"This is bad. Like, catastrophically, pants-on-backwards-in-public bad," Xenia muttered, pacing in front of their makeshift table like an anxious CEO whose start-up was the only thing standing between civilization and cannibalism.
She flailed her arms for emphasis—like human jazz hands for doom. "We saw something—no, someone—floating out there. And not the coconut-drink, sunscreen-on-the-nose kind of float. The bloated, hungry-for-brains variety."
Brie nodded solemnly, arms crossed. "Anna and I both saw it. With our own naked, unfortunately functional eyes."
"It looked like a corpse," Anna added, voice flat and clinical but eyes still haunted. "The kind you'd expect on a B-list horror channel. Except, you know, breathing water."
"The shore's compromised," Xenia declared. "I don't care if it drifted from a haunted cruise ship or the zombie version of Moana—it's too close. The sea is now the enemy."
Rafe swigged water from his crusty thermos like he was sipping whiskey in a Western. "Could be from a yacht. Or a port town nearby. There are fishing communities along this coast."
Everyone stilled. The word town hung in the air like a guillotine. Town meant people. People meant infection. Infection meant one more thing to stab in the head.
Rico cleared his throat. "Back when I still had my drone—solar-powered, bless my brother—I did some scouting. There's a mountain inland. Past it, I saw scattered houses, maybe a small cluster. Forest trails. One looked like Conrad's farm. Could be survivors. Or something worse."
"You what?" Xenia whirled on him. "You're just now mentioning that we have potential neighbors?! Rico, that's not side-quest info. That's main plot! There could be people out there—unwarned, unarmed, unaware they're one bite away from turning into nightmare soup!"
"I didn't think it mattered," Rico mumbled. "Until now."
Tenorio, always calm in the face of spirals, stepped in. "We'll need a plan. People in remote spots don't trust easily. Hell, we barely trust each other and we've survived blood vomit and Brie's hair dye phase."
"I stand by the lavender streak," Brie said, defensive.
"I'd like to file a formal complaint," Nestor said, hand raised like they were in a PTA meeting instead of an apocalypse war room. "I need my own room. I've been sleeping in that sad little shack with half a mattress and blood-stained laundry. I'm one splinter away from losing my last shred of dignity."
Xenia blinked. "We are literally discussing the undead."
"Exactly. Let me die with a blanket."
"Noted," she deadpanned. "We'll add it to the next Operations Plan. Right under 'pray the ocean doesn't vomit more zombies.'"
Nestor muttered, "Even prisoners get pillows…"
"Focus!" Xenia clapped her hands like a kindergarten teacher one sniff away from snapping. "Daily report. Please. Before I combust into leadership confetti."
Rico raised his dirt-smudged hand. "Rafe and I staked out half the new perimeter. Just us two. Might need another day or two unless someone grows a third arm."
"The storage hut's functional," Nestor added. "It's no Pinterest barn, but it holds food. Could use a paint job though—if anyone's secretly hoarding Behr samples, now's your moment."
"Gabriel and I checked in on Conrad," Tenorio added. "Still not budging. But we didn't come back empty-handed—guy caught a boar."
Gasps. Literal gasps.
"A whole boar?" Brie's voice went up three octaves.
Gabriel beamed. "Smoked pork's on the horizon. Maybe with Anna's apocalypse herbs."
Anna rolled her eyes. "You act like oregano is a miracle drug."
"It is," Gabriel said, dead serious. "If you believe in flavor."
Xenia sighed, just a little less tight in the chest. "Okay. Seriously. Good job, all of you. We're turning this murder shack into an actual livable base. Even if half our plumbing is buckets."
She turned, voice shifting into serious-leader mode. "You all get a break. Wash up. Soak in the sun. But someone stays on shore watch. We're not trusting the sea anymore. Tenorio, Rafe—you've got muscles and brains. That's rare. Take shifts."
Tenorio gave her a smug little smirk. "Wow. Did I just hear a compliment?"
Xenia rolled her eyes. "Don't get used to it. You're still banned from making trap jokes."
"Girls," she turned to Brie, Marga, and Anna. "This is not a vacation. After your beach flirtation with bacteria, it's seed time. If we don't plant food, we're going to have to eat another feral boar. Or each other."
Brie groaned. "If we're rebuilding humanity, we should at least be caffeinated."
Xenia didn't even blink. "We're planting survival, not Starbucks."
"Call me when the beach party ends," Marga said, stretching. "I'll be the one looking like an air-fried goddess."
As the group split off, grumbling and joking, Xenia stayed behind, eyes on the sea. It shimmered, deceptively beautiful. But she wasn't fooled.
Somewhere out there, more things floated.
She wasn't a soldier. She wasn't a doctor. She wasn't even technically employed anymore.
But she was a top-of-her-class, overachieving, slightly unhinged education major with a laminated planner now stained in blood, sweat, and seaweed.
And this crew? This feral group of scavengers, nerds, gossipers, and ex-gym rats?
They were hers.
Come hell, hunger, or zombie cruise ships—she'd make them a future.
Even if she had to build it one sarcastic meltdown at a time.