Chương 67: Order

Watching the survivors grow restless and agitated at the sight of the food, Vince turned his back on them and walked back into the main supermarket, searching the stripped shelves for anything useful he might have missed. How to suppress the mob and how to distribute the supplies was entirely Ben's problem now. If he couldn't handle it, someone else would naturally step up and replace him. In any group of survivors, a leader would inevitably emerge.

As long as Vince had the absolute power to crush whoever that leader turned out to be, he didn't care who sat in the chair. This is exactly why that stuttering thug was genuinely talented, Vince mused. It's just a shame that kind of talent is usually too thorny and prone to dying young...... Watching Vince slowly walk out of the courtyard, Ben's heart sank. Because of his momentary hesitation, the eyes of the crowd before him grew increasingly manic and greedy.

Like a dam slowly giving way to a flood, the survivors began shoving forward. Their chaotic, panicked shouting quickly drowned out the guttural roars of the zombies outside the walls.

"Ben, give me an extra portion! My wife is still starving at home..."

"First come, first served! I haven't eaten a damn thing in two days!"

"Get the fuck out of my way! Stop pushing!" The few men in the front row began violently shoving Zack, Wang, and the others trying to maintain the perimeter. Aside from Zack, who had served in the military, the rest of Ben's crew were just regular office workers. They had never faced a rioting mob before. Panic setting in, they had no idea what to do and frantically turned to look at Ben.

Ben knew perfectly well that the second a single person broke the line and rushed the warehouse, order would completely collapse. Forget organizing the survivors—even the few brothers standing beside him would likely scatter to grab whatever they could for themselves. He was just a discharged soldier. He had stepped up for his own survival and a lingering sense of duty, but he wasn't a savior.

But then, the image of that solitary figure flashed through his mind—the man who had casually strolled into a horde of monsters and single-handedly carved out a safe haven for everyone. If a man like that is fighting on the front lines for survival, what right do I have to cower here?! Ben took a deep breath, his eyes widening in fury. He slammed his steel crowbar against the heavy iron door of the warehouse! CLANG!

Using every ounce of air in his lungs, he unleashed a deafening, explosive roar:"EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!" The roar hit the courtyard like a thunderclap. In an instant, the sheer volume suppressed the chaotic shouting. The rioting crowd froze, whipping their heads around to stare at the furious man by the door. Taking a step forward, Ben channeled the memory of his old drill instructor chewing out recruits. His gaze swept over the crowd like a serrated blade.

"I know you're all starving! I know you're desperate!"

"I'm starving too! I've only eaten a single packet of dry ramen in the past two days!"

"But if you rush in there like a pack of wild dogs, tearing open bags, trampling the food into the dirt, and wasting our supplies—who is going to take responsibility for that?!"

"If we want to survive until rescue comes, or until we're strong enough to fight our way out, we have to distribute these supplies rationally!" Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

"If you want to live, there have to be rules! There has to be order!" He raised his hand and forcefully extended three fingers.

"Rule number one: Rations are distributed strictly by headcount! If you have three living people in your family, you get three portions of food! Nobody takes extra!"

"Rule number two: Form a line! Everyone steps outside the courtyard. My brothers and I will handle the registration and distribution! Anyone who cuts in line, tries to steal food, or deliberately wastes supplies becomes an enemy to everyone here!"

"Rule number three: Those who contribute labor get extra! Everyone who helped saw the lock, push the cars, or drag the corpses just now gets an extra portion!"

"Moving forward, if we organize teams to clear buildings, haul bodies, scavenge supplies, or collect rainwater—only those who contribute labor get fed! We are standing on the brink of extinction. We do not have surplus food to feed useless freeloaders!" Listening to Ben's three rules, the crowd realized they were incredibly pragmatic, or at the very least, fair. The manic shouting gradually subsided, fading into a low, rumbling murmur of discussion.

Just then, a harsh voice yelled out from the back of the crowd:"Why the hell should we listen to you?! Who do you think you are?! This stuff belongs to everyone, it's not your personal stash!"

"Yeah! Just because you say it's yours doesn't make it yours! Where was all this tough talk when that stuttering thug was hogging the place?!" another voice immediately chimed in, trying to incite the crowd. Ben's face instantly turned a sickly shade of green. He clenched his fists, but he was at a complete loss for what to do. He couldn't just drag those two out and beat them half to death in front of everyone—how would that make him any different from the stuttering thug...?

The critical issue was that Vince's stance remained entirely ambiguous. Without his backing, Ben had no real authority. Just as the crowd began to stir and grow restless once more...

"Ahem..." A quiet, deliberate cough echoed from the back of the courtyard. It was Vince. Hearing that voice, every single person instinctively snapped their heads around. The moment they saw that silhouette, their mouths clamped shut. The entire courtyard fell into a pin-drop silence. Only the guttural groans of the zombies outside the walls could be heard. Vince was actually quite satisfied with Ben's proposed system. It established a basic, functional order and penalized freeloaders. It was solid.

So, he didn't say a single word. He simply parted the silent crowd and walked slowly to Ben's side. His gaze swept over the courtyard, purposefully not lingering on the two troublemakers who had spoken up. Then, he casually took the short spear in his hand—its tip still caked in dark, dried blood and grayish-white brain matter—and lightly tapped the butt against the concrete floor. THUD. The muffled sound felt like a physical hammer striking the chest of every person present.

The two men who had been trying to incite a riot turned deathly pale. No words were necessary; Vince simply standing there was the absolute, undeniable answer to their questions. Without him, not a single person here could have stepped out of their apartment. Without him, that stuttering thug wouldn't have shared a single crumb. Without him, they couldn't have even opened this door. Seeing the crowd firmly cowed into submission, Vince saw no need to ask cliché villain questions like "Who agrees? Who opposes?"

Instead, he simply reached out, grabbed Ben's raised hand, and manually uncurled a fourth finger.

"Rule number four: Regarding the sealed jugs in the water station, every person is limited to exactly one jug for now. Future distributions will be decided later."

"Execute the plan..." With that, he turned and walked out. Wherever he stepped, the crowd silently and immediately parted, leaving a wide, clear path for him. It wasn't until his silhouette disappeared from the courtyard that the crowd turned back to Ben, only to freeze in horror. The short spear Vince had been holding was standing perfectly upright on its own. That seemingly casual, light tap had effortlessly driven the blunt steel pipe straight through the solid concrete paving brick!

And just like that, a fragile but highly effective new order was born. The food inside the warehouse was enough to sustain these survivors for a significant amount of time. If Ben could actually organize teams to clear the adjacent buildings, basic staples like rice and flour would be the least of their worries. Given the brutal casualty rate, the total number of survivors in the entire residential complex likely didn't exceed a hundred people...

However, clean, uncontaminated drinking water was, to some extent, a non-renewable resource. Unless they managed to dig a deep well, the current municipal surface water—even if boiled—was too risky to consume due to potential biological contamination from the infected. Therefore, Vince had to exert absolute control over the sealed jugs of purified water. There were at least a hundred jugs stacked in the shed. Each jug held 20 liters.

Calculating a generous daily ration of 4 liters per person, even with 100 survivors, it would only last them a week. However, combined with the massive stockpile of mineral water he had looted from the gas station, his own small group wouldn't be worrying about hydration anytime soon. Vince walked up to the parked RV and slapped the side panel, signaling Cody to drive it back to the clinic.

Carrying a heavy-duty industrial power strip he had scavenged from the supermarket, Vince followed behind the RV, heading home. He had found a massive spool of heavy-gauge electrical wire in the gas station warehouse earlier. He could easily splice it to the power strip and run a line straight from the RV's battery bank up to his third-floor apartment.