[Food<0] They starve

Noah sat at the kitchen table, staring at the empty pantry. The shelves, once lined with cans and jars, were now barren. The faint smell of metal lingered from the few remaining tin lids discarded in the trash. His stomach growled audibly, a painful reminder of how long it had been since his last proper meal. Around him, the others were quiet, their faces drawn and hollow.

“We’re out,” Noah finally said, his voice flat. “Not even crumbs left.”

Olivia leaned against the counter, her arms wrapped around her frail body. Her hair, once neatly tied back, hung limp around her pale face. “We’ve rationed everything. There’s nothing more we could’ve done.”

Eunhwa sat cross-legged on the floor, gnawing idly on a piece of bark she’d picked up outside, her curly silver hair disheveled. “Guess we start eating tree roots,” she muttered, though her usual humor was nowhere in her voice.

Greg, leaning against the doorframe, let out an irritated sigh. “Tree roots won’t cut it. We’ve got maybe a week before we’re too weak to even walk. If we don’t find something soon, it’s over.”

Noah looked up at Greg, his jaw tightening. “Then we go out. Together. The whole area. We’ll scour every inch of it.”

“Yeah?” Greg sneered, crossing his arms. “And what happens when we come back empty-handed? Or don’t come back at all?”

“We don’t have a choice!” Noah snapped, slamming his hand against the table. The **** of the motion startled Olivia, who flinched visibly, and Noah immediately softened. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quieter. “I didn’t mean—”

“We know,” Olivia said gently, stepping closer to place a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure this out. We always do.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of their desperation hanging thick in the air. Outside, the wind howled softly, carrying with it the distant groans of the undead. Noah stood and walked over to the boarded-up window, peering out through a narrow crack. The coast was clear, save for a handful of shuffling figures in the distance.

“We’ll make it through this,” he said, more to himself than to the others. “We have to.”

But even as he said the words, doubt clawed at the edges of his mind. Their supplies were gone, their strength was waning, and the dangers outside were only growing. If they didn’t find food soon, it wouldn’t be the zombies that killed them—it would be their own starvation.

[Camp Morale -20]