Time had passed, and the line had moved closer to the building's entrance. The boys could see the dark interior full of old pipes, conveyor belts, and other remnants of abandoned machinery. They couldn't tell how long they'd been standing there, but they were sure it was noon. Yet, the sky continued to darken, signaling that rain could fall at any moment.

The silence and the memory of the gunshot made them want to leave. Making sense of it was one thing, but moving past it was another. At least Donald had managed to calm them down. They felt safe enough to let go of their hands, though their faces were still pale.

"You okay now?" Huey asked Dewey.

"Yeah," Dewey answered, moving his gaze down to avoid Huey's eyes. "Just… you know… upset stomach."

The answer was enough to make Huey nod. He then turned to Louie, who stood a little apart, burying his hands in his hoodie pockets.

"Louie?"

"I'm fine," Louie said. "No big deal."

Their talk was cut off by another static from the loudspeaker, followed by an announcement that echoed across the tranquil parking lot.

"Citizens," the announcer began. "Due to unexpected logistical challenges, today's allocation will not meet the demands of all present. Please remain calm. We've taken the necessary action to ensure fairness."

Silence followed, a different one this time.

There was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. People started to lift their heads and set their faces in serious looks. Some turned to stare at those behind them, as though the others had suddenly become rivals.

Donald let out a sharp exhale. He knew something big was about to happen, but what he hated more was, of all days, why every bad thing had to happen today. He thought the gunshot was enough, but guess he was wrong.

The boys, meanwhile, were left even more puzzled by the sudden rise in tension. At that moment, they heard someone clanging an axe against the concrete. What was that supposed to mean? Were they going to swing it at people? Before any of them could say anything, the voice returned.

"The remaining supplies will be delivered by air transport soon. You are free to claim what you can. In the meantime, distribution will continue. Thank you for your understanding."

It was just like that. The message ended without further explanation of how the claim would work. There was no mention of order or priority. The boys didn't need anyone to spell it out for them: survival was now all about speed and strength. Only time would tell when and how the event will unfold.

Thirty minutes had gone by, according to Huey's count, a minor distraction to banish his boredom and the tension that came with waiting. A low whirring sound of helicopter blades broke his count and the silence of the parking lot. The boys looked up, catching sight of a massive shipping container descending from above. Even when it was suspended by thick cables, the container was still swaying back and forth at a steady pace. The aircraft that carried it remained hidden in the thick, foggy sky above.

People in the line moved toward the edges of the lot to stay out of the dust kicked up by the helicopter's arrival, grouped in a wide circle.

"Come on, boys. Stay close to me," Donald said, his voice steady but firm. He led them to the far side of the parking lot and stopped under the brittle branches of a dying tree.

Donald turned to kneel in front of them. "Wait here. Don't move, no matter what happens. You'll be safe, I promise," he said, resting a hand on Huey's shoulder.

Just as Donald was about to turn and leave, Huey held his uncle's hand, making him pause. The sudden gesture, of course, confused Donald. Huey had his mouth opened, and it seemed he was about to say something.

"Uncle Donald," Huey whispered. "Just… be careful, okay?"

"I will," Donald answered with a smile. He knelt again, pulling his nephews into another tight hug. "Thanks, boys."

He stood up and gave the boys one last reassuring glance before turning to the growing crowd in the middle of the parking lot. The boys watched as he disappeared into the sea of tense faces. All they could do now was hope. Hope their uncle would stay safe, hope their worst fears wouldn't come true.

Above them, the helicopter hovered lower, revealing its black color. The container was just a few inches off the ground, and within a moment, it landed. The chains securing its door rattled as the helicopter released its grip and disappeared into the overcast sky. The sound of its blades faded, and the parking lot was once again quiet.

No one moved. No one spoke. Everyone was waiting for the final announcement, the one that would decide everything.

The loudspeaker crackled again, with the same flat, boring, and emotionless voice.

"Citizens, you may claim your food. In ten… Nine…"

People stood still. Some looked at their surroundings to see if anyone made a move, while others were just staring at the container.

"Eight… Seven…"

Donald slowed and deepened his breath, thinking about his nephews for a moment before the countdown snapped him back to focus.

"Come on, Donald. What are you doing?" he said to himself.

"Six…"

Some people bent their knees, adjusting their footing to prepare for their next move.

"Five… Four…"

All eyes were on the prize, narrowing toward the container, like a hunter sizing up their prey.

"Three…"

"Uncle Donald…" Huey's voice came out soft, more of a plea than a call. He tried to spot his uncle in the crowd, desperately moving his gaze from one to another. The number of people was proving to be difficult.

"Two…"

The tension in the crowd reached a new height.

"One."

Desperation erupted in the once-silent crowd, turning them into a chaotic mass. They rushed toward the container from all directions, shouting, pushing, and tripping over each other. The cracked concrete beneath them disappeared under a rising cloud of dust and gravel churned by hundreds of hurried feet.

The boys... What could the boys do but watch in fear, concern, and disbelief?

Dozens of hands grasped the chains that held the container doors shut. Someone with an axe from earlier was readying themselves, and with several powerful swings, they shattered the chains. A lock embedded in the door added to their challenge, but with some effort, it was eventually broken. With their bare hands, the crowd tore open the door. Inside, as they expected, were rows of gunny sacks, their solution to the growing hunger.

"It's starting," Dewey muttered.

Some dashed inside, yanking sacks for themselves with single-minded urgency, while others were kind enough to toss them into the crowd.

One woman screamed as someone ripped a sack from her arms. Others traded blows to seize whatever they could grab, which in the end only resulted in pain instead of food as someone saw an opportunity and snatched it.

"Do you see him?" Huey asked.

Louie squinted, scanning the chaotic scene. "No. But if he's smart, he'll stick to the edges."

Donald was nowhere near the edges.

He was right in the thick of it, ducking and dodging and weaving his way through the mob, dealing with elbows and bodies coming at him from all directions. The stale and hot air didn't make the situation any better, and combined with the smell of sweat, it was becoming difficult to breathe.

It was nothing. It wasn't the first time he'd found himself in a chaotic situation like this at this food distribution, and he knew what he had to do was just keep going until he got that bag of food. Well, everything wasn't as smooth as he hoped for. Donald lost his focus for a second and stumbled on the rough and dusty ground. A cough forced its way out of his throat. He gritted his teeth as his knees and palms burned with pain. He tried to ignore it, forcing himself to stand and keep walking, avoiding the stampede of feet that rushed past him.

"No! Not the time, Donald. Pull yourself together!" Donald told himself again.

He didn't know why he couldn't stop thinking about his nephews, it was too much at this rate.

They would be fine. He told himself that they would be fine. But the thought of them waiting, hungry and uncertain, wouldn't leave his mind.

Donald got inches closer to the container as he continued his walk. Most of the sacks were already gone, but his eyes caught one near the edge, still intact. He ran forward without hesitation, pushing through the rest of the crowd and grabbing the sack.

"Ha! Gotcha!" Donald whispered.

He was about to turn away when another hand grabbed the other end of the sack, almost causing him to lose his balance.

"Let go of that!" a deep voice growled.

Donald stopped and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before turning around. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood before him, but it didn't make Donald afraid. He only sighed and gave the man a reluctant and regretful expression.

"Please don't make me do this. I don't want to hurt you," Donald said to the man, shaking his head.

From under the tree, the boys waited and waited. Huey did the best he could: counting the seconds under his breath, even though he knew it wouldn't bring their uncle back any faster. Dewey and Louie were just… quiet, watching the chaos. None of the three spoke; there was nothing to say that wouldn't make the knot in their stomachs worse.

After a few minutes, the noise of the crowd faded. People began to spread, some carrying the bags they'd fought so hard for with a relIef smile, while others left empty-handed with disappointed faces. The boys looked at every face, every figure, searching for a familiar sailor's hat that belonged to their uncle.

And then they saw it.

Donald emerged from the dispersing crowd. He gripped the burlap sack tightly in his right hand. The sight made the boys sigh in relief, albeit it was for a fraction of time.

They noticed Donald was limping. His suit was dirty. There was a stain of blood at the corner of his beak; he wiped it with his arm. His left palm was smeared with crimson that wasn't his own. Behind him, near the container, a man lay on the ground, unmoving.

Donald's unusual appearance filled the boys' minds with questions, so many questions, but none of them could bring themselves to ask. Not now.

"Uncle Donald!" Huey called.

Donald's head lifted at the sound of his name, and for a moment, a small, exhausted smile broke through the weariness on his face. He took a step toward them, then another, and another. Seeing the boys waiting for him with concern was enough to make him keep going.

He was so close. Just a few more steps.

There was a ringing in his ears. It came from the punch the man had landed on his face earlier in the fight. He ignored it at first, choosing to keep his eyes on the boys' faces. It wasn't long before the ringing got worse, swallowing every other sound.

He stopped for a moment. His breath came in short, more like gasps. His legs felt heavy. And weak. Very weak.

"Uncle Donald? Are you okay?" Huey's voice reached him, low and distorted. It was distant. Everything felt distant.

Donald staggered. He tried to move, tried to say something, but the world was spinning and tilting and shifting, as if his consciousness was trying to pull away from him. His arms went numb, and the sack slipped from his hand, falling to the ground.

He barely heard the boys' gasps before his legs gave up.

Everything faded.

The sack. The boys. The world.

Then, nothing.