Zombie survivor

[86] No turning back

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint smell of ash and decay as the group of ten teens approached the scavenger office. The makeshift building looked as rugged as its leader: a mishmash of corrugated metal sheets, splintered wooden planks, and reinforced scrap iron, barely holding together. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a pale orange glow over the camp.

Inside, Garrett was hunched over a map spread across a scarred wooden table, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His weathered face, framed by a thick gray-streaked beard, was lined with exhaustion, but his sharp blue eyes were as alert as ever. He looked up when the door creaked open, his gaze sweeping over the group.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, his voice a gravelly drawl. "The kid brought the whole damn football team."

Jordan snorted, elbowing Tyler. "Guess we're the starting lineup now."

"Shut up, Jordan," Jean muttered, stepping forward. "They all volunteered. We're here to help."

Garrett chuckled, shaking his head as he stubbed out his cigarette in an old soup can. "Help, huh? That's one way to put it." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he surveyed them. "Alright, listen up, kiddies. Here's the deal."

He jabbed a finger at the map on the table. "Our next run's in three days. We're heading to East Kelowna. It's crawling with zombies, so if you thought this was gonna be a cakewalk, think again."

"Crawling?" Brittany repeated, her pink-dyed eyebrows arching. "Like, how many are we talking?"

Garrett shot her a flat look. "Enough to turn you into lunch if you fuck around. You're going into a shitstorm, so you better be ready for it."

"Great pep talk," Brad muttered, folding his arms. "Really motivational."

"Motivation ain't my job," Garrett replied, his tone sharp. "Survival is."

He reached under the table and pulled out a battered duffel bag, unzipping it to reveal a collection of pistols, shotguns, and boxes of ammunition. "I'll provide you with guns and ammo for the run. But let me make one thing clear—every bullet you fire, every piece of equipment you break, you make up for in loot. If you come back with nothing, you're paying me out of your own damn pocket."

"Wait, what?" Chloe said, her voice rising in disbelief. "We're supposed to fight off zombies and then pay for the privilege?"

Garrett smirked, leaning forward on the table. "Welcome to the real world, sweetheart. You don't work for free, and neither do I. This ain't charity."

"Sounds like a scam," Tyler muttered under his breath.

Garrett's eyes snapped to him, sharp and unforgiving. "No one's forcing you to go, kid. You can walk your ass right back out that door if you don't like it."

Tyler quickly looked away, muttering, "Nah, I'm good."

"Thought so." Garrett straightened up and continued. "You'll also be giving up a quarter of whatever loot you find automatically. That's the cost of your back-and-forth trip—my gear, my time, my risk. The rest is yours to keep."

"Wait," Evan piped up, his voice tentative. "What happens if we don't find enough loot?"

"Then you're off the team," Garrett said bluntly. "I'm not running a daycare here. You don't pull your weight, you're out. Simple as that."

"Jesus," Brittany muttered, shaking her head. "This is, like, the worst job ever."

"No one's making you stay," Garrett said with a shrug. "And one more thing—let's be crystal fucking clear: I am not responsible for any of you. You get injured, that's on you. You die? That's on you. You fuck up and get someone else killed? That's still on you."

Jean glanced at the others, his gut twisting with unease. He knew the risks going in, but hearing them laid out so plainly made them feel heavier, more real. Still, he stood firm. "We understand."

Garrett raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Jean's determination. "Hope so, kid. Now, if you're still in, step forward and sign these."

He reached under the table again and pulled out a stack of crumpled papers. Each one had a crude contract written in bold letters, outlining the rules he'd just explained. At the bottom was a line for a signature.

"Seriously?" Chloe said, eyeing the paper like it might bite her. "We're signing contracts in the apocalypse?"

"Damn right you are," Garrett said. "Keeps things official."

One by one, the teens stepped forward. Jean signed first, his hand steady despite the knot in his stomach. Akira followed immediately after, her expression calm but her eyes burning with determination.

Trev hesitated briefly, glancing down at the paper before scrawling his name. "For Ms. Heather," he murmured to himself as he stepped back.

Blake signed with a flourish, his face set in a mask of self-righteous resolve. "Anything to save her," he said, his voice full of conviction.

"Yeah, same," Jordan said, grinning as he grabbed a pen. "Gotta back up my bro—and, y'know, Ms. Heather's hot."

"Dude," Tyler muttered, elbowing him as he signed his own paper. "At least try not to sound like a creep."

"Honesty's the best policy," Jordan replied with a shrug.

Brittany sighed loudly as she stepped forward, tapping the pen against her chin. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered before signing her name. "If I die, I'm haunting all of you."

Evan took the pen next, his hand trembling slightly as he stared at the paper. Chloe shot him a warning look, her eyes practically daring him to back out.

For once, Evan met her gaze without flinching. "I'm still in," he said, his voice firmer than anyone expected. He signed quickly, handing the paper back to Garrett before Chloe could say anything.

Chloe let out an exasperated groan. "You're all fucking insane," she muttered, snatching the pen from Evan's hand. "But I'm not getting left behind."

She signed with a dramatic flourish, slamming the pen down on the table as she stepped back. "There. Happy now?"

Garrett chuckled, collecting the papers and stacking them neatly. "Happy? No. But impressed? Maybe."

He stuffed the contracts into a drawer and looked at the group, his expression serious. "Three days, dawn sharp. Be here ready to move. Gear up, toughen up, and get your heads out of your asses. You fuck this up, it'll be the last run you ever make."

The group nodded, the weight of his words sinking in.

"Alright," Garrett said, waving a hand toward the door. "Get outta here. You've got work to do."

Q: Would you back out in this situation?