Chapter 9: Cracks in the Foundation
The tension from the store still lingered as they made their way back to the base. Ethan's hand was clenched tight around the crowbar, the metal cold against his skin. His mind was racing, his thoughts scattered like debris in a storm. He had fought—he had hesitated. Leah had saved him. Again.
But was he really getting any better at this? At surviving?
The streets outside the store were still eerily silent, the only sound the shuffle of their footsteps and the occasional rustle of wind through the broken windows of nearby buildings. It felt like the calm before a storm, as if something was watching them, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Leah was in the lead, her posture stiff and alert. The others kept close behind, their eyes scanning every shadow, every potential threat. But despite the tension, they moved with a strange ease, as if they had been doing this for years.
Ethan wasn't sure when it had happened, but at some point, the group had become more than just a collection of survivors. They were a unit now, their movements synchronized, their purpose clear. But as much as he wanted to feel like part of that unity, there was a growing unease inside him.
He wasn't sure he belonged here, not really.
They reached the warehouse without incident, the familiar sight of the rusted metal door a small comfort. But as they filed inside, the mood shifted. The others went straight to their corners, unloading the supplies and taking inventory, but Leah hung back, waiting for Ethan.
He glanced at her, feeling a pit form in his stomach. "What's wrong?"
Leah didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the room, then she gave a small nod. "I need to talk to you. In private."
Ethan's heart skipped a beat. He followed her without a word, his mind racing with possibilities. What could she want to discuss? Was this about his performance today?
She led him to the far corner of the warehouse, where a few crates had been stacked up as makeshift seats. Leah sat on one, patting the space next to her. Ethan hesitated for a moment, then sat down, his hands still shaking.
Leah looked at him with a serious expression. "You're holding back."
Ethan's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"You're not fully in it," she explained, her voice steady but carrying an edge of frustration. "I've seen it, over and over. You hesitate, you doubt yourself. That's going to get us all killed."
Ethan flinched at her words. "I'm trying, okay? I just... I'm not like you. I can't just turn off my feelings and do what needs to be done."
Leah's gaze softened slightly, but only for a moment. "I get it. I do. But this world doesn't care about your feelings. You either adapt, or you don't survive."
There it was again. The harsh truth.
Ethan swallowed, trying to find the words to explain himself, but he couldn't. He was too afraid of what he might hear if he did. He didn't want to admit how much he was struggling, how much he feared what he was becoming.
"I'm not asking you to be a killer," Leah continued, her tone still firm but not unkind. "But you need to start thinking like one. You can't hesitate, not in this world."
Ethan nodded, though it didn't feel like enough. He didn't know how to change, how to flip the switch. He had never been this person. He had never been the kind of person who could fight without question. But now, more than ever, he knew that was exactly what he needed to become.
"I understand," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Leah gave him a small, approving nod, but there was no warmth in it, no relief. "Good. I'll hold you to that."
She stood up, brushing the dust from her pants. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we head out again. We'll need more than food if we're going to survive. We need weapons. And I don't care what it takes, we'll get them."
Ethan stayed seated as Leah walked away, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the warehouse. His mind was still reeling from their conversation. He knew he had to change. He had to adapt. But what if the change he was making wasn't the kind of person he wanted to be?
What if he was becoming someone he could never come back from?
The next few days passed in a blur of motion. They raided abandoned stores, scavenged for food and supplies, and avoided any more confrontations with the infected. But no matter how much they gathered, it never felt like enough.
Ethan could feel the cracks starting to show in the foundation of their little group. There was a growing tension between the survivors, subtle but undeniable. People were starting to question Leah's leadership, whispering behind her back. Not everyone agreed with her methods, especially after the close call at the store.
Ethan heard the whispers, but he didn't say anything. He was too busy trying to keep up, trying to silence the doubts in his own mind.
But as the days went on, it became harder and harder to ignore the fact that something was wrong. Leah's grip on the group was slipping, and he could feel the cracks spreading through their makeshift family.
He didn't know how much longer they could hold together.