Gathering A Community

Leila set up a minimal background check method: rummaging through people's packs for stolen goods, asking about their experiences with other enclaves, and gauging them in group tasks. Tension thickened whenever a question veered too personal, but she pressed gently—trust had to be earned.

In response, the group took shifts patrolling the grounds at night, ensuring no one sabotaged the fence or sneaked out. Darren rigged a system of makeshift trip wires around the perimeter, just enough to alert them if infected or raiders approached. Fiona offered to keep a small medical corner in the storeroom, letting her keep tabs on who came and went for supplies.

Still, unease prickled beneath the surface. Trevor's people integrated decently, but did someone harbor darker intentions? As days passed, the trickle of wanderers continued. Some stayed a single night, then moved on. Others lingered, hoping to join permanently.

Within a week, the shelter's population nearly doubled. Leila attempted to keep track of each new arrival by name, skill, and temperament. A few possessed practical talents—one woman had mechanical know-how, while a man called Santiago proved adept at hunting small game. They all pitched in, from reinforcing the fence to cleaning up the storeroom's mess.

The mood in the hallways shifted from lonely quiet to a subdued bustle. Occasional murmurs of discontent arose, especially about limited rations or sleeping space, but many were simply relieved not to be sleeping under the open sky.

By the time dusk fell on that seventh day, the shelter felt like a fledgling enclave. Lamplight flickered across newly patched walls, people murmured in corners over meager bowls of soup. Leila wandered from room to room, checking that each occupant had a place to sleep, a sense of safety.

Kai followed quietly, noticing her shoulders slump with exhaustion. "They're looking to you," he said softly.

She nodded. "I know. And I keep thinking: who among them might betray us next?"

Kai's gaze held a steady calm. "We'll handle it, the way we always do—together."

Outside, a stiff wind rattled the patched fence. A faint moan of a distant zombie made them both tense. Night enclosed them like a fragile shell. This place could become a true refuge, if they could maintain trust, scavenge enough supplies, and ward off the encroaching chaos. But doubt lingered—how long until the next crisis tested them again?

A new morning brought more travelers. The fence buzzer—a jury-rigged clanging system Mark set up—alerted everyone to arrivals. Two families with small children stood outside, packs slung over their shoulders. They wore the hollow-eyed look of people who'd seen too many horrors on the road.

Leila met them at the gate, flanked by Kai and Fiona. The families asked for food, water, and possibly a safe place to rest. Their youngest coughed with each breath, spurring Fiona's compassion. After a tense interview—checking for hidden weapons, verifying their stories—the group voted to let them stay temporarily.

In the following days, Leila refined her screening procedures:

Daily Roster: Everyone logs name and any personal data they're willing to share.

Skill Match: Each newcomer must perform a task—like gardening, barricade repair, or kitchen duty—to prove willingness.

Personal Interview: Kai or Mark quietly grill them for details, cross-referencing any suspicious answers with the minimal intel they had.

Some bridled at these intrusions, but many accepted them as a fair trade for shelter from the undead. Tensions rose when one man bristled at the idea of "revealing his past." Kai gently but firmly insisted it was non-negotiable.

Leila noticed how Kai's instincts played an outsize role in decisions. If Kai got a bad feeling from someone's attitude or half-truth statements, they'd be allowed to rest for a night but politely asked to move on. A few stormed off angrily, spitting curses about tyranny or ungratefulness. Yet none turned openly violent—at least, not yet.

Privately, Kai told Leila, "It's not foolproof. We're bound to slip up eventually."

Leila nodded grimly. "One misstep, and we repeat the Jace/Ellie fiasco. But we can't close the doors entirely."

As the community's numbers inched upward, resource distribution became a headache. Fiona tried to stretch ration packs with foraged greens or leftover canned items. Mark proposed daily chores for everyone—like patrolling, cooking, cleaning—to keep morale balanced. Darren oversaw water purification with a small pump they salvaged.

Amid these logistics, cracks formed: some older members resented giving up part of their meal to feed newcomers; parents insisted their children needed more. Leila spent half her time mediating disputes or reminding them they had chosen to open the gates. She felt the weight of each decision acutely.

Despite friction, small moments of camaraderie emerged:

A new arrival named Marisol showed Leila how to rig a more efficient wind-powered generator for the gate buzzer, drawing admiration from watchers.

Trevor's group—especially the once-wary man from Episode 16b—organized a mini-latrine cleanup, making the living quarters more hygienic.

A quiet teen used scrap wood to craft small toys for younger children. A subtle bond formed as the children brightened, and people recognized the teen's heart despite the apocalypse's gloom.

Kai pointed these moments out to Leila late one evening, offering a reassuring grin. "It's not all suspicion and hunger. Some folks truly want to help."

Encouraged by these glimpses of altruism, Leila began sharing more about the shelter's layout. She introduced rotating security tasks for new and old members alike. Each had to stand watch or patrol corridors at least once a week. This not only spread workload but also forced newcomers to engage with veterans, bridging social gaps.

As night fell one day, a newcomer named Benshin told the group around a small campfire how he lost his wife to the undead. The quiet hush that followed spoke volumes—everyone present knew that pain. Fiona gently passed him a spare blanket, forging an empathetic link. The group edges softened, forging new alliances in shared grief.

Still, Kai and Leila occasionally exchanged worried glances. The bigger the community grew, the more complicated it became to enforce rules, ration supplies, and guard against infiltration. Their parted ways with some travelers who were turned away, unsure if those rejected might carry grudges or spread the word that "wealth" lay inside these walls.

Late at night, as Leila patrolled with Kai, she admitted, "I'm half expecting someone to sabotage the fence in revenge. Or lure a horde our way."

Kai's hand grazed her shoulder. "We'll handle it. Focus on the good we're doing, yeah?"

She mustered a faint smile. "Trying."

A new morning brought the urgent need to distribute what few resources remained. Canned goods from the storeroom, newly scavenged supplies from small forays, even water had to be allocated carefully. Fiona tried logging each person's usage, but arguments sparked—some claimed they contributed more labor, others insisted they had special dietary needs.

Leila intervened in a heated exchange between two older men who nearly came to blows over an extra can of peaches. She parted them with a steely glare. "We share or we starve," she hissed. "Fight each other, and we all lose."

Recognizing the mounting complexity, Kai suggested forming a small "council" that included both long-time companions (Mark, Darren, Fiona) and a couple of new arrivals. It would spread out decision-making, reducing the sense that only Leila's tight circle had power.

The first council meeting took place in a cramped lounge near the storeroom. Tensions simmered beneath polite words—some newcomers demanded a fair say, while Mark bristled at strangers having equal voice. By the end of the meeting, they agreed to a basic process: any major resource decisions would be put to a vote, with Leila retaining final veto in emergencies.

This sudden democratization didn't please everyone. A few veterans of Leila's group, who'd followed her from the city fiasco, privately confided they feared "too many new faces" threatened group unity. Darren worried about infiltration, referencing Jace/Ellie's betrayal. Mark openly questioned if giving new arrivals voting rights was wise.

Leila empathized but insisted they adapt. "We can't do everything alone forever," she said quietly. "This place was meant to be a safe haven, remember? Not a personal fortress for a handful of us."

In the midst of political adjustments, the daily grunt work continued:

Patching floorboards and sealing leaks in the roof.

Erecting additional barricades along weaker fence lines.

Clearing debris from hallway corners to reduce the risk of hidden zombies or contraband.

A newly admitted mechanic replaced the generator's worn fuel lines, coaxing it to life with minimal output. Lights flickered in some rooms for the first time in weeks, prompting cautious cheers. However, each small success was tinged with fear that sabotage might undo it.