“I understand. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Charles smiled faintly, “Just don’t die.”

It was already early September. If it really started snowing in October, Brian Carter would have just over a month left to prepare.

For the survivors living in this area, snow was nothing to be happy about. It meant that, besides food, they’d have to spend more on fuel.

Most people here made a living by scavenging and hunting; the nearby farms only needed workers during the busy season.

In winter, scavenging would become much harder. No one could predict whether what was buried in the snow was a useful part or the fang of a mutant rat.

And animals like deer and rabbits, which could provide meat, would reduce their activity or just hole up for the winter.

Worst of all, once winter set in, the caravans would stop coming. Even if you found something good, you could only pile it up at home and wait until spring to sell it.

Or, you could risk traveling ten kilometers to Boulder City.

That was the largest survivor settlement in the Springwater City area, and even in winter, its market never closed.

However, it was located on the edge of the third ring road of Springwater City, right next to the northern district, with countless dangers lurking along the way.

For an ordinary person to try to walk there on foot—especially in winter, when temperatures could drop to minus ten degrees—was basically suicide!

……

After leaving the recycling station, Brian Carter first returned to his own place.

In fact, calling it a “place” was generous—it was more like a shack that barely kept out the rain, with not even a proper window or door.

Up until yesterday, he’d been thinking about saving up some cement, PVC panels, or similar materials to seal up the drafty walls before winter came.

But now, it seemed there was no need.

He dug a rusty aluminum box out of his moldy sleeping bag, pried it open with effort, and dumped the plastic coins hidden inside onto the wobbly wooden table.

A total of 47 white chips, each worth 1 point.

Counting the 3 he had on him, that made exactly 50 points!