Rations and Rage
“Meals incoming!”
The booming shout made everyone repairing the outer wall turn around in unison.
The massive gate on the fence swung open, revealing a truck.
People always grew anxious whenever the truck roared in— the sound drew infected swarming to the outer wall.
Thud! Thud!
The outer wall, built from logs lashed to concrete, drummed like a giant beat.
It stood roughly ten meters high, raised high to counter the infected's habit of climbing over each other.
Beyond the wall, an enormous horde of infected packed the outside world.
Some clustered right against it, pounding whenever they heard the truck at mealtimes.
The thunderous drumming was followed by creepy scraping sounds, like human hands and feet scaling the wall from all sides.
People turning toward the truck glanced nervously upward; soldiers around the fence gripped their rifles' selectors, faces tense.
Is it over?
As people scanned about with strained expressions, some ignored it entirely, as if routine.
Among them stood out a man soaked in sweat, yellow helmet gleaming.
The Work Leader.
“Fuckin' things always lose their shit at mealtime, goddamn. Ptoo!”
He spat and strode toward the truck.
Armed soldiers lined the area.
A few starving workers lunged for the truck but were blocked by rifle barrels.
“Hey, hey, hey! Wait your turn! These assholes hear the same shit every day and still don't get it.”
At the Work Leader's bellow, soldiers lowered muzzles; the crowd backed off.
As other soldiers unloaded rations from the bed, two men stepped forward.
A doctor in a white coat and the Production Manager.
Familiar faces at every meal, but the Work Leader greeted them warmly, like long-lost pals.
His bright smile revealed yellowed teeth.
“Aigoo, you must be beat.”
“Yeah, Work Leader. Everything okay?”
The Work Leader beamed again at the doctor's words.
“'Course, what could go wrong? What's for grub today—meat stew? Smells like it.”
“Yep. Sorry the portions are always so short. We've cut back soldiers' shares a bit, but it's tough.”
“Nah, can't do that. Gotta feed the guys guarding this safe zone, right? I believe good days are coming soon.”
The Work Leader tossed out the flattery, fishing for a response.
The doctor caught the hint and replied loudly enough for all to hear.
“Yes, exactly. Once this op secures the riverside, we can take a big mart and underground bunker within the month. Hang in there just a bit longer.”
“A mart? We're getting one soon!”
“Heaps of food in that bunker, right?”
“Years of canned goods stacked up, they say!”
The news rippled through the crowd.
Seizing the moment, the Work Leader sidled up close to the Production Manager.
He cleared his throat softly.
The manager recoiled, pinching his nose at the stench.
“Ugh, what?”
“Nothin' much...”
Glancing around, the Work Leader stuffed a pack of smokes into the manager's coat pocket.
His sidekick, watching from behind, coughed discreetly and scanned the area.
“Heavens, man... I told you not to. Not the first time, always making it awkward...”
“Look, just sneak us the bad stuff from the fields, yeah? You know we're short on chow. If starvation hits and someone drops, crowd control gets messy. Already tense since those dragged off last time haven't come back.”
“No promises, but I'll try.”
Barely enduring the Work Leader's halitosis, the manager grudgingly agreed and shoved him away.
Once the doctor and manager left, the empty truck loaded soldiers and departed; the gate shut.
Soon, the Work Leader's sidekicks lined up massive drums of food for distribution.
People queued with scavenged bowls—mostly halved soda bottles or scrubbed disposables.
Workers didn't even scrape off the grime; it was familiar.
“That fuckin' prick acts all clean...”
The Work Leader glared at the retreating manager, muttering.
A far cry from moments ago.
His eyes burned with murder.
Beside him, a worker offered a stainless bowl brimming with chunky porridge.
“Boss, good work today. Eat first.”
“Nah, pass. Sick of this slop. You guys eat up.”
“But you gotta—”
The Work Leader patted the dazed worker away.
The man hesitated, glanced around, then dug in himself.
The drums held porridge thick with mixed scraps and meat.
Smelled decent, but looked unappetizing.
Worse, there wasn't nearly enough.
Ignoring it, the Work Leader headed to his tent.
Larger than others, with extra space.
Inside: assorted necessities.
Clearly superior to standard workers' digs.
Soon, his inner circle slipped in, eyes darting.
They casually pulled hidden cans: tuna, peaches, beans, mackerel—variety galore.
Ham occasionally too.
A feast compared to workers' gruel.
Munching quietly, the Work Leader eyed the endless queue snaking from east and west gates.
Early on, half went hungry.
Chaos reigned: fights over line spots, heartbreaking scenes aplenty.
Now, they diluted drums with water.
Less solids per person, but everyone ate.
Then, the Work Leader spoke.
“Newbies settling in okay?”
“Yeah, doin' what they're told.”
“What'd they do before?”
Unlike other zones, boundary got no newcomer intel.
The sidekick recalled.
“Old auto shop geezer, archery athlete, young streamer dude...”
“And?”
“That one over there. Pale, tall as a fuckin' pole.”
“What'd he do?”
“Dunno. Clams up on questions, seems quiet by nature. And... that look...”
“Look?”
Curiosity lit the Work Leader's eyes.
“Creepy. Stares right through you—gives you the chills. So I dropped it.”
“You guys don't know either?”
Sidekicks exchanged uneasy glances.
The Work Leader's brow furrowed deeply.
“You fucks... What'd I say? Don't cower to workers. We're different. They got let in late after gates shut; we timed it right, just no housing. Can't show weakness—they'll crawl all over you. How many times I gotta say?”
“Sorry, boss.”
The tent grew heavy.
The Work Leader's murderous gaze fixed on someone in line.
“But why's that psycho wearing long sleeves in this heat?”
Lee Beom-sik was in a foul mood.
Nothing pleased him since arriving at the safe zone.
Only day two, sure.
Han Jaejeong and Kang Minyoung were ghosts; surrounded by stinking, filthy laborers.
And worst: the mystery slop once a day churning his gut.
Curious what they poured in pre-distribution.
Not drinking water, surely.
Too kind for that.
Soldiers waving guns at chow time made him itch to flip the whole scene.
Beom-sik scanned around.
Kang Youngman and Anna queued a bit off.
Hyun-soo and the other three had gone quiet since entering boundary.
Housing assigned nearby by arrival order, but the vibe killed chit-chat.
Especially when cutting like now—head-smashing urges surged.
He shoved aside the bald brute slipping in front.
Bald as fuck, too.
Baldies, man.
“You push me, asshole?”
The bulky bald bastard thrust his chest at Beom-sik.
Beom-sik taller, but out-bulked.
Classic meathead bluster.
“Answer me!”
Beom-sik stared silently.
The brute hated that deadpan glare.
Like he was no better than a bug.
“Answer when the man's talkin'!”
“Hey, cut it out!”
As the brute swung, a familiar face wedged between: Lee Hyun-soo.
Stunned, the brute blinked.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Sorry 'bout that. Aigoo, my bro's just pretty-faced—body's weak. Banged his head gettin' here, makes him violent. Cut him slack, yeah? Looks like he couldn't take one punch. Be big, forgive the weakling. No fun bullyin' in front of everyone.”
Beom-sik, suddenly the lunatic, sighed skyward.
But it was over.
Mindful of stares, the brute coughed and shuffled to his crew ahead.
Beom-sik glared at Hyun-soo.
“Wanna die?”
“Haha...”
Hyun-soo ached like stabbed.
Why stare like that? Unreadable bastard.
“Move. Gonna kill that fucker.”
“Wait, bro. Trouble here means instant arrest. No food, no nothing. Bear it. Who knows? Jaejeong might bring good news thinkin' of us. Imagine gettin' nabbed mid-beatdown.”
“Good news my ass... Fuckin' cops...”
Grumbling trailed, but Jaejeong's name cooled Beom-sik a notch.
By the time the pair got rations and returned to their tent, trouble brewed at the queue's end.
Tattooed thugs circled Anna.
Shirts off, flaunting ink, four of 'em—obvious types.
They hemmed her in; one spoke.
Such shit was routine in boundary.
Victims: always weak women.
Nothing protected them.
At least daylight now; nights hid horrors.
“How old? Where from? Name? Chat a sec.”
Anna's patience frayed.
“Fuck off, you stink.”
“Oho.”
Her fire sparked their laughter.
“Yeah, no fun if easy. Girls gotta play hard...”
His hand landed on her tank-topped shoulder.
Rough fingers trailed to her collarbone.
“Hands off. Unless you wanna die.”
“S'fine, bro likes it rough too. Dying.”
Anna sighed, squeezing eyes shut.
Infected People