Resource Disputes

The days bled into one another under the unrelenting grip of winter. Snow drifts piled higher against the shelter's walls, forcing the community to huddle indoors as much as possible. Despite the half-frozen calm outside, tensions within the compound simmered just beneath the surface. The meager rations from earlier hunts and salvage runs continued to dwindle, and with no fresh options on the horizon, the question of how best to share what little remained became urgent.

It started in the main hall one late morning. Tamsin stood behind a makeshift podium (really just a broken desk repurposed), flipping through ration ledgers while a crowd of survivors pressed closer, seeking updates on the next round of food distributions. The warmth from a nearby barrel fire did little to ease the sting of anxious voices. Mark and Fiona flanked Tamsin, each wearing tired expressions.

"We have enough for half-rations for two weeks," Tamsin announced, scanning the figures. "Beyond that, we'll need more hunts or scavenging missions. But with the roads iced over—"

A newcomer—one who arrived before the pair of refugees—let out a frustrated huff. "Half-rations again? We'll starve if this winter drags on."

Another voice chimed in sharply, "Why are we feeding those two who showed up last week? For all we know, they're lying about some revenge-crazed band just to get a spot here."

A ripple of uneasy agreement spread among some. Others stepped in to protest. "They're clearly wounded and traumatized," Fiona said, bristling at the accusatory tone. "I've seen bruises on them that didn't come from the cold."

Leila, hovering at the edge of the group, felt dread knotting her stomach. The wave of anger building was the last thing they needed when the fence repairs were still fresh, watchers were on high alert, and rumors of Jace and Ellie's reemergence stirred her nightmares. For a moment, she waited to see if Tamsin could quell the dispute, but it escalated quickly.

"They're freeloaders," a man growled, pointing to the newly arrived refugees, who stood near the back, eyes downcast. "And all this talk about 'ruthless leaders' out there—maybe they're in on it. Maybe they want to lull us into panic so we waste resources."

"Enough," Leila said firmly, stepping forward. She'd hoped to avoid a public confrontation, but the communal tension forced her hand. The crowd parted, letting her approach the podium. "We don't abandon people without proof they're dangerous. They've contributed to chores, helped fix fences. Let's not turn on each other."

Someone from Tamsin's side snapped back, "We can't feed everyone forever if we're not sure they're honest. Why can't they give us real proof of this threat they keep talking about?"

Leila pressed her lips tight, scanning the circle of tense faces. Her patience was wearing thin—an exhaustion that had been building with every rumor of Jace's potential return, every sleepless night. "We're all in this together," she said, trying for a calm tone. "But if we turn suspicious of every newcomer, we risk losing what humanity we have left."

The restless crowd rumbled with discontent. A few people demanded the refugees be interrogated more thoroughly, while others criticized Leila's leadership for not securing more supplies pre-winter. She felt her chest tighten—the weight of leadership pressing on her shoulders like never before. She forced herself to remain steady.

At the back of the hall, Kai stood watch, eyes flicking between Leila and the arguing crowd. She saw him shift, maybe ready to step in or support her, but she shot him a quick glance, shaking her head. I have to handle this—her silent message. He complied, remaining at a distance, though worry carved lines across his brow.

"I get it—everyone's hungry, on edge," Leila said, raising a hand to quiet the bickering. "But we can't tear ourselves apart. Tamsin, Mark, and I will review the ration distributions. We'll ensure fairness. If we need to cut back for a few days to see us through, so be it."

A rumble of disgruntled acceptance surfaced. Fiona quickly offered to check on the health of those losing weight or showing cold exposure. The immediate tension simmered, though not fully dispelled. People dispersed in small knots, grumbling but following Leila's directive to wait for the updated allotments.

Once the crowd thinned, Tamsin released a sigh of frustration. Mark massaged his temples. "That was close to a riot," he muttered. "If something doesn't give soon—better hunts, a big salvage haul, anything—this tension could explode."

Leila gave a curt nod. She was already aware how precarious their unity was. "We'll do what we can," she replied, a hint of fatigue creeping into her voice. "Meanwhile, no one starves on my watch. We'll find a way."

Yet inside, she felt cracks forming. The old fear about Jace's rumored return only magnified her stress. If he or Ellie led a band that threatened the shelter, could the community hold together under both internal ration disputes and external danger?

Later that evening, the hall had quieted, lamplight flickering against a half-frosted window. Leila was tidying up the ledgers with trembling fingers—she'd had to announce another half-ration cut, and the weight of disappointment in everyone's eyes lingered. Outside, the wind howled, rattling shutters.

Kai approached softly, as if not to startle her. "Leila," he said, voice low. "You did what you had to back there. We'll pull through."

She tensed, not looking up. "It's getting worse," she muttered, eyes fixed on the handwritten ration notes. "People are turning on each other, suspecting newcomers, complaining about my decisions. I can't handle a meltdown if a real threat hits."

Kai stepped closer. The quiet hush of the near-empty hall enveloped them. "You're not alone," he said gently. "You can trust me to share some of that burden."

Her heart pounded. She wanted to lean into that offer more than she dared admit. The memory of Jace's betrayal, however, flared like a brand on her psyche. Letting someone in, letting them know how deeply she feared losing everything again—No, she told herself. I can't show weakness.

She clenched the ledger, drawing a shaky breath. "I appreciate it," she managed, tone clipped. "But I'm fine. People look to me for leadership, not… emotional breakdowns."

His brow furrowed with concern. "That's not what I meant. You don't have to break down to let someone stand by you." He paused, letting his sincerity linger. "I know something's weighing on you beyond just resource issues."

For a split second, she almost blurted it out—the nightmares, the rumors about Jace, how his name alone reignites the horror of near-death betrayal. But panic seized her throat. If she told Kai, would it open the door to heartbreak if he turned on her someday? She'd loved Jace once, deeply, believed he'd never betray her. That ended with her tossed to the undead.

She swallowed hard, stepping back to reassert distance. "Kai, please," she said, voice shaking slightly with suppressed emotion. "I can't… I'm not ready to talk about whatever you think is bothering me. I have a shelter to run. Let me be."

Kai's eyes flickered with a trace of hurt, but he bowed his head, respecting her boundary. "Understood," he whispered, voice laced with sadness. "But I'll be here if you change your mind."

She clutched the ledger, forcing her expression into cold neutrality. "Thanks," she muttered. Then, as if retreating from something too hot to handle, she turned away, heading down the corridor. Each step echoed in the hush, her mind swirling with the tension of the day and the raw fear that trusting him could lead to yet another betrayal.

That night, the shelter's mood remained tense. Survivors huddled around small fires, murmuring about the meager rations and the possibility of unknown raiders lurking beyond the orchard. Fiona worked late in the infirmary, Tamsin compiled final ration tallies, Mark ensured watchers were doubled for the next shift. And Leila kept her own counsel, fear tangling with exhaustion.

Outside, the winter wind howled, pressing drifts of snow against the fence. Inside, Leila wrestled with unspoken nightmares: the memory of Jace's traitorous smirk, the rumor that he might be alive and plotting. Meanwhile, Kai's unwavering loyalty cast a soft glow of comfort she refused to embrace, haunted by the memory that trust had once cost her dearly.