Some members of the group balk.
“What? But we just finished fighting!” one says, outraged.
“Yeah! We need to rest, or at least get this blood and shit off us!” another one says.
Several others shout in agreement, while others just roll their eyes and get to work.
I take note of those who start moving bodies without complaint as the others continue to moan and complain about being tired and feeling disgusting. And I get it. I’d much rather get clean, grab some food, and collapse into my sleeping bag. Maybe see if I can convince Ollie to cuddle. But we have a job to do, one that is important for our survival.
“Come on,” I say as I bend to grab the ankles of a rotted corpse. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can wash off and relax.”
As I drag the corpse away, several of the group grumble, but I hear the sounds of them grabbing their own bodies to dispose of. A weird conga line of people dragging dead zombies forms as we haul the bodies away from the warehouse and to a small grassy area behind a crumbling wall. One by one, we deposit them there, although I quickly take note that not everyone is pulling their weight.
And no one’s happy about it.
Alex glares at the ones who drag their feet, as do other members of the group, and the tension thickens. The adrenaline from the fight has long left us, and with everyone aching and tired, frustrations are mounting. I need to diffuse this before this powder keg blows.
“Alright. Everyone can go inside and get washed up. I’ll finish up out here,” I say with a sigh. There are only a few corpses left, and while everypart of me is screaming for rest, keeping everyone in our group from killing one another takes priority.
Sometimes I hate being responsible.
The ones who’ve been complaining and dragging their feet immediately drop what they’re doing and leave. The rest hesitate, but I wave them off, and they quickly follow until only Alex and I remain.
“You can go too,” I tell him as I grab another corpse and start the journey to the dumping ground.
The other man grunts but doesn’t leave and instead helps me. Much to my relief. While he may be pissed off at me and refusing to talk, he still has my back. He’s still my best friend, my brother in every way that counts.
Even if he’s still being a grumpy bastard.
Karma
Olivia
Clean up dutysucks.
Dead zombies somehow smell worse than undead ones and emit so much foul fluid it’s a wonder the warehouse isn’t flooded with it. Around me, people gag and choke as we drag decomposing corpses outside of the warehouse and to a hiding spot to the side, hidden from the road. Even Rachel, who’s been upbeat to a manic degree, looks a little worse for wear by the time we’re finished.
“If I ever have to drag another rotting zombie corpse, it’ll be too soon,” she says as we trudge back to the warehouse.
I hum in agreement before groaning when I see the state of the warehouse inside. “Fuck. This place is filthy.” Harlow sniffs and sneezes beside me, coming to the same conclusion I have.
“That tends to happen when a small horde lives inside it for fuck knows how long,” Rhys says drily. He’s already crouched and cleaningthe disgusting floor with a bucket filled with water from the nearby canal. “Come on. The sooner we get this shit done, the sooner we can set up camp.”
I want to refuse. Every part of my body aches, and all I want to do is curl up with Harlow in my sleeping bag. But Rhys is right. There’s no way we can set up camp in here until it’s clean.
A few other people grumble but most of them get to it, spreading out across the factory floor to find cleaning supplies and tools. Some people find brooms and mops, while others find more buckets and even some bleach.
However, there are still those who refuse to help. They’re standing to the side or walking aimlessly,appearinglike they’re helping when in fact they’re doing jack shit. A lot of them are also the ones who didn’t take part in the fight, having hung back per Rhys’s orders.
Rachel and I find buckets and hurry off to fill them with water. By the time we return, those few peoplestillaren’t helping. And they’re drawing ire from those who are cleaning.
“That’s going to blow up if someone doesn’t nip it in the bud,” Rachel murmurs as we walk over to where Tobias is busy scrubbing the ground with a broom.
“What is?” he asks, lifting his head to frown at us. Like me and Rachel, he’s covered in a thin layer of gore and sweat from the fight earlier. Something I’m eager to wash off me once we’re done.
“Some people think they’re too good to get their hands dirty.” Rachel inclines her head towards a small group of people milling in the corner.
I’m not surprised to find that Jerri is one of them. Ever since meeting her, she’s rubbed me the wrong way. From her refusal to help with tasks when setting up camp last night to the constant complaints and put-downs she directs towards Rhys. I understand that some of my dislike of her stems from jealousy, since she’s always commenting on how Rhys came to save her. But most of it is because she’s lazy and entitled.
