The bank vault echoed with the sound of crates being dragged across concrete as Larry stacked another box of canned goods against the wall. The place had transformed over the past month—what was once a decaying relic of the old world now served as their fortress. The safes had been emptied, the furniture replaced with scavenged couches and tables, and the floors cleared of debris. Even the dust had been swept away, leaving only the faint metallic scent of the vault itself lingering in the air.
Xiu dropped a duffel bag of freshly cleaned weapons onto the table, the clatter of metal drawing Larry's attention. The kid wiped his hands on his pants and leaned against the table, eyeing the contents. "That the last of the SMGs?"
"Last of the ones we're keeping," Xiu said, pulling out a pistol to check the slide. "The rest are stored in the back."
Larry picked up a magazine, thumbing the bullets inside. "You know, most people don't just have crates of guns lying around."
"Most people don't live here."
"Yeah, well." Larry set the magazine down with a click. "Most people also don't have stuff vanish from their room and new crap show up outta nowhere."
Xiu didn't look up, but his fingers stilled for half a second before he continued cleaning the weapon. "You seeing things now?"
"Don't play dumb," Larry said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not blind. One day there's nothing in your corner, the next there's a whole damn toolbox. Or medkits. Or—hell, that jeep engine block that definitely wasn't here yesterday."
Xiu exhaled through his nose, weighing his options. Denying it outright wouldn't work—Larry was too sharp for that. But explaining wasn't an option either. "You gonna keep poking at it, or you gonna help me get this jeep running?"
Larry grinned. "Oh, so now we're not pretending you're not magic?"
"Didn't say that."
"Didn't not say it either."
Xiu tossed him a wrench. "Engine's not gonna build itself."
The jeep had been a wreck when they'd found it—flipped on its side, tires blown out, engine block cracked from whatever chaos had taken it down. But the frame was intact, and that was enough. Over the past few weeks, Xiu had been smuggling parts from the real world—alternator, fuel pump, suspension components—stuff that was impossible to scavenge here without stumbling across a miracle.
Larry knelt beside the chassis, tightening bolts with practiced ease. "You know, if you could just magic us a whole jeep, that'd save a lot of time."
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Fun. Right." Larry wiped grease off his hands. "Because rebuilding a zombie-apocalypse jeep from scrap is so entertaining."
Xiu ignored him, focusing on wiring the new alternator into place. The kid had stopped asking direct questions, but the curiosity was still there, simmering under the surface. It wasn't trust, exactly—more like an unspoken agreement. Larry got answers when Xiu felt like giving them, and in return, he didn't push too hard.
The engine sputtered to life on the third try, the sound rough but steady. Larry whooped, slapping the hood. "Hell yeah! Take that, you piece of junk!"
Xiu allowed himself a small smirk. "Told you it'd work."
"Uh-huh. And how much of that was skill, and how much was you cheating?"
"Trade secret."
Larry rolled his eyes but didn't press further.
The city was quieter now. Too quiet, in some ways. The streets they'd cleared stayed cleared, the zombies thinning out until entire blocks were empty of anything but dust and echoes. They'd taken everything worth taking—food, weapons, even the damn furniture. If it wasn't nailed down (and sometimes even if it was), it ended up in their vault.
Larry leaned against the jeep's hood, scanning the skyline. "Think we'll ever run out of stuff to take?"
"Hope not."
"Optimistic."
Xiu shrugged. "Better than the alternative."
They loaded the last of the day's haul—a crate of bottled water, a few spare tires, and a first-aid kit they'd missed in an old clinic—into the jeep. Larry hopped into the passenger seat, kicking his feet up on the dash. "So. Where next?"
Xiu turned the key, the engine growling under them. "North. Past the river."
"More zombies?"
"Probably."
Larry grinned. "Better bring the big guns, then."
Xiu didn't answer, but as they drove off, the kid's quiet chuckle told him the message had been received anyway.