Doomsday Shopping Spree

Harper turned her attention toward the household storage section. A wall of heavy-duty food containers caught her eye, and a tight grin touched her lips.

Her storage dimension kept organic matter in a state of suspended freshness. Cooked food placed inside retained its heat, aroma, and crisp texture indefinitely. If she spent a weekend batch-cooking meals, dividing portions into airtight tubs, and stacking them along the pantry shelves, she could grab dinner whenever she pleased. No cooking odors during dangerous times, no wasted hours, and zero cleanup.

She grabbed ten boxes of twelve-piece container sets, racking up two thousand dollars. Seven-piece kitchen cutlery sets went for seven hundred dollars per box; she swept ten boxes into the cart, adding another seven thousand dollars. Bulk packs of three-ply toilet paper were marked at two hundred and eighty dollars per thirty-two-roll bundle. She selected ten packs, totaling twenty-eight hundred dollars. Flushable moist wipes, sold in eight-pack bundles at eighty dollars, were an absolute necessity for anyone who had lived through water rationing. She claimed twenty bundles, logging sixteen hundred dollars. Heavy-duty black contractor bags came three hundred and sixty to a case at seventy dollars. She loaded one hundred cases, adding seven thousand dollars to the tally.

Those utility supplies alone totaled twenty thousand four hundred dollars.

Within thirty minutes of relentless scanning, Harper had run through one hundred and ninety thousand four hundred and fifty dollars in merchandise. Her spatial retreat had expanded by roughly four thousand one hundred square feet based on the system conversion rate.

She ducked into an empty service corridor behind the pallet racks and slipped her consciousness into the dimensional space.

The supplies from her sweep sat aligned in neat stacks across the flat expanse. The modest single-story shelter she had reinforced during the night had expanded into a modern two-story villa with wide balconies and reinforced foundations.

She took a slow breath. If she pushed hard enough, she could turn this refuge into a fortified compound with enough square footage to live like royalty while the old world drowned.

Harper stepped back into the store aisle and took the escalator down to the cosmetics and personal hygiene department.

Post-collapse sunlight was merciless. Without atmospheric filtration, prolonged exposure charred human skin within hours, leaving survivors blistered and dark. Wealthy enclave residents would pay staggering premiums for skin protection, making sunblock a reliable bartering commodity.

She cleared the shelf of broad-spectrum sunscreen at two hundred dollars per tube, sweeping seventy bottles into her basket for fourteen hundred dollars. Heavy-duty restorative moisturizers stood beside them at one hundred and eighty dollars per container. She took fifty units, logging nine thousand dollars. Six-pack toothbrush kits retailed at one hundred and twenty dollars each; she loaded twenty boxes, totaling twenty-four hundred dollars. Whitening toothpaste sets sold at one hundred and sixty dollars for six tubes. She took ten sets, adding sixteen hundred dollars.

As she reached toward the menstrual care display, two store associates in red vests walked past the endcap, their voices hushed.

"Did inventory control pull pallets early today? Half the middle aisles look like they were picked clean by locusts."

"I have no idea. The morning restock team finished at dawn. Everything was full when the doors opened."

"Must be wholesale scalpers clearing stock again. Those people ruin every seasonal drop."

Harper stepped past them without glancing up, her expression calm as she walked toward the fresh produce department. Restock staff were still hovering near the center displays, making it a bad time to wipe out entire shelves in plain sight.

The fruit section was quiet, with only a few shoppers wandering among the cedar crates. High-end imports sat stacked along the perimeter, dozens of wooden cases for each variety. Taking thirty cases of each kind would barely dent the store's massive back-stock.

She walked the perimeter like an ordinary customer, lingering by the displays while lightly trailing her fingertips along the crate edges. With each brush of her hand, heavy wooden boxes vanished into her spatial storage. Anyone looking from a distance would assume she was inspecting the fruit. Her situational awareness, sharpened through years of scavenging through ruined city centers, kept her clear of blind spots and customer sightlines.

Thirty crates of imported seedless grapes added fifteen hundred dollars. Thirty crates of watermelons brought eighteen hundred dollars. Blueberries added twenty-one hundred dollars across thirty flats. High-grade golden kiwis ran three hundred dollars per case; thirty cases added three thousand dollars. Sweet cherries logged six thousand dollars. Crisp apples brought three thousand dollars, and thirty boxes of bananas totaled twenty-four hundred dollars.

Her mission timer was down to its final minutes when she entered the liquor section.

Locked display cases held vintage cognacs that required special sales clearance, but the surrounding open shelves held cases of premium vodka and small-batch whiskey. Arthur enjoyed a glass of bourbon in the evening, and more importantly, high-proof spirits served as medical-grade disinfectants when pharmaceutical antiseptic ran out.

Harper worked her way down the racks, pulling bottles into her dimension until she had logged more than one hundred thousand dollars in hard liquor alone.

When the one-hour countdown reached zero, her total haul stood at four hundred and three thousand two hundred and fifty dollars, expanding her dimensional space by an additional eight thousand six hundred and seventy-five square feet.

She tossed a box of crackers and a package of bottled tea into her shopping cart, walked through the register line, and paid cash for the loose items before walking out to her sedan.

Kensington was a sprawling coastal metropolis with five other membership warehouse outlets under different corporate brands. Harper held active cards for all of them from her pre-apocalypse shopping habits. She had no intention of leaving any location untouched.

Over the next twelve hours, she methodically drove across the city, visiting each warehouse in turn.

At the second location, she concentrated on bulk feminine hygiene products and family planning supplies. While she had no personal use for contraceptives, their barter value among the city elite would soar within months. From there, she shifted her focus to survival staples: sacks of durum pasta, unbleached flour, drums of peanut oil, iodized salt, pure cane sugar, and skids of bottled drinking water.

She had left the family apartment at eight in the morning. By eight in the evening, she pulled back into their residential parking garage.

Tens of thousands of pounds of dry goods, produce, and shelf-stable staples rested inside her expanded space. Every item remained fresh, dry, and organized, all acquired without spending a single dollar of the family savings.

Harper picked up four lightweight shopping bags containing fresh bread and fruit, then rode the elevator up to the top floor.

Inside the duplex, Arthur, Cora, and Declan were gathered around the dining table with clipboards and receipts spread between them. They looked up with visible relief when the deadbolt clicked open.

Arthur and Cora had spent the afternoon scouring suburban markets, securing two hundred pounds of fresh pork and beef, one hundred pounds of farm eggs, and fifty-pound sacks of potatoes, onions, and cabbages. Declan had brought contractors to inspect the roof, locking in a start date for the reinforced greenhouse frame and heavy exterior security mesh.

Declan leaned back against the sofa cushions, eyeing the plastic bags in Harper's grip with an arched brow. "You spent twelve hours running around Kensington and came back with four grocery bags?"

Harper kicked off her sneakers and tossed her jacket onto the entry bench. "Keeping a low profile is basic survival. Everything else is stored where no one can find it."

"Tell me what you spent. I have the liquid cash ready to transfer right now."

"Save your money. I acquired the entire stockpile for free."

Harper held up her hand, extended her car key ring between two fingers, and let it vanish into thin air. A second later, the brass keys reappeared between her knuckles with a soft metallic click.

Declan stared at her hand, his jaw slackening.

Arthur leaned forward, his brows drawing together, while Cora adjusted her glasses, her mouth tightening with unease.

Cora looked down at her clasped hands before looking up at Harper. "Taking goods from stores without paying the cashier is stealing, Harper. No matter how bad things might get later, taking things that belong to others is wrong."

Harper set the four plastic bags on the counter and sat across from her mother.

"Mom, I understand why that bothers you," Harper said, keeping her tone calm. "In a normal world, walking out with inventory is a crime. But within a month, seasonal storms will breach the sea wall, and floodwaters will drown every wholesale club in the lower districts. The shelves will rot under six feet of dirty water while normal families starve in dark apartments, unable to reach emergency aid. The collapse is coming whether we take those goods or let the tide destroy them. My only goal is to lock down thirty years of survival supplies for this family before the chaos starts. Nothing else matters right now."