CHAPTER NINE: THE DYING LAND

Arrival at Arowolo's Community

Jace led his wife, son, and a few survivors through the broken streets, their journey was far but hopeful. Kunle was waiting.

When they finally reached the hidden settlement, Kunle's expression turned to shock.

"You found them?" he said, stepping forward.

Jace nodded, placing a protective hand on his son's shoulder. "Yeah... I did."

Kunle exhaled, shaking his head. "Damn, man. Welcome home."

Arowolo greeted them at the gate. The older man studied Jace's family and the new arrivals before giving a small nod.

"All are welcome, but all must work."

Jace understood. This place survived because everyone contributed.

And so, they settled in. For months, they built a life.

Arowolo's community was one of the last organized settlements. It wasn't just about fighting Zombies. It was about survival, about trying to rebuild something real.

Jace worked on reinforcing the walls, using his architectural skills. Others farmed, scavenged, and patrolled.

His wife, Mosun, helped with medical aid, tending to wounds and sicknesses.

His son, Ayanfe, played with the other children, unaware of how fragile their world was.

For a while, they had peace.

But peace was temporary.

It started with the crops.

One day, during a community meeting, an elderly farmer named Musa stood and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"The corn isn't growing," he said. "Neither is the cassava."

Murmurs spread across the room.

Arowolo's brow furrowed. "Are the seeds bad?"

Musa shook his head. "The rain isn't coming. The soil is dry. we're running out of water."

The room fell into uneasy silence.

Water was everything.

If the wells dried up, if the crops failed... they'd starve.

In the following weeks, the situation worsened.

Water rations were enforced in one bucket per family. Scavengers were sent farther out. Many didn't return. People began hoarding. Fights broke out over food.

During one meeting, a younger man named David slammed his hand on the table.

"We need to leave!" he shouted. "The city had underground reserves, we should search there."

Others disagreed.

"The city is overrun," Amara reminded them. "The Purifiers still roam. We won't all survive."

Arowolo listened, his face unreadable. Then, he sighed. "We stay. We make this work."

But deep down, Jace knew the community was crumbling.

Then came the final blow.

One morning, Ayanfe ran to Jace, eyes wide with fear.

"Dad! The well-it's dry!"

Jace ran to the center of the community, where others had already gathered.

Musa stood beside the cracked, empty well, shaking his head.

It's over," he whispered.

The people turned to Arowolo.

A decision has to be made.

The next night, Arowolo gathered everyone for one last meeting. His voice was heavy.

"This place has kept us alive for this long, but we cannot fight nature. The land is dead."

Silence.

Then, he spoke the words that changed everything.

"The community... is disbanded."

The following morning.

They packed their things, taking what little they had left.

Some left in small groups, heading toward unknown lands.

Some stayed behind, clinging to hope.

Jace stood beside Kunle, watching the only home they'd had for months fall apart.

Mosun held Ayanfe's hand. "Where do we go?" she asked softly.

Jace didn't know.

But he did know one thing.

They weren't stopping.

Not now.

Not ever.

TO BE CONTINUED...