Zombie survivor

[65] 2nd base

The fire crackled as the group finished their meager dinner. Shadows danced across their faces as the quiet of the night settled in. Despite the day's exhaustion, the mood around the campfire was tense, a mix of awkwardness and unspoken grief lingering from Luca's sacrifice.

Ms. Heather sat near the edge of the firelight, fiddling nervously with a loose thread on her sweater. Her usually bubbly demeanor had dimmed, and her wide blue eyes stared into the flames, distant and unfocused.

Blake noticed and scooted closer, clearing his throat loudly enough to catch everyone's attention. "Ms. Heather," he began, his voice full of earnestness, "I just want to say... you've been so strong through all of this. Really. It's inspiring."

Ms. Heather glanced up at him, blinking in surprise. "Oh, um... thank you, Blake. That's very kind."

Blake nodded solemnly, adjusting his glasses. "It's important to acknowledge the emotional labor you've been carrying. Women are often burdened with expectations in survival scenarios, overlooked for their contributions while men assume leadership roles by default."

Chloe groaned audibly, rolling her eyes. "Here we go."

Blake ignored her, his focus entirely on Ms. Heather. "You've done so much for this group, and I want you to know that your efforts haven't gone unnoticed. You don't have to shoulder the weight alone. We're here for you—as allies."

Tyler, sitting cross-legged a few feet away, snorted, his grin as sharp as ever. "Damn, Blake, that's smooth. She's probably swooning right now."

Blake glared at him. "It's not about that, Tyler. I'm trying to support her as a person."

"Suuuure," Tyler drawled, leaning back on his hands. "If by support, you mean sliding into her DMs in real life."

"Tyler!" Ms. Heather gasped, her cheeks flushing. "That's not appropriate!"

"Neither's your boy Blake here giving you the 'feminism is sexy' speech," Tyler shot back, smirking.

Blake's face turned red, and he stammered, "That's not—! I'm just trying to offer compassion and understanding!"

"Compassion and understanding," Tyler repeated mockingly, sitting forward with a sly grin. "Well, Miss Heather, if you're into real comfort, I can offer my services. Free of charge."

The group collectively cringed, and Ms. Heather's face turned bright red. "I—um—Tyler, that's not—I mean, no thank you!" she stammered, inching away from him.

Akira, sitting beside Jean, narrowed her eyes at Tyler. "Gross," she muttered, her voice sharp. "Can you not?"

"What?" Tyler said, feigning innocence. "I'm just being supportive in my own way. Don't hate the player, hate the game."

"Yeah, well, the game is disgusting, and you need to stop," Brittney said flatly, glaring at him from across the fire.

Evan, who had been watching the entire exchange in silence, finally stood, rubbing his hands nervously. He took a hesitant step toward Ms. Heather, his face flushed. "Ms. H," he began, his voice cracking slightly, "I just wanted to say—"

Before he could finish, Chloe reached over and clasped his hand tightly, stopping him in his tracks. He froze, looking down at her with wide eyes. Chloe shot him a look—a sharp, warning glare that spoke volumes. Don't you fucking dare.

Evan gulped, his face going even redder. "Uh... n-never mind," he muttered, sitting back down and avoiding everyone's gaze.

Jordan, sitting nearby with his crowbar resting across his lap, let out a low chuckle. "Bro, this whole thing is so cringe. It's like watching a shitty reality show."