Jenna sat on top of an abandoned car, staring at the large pile of supplies she and her gang had hoarded. Carl was pacing, clearly thinking of something important, but Jenna was more interested in counting the cans of soup she'd stacked in her spatial inventory. "Fifty-two…fifty-three…"
Carl's voice interrupted her. "Jenna, stop counting. Have you noticed something strange?"
Jenna blinked, turning her head slowly toward him. "Strange? Like what?"
Carl's eyes scanned the horizon. "We're not the only ones hunting for supplies around here. I've sensed other zombies—strong ones—coming closer."
Jenna paused, her dumb brain catching up slowly. "Other zombies? Like…new friends?"
Carl sighed. "No, not friends. Rivals."
Behind Jenna, her zombie gang groaned and shuffled, clearly oblivious to the growing threat. Carl clenched his fists. "They're not like your group. They're stronger, more organized."
Jenna tilted her head. "More organized than us? But we're great at—"
"We're terrible at it," Carl cut in, exasperated. "You don't understand. These other zombies aren't just wandering around mindlessly. They're tracking us."
For the first time, Jenna's face showed a flicker of concern. "Tracking us? Why?"
"Supplies," Carl said, gesturing to the crates and bags they'd hoarded. "We've taken most of the resources in this area. They're going to come for it, sooner or later."
Jenna's eyes widened. "They want my soup?"
Carl sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yes, Jenna, they want your soup."