Chapter 7: The Malicious Neighbors

David sipped his fish soup, feeling a warm flow through his body, very satisfied. 

In the current environment, food easily freezes solid and cools quickly if left outside. But the food he materialized two to three hours ago — while he napped — still retained its warmth. 

This proved the enhanced insulation of his room, making his short sleep the most comfortable since the harsh cold began. The delicious food nearly moved him to tears; he hadn't enjoyed such luxury even before the apocalypse.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

 The people outside, enraged by his words, kicked at the door relentlessly, but David wasn't worried. He had reinforced the door; it had no lock and was bomb-resistant. Whether they tried lock-picking or brute force, they couldn't get in. And if they did manage to break in, David's gun was no joke.

As time passed, the clanging outside subsided. They realized the new door was incredibly tough, withstanding their assaults without a scratch, like hitting a solid steel plate. 

Besides, their strength was waning in this apocalyptic environment, unable to satisfy their hunger, each person's spirit was low. 

Some hid food but had to pretend weakness, lest they become the next targets.

"Where's Robert? Why isn't he here yet?!" William, tired from kicking, had to conserve energy for the upcoming food fight. They all waited for Robert.

Robert, a local of Emeraldon, wasn't a locksmith but ran a hardware store in the community. Though going out was difficult now, he kept some tools at home, including a large sledgehammer — lethal if swung at someone and effective for breaking doors. They had broken another door with it before.

"This guy is too arrogant!" Unable to break the door or bear David's taunts, they cursed in the hallway.

"Just showing off because he has some food! When this disaster's over, I can eat as much as I want," said a greasy-haired, middle-aged man in a thick coat, reeking of a mix of odors. "A poor wretch with no sense of giving. How did he even get into our building?"

"Yeah, yeah," others agreed. "We're high-class society members. It's not like we won't pay him back after the disaster. We can compensate tenfold."

They complained in the hallway, helpless to enter or to endure David's provocations. In truth, in this environment, the distinction between the poor and elite vanished. Some so-called poor had better stocked homes.

"Enough," William sighed, "Save your breath and energy."

But someone ignored William, complaining about those who used to talk about global warming and rising sea levels, now facing such severe cold. "Do you think this weather is normal? It's God's punishment!" someone retorted. Whether divine retribution or not, it was certainly abnormal.

They talked of compensating David after the apocalypse, but who didn't know society was nearly paralyzed? Since the loss of the internet, they were like castaways on a dark island. This disaster was likely insurmountable. Even nuclear power plants had exploded, a sign of the government's lost control. The relentless cold and accumulating hail nearly buried the first and second floors.

"Here he comes!" Robert's voice rang from below, reviving everyone's spirits. Robert's arrival meant the door would break, and David's food would be theirs. They cleared a path, and Robert, careful not to slip on the icy stairs, arrived with a large sledgehammer. 

"Once the door opens, I must be the first to enter!" he declared.

"Open the door first," they urged.

"This is the condition," Robert said. "You know my wife died, but I still have a daughter. I've contributed a lot to this mission, so it's fair I pick food first, right?"

They swallowed hard, looking at the sledgehammer. Robert's wife had frozen to death, leaving him and his daughter alone.

"That's fair. You're a hero," William said. "Get on with it."

"Stand back!" Robert insisted on doing it himself, not trusting anyone else with such a weapon, far more intimidating than a kitchen knife.