Six days passed after the incident in the maintenance room. The soldiers marched along a low wooden wall, entrenching the first two apartment buildings.
A group of survivors gathered at a spot. The leader was a middle-aged man, the orange hard hat blocking the sun's rays on his face. His eyes scanned the wall section in front of him, checking for any deformities.
"I heard the rations today have been reduced, again." One of the survivors whispered.
"Yeah, food has been going down recently. One of the soldiers said they might explore the urban fringe soon."
"That area has a lot of zombies, right?"
"Yeah, I hope they don't die there."
"Shhh, keep your mouth shut. Do you want to get beaten by those soldiers? If they hear you, you'll be put in detention!"
Another survivor pressed someone's mouth and warned.
The recent strict lockdowns and curfew scared them. Grabbing tools from the maintenance room required a pair or two of soldiers watching over.
