Zombie survivor

[79] Shelter

The teens trudged out of the building under the watchful eye of Daryl and two armed guards. The air outside was thick with the smell of ash and decay, a reminder of how fragile even a so-called "safe zone" was in this new world. The settlement was in worse shape than they'd expected. Buildings were crumbling, some blackened from fire, and others simply caved in, leaving jagged piles of concrete and rebar scattered everywhere. Broken windows stared down at them like hollow, lifeless eyes, and the streets were littered with debris and the occasional dark stain that everyone knew better than to look at too closely.

Daryl led the way, his boots crunching against the dirt and rubble. He didn't bother looking back as he talked. "We had a raid last week. Bastards hit us hard. Took what they could and burned what they couldn't. Over three-quarters of the town's population was wiped out."

"Wait, you're saying most of the people here are dead?" Jean asked, his voice tight with disbelief.

"Yeah," Daryl replied bluntly. "Dead, gone, or worse."

"Worse?" Evan asked hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Daryl shot him a glance over his shoulder, his expression grim. "You don't want to know."

"Jesus Christ," Tyler muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he glanced at the ruins around them. "This place looks like it's straight outta a Fallout game. Like, where's the respawn point?"

"There's no fucking respawn," Daryl snapped. "This isn't a game, kid. Get that through your head."

They passed what must have once been a bustling marketplace. Now, it was a graveyard of overturned stalls, broken crates, and discarded belongings. A tattered teddy bear lay face down in the dirt, its button eye missing. Brittany grimaced as she stepped over it, muttering under her breath, "This is so fucking depressing."

"No shit," Chloe said, her voice hollow. "This whole place feels... dead."

"It is dead," Daryl said without looking back. "But some of us are still breathing. That's what matters."

They reached the temporary refugee camp, a makeshift collection of tents haphazardly thrown together on a patch of uneven ground. The area was cramped, with barely enough space to walk between the rows of fabric shelters. People milled about, their faces gaunt and hollow, their movements sluggish as if the weight of survival was crushing them with every step.

The tents themselves were patched and worn, some sagging under the weight of age and neglect. Inside, the flickering light of lanterns revealed tightly packed sleeping mats and the occasional personal item—a battered backpack, a pair of boots, a family photo propped up against the tent wall.

"This is where you'll sleep," Daryl said, gesturing to the rows of tents. "It's not the Ritz, but it's better than the ground."

Jean looked around, his stomach sinking as he took in the conditions. "This is... a lot worse than I thought it'd be."

"What did you expect? A five-star hotel?" Daryl asked with a snort. "This is the apocalypse, kid. Take what you can get."

He pointed toward one of the tents. "Boys in there." Then he gestured to a smaller tent a few rows down. "Girls in that one."

"What's the deal with the tents?" Chloe asked, crossing her arms. "Why can't we just stay together? It's not like we're gonna—"

"It's the rules," Daryl interrupted sharply. "Separate tents for boys and girls. Deal with it."

Chloe rolled her eyes but didn't argue further.

As the group split up, Daryl added, "And don't get comfortable. You're sharing. Eight people per tent."

"Eight?" Brittany exclaimed, her face twisting in disgust. "Are you serious? There's barely room for, like, two people in those things!"

"Yeah, I'm serious," Daryl said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Welcome to reality."

The boys entered their assigned tent first. Inside, the space was cramped and smelled faintly of sweat and damp fabric. Seven sleeping mats lined the ground, each one barely wide enough to accommodate a single person. A couple of the mats were already occupied by other teens, their faces blank as they stared at the ceiling or fiddled with whatever small possessions they had left.

"This is cozy," Brad said sarcastically, dropping his pack onto one of the empty mats. "Real fucking cozy."

"Yo, at least we don't have to sleep outside," Tyler said, plopping down on another mat and immediately sprawling out. "I'll take this over getting my face chewed off by zombies any day."

Evan hesitated by the entrance, glancing at the strangers in the tent. "Uh... hey. I guess we're your new roommates?"

One of the boys looked up, his face pale and drawn. He didn't say anything, just nodded slightly before returning to whatever he was doing.

"Well, that's not creepy," Evan muttered under his breath, finally stepping inside.

Meanwhile, the girls were led to their tent. It was even smaller than the boys' tent, and inside, six other women were already crammed onto the sleeping mats. Most of them looked older—mid-twenties, maybe early thirties—and their expressions ranged from wary to outright hostile as Chloe and Brittany stepped inside.

"Oh, this is just great," Brittany said, wrinkling her nose. "We're gonna be packed in here like sardines."

"Shut up and pick a spot," one of the women snapped, glaring at her. "We don't need your bitching."

Brittany's mouth fell open in shock, but Chloe grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the back of the tent. "Don't," she said quietly. "Just don't."

The two girls settled onto the only empty mat left, which was barely large enough for both of them to sit on. Brittany crossed her arms and leaned back against the tent wall, muttering under her breath about how "fucking unfair" everything was. Chloe just sighed, resting her head in her hands.

"Yo, what's the deal with you two?" one of the women asked, her tone sharp. "You don't look like you belong here."

Chloe glanced up, her expression tired. "We're from L.A. Just trying to survive."

"L.A.?" another woman said, her eyebrows raising. "How the hell did you make it out of there?"

"Luck," Chloe replied flatly. "And a lot of running."

The women exchanged glances but didn't say anything more.

Back in the boys' tent, the atmosphere wasn't much better. Tyler had already started snoring loudly, earning a glare from Brad, who was sitting cross-legged on his mat, glaring at the cramped space.

"This is bullshit," Brad muttered. "We bust our asses to get here, and this is what we get? A fucking tent with no room to breathe?"

"Dude, shut up," Jean said, lying back on his mat and staring at the ceiling. "It's not like we have a choice."

"Yeah, well, I'm not staying in this shithole forever," Brad said, his voice low but determined. "I'll figure something out."

Jean didn't respond. He just closed his eyes, hoping for some rest before the next inevitable shitstorm hit.

Q: Do you think you will last a week in this type of living condition?