Chapter 8: The Price of Survival
The walk to the supply store was short, but it felt longer. Every step Ethan took seemed to echo in his head, his body still trembling from the encounter with the infected. Despite the victory, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He wasn't sure if it was the lingering scent of blood or the eerie silence surrounding them, but the weight of what had just happened sat heavy on his chest.
Leah led the group with an air of determination, her eyes always scanning their surroundings. The others kept close, their focus unwavering. Ethan's grip on the crowbar remained tight, the weight of it reassuring in his hands, but the reality of what it meant to wield it kept sinking in.
He had killed. And in doing so, he had crossed a line he could never uncross.
The supply store loomed ahead, a dilapidated building with broken windows and a rusted sign hanging by a thread. It wasn't much, but it was all they had.
Leah stopped at the door, signaling for the group to halt. She looked over her shoulder, eyes narrowing. "Stay alert. There could be more inside."
The group nodded in unison, and Ethan found himself adjusting his grip on the crowbar, his heartbeat picking up again. He had no idea what to expect in there. Would the place be filled with infected? Or worse, other survivors who would see them as competition?
Leah pushed the door open slowly, the hinges groaning as they creaked. The interior was dark and musty, the smell of mold and mildew hanging heavy in the air. The shelves were mostly empty, but there were signs of a struggle—scattered cans, broken glass, and overturned crates.
"Keep your eyes peeled," Leah said quietly, stepping inside. "We move fast, get what we need, and get out."
The others followed her lead, moving quickly through the aisles. Ethan stuck close to Leah, his nerves on edge. Every noise, every rustling sound, made him jump. He wasn't used to this kind of tension—the constant fear that at any moment, something could go wrong.
Leah stopped at a shelf near the back of the store, rifling through a stack of old cans. "We'll need food, medical supplies, anything we can find." She tossed a can of beans to the man with the bandaged leg. "Keep an eye out for anything else useful."
Ethan moved along the shelf, his eyes scanning the shelves for anything that could help. He felt out of place—like he didn't belong in this world, like he didn't deserve to be here. He wasn't a fighter, wasn't a leader, just some overweight, bullied kid who had stumbled his way into survival.
But as he grabbed a bag of rice, he felt something shift inside him. It wasn't much, but it was something. Survival wasn't about being the strongest or the fastest—it was about making it one more day, and then one more, until you could finally breathe again.
He was still here, wasn't he? That counted for something.
A sudden crash from the back of the store made him spin around. His heart skipped a beat, and instinctively, he raised the crowbar, ready to defend himself.
Leah's voice cut through the tension. "Stay low. Move to the back."
The group shifted into action, moving as one, their movements sharp and practiced. Ethan's breath came in shallow gasps as he followed, his legs heavy with fear. They rounded a corner and found a small group of infected huddled around a stash of supplies.
There were six of them—too many to fight head-on, especially with only one weapon between the five of them. Leah didn't hesitate.
"Get back," she ordered, her voice firm. She turned to the woman with the crowbar. "Cover the exit. We need to draw them out, not engage unless we have to."
The woman nodded, moving toward the back of the store, her stance defensive. Leah motioned for the others to follow her lead, and they quickly took cover behind the remaining shelves.
Ethan's pulse was thundering in his ears. He wanted to run, to hide, but Leah's voice kept him in check. He had to stay calm, to trust her.
A plan began to form in Leah's eyes. She grabbed a nearby can, throwing it with all her strength toward the infected. It rolled across the floor, hitting a tin can and making a loud noise.
The infected turned at the sound, their heads jerking toward the source of the disturbance. Leah didn't wait. She grabbed Ethan's arm and pulled him behind a shelf just as the creatures started moving in their direction.
"Now," she whispered.
The group moved quickly, sticking to the shadows as they slipped around the infected. Leah moved like a shadow, silent and fast, guiding the others with a few sharp hand signals.
Ethan's heart hammered in his chest. They were too close, too many. His grip on the crowbar was slippery now, sweat coating his palms. But Leah was right—this wasn't a fight they could win. This was survival.
They reached the exit, but before they could slip through the door, one of the infected turned, spotting them. Its eyes locked onto Ethan, and for a split second, time seemed to freeze.
It charged.
Instinct took over. Ethan swung the crowbar with everything he had. The infected staggered back, but it wasn't enough to stop it. It lunged again, faster this time.
Without thinking, Ethan shoved the crowbar into its chest, pushing the creature back with all his strength. It stumbled, but didn't fall.
Then, with a sickening crack, Leah appeared behind him and drove her knife into the creature's skull, silencing it instantly.
Ethan stood there, frozen, his heart still racing. He had failed. He had hesitated.
Leah grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around to face her. Her eyes were cold, calculating, but there was something else there too—something softer.
"Don't hesitate," she said firmly, her grip tightening. "This isn't a world where you can afford hesitation. Do you understand?"
Ethan nodded, swallowing hard. "I understand."
Leah released him and gestured to the exit. "Let's go. We've got what we came for."
As the group hurried out of the store, Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that his real test had just begun.