- Even small ones.

  - Built a wall? Survived another day? Found canned peaches? That’s a party, baby.

  - A little joy goes a long way when the world’s gone to hell.

  - Just don’t get drunk in the wall. Not again.

  ---

  We didn’t have fireworks, but we had Gail’s secret stash of hard cider. That counted.

  The wall stood around the base like a jagged crown—uneven in spots, maybe missing a few chunks here and there, but ours. We did that. Cement, sweat, curses, laughter, and the word “moisturizer” (thanks, Jules) now etched permanently into its soul.

  By the time the last block was set and we triple-checked for zombie handholes, we all slumped in the courtyard, backs against the warm wall, panting like exhausted dogs.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  “We built a damn wall,” Alex said, chugging water like it owed her money.

  “I mean, it’s more of a ‘stubborn fence,’” I replied.

  Jules flicked a pebble at me. “Shut up and enjoy the moment, E.”

  Gail, the man of few unnecessary words, returned from the supply room with four battered tin cups and a jug. He handed them out without ceremony, poured with the kind of precision that told me he’d bartended once or twice—or maybe just treated drinks like everything else: tactical.

  “To our wall,” he said, raising his cup.

  “To not dying while building it,” Alex added.

  “To moisturizer,” Jules grinned.

  I raised my tin. “To the dumbest bunch of geniuses I’ve ever met.”

  We clinked cups. The cider burned in that just-right kind of way, warm in the throat, sharp on the tongue. I coughed. Alex wheezed. Jules immediately asked for more. Gail smirked like a proud cryptid.

  Music would've been perfect. A guitar, maybe. Or a boombox powered by sheer sarcasm. But we made do with Alex and I singing the Halo theme and Jules harmonizing like a dying cat.

  I laughed so hard I nearly popped a rib again.

  We ate canned ravioli like it was steak. Alex broke into her secret chocolate stash (she denied having one until that very moment). Gail, surprisingly, produced a pack of cigarettes and smoked one like it was the end of a long movie. He offered one to Jules, who accepted and looked ten years older in the glow of the lighter.

  Me? I just watched. Soaked it in. The team. The moment.

  Jules leaning against my side, her hair brushing my shoulder like it belonged there. Alex and Gail bickering about generator wiring even in their “off” hours. The base around us—still rough, still dangerous, but ours.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this... content.

  Not safe. Never safe. But grounded. Like we weren’t just surviving anymore—we were building something.

  The fire pit crackled. The stars peeked out overhead, more visible without the old city lights. Somewhere in the distance, a zombie groaned, slow and aimless. A reminder that tomorrow might suck. But tonight? Tonight was ours.

  And for once, we let ourselves enjoy it.