The triumphant cheers in the cafeteria masked a deeper unease among the survivors. Beneath the surface, questions loomed, heavy and unvoiced:
What comes next?
Are our families safe?
What's the world like outside?
Once we leave, what do we do?
Unlike the days before the fall, when ambition drove people to chase dreams, survival now demanded caution. A single misstep could mean death. These concerns weighed on the sharper minds, who kept their grim suspicions silent.
For now, the survivors who hadn't thought beyond the moment, reveling in the arrival of the buses, were the happiest, their joy unburdened by the unknown.
Jenny's announcement had galvanized the group, and they swiftly converged on the meeting areas for a critical discussion.
The gathering was massive, drawing not only students but also staff and professors who had been sidelined from leadership roles after the fall. Among them was a high-ranking professor, once a figure of authority, now just another survivor.
Their presence sparked tension, as student leaders cast wary glances. A rule established during Jon's unconscious recovery held that anyone with a skill was automatically a leader, a system meant to prioritize strength in this brutal new world.
But loopholes had emerged. Some had gained skills by killing a zombie or two with help, claiming leadership without true merit. This bred resentment, as these "leaders" felt entitled to authority despite minimal risk, while staff and professors, lacking combat skills, clung to their old status, believing they were untouchable in Jon's presence.
The air crackled with unspoken conflict. The strongest fighters, like Jon's core group, dismissed the petty power struggles, their focus on survival outweighing bureaucratic squabbles.
The staff, however, misjudged the situation, adopting a domineering attitude, assuming Jon's presence would deter any physical retaliation.
'I wonder what abilities these people have,' Jon thought, his Moon Gaze sweeping over the crowd. His curiosity lingered on Alexa, standing silently behind him, her expression unreadable.
He resisted the urge to ask about her skill, sensing it would be too invasive. Skills were often revealed in action, but prying felt like violating a personal secret, especially given Alexa's fragile state. The thought of triggering an emotional crisis held him back.
Shaking off his distraction, Jon tuned into the meeting.
A student leader's voice cut through the murmurs: "Some of us have family in the Overberg District!"
Another chimed in, "Mine's in Durban District…"
The room erupted as survivors shouted out their home regions, each vying for priority. The chaos revealed a pattern; people from the same areas began recognizing neighbors, forming natural clusters.
A voice rose above the din: "Then we can organize by location and assign fighters from the same districts to the same buses." Murmurs of agreement spread, and the meeting, though chaotic, birthed sensible solutions.
Decisions that might have taken days with a smaller group coalesced rapidly in the collective urgency.
Jon observed quietly, impressed by the emerging order. Jenny approached, her tone light but curious. "Where do you live?" The question silenced the room, ears straining to catch Jon's answer.
All eyes avoided him, but the tension was palpable. Who wouldn't want to know where the strongest survivor hailed from?
"Capricorn District," Jon replied without hesitation.
Gasps rippled through the crowd, and several faces lit up with relief, recognizing a fellow South African.
Unbeknownst to them, Jon had no intention of returning there. He suspected his parents had anticipated the catastrophe and were safe, hidden far from the chaos.
'So… where will I go?' The question hit him with a strange hollowness. In this apocalyptic world, he was untethered, with no destination, no immediate goal, and no worries. Ironically, when the world was on the verge of collapse, he might be the freest person alive. Yet one purpose anchored him: to survive.
A spark of resolve flickered in his mind, a nascent plan taking shape. Snapping back to the moment, he turned to Jenny. "What about you?"
"Florida," she said, smiling. Her American roots were no surprise, her name and features hinting at her origin.
Jenny glanced at Cynthia, who answered, "Waterberg." She exchanged a small smile with Jon, catching him off guard.
"Hmm?" His eyes widened slightly. In South Africa, Capricorn and Waterberg were in the same province, making them near neighbors.
The coincidence felt oddly comforting, a thread of connection in the chaos.
The meeting stretched on, hours of debates, arguments, and votes yielding a plan.
Survivors would be grouped by region, food allocated accordingly, and the road to the campus gate would be cleared collectively. Smaller details were deferred, time was short, with zombies evolving daily and new monsters emerging. Speed was critical, so they began that day.
Later that day, on the road to the gate, the real work began.
Shng!
A sword sliced through a zombie's neck, its body crumpling to the blood-soaked ground.
The young woman wielding the blade exhaled, bending to retrieve the creature's core. She scanned the surroundings, her heart pounding with exhilaration.
It was still daylight, and the group had moved quickly to clear the path, capitalizing on their earlier success with the buses. The road, once a bustling artery of Palflic University, was now a graveyard of abandoned cars, trucks, and corpses, clogged with clusters of zombies.
She had volunteered for the task, earning her skill and the sword she now wielded. Reflecting on her choice, she marveled at her earlier hesitation. The thrill of growing stronger with each kill was intoxicating, a rush she never wanted to end, and she wasn't alone. Others who joined the road-clearing effort shared her addiction to the power that came with leveling up. Each zombie core, each orb, was a step toward survival and strength.
Nearby, lightning crackled across the sky as Laura unleashed her evolved skill.
After pushing her abilities to the limit, she could summon three-centimeter-wide lightning bolts, deadly to zombies, casting five at once while conserving mana. Small tornadoes spun at her feet, propelling her swiftly across the battlefield. Nearing the first-realm threshold, she was eager for the transformation it promised, her eyes alight with ambition.
In other areas, Jon's original scouting group fought with equal fervor, their levels teetering on the edge of 20. Their hunger for strength drove them forward, undeterred by the low drop rates for cores and orbs.
Even the former "Lords" had joined, their pride wounded but their desire for power unquenched. Having tasted authority, they were determined to reclaim it, battling fiercely to level up against the growing threats.
The group worked with methodical precision, clearing cars, trucks, and zombie clusters. High-level unranked zombies appeared sporadically, challenging most but manageable for the strongest.
As the sky darkened, the road began to look passable, though more work awaited.
Exhausted but satisfied, they decided to leave the final cleanup for morning, returning to the cafeteria with smiles and a rare sense of accomplishment.
It was the tenth day since the fall, and this was their best day yet.
But on a distant path, near the school's gate, an ominous shift stirred.
RUMBLE…
The ground trembled, faint at first, then escalating to an earthquake-like shudder.
Under the darkening sky, a hand clawed through the earth, its fingers gnarled and unnatural, heralding a new threat that would test the survivors' fragile hope.