Chapter 73 I’m Not Their Babysitter

I’m Their Leader!

It had taken only the morning for the group to finish clearing the administration building, but the rest of the day disappeared into hauling bodies and making the first floor livable. Anyone wearing protective gear handled the corpse removal, while the others moved in once the secured gates were opened and began sweeping dust, clearing broken furniture, wiping down tables, and cleaning whatever rooms they intended to use. The work became noticeably more serious after Magnus explained that this building would probably serve as their temporary living quarters until the deeper parts of the prison were secured. Nobody wanted to sleep beside months of grime and dried blood if they could help it.

Magnus seemed to have more energy than everyone else combined. Before the cleanup was finished, he dug a pit almost ten feet deep in one section of the yard and had the walker bodies dumped inside. Every corpse had already been checked and permanently put down, so there was no concern about them climbing back out later. Magnus figured that once the bodies broke down, they might as well return something useful to the soil instead of continuing to rot inside the prison.

By the time the last bodies were moved, Magnus had stripped off his outer layers because of the heat, leaving his upper body bare as he headed back toward the administration building. Strength Lv10 had reshaped his physique into something far more defined than before, with dense muscle across his shoulders, arms, and torso rather than the merely athletic build he once had. The afternoon sun was already starting to drop, and when Magnus checked the light outside, he guessed it was around four-thirty. The second he stepped inside, however, the smell of food made him forget almost everything else.

Something sweet and tangy drifted out of the cafeteria.

Magnus stopped.

Then smiled.

“What are we eating? That actually smells good.”

He leaned against the heavy cafeteria doorway and looked inside. Steam rose from several pots while conversation and laughter filled the room, making the place feel less like a prison and more like some strange community dining hall. Carol turned when she heard his voice, then immediately lifted a steaming bowl with the pleased expression of someone unveiling a prize. “Perfect timing. Tomato spaghetti.”

Magnus’s eyebrows rose.

Carol brought the sauce closer. “Nothing fresh. Just canned tomatoes we found in the cafeteria storage, but they were still sealed, so I heated them down into a sauce for the pasta.” She nodded toward the cooking area behind her. “Eat this first. We’ve got venison steaks coming after.”

Magnus accepted the metal plate without hesitation. Most of what he had eaten lately consisted of canned food, crackers, snacks, or whatever could be carried easily on the road, and even the mushroom soup had started becoming repetitive. The system-generated ready meals were far better, but they carried useful recovery effects, so Magnus preferred saving them for emergencies instead of wasting them on ordinary hunger. Warm spaghetti covered in tomato sauce suddenly looked like a luxury meal.

He sat down, picked up his fork, and twisted a thick mound of pasta around it.

The sauce clung heavily to the noodles.

Magnus lifted the fork.

Then stopped.

Something felt strange.

He slowly raised his head.

Almost everyone in the cafeteria was staring at the fork.

Their eyes moved with it.

Magnus looked around.

Then down at the plate.

A loud growl came from nearby.

Carl immediately looked embarrassed and placed both hands over his stomach.

Magnus stared at him for a second before understanding.

“So this is the first plate.”

Nobody answered.

Carl had spent most of the day near the secured gate carrying the key Magnus had entrusted to him, while everyone else had been hauling bodies, cleaning rooms, or working outside. Nobody had eaten much since breakfast, and the smell filling the cafeteria had probably made the hunger worse. Magnus looked around at more than a dozen tired faces before glancing back at his food.

He thought about it for a moment.

Then took the bite anyway.

The warm tomato sauce hit first, sweet and slightly acidic, followed by a little black pepper and the familiar texture of pasta. After days of cold food and improvised meals, even that simple mouthful tasted ridiculously good. Magnus closed his eyes for half a second as he swallowed.

Then he stopped eating.

He placed the fork upside down on the edge of the plate and held the meal toward Carl.

Carl stared at it.

His throat moved visibly.

Magnus nodded once.

Carl carefully took the plate.

He copied the way Magnus had twisted the spaghetti earlier, gathering only a small amount before putting it into his mouth. His cheeks puffed slightly as he chewed slowly, clearly trying to make the taste last as long as possible. For several seconds, he kept staring at the plate as if every instinct told him to take another bite.

Instead, Carl passed it to the person beside him.

The cafeteria became quiet.

Only the faint scrape of the fork against metal could be heard.

Nobody rushed.

Each person took a small bite and passed the plate onward.

The portion should have disappeared after three or four people, but everyone deliberately took so little that it continued moving around the room. Even after more than a dozen people had eaten, a small amount remained at the bottom.

When the plate finally reached Shane, he looked at Magnus.

Then at Rick.

Then down at the food.

He quietly took the fork, twisted the last few strands of spaghetti together, and ate them. Afterward, he lifted the metal plate slightly and drank the remaining tomato sauce rather than wasting even a drop. His shoulders tightened for a second before slowly relaxing.

For some reason, those few bites affected Shane more than an entire meal probably would have.

It wasn’t about being full.

It was about everyone being hungry and nobody trying to take more than the next person.

Shane had spent months believing survival meant being stronger, faster, more decisive, and more willing to do what others couldn’t. Standing in that cafeteria, he began to understand something else. Looking out only for yourself might keep you alive for a while, but a group was what gave survival any lasting meaning.

He set the plate down.

Then exhaled slowly.

For the first time in a long while, Shane felt satisfied.

Carol emerged from the kitchen a moment later and noticed the empty plate in front of Magnus. “You finished already?”

Magnus looked at her.

Carol didn’t seem suspicious. “The venison isn’t done yet, but the rest of the pasta is ready. You can have mine if you’re still hungry.”

She turned before Magnus could refuse and went back into the kitchen.

When she returned, she carried two more plates of spaghetti, while Andrea, Dale, and Otis followed with additional servings. The food was distributed through the room, and Carol brought the final plate directly to Magnus. She was hungry too, probably as hungry as most people there, but in her mind Magnus had worked harder than any of them and needed it more.

Magnus looked at the plate.

Then at Carol.

He opened his mouth to refuse.

Carl stood first.

The boy brought his own plate over and crouched beside Magnus. He smiled in that straightforward way children did when they thought they had solved something important, then carefully twisted a large portion of spaghetti onto his fork. Instead of eating it, he dropped it onto Magnus’s empty plate.

Magnus blinked.

Carl looked up at him.

“Returning yours.”

Then he went back to his seat and immediately started eating.

Magnus stared at the spaghetti Carl had left behind.

Before he could say anything, somebody else stood.

Then another.

One by one, people came over and placed a small portion from their own plates onto his. Glenn added some. Maggie followed. T-Dog gave a little more, then Andrea, Hershel, Otis, Rick, and others did the same without making a speech out of it. Even people who were clearly starving quietly gave something back before returning to their seats.

The empty plate slowly filled.

Then overflowed into a small mound.

There was more spaghetti on it now than Magnus had originally been served.

Nobody copied Carl’s words.

They didn’t need to.

Magnus picked up the plate and held it slightly higher than usual, using the food to hide part of his face. “Damn,” he muttered. “Smells good.”

His eyes had gone slightly red.

Carol noticed.

She paused with her own plate in hand, then smiled softly without saying anything. A moment later, she sat cross-legged with everyone else and finally began eating. The entire cafeteria quickly returned to conversation, clinking forks, and the sound of hungry people finishing food they had earned.

The venison came later.

It had a milder flavor than some wild meat they had eaten before but remained much chewier than ordinary chicken. Magnus ate one piece and realized he was already nearly full after all the spaghetti everyone had given him. Instead of forcing himself to finish more, he passed the remaining steaks around.

Watching everyone eat made an odd question appear in his mind.

Am I their babysitter now?

Magnus immediately rejected the thought.

No.

That wasn’t what this was.

A leader wasn’t somebody who simply handed out orders and took the best portion because he could. In any functioning group, the strongest members protected the weaker ones, while the weaker members supported the group in whatever ways they could until they grew stronger themselves. Even animals understood that a pack survived because its members depended on one another.

The person at the front received priority when priority was necessary.

But that same person carried the responsibility of keeping everyone behind him alive.

Magnus looked around the cafeteria.

Carl was eating beside Lori.

Rick and Shane were sitting within the same room without tension between them.

Glenn and Maggie were sharing food.

Carol was smiling.

Daryl was trying to stop Merle from stealing another steak.

Hershel and the others were talking quietly.

Every person there had survived long enough to reach the prison.

And whether Magnus had intended it or not, most of them were now looking toward him whenever something important happened.

His gaze slowly hardened with understanding.

I’m not their babysitter.

Magnus sat a little straighter.

I’m their leader.