Rickson leaned toward a hardline approach. "Extraordinary times call for strict measures!
I think we should establish a tiered heating system immediately and punish anyone who violates orders and wastes fuel.
Concentrate all available manpower and prioritize combat personnel and key positions.
Comfort? You only get to talk about comfort if you're alive!"
Calista listened quietly to both of them, her fingers tapping lightly against her knee.
For a while, the only sounds in the room were the faint crackle of burning wood and the wind howling outside the window, reminding them just how brutal the world beyond those walls had become.
A minute later, Calista stopped tapping. She looked up, first at Leah, then at Rickson, before finally making her decision.
"Leah's concerns are valid, but Rickson's plan is closer to reality." She pressed her lips together.
"I've decided. First, starting immediately, we implement a strict fuel rationing system.
Rickson, you'll be responsible for drafting the detailed rules. Defense, medical, laboratory, and residential areas will be Level One priority and maintain their current standards.
Major public areas, such as the dining hall and the main castle hall, will be Level Two. Temperature standards will be lowered to the point where people won't suffer frostbite and pipes won't freeze. The animals' warmth will be handled according to the same standard.
All other areas, including most daytime work zones, will be Level Three, with only the minimum frost-prevention measures provided."
"Second," Calista said, turning to Leah, "issue an announcement in my name.
Make the base's fuel pressure clear to everyone, and require everyone to take every possible measure to keep warm. Wear more layers, sleep in shared spaces, and reduce unnecessary outdoor activity.
Anyone caught stealing or wasting fuel in violation of orders will be dealt with harshly under wartime regulations. Leah, that will be your responsibility. No leniency."
"Third," her gaze returned to Rickson, "adjust the missions for all outside teams.
Suspend all non-urgent searches, including searches for certain weapon parts.
Every team now has one top priority: fuel.
Firewood, coal, fuel oil, even any building material that can be burned safely.
Anyone who makes an outstanding contribution gets extra points. It all depends on what they bring back."
After speaking, Calista leaned back in her chair.
"That's how we'll do it.
There will be pressure, but survival puts us under more pressure than anything else.
Tell them this is an order.
We survived the virus outbreak, escaped the walker siege, and defeated the Red Scarf Gang. We will find a way through this winter too."
This was only the beginning. The first shot had just been fired in a long and brutal war against the forces of nature.
After the apocalypse, the will to survive in humans and animals alike was far tougher than the harshest winter.
"Understood!" Rickson and Leah answered at the same time.
Rickson immediately picked up the list and began working out the rationing details.
Leah turned and left, preparing to draft the announcement and notify Maya and Lieutenant Welles.
Calista's decision set the tone for Rock Fortress's response to the fuel crisis: survival came first.
The orders were issued quickly.
The search teams that had originally been scheduled to travel farther out for medical supplies and specific industrial parts had their mission lists completely rewritten.
At the base entrance, Gavin's team and Jonathan's team were making their final checks before departure.
Gavin looked at the new orders and clicked his tongue. "Well, looks like we're really lumberjacks now."
He patted the reinforced truck bed beside him and said to Mike, "Let's hope we find a lumberyard today that hasn't been stripped clean."
Jonathan was steadier. He checked his team's gear, especially their cold-weather clothing and snow-travel equipment. "Stay sharp, everyone!
Looking for fuel isn't any easier than fighting walkers. Stay out in this weather too long, and you'll turn into a popsicle before anything else gets you.
Aside from firewood, any burnable furniture, construction debris, even dead woods, it's all on the list."
Hank's reconnaissance team had also received orders to assist. They needed to explore farther areas and search for fuel stockpiles.
That meant abandoned factories, warehouses, even gas stations on the edges of small towns, then assessing whether they were usable and how dangerous they might be.
Less than twenty kilometers after Gavin's team left the base, they ran into another group of survivors on an icy stretch of road.
There were seven or eight of them, driving two beat-up pickup trucks. They had stopped in front of the ruins of what had once been a roadside diner and were also searching for something.
Both sides spotted each other almost at the same time, and the atmosphere tightened instantly.
Gavin immediately signaled for the vehicles to stop. Mike, Ethan, Danny, and the others quickly spread out behind the vehicles for cover. Their guns were not raised directly, but every finger rested near a trigger guard.
The other side was just as wary. They carried shotguns, machetes, and other weapons, their eyes full of hunger and cold.
"We saw this place first!" a burly man who looked like their leader shouted.
Mike gave a cold laugh and did not back down. "Did you write your names on it? Whoever finds it gets it!"
He noticed that the other vehicles seemed to be loaded with wooden tables and chairs torn from the restaurant ruins.
Clearly, they were after fuel too.
The two sides faced each other in a tense standoff, hostility thick in the air.
The pressure of scarce resources was pushing conflicts between survivors to the brink.
In the end, perhaps intimidated by Gavin's team's superior equipment and disciplined bearing, the group cursed as they slowly backed off, climbed into their vehicles, and drove away. But the unwillingness in their eyes was obvious.
"Shit. This isn't over," Ethan spat.
They all knew that as the harsh winter dragged on, conflicts like this between humans would only become more common and more intense.
But they had no spare sympathy left to pity anyone else.
At the same time, in the base's quarantine area, John, the newly rescued mechanic, was wrapped in the blanket issued to him and tinkering with an old diesel heater that had almost been written off as scrap.
If he could fix it, it would ease the heating pressure to some extent.
Tom, Henry, and the others at the base with any mechanical skills were all rushing to maintain the equipment that was still running. Several more had been pulled into the newly formed ground crew to protect the aircraft.
No one had time to deal with this piece of junk.
Around John lay a pile of simple tools provided by the base, along with the compact toolkit he had brought from his previous hiding place.
He skillfully removed the casing, checked the fuel lines, used a thin piece of wire he had found to clear a clogged nozzle, and even tried grinding a slightly warped part with a whetstone.
The team members responsible for guarding the area and delivering meals reported the situation up the chain.
Rickson came over in person to take a look.
"How is it? Any hope?" Rickson asked.
John looked up, grease smeared across his face, white breath leaving his mouth. "It's not too bad, sir. Mainly clogged fuel lines and an aging igniter.
If I can find a few replacement parts, I'm about seventy percent sure I can get it running again."
Rickson looked at his hands, red from the cold, then at the parts laid out neatly on the floor, and nodded. "Make a list of what you need. Ellie will coordinate it."
He did not say anything more, but that trust made a faint light flicker in John's eyes.
A few hours later, when John successfully got the old heater to rumble to life and blow out real hot air, the temperature in his quarantine area rose noticeably.
The news quickly spread through a small circle inside the base.
This newly arrived mechanic had earned his first piece of real trust, and the first footing he needed to stand on.