Zombie survivor

[77] Safe...For now

The boat finally scraped the shores of West Kelowna, the waves barely making a sound as they lapped against the decaying dock. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind the grayish twilight of an apocalyptic evening. The docks were eerily silent, save for the rustling of the wind through the overgrown plants at the edge of the settlement.

Kelowna's settlement looked more like a desperate attempt to hold on to the last shreds of civilization rather than a thriving community. The perimeter was surrounded by hastily constructed wooden trunks, the type you'd see at a logging yard, pieced together as if by the hands of survivors desperate to create a safe zone. It was a ramshackle wall that barely looked stable, but it was enough to keep the horrors outside, or so it seemed. The faded remnants of signs, once colorful and cheerful, were now covered in grime and bloodstains. Rusted barbed wire poked through the cracks in the wooden barricades, stretching thin and torn over a space filled with wrecked cars and broken furniture.

The settlement was still alive, but the air here was heavy—thick with the smell of damp wood, decaying refuse, and that strange, metallic scent of blood that never quite fades away.

The boat drifted lazily toward the dock, Evan still at the helm, sweat dripping down his brow. The rest of the group sat quietly, eyes glued to the shore, tense and waiting for what came next. It was hard to tell if they were about to be saved or tossed to the wolves.

Once the boat settled against the dock, the group immediately started to climb out, but their movements were slow, wary. No one wanted to make the first mistake.

A pair of armed guards stood on the dock, their eyes immediately locking onto them. Both were tall, rough-looking men—dressed in makeshift armor crafted from old military vests, bandanas tied around their heads, and weapons slung across their bodies. They looked like the type who wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in you if you gave them the wrong look.

"Whoa, whoa, hold up!" one of the guards barked, stepping forward and raising a hand to stop them. His voice was deep, gruff—rough from too much shouting over the years. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

Jean flinched, his pulse quickening as he realized they weren't exactly welcome. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. "We're, uh... just looking for shelter," he said, his voice shaky. "We're just trying to survive."

The second guard stepped forward, his eyes scanning each of them, narrowing as he took in their ragged clothes, their bloodied bodies, and the way they moved like they were about to snap under the pressure. He sneered. "You don't look like survivors," he said, taking a step closer to Jean. "You look like a bunch of fucking kids who got lucky. We don't just let anyone in here, got it?"

Tyler, standing near the edge of the boat, opened his mouth to speak, but Chloe's hand shot out to stop him. She grabbed his wrist firmly. "Shut the fuck up, Tyler," she hissed, her eyes flicking nervously between the guards. "We're not gonna die because you're running your mouth."

"I didn't say anything!" Tyler replied, his voice barely above a whisper, but he shrank back, clearly intimidated.

The guards were already raising their weapons, preparing to usher the group away. Their stance was rigid, calculating, and it didn't take long for them to start moving toward the boat, pointing their guns in a way that made it clear they weren't interested in negotiating.

But before things could escalate further, Ms. Heather—who had been quietly standing behind the group—stepped forward, holding up her hands in a placating gesture.

"Wait, please," she said, her voice soft, but there was a firmness in it that caught the guards' attention. "We're... we're just kids. High school students. We're not a threat."

The first guard—who had been the most vocal—paused. He glanced at Ms. Heather with a skeptical look, the line of his mouth hardening, but something shifted in his eyes. The second guard, who had been silently sizing them up, turned his gaze to the first.

"High school kids? What the fuck are you talking about?" the first guard said, his voice still sharp but less certain now. "You think we're gonna let a bunch of—what?—teens just walk right in? This is a fucking secure zone."

"I understand," Ms. Heather said quickly, not backing down. "I'm... a teacher. We're just looking for a place to stay. We've lost so much already. Please, we don't want trouble. We just need to rest. To... to regroup."

There was a long silence. The guards exchanged a look, their postures still tense, but they didn't immediately react. The first guard scratched his chin, his fingers rough and calloused. He looked back at Ms. Heather, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world was on pause.

Finally, he sighed, lowering his weapon slightly. "You're lucky," he muttered under his breath. "We don't normally take in kids. You don't know what's out there. But..." He exhaled, glancing at his partner. "Fine. For now, you can stay in the detention camp. At least that's better than nothing."

The second guard grunted, clearly displeased, but didn't object.

"Detention camp?" Brad echoed, his voice incredulous. He stepped forward, flexing his fists. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? We're not some kind of... prisoners, are we?"

The first guard gave him a scornful look. "You'd better hope that's all you are. We got no room for freeloaders or troublemakers. Keep your heads down, and you might get lucky. Keep pushing, and we'll send you right back where you came from."

Chloe scoffed. "Yeah, real fucking hospitable," she muttered under her breath. "Thanks for the warm welcome."

"Stay cool," Jean whispered to her, giving her a warning glance. "Just... get through this."

Without another word, the guards began to move toward them, motioning for them to follow. One of the guards pulled a set of shackles from his belt and dangled them in front of them.

"Alright, kids," he barked. "Let's go. Stay in line, and don't try anything funny. You're not in charge here."

As they were led deeper into the settlement, the scene around them grew more chaotic. The camp—if that's what it could even be called—was a mess of hastily built structures. Old tents, makeshift shelters, and wooden walls that looked like they were about to fall apart. There were a few survivors milling around, most of them looking as broken as the settlement itself. Some were sitting around fires, others working on odd tasks, but it was clear that everyone was just trying to survive.

"Yo, is this where we're staying?" Brittany asked, her voice edged with disbelief. "This place looks like a fucking junkyard."

"Shut the hell up, Bri," Brad snapped, but his voice lacked its usual venom. Even he was starting to realize how dire things were.

"Whatever," Brittany muttered, rubbing her arms as if trying to stay warm, even though the air had turned cool with the evening breeze.

They reached a part of the settlement that had a high wooden fence around it, with guards standing on watch. Inside, a few other kids and young adults sat or stood in small groups, their faces grim, their clothes ragged. It was clear they had been here for a while.

"Well, this is it," the first guard said, dropping the shackles on the ground in front of them. "Don't get any ideas. This is just until we figure out what the hell to do with you. You don't want to be a problem. Got it?"

"Yeah, whatever," Chloe grumbled, already walking toward one of the tents that was barely standing. She threw herself down onto the ground, and the rest of the group followed, settling into their makeshift quarters.

The world outside the wooden walls of the settlement was still chaos, still unforgiving. But at least for now, they weren't dead. They weren't alone.

And that was something, at least.

Q: What would you do next?