Chapter 3

Three days had passed.

The entire atmosphere of the camp had changed. Lucas's men were planted like steel spikes at every key position—warehouse entrance, weapon racks, water pipes, generator room. They didn't speak, just stood there, but every camp resident who passed by had to walk around them, like avoiding something filthy.

I sat at the second-floor ventilation opening of the repair shop, watching the show unfold below through surveillance.

Meal time had arrived.

Daisy held a broken iron bowl, standing at the back of the line. In front of her was Noah, still recovering from his injuries, one arm hanging in a sling, his face pale as paper.

Lucas's right-hand man—a bald guy named Marcus—stood behind the food distribution table. Piled in front of him were canned meat, white bread, and fresh fruit, their aroma wafting through half the camp.

When it was Daisy's turn, Marcus didn't even glance at her, casually tossing her a moldy hard biscuit.

"That's it?" Daisy held the biscuit hard enough to kill someone with, her voice trembling slightly, "Yesterday there was still soup."

Marcus looked up, a cold sneer curving his lips: "Soup? You want soup?"

"I... I didn't mean that." Daisy quickly waved her hands, "I just thought that everyone should be treated the same—"

"Should be what?" Marcus stood up, looking down at her, "Should share equally? Little lady, did zombies eat your brain?"

He pointed at the motorcycle gang members nearby who were wolfing down meat: "See them? They patrol outside the camp with guns every day, ready to be bitten by zombies at any moment. And you? What contribution have you made to camp security?"

Daisy was struck speechless.

Marcus continued: "Boss Lucas announced the new distribution system—might-makes-right rationing. Those capable of protecting the camp eat meat, those without ability eat biscuits. Fair, isn't it?"

Other people in line began whispering:

"This... this isn't right, is it?"

"It wasn't like this before."

"How can they discriminate like this?"

Marcus's gaze immediately swept over them, and those people instantly shut up, heads bowed, not daring to speak further.

Daisy gripped the moldy biscuit, her eyes reddening: "But... but we saved you. If not for us, you would have been killed by zombies long ago—"

"Saved us?" Marcus burst into laughter, "Little lady, you got it wrong. The one who saved us was that kid named Noah—what does it have to do with you?"

He leaned close to Daisy, lowering his voice: "And so what if you saved us? We remember the life-saving grace, but meals can't be eaten for free. This is the apocalypse, not a charity."

Daisy trembled with anger: "How can you be like this? We're all human beings! We should help each other and face difficulties together!"

"Help each other?" Marcus acted like he'd heard the greatest joke, "Fine, then what can you help us with? Can you shoot? Can you repair vehicles? Can you kill zombies?"

Daisy looked completely bewildered.

"Can't do anything, but want free food and lodging?" Marcus shook his head, "Little lady, wake up. This world isn't what you imagine anymore."

I lit a cigarette at the ventilation opening and continued watching the show.

Daisy took her biscuit to a corner, tears dripping down. Noah dragged his injured leg over and shared half his biscuit with her.

"Daisy, don't be sad." Noah gently comforted her, "They're probably just under too much pressure. Once the situation outside stabilizes, things will get better."

"But Noah, they've changed." Daisy cried, "Before, they were so grateful to us, but now..."

"They're still grateful, just expressing it differently." Noah continued his self-brainwashing, "After all, this is the apocalypse—everyone's tense. We need to understand them."

Understand?

I nearly choked on my smoke.

At that moment, other camp residents gathered around. Tom leaned on his crutch, his face grim:

"Daisy, I think our initial decision... might have been a bit hasty."

Martha nodded too: "Yes, look what's happened now—we can't even get our own things."

"They've locked the warehouse tight—won't even let us touch our own stored items."

"What kind of guests are these? They're outright bandits!"

Hearing these complaints, Daisy's face grew increasingly ugly. She looked around and found everyone's eyes carried blame.

"How... how can you say such things?" Daisy's voice choked, "They just want to protect us! And we saved them—they'll remember this kindness!"

"Remember?" Tom smiled bitterly, "If they remember, why are they starving us?"

"Right, what kind of kindness is this?" Martha couldn't hold back either, "I can't even get my medicine from the warehouse, and my old ailment is acting up again!"

More and more people began complaining, their voices growing louder. Daisy stood in the center of the crowd like a lamb surrounded by wolves.

"Enough!" She suddenly exploded, "How can you think like this? We did the right thing! Saving people is saving people—we shouldn't expect rewards!"

With that, she turned and walked toward Lucas's temporary office.

I quickly switched surveillance to that side—the climax of this drama was coming.

Lucas sat in a luxurious leather chair "borrowed" from camp residents, high-end cigarettes and liquor from the warehouse spread before him. Seeing Daisy enter, he immediately put on that gentle smile.

"Miss Daisy, what brings you here?"

Daisy took a deep breath, mustering courage: "Mr. Lucas, I'd like to talk to you about the food distribution issue."

"Oh? What's the problem?" Lucas feigned confusion.

"I think the current distribution system isn't quite fair." Daisy tried to make her voice sound objective and rational, "We're all human beings with the right to survive. We should treat everyone equally, not decide who gets to eat based on force."

Lucas nodded, his expression serious: "You make a good point. Equality is indeed important."

Daisy's eyes lit up: "Right! I knew you'd understand! We're all civilized, educated people who should use love and mutual aid to—"

"But," Lucas suddenly changed direction, "miss, what do you think equality means?"

Daisy was stunned: "It means... everyone's the same."

"The same?" Lucas laughed heartily, "Miss, do you think you're the same as my men? They risk their lives patrolling every day—what about you? What have you done for camp security?"

"I... I saved you!"

"That was before." Lucas's smile slowly faded, "What can you do now? Can you shoot? Kill zombies? You can't even peel a potato—why should you eat the same food as warriors?"

Daisy was struck speechless.

Lucas stood up, slowly walking toward her: "Miss, this is the apocalypse, not your fairy tale world. Want to eat well? Trade your skills for it. No skills? Then honestly gnaw your biscuits."

"But... but this isn't right..." Daisy's voice grew smaller.

Just then, Marcus walked in. His gaze swept up and down Daisy's body, a lewd glint flashing in his eyes.

"Boss, how about we give this little lady a chance?" Marcus licked his lips, extending his dirty fingers to gently pinch Daisy's chin, "Since she wants to contribute to the team so badly, I think she still has some use."

His fingers slowly slid downward, his voice becoming sticky: "Like... keeping the brothers company at night for some chat. That would count as contributing to camp harmony too."

Daisy's face instantly went deathly pale, desperately trying to back away, but Marcus's grip only tightened.

"How about it, little beauty?" Marcus's smile grew more obscene, "This beats gnawing moldy biscuits, right? And we'll be very gentle..."

"No! Let go of me!" Daisy suddenly erupted, forcefully pushing Marcus away and stumbling out of the office.

Marcus's laughter echoed behind her: "Don't be so quick to refuse, little beauty! Think it over! After a few hungry days, you'll understand what reality means!"

I watched Daisy fleeing desperately in the surveillance, slowly exhaling smoke.

The beating from reality had barely begun.

Daisy ran back to her tent, hugging her knees and curling up in a corner, trembling. Noah limped after her, and seeing her state, immediately flew into rage.

"What did they do to you?"

"Nothing... nothing." Daisy wiped her tears, "Noah, did we do something wrong?"

Noah was silent for a while, then sat beside her: "Daisy, they're just under too much pressure. Once the zombie wave passes, once it's safer outside, they'll return to normal."

"Really?"

"Really." Noah gripped her hand, "What we did was right. Saving people is never wrong. It just... just takes time."

I turned off the surveillance, leaning back in my chair.

Still self-comforting. Still gaslighting themselves.

You idiots, you think this is pressure?

This is nothing yet.

The real show is still to come.

Just then, commotion arose from the camp. I quickly reopened surveillance.

Several motorcycle gang members were searching the camp residents' personal belongings, flipping beds, smashing wardrobes, rummaging through everything like bandits.

"This is mine!" An old man clutched a small iron box, "This is a memento my wife left me!"

"Memento?" One gang member kicked the old man away and grabbed the box, opening it to reveal yellowed photos and a small gold ring, "There's gold too? Old man, you hid it pretty deep!"

"Please, that's my wife's relic..."

"Relic?" The gang member put the ring on his own finger, "It's mine now. In the apocalypse, only the living deserve to own things."

Similar scenes played out in every corner of the camp. Camp residents watched helplessly as their possessions were looted, not daring to resist.

Because the other side had guns.

I watched it all, my mouth slowly curving upward.

The food crisis was just the beginning. When greedy appetites couldn't be satisfied, the first drop of blood would soon spill.

And Daisy and the others were still there believing in "too much pressure," in "things will get better after the zombie wave passes."

Foolish.

I flicked away my cigarette butt and lit another one.

Let the storm rage even fiercer.