Age of zombies

[52] Job hunt

The town hall was nothing fancy, just another building that looked like it had been built for tourists back when the world was still normal. But now, it served a different purpose. The line to get inside was long, snaking out the door and down the steps. People stood huddled in their coats, their breath visible in the freezing air, waiting for their chance to find some sort of work. It felt strange—after everything that had happened, people were still lining up for jobs, like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

We stood in that line for what felt like hours, the cold creeping into our bones as we shuffled forward bit by bit. There wasn't much talking—everyone looked exhausted, their faces drawn and pale from the cold and the stress of surviving in this new world.

"Feels like the fucking DMV all over again," Ethan muttered, rubbing his hands together to keep warm. "Except, y'know, with fewer zombies."

Daisy chuckled under her breath, adjusting the strap on her rifle. "At least we're getting paid in something useful this time. Can't eat a paycheck."

"Or money," I added, glancing up at the dull gray sky. "Deer jerky's the new currency, I guess."

Liza snorted. "At this rate, I'd take jerky over cash any day."

As we got closer to the entrance, I could hear the faint sound of voices coming from inside—people being called in, one by one, to meet with whoever was in charge. It was like a job interview, only now, instead of competing for promotions or office perks, we were competing for survival.

When it was finally our turn, the receptionist at the door called us in, her expression blank as she looked over the list. "You'll be called in one by one. The rest of you can wait out here."

Yabe went first, followed by Liza, then Ethan, and Daisy. Each time, they disappeared through the door at the end of the hallway, only to come back out a few minutes later looking slightly more relieved. Finally, my name was called.

I walked into the small, cramped office, the air inside warmer but stifling. The woman behind the desk was middle-aged, with sharp eyes and graying hair tied back into a bun. She didn't smile or offer any kind of pleasantries, just motioned for me to sit down.

"Alright," she said, flipping through a folder in front of her. "What are your specialties? What can you do?"

I shifted in the chair, feeling the weight of the question. "I'm a psychology major. Graduated right before everything went to hell."

Her eyes flicked up from the folder, and she gave me a quick once-over. "Psychology, huh? We could use more mental health workers. People are losing their minds out there, and we need someone to help keep things calm."

I nodded, trying not to let my relief show. "I can do that. I've studied trauma, stress responses, group dynamics. I'm not a therapist, but I know enough to help."

The woman scribbled something down on the paper in front of her. "Good. We'll place you in mental health care. Report to the clinic tomorrow morning. You'll get your assignment then."

I stood up, grateful that the interview was over. "Thank you."

She didn't look up. "Next."

I walked out of the office, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety. I'd wanted to help people, sure, but now that I was actually going to be doing it, I couldn't help but feel the weight of it all. Mental health care in a world like this? It wasn't going to be easy.

Outside, the others were waiting. Daisy leaned against the wall, her rifle resting on her shoulder, while Liza paced back and forth, clearly eager to get moving.