Chapter 4 · Wasteland Zero-Dollar Haul

# Chapter 4: Wasteland Zero-Dollar Haul

> Short drama: EP 4 | Core emotion: Forty cans of meat — every scrap of safety an awkward father knows how to give.

Morning. The puppy lay flat in front of the empty food bowl, stomach rumbling loud enough to hear. It fixed its eyes on a rusted gear and bit down — then shook its whole head, teeth ringing off the metal. Axel took the gear away quickly and swapped in a smooth neon nut instead. The puppy hugged the nut to its chest, but its eyes never left the empty bowl.

(╬Ò_Ó) [PRIMARY MISSION: FIND FOOD FOR PUPPY]

Far off, the abandoned NEON BURGER sign swung in the wind. He settled the puppy into the chest basket he'd made from an old helmet, buckled the cloth straps, and picked his way through a collapsed fence. The fast-food place had a half-caved doorway. He turned sideways and squeezed in, his shoulder plate knocking against a hanging menu board. In the basket, the puppy stretched out its paws, swiping at the swinging picture of a hamburger.

Inside, chairs and tables lay on their sides. Then the puppy caught a smell, wriggled out of the basket, and bolted through the pass-through into the back kitchen. Axel had to tear out half the counter just to fit through after it.

The counter went down hard and woke the thing sleeping behind the menu board — a burger-headed brute, eighty centimeters tall, its holographic skull wobbling out a wash of gold light, two electronic french fries lashing out like whips. The puppy mistook the fries for food and lunged, jaws open.

(╬ Ò ‸ Ó) [BACK!]

Axel vaulted off the fallen counter, scooped the puppy up one-handed onto a high table, and blocked the fries with the other arm. The instant the brute touched down, he flicked a finger across the face of a metal serving tray. The shockwave burst it into a puff of golden pixel smoke. Out of the middle of that smoke dropped a clear capsule with a single faintly pulsing seed inside.

He picked the capsule up first and sampled it with a fingertip. The visor rolled out its readout, slow and deliberate: [UNKNOWN ORGANIC SEED] [VITALITY: 0.01%]. The seed went into a brown paper bag. He didn't taste it. He won't.

The puppy was digging under the overturned counter in the back kitchen, and what it dug up was a cold-storage door rusted shut. Axel worked an iron pipe and a pulley into a lever; the door cracked open only a sliver, and the puppy wriggled in and got its rear end stuck. He hauled the door back fast. The puppy tumbled through and knocked over a whole rank of cans — forty sealed pet food cans rolling out like a small metal flood.

(≧▽≦) [JACKPOT!] [PET FOOD STOCK: 40]

He picked one up and touched a fingertip to the gravy. The visor confirmed: [SAFE FOR CANINE]. The can went down in front of the puppy. It buried its face in the meat, gravy all over its muzzle, and when it was done it rubbed that face against his knee plate. Axel froze for a second, reached for a tissue to wipe it off, and got a faceful of gravy himself.

Every time the cart's wheels sank, he stopped and restacked the cans so they wouldn't knock against each other and frighten the puppy standing on top. One can rolled toward the roadside; he pinched it back with two fingers, wiped the mud off first, then set it back on the inside.

The second time his fingertip met the grease shining on a lid, the visor gave him the same single line of confirmation. That bit of grease he scraped back onto the rim of the can. It went into no line of his own.

When the puppy jumped down to pull the rope, its paws slipped in the wet mud, and he dropped to one knee at once and made a ramp of his shin. Forty round tin cans clanked in the sunset like a string of clumsy promises.

The seed bag rested against his chest, flashing cold blue, and he pressed it through the cloth to make sure it was still there, and to make sure it still had no warmth in it.

By the time they reached the screening room door, the sky was nearly dark. Axel carried the rations in one can at a time and stacked them on the makeshift shelf, and with each layer he held his palm up to stop Max jumping on and caving it in.

Max jumped on anyway, so he left the top layer empty and put a single empty can where the puppy could reach it, as a toy. The smell of gravy stayed in the fuzz around its mouth; he wiped it off with the corner of a clean cloth, and while he did it the puppy hummed with pleasure and pressed its wet nose against his knuckle and wouldn't let go.

His own system took in no food. The sensors smelled it, confirmed it, and shut off. Forty cans stood in a row on the shelf like a small wall. He stood in front of that wall for a while before he set the seed bag, alone, up high.

Cold blue showed faintly through the paper. It still said nothing. He set the cart steady and patted Max on the back. Today's safety was made of tin — heavy, stupid, and enough.

In the sunset he'd bolted an iron pipe and scavenged wheels into a little cart. The puppy stood on top of the can pile like a foreman. When the cart sank into a puddle, it jumped down, seized the tow rope in its teeth, and pulled alongside him. Forty cans of rations rolled toward the screening room. Through the paper bag, the seed gave off a very thin cold blue glimmer — no warmth, no explanation.

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### [Pinned comment card for this chapter] - **Cut point:** The cut lands the moment forty cans roll out of the cold storage, JACKPOT flashes across Axel's visor, and the puppy's face is smeared with gravy. - **Pin comment:** Forty cans of meat — the whole of the safety an awkward father can give in a wasteland. - **Deep link:** `[https://readnovelhub.com/novel/axel-and-max/chapter/4](https://readnovelhub.com/novel/axel-and-max/chapter/4)`