Zombie survivor

[81] Work

The afternoon sun bore down on the battered settlement of West Kelowna, casting harsh shadows over the broken buildings and rubble-strewn streets. The air was heavy with dust, and the sound of hammers and saws echoed through the camp as survivors worked to repair what little they had left. The teens, too, were put to work, their first assignment being the manual hauling of supplies to the construction sites.

It wasn't glamorous—or easy. The materials they were tasked with moving included splintered wooden beams, rusty sheets of corrugated metal, and heavy buckets of nails and tools. The uneven ground and makeshift paths made every step a struggle.

"Yo, let's move it!" a gruff voice bellowed from across the yard. A burly man with a weathered face and arms like tree trunks stood near a stack of wooden beams, waving his arms impatiently. "I don't got all day to babysit! Get your asses in gear!"

Brittany groaned loudly, her pink hair tied into a messy bun, already damp with sweat. She dropped the piece of wood she had been half-heartedly carrying and straightened up, hands on her hips. "Ugh, this is ridiculous. I'm not built for this kind of work."

"Oh, really?" Tyler said sarcastically, wiping the sweat from his brow as he hefted a bucket of nails over his shoulder. "Did your OnlyFans page not include a manual labor section?"

"Fuck off, Tyler," Brittany snapped, glaring at him. "This isn't my thing, okay? I don't, like, lift heavy shit for a living."

"Clearly," Brad muttered under his breath, earning a snicker from Jean.

Before Brittany could launch into a tirade, Trev lumbered over, his round face flushed from exertion but still managing to muster a sheepish smile. "Hey, uh... I can carry your stuff for you if it's too much."

Brittany turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Yeah, no problem," Trev said, grabbing the piece of wood she'd dropped earlier. He adjusted his grip awkwardly, clearly unused to the physical effort but determined to help.

Brittany grinned, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Aw, thanks, Trev. You're a lifesaver."

Watching the interaction, Chloe perked up, an idea clearly forming in her mind. She turned to Evan, who was already struggling under the weight of a pile of wooden beams. "Evan," she called sweetly, flashing him a dazzling smile. "Could you help me with mine, too? These are, like, so heavy."

Evan froze mid-step, his eyes darting to the pile of materials Chloe gestured to. It was significantly larger than what he was already carrying. His face turned pale, and he hesitated, glancing nervously at the others.

"Uh... I mean..." he stammered, shifting his weight awkwardly. "I'm kinda already—"

"Oh, never mind," Chloe interrupted, her tone turning icy as she flipped her ponytail. She looked over her shoulder at Blake, who was bent over, adjusting his grip on a bucket of tools. "Blake! You're strong, right? You can help me, can't you?"

Blake straightened up, blinking in surprise. "Oh, uh, sure, Chloe. I'd be happy to—"

"No, I'll do it!" Evan blurted, nearly dropping the beams he was holding as he scrambled to set them down. "I've got it! You don't need Blake!"

The other boys collectively groaned, several of them facepalming in unison.

"Dude," Brad muttered, shaking his head. "You're making us all look bad."

"Yeah, way to simp it up, bro," Tyler added, rolling his eyes as he adjusted his grip on a plank of wood.

Evan ignored them, rushing over to Chloe and picking up the pile of materials she'd pointed to. His arms wobbled slightly under the weight, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand upright.

Chloe's smile returned, sugary sweet. "Aw, thanks, Evan. You're such a sweetheart."

Evan nodded, his face red—not just from the effort but from the attention. "Yeah, no problem. Anything for you."

Jean, who had been quietly observing the whole exchange, finally spoke up. "Evan, you know you don't have to do that, right? She can carry her own stuff."

"It's fine," Evan said quickly, sweat dripping down his forehead. "I can handle it."

Chloe shot Jean a withering look. "What's your problem? It's called teamwork, Jean. Maybe you should try it sometime."

"Teamwork doesn't mean letting someone else do all the work," Jean shot back, his voice edged with irritation.

Before the argument could escalate further, the burly man from earlier stomped over, his face red with frustration. "What the hell is this?" he barked, gesturing to the group. "You think this is a fucking social hour? Get your asses moving or you're all gonna be digging latrines for the next week!"

"Yes, sir," Jean muttered, grabbing a beam and hauling it over his shoulder. The others followed suit, grumbling under their breath but too tired—or too scared—to argue.

As they worked, the sun climbed higher, baking the dirt beneath their feet and making the air thick and stifling. The teens moved materials back and forth across the camp, sweat pouring down their faces and soaking their clothes. The piles seemed endless, and every time they thought they were done, more would appear.

By the time the sun started to dip toward the horizon, their muscles ached, their hands were blistered, and their patience was wearing thin.

Brittany flopped down onto a nearby pile of rubble, fanning herself with her hand. "This is actual torture," she declared, her voice hoarse. "I'm gonna, like, die out here."

"Yo, if you die, can I have your bread ration?" Tyler asked, smirking as he leaned against a stack of planks.

"Fuck off, Tyler," Brittany snapped. "You're not funny."

"Dude, we're all suffering," Brad said, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve. "Stop acting like you're the only one."

"Yeah, but I'm the only one who's not built for this," Brittany shot back, gesturing to her thin arms. "You guys are, like, meatheads or whatever. This is easy for you."

"Easy?" Brad repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "I've carried more shit today than I have in my entire life."

"You're welcome," Chloe said, her tone saccharine. She shot Evan a quick smile, who was still lugging materials back and forth without complaint.

Jean sighed, dropping his current load onto the ground with a heavy thud. "Can we all just shut up and finish this? The faster we're done, the faster we can rest."

For once, no one argued. The group fell into a strained silence, the only sounds being the clatter of materials and the occasional grunt of effort. It wasn't glamorous or fun, but it was survival. And in this world, that was all that mattered.

By the time they were dismissed, the sun had dipped low in the sky, painting the settlement in hues of orange and red. The teens trudged back toward their tents, too tired to talk, their bodies aching and their spirits even lower.

They hadn't just been hauling supplies—they'd been hauling the weight of the new world they were forced to live in. And it wasn't getting any lighter.

Q: Have you done any hard labor before?